I’ve thought about this since I was fourteen years old.

Well, not this, exactly. I was pretty naïve about sex at fourteen, but I knew enough to understand why I felt tingly when Brandon Brown trotted out onto that football field in his tight pants.

As I shove my bedroom door shut behind us and turn to face him, I can’t help thinking he looks damn fine in jeans, too.

“What’s got you smiling?” he murmurs as he takes a step closer. His thumb grazes the underside of my chin, tilting my face up so he can kiss me again.

God, I could never get tired of kissing this guy.

I’m breathless again by the time we break apart, and I’ve almost forgotten what he asked. “This,” I whisper. “I’ve thought about this for a long time.”

He smiles and kisses me again, edging me back toward the bed as he tunnels his fingers in my hair. I grab for the hem of his shirt and tug, desperate to have it off him. To rake my fingers up those bare abs and to feel that soft, springy hair pressed against me.

Brandon breaks the kiss and helps me with the shirt, tossing it aside before meeting my eyes again. “You sure about this?” he asks.

I nod and reach for the hem of my own shirt. I try for one of those sexy crossed-arm maneuvers, but my thermal undershirt is snug and my hair gets tangled in the armpit and I’m dizzy by the time I find myself standing topless in front of him.

He smiles and reaches out to skim a palm over the lace edge of my bra. “You’re beautiful.” He draws his thumb over my ribcage, leaning down to peer at the tattoo there. “Is that a heart in a magnifying glass?”

I nod, my emotions somewhere between self-consciousness and dizzying desire. “Yes,” I murmur. “It’s from How the Grinch Stole Christmas. The part where his heart grew three sizes?”

He laughs and leans down to plant a kiss on the spot. “I’d totally forgotten that book.”

“I got the ink a couple years ago when Amber and I started talking about this crazy reindeer thing,” I say. “It’s a reminder of why we started it. What it’s all about for us.”

“I love it,” he says, and I’m not sure if he’s talking about the tattoo or the story behind it. He kisses me again, and I shiver as every nerve in my core sizzles to attention.

I reach out to touch his chest, his abs, his arms. I can’t get enough of him, and he feels even better than I imagined. He lays me down on the bed, and I go willingly, eager to feel his weight on top of me.

We take our time kissing, making out like teenagers rounding the bases from first to second to third—

“God, Jade,” he gasps as he circles his tongue over my nipple. My bra is long gone and so are my pants, though I’m still wearing panties. I wriggle against him, wondering whether I unzipped his jeans or he did. I slide a hand inside them, making us both gasp.

“You’re driving me crazy,” he murmurs against my breast.

“Don’t stop.”

“I want you so much.”

I arch against him, urging him to keep going. To take this to the next level. I stroke him through his underwear, not the least bit surprised by his impressive length. Of course Wonder Boy would be hung like a horse.

He brushes his lips across mine before angling back to look at me. “Um, do you happen to have any, uh—”

“Venereal diseases?”

He looks alarmed, so I shake my head. “No! Definitely not.”

He smiles and plants a kiss along my hairline. “I was going to say ‘condoms,’ but thanks for clarifying.”

I grimace and blow a few strands of hair off my forehead. “No,” I admit, feeling deflated. “I wasn’t exactly planning to cap off my snow day by banging Santa.”

He laughs and slides down my body so he’s kneeling at the edge of the bed. “So we have a problem, then,” he says, planting a kiss on my hipbone. “In my haste to get here with the plow truck, I left my wallet at home.”

Disappointment surges through me. Silly me, I assumed a guy like Brandon Brown would have condoms on him at all times. “I guess I should be relieved you don’t stash prophylactics in your Santa suit.”

He laughs and plants a kiss on my belly. “That would be a shock for all those moms who’ve been fishing in my pockets for candy canes.”

There’s a flare of jealousy in my stomach, but it dissipates the instant I feel Brandon’s warm breath against my belly button. He kisses me there, and I squirm with equal parts pleasure and ticklishness.

“So I suppose we should stop,” I murmur, not wanting to at all.

He shakes his head, eyes glittering with desire. “No way,” he says, hooking his thumbs in the edges of my panties. Instinct has me lifting my hips so he can draw them down, sliding them slowly over my legs and onto the floor. I start to press my legs together, self-conscious to be the only naked one in the room.

But he shoulders my thighs apart. “I’m dying to taste you,” he says.

Oh, God.

His hands are on my hips, and my whole body is throbbing like the drumbeat in an up-tempo Christmas tune. “Brandon,” I gasp, and slide my fingers into his hair.

He plants a kiss on my hipbone, then another on my thigh. A million little kisses landing in unexpected spots until I’m breathless and squirming and dizzy with need. I arch up, torn between feeling bad about the condoms and desperate for more. For anything he can offer.

At last, he gives me what I’m aching for. Just the lightest little flick of his tongue, but I cry out like it’s the first time anyone’s touched me.

“Jesus,” I gasp, clawing at his hair.

“You’re so wet.”

I moan as his tongue glides along my center, dipping, circling, teasing. He grips my hips with both hands, angling me up to meet his mouth. I let go of his hair and grab fistfuls of my comforter, tipping my head back to savor the sensation.

His mouth is magical, soft and gentle and so very aware of every spot that feels fucking amazing. It’s like there’s a homing device in the tip of his tongue.

“So sweet,” he murmurs against me. “You’re so sweet.”

I cry out as sensation starts to build inside me. It’s slow at first, but then comes swirling at me like a tornado. He slides two fingers into me, and that’s all it takes. I scream as the first wave takes me, clutching the duvet like it’s the only thing anchoring me to the bed. His fingers move inside me, tongue circling and stroking and driving me mindless. I cry out again, grateful my sister’s not home and that Brandon knows how to keep teasing, how to coax every last pulse of pleasure from my body.

When I finally come down, he slides up my thighs and moves beside me on the bed. He pulls me so I’m curled against him, and I reach for his fly, conscious of the fact that he’s probably dying for his own release.

But he makes a shushing sound in my hair and plants a kiss along my ear. “There’ll be other times for that,” he says. “Just lie back and relax.”

And for the first time in forever, I do.

I wake the next morning to a glass of water and a note on my nightstand. I roll over into a sunbeam, feeling decadent and warm and thoroughly sated.

---

Jade,

Last night was amazing. YOU are amazing.

I heard Amber come home at midnight and I didn’t want things to be awkward for you, so I slipped out when she was in her room. Hope that’s okay. I can’t wait to see you tomorrow.

P.S. The scampi was delicious. I left plenty for you.

---

I fold the note into my nightstand, conscious of the fact that I’m grinning like a big, fat idiot.

I pull on a robe and pad barefoot down the hall to my sister’s room. I lift my hand to knock, but she calls out before I have a chance.

“Come on in,” she says. “I’m already up.”

Pushing the door open, I spot her sitting at the dressing table we’ve had since we were little girls. Our mom used to sit us down one at a time to comb our hair, her fingers gently working out wild tangles.

She smiles at me in the mirror, her expression the tiniest bit smug. “Look at you all lovey-faced. It’s like the reindeer when they’re in heat.”

I pick up her hairbrush and give her a light whack on the head. Then I set to work brushing her hair, something I haven’t done for years.

“Mmm,” she murmurs as I run the brush through my sister’s dark waves. “That feels nice.”

“You stole my conditioner again,” I reply, not really minding.

“It smells like gingerbread,” she says. “I kinda want to eat it.”

“Please don’t,” I mutter. “Remember what happened to Prancer when he tried to eat the soap?”

“Ugh,” she says with a giggle. “He blew butt bubbles for three days.”

I keep brushing, the dark strands sleek and shiny as the bristles glide through her hair. “How was dinner with Zak’s family?”

“Fine. His brother brought me home around midnight.” Her eyes meet mine in the mirror, and she gives an inquisitive eyebrow lift. “So Brandon was here late.”

I consider not responding. Or telling a small fib about him staying late to shovel snow or help with paperwork. But the flush in my cheeks gives me away.

“Yeah,” I admit. “I offered to make him dinner.”

Her grin gets bigger. “From the looks of you, that’s not all you offered him.”

“We didn’t sleep together,” I blurt, which just sounds silly.

Amber laughs. “I’m not prying,” she says. “I’m not judging, either. Frankly, I’d be glad if you did sleep with him.”

“Why?”

“Why?” She rolls her eyes. “Because it wouldn’t hurt you to date a little bit. Especially someone as hot as Brandon Brown.”

I shake my head and drag the brush down the back of her head, earning a sound like a purr. “I don’t have room in my life for dating,” I say. “And even if I did, can you really picture me with someone like him?”

“You mean a hot, sexy war hero who’s good with kids and generous with his plowing?” Amber gives a suggestive eyebrow wiggle on plowing, then puts a finger to her chin and pretends to consider it. “Gee, let me think . . . uh, hell, yes!”

I laugh at her theatrics, even though I’m not sure I believe the sentiment behind it. “He’s a bit out of my league,” I point out. “The quarterback and the farm girl? It sounds like a bad romance novel.”

Amber rolls her eyes. “You’re not a girl and he’s not a quarterback. For God’s sake, Jade, you’re a grown-ass woman and he’s a grown-ass man. I would hope you’ve both moved past whoever the hell you were as kids.”

I stroke the brush through her hair again and wonder if she has a point. I’m certainly different than the person I was at sixteen. Maybe I’m not giving Brandon enough credit for moving beyond his teenage self.

“Speaking of high school,” Amber says, and there’s an odd note in her voice that snaps my attention back to her face. I watch her in the mirror, aware that she’s choosing her words carefully. “Zak’s mom gave me a box of photos last night.”

“Of what?”

“Stuff he took in high school. Did you know he was on the yearbook staff?”

“Maybe,” I say. “He was a couple grades below me, so we didn’t really know each other.”

“Yeah, but I guess the middle school yearbook kids got to shoot a lot of high school stuff. Candid things around the school and at sports events and stuff.”

Something’s different in her expression, and I force myself to hold her gaze in the mirror. I wonder what’s making her look at me with this odd mix of sadness and curiosity. “Was there something that caught your eye?” I ask.

She nods, and I could swear her eyes glitter just a bit. “Yeah. A couple shots of you hunched over on a bench in the lunchroom, sitting all alone.” She hesitates. “You looked miserable. I didn’t realize—I guess I never—”

She stops, and I’m not positive what she’s trying to say. But I have an idea.

“You were a lot younger than me,” I murmur. “I was glad things were better for you by the time you got to high school. The sports stuff helped.”

“But you—didn’t have a good experience?”

I shrug and glance away, focusing my attention on a snarl at the nape of her neck. “It wasn’t great.”

“So it’s true then,” she says softly. “Were you bullied?”

I hold my breath, considering how much to tell her. How much I want her to know. “It wasn’t that bad.”

She must hear something in my voice. I’m never a very good liar. “Yes, it was,” she says. “It was exactly that bad.”

“Yeah,” I admit, forcing the word out through a throat that’s getting tighter by the second. “It was.”

I clear my throat, wondering if I should stop talking. If I should spare her false memories of me as the cheerful, well-adjusted big sister. The one with plump cheeks and a dimpled smile for family instead of the one cowering in corners of the lunchroom.

There’s no reason she needs to know the whole story, right?

I meet her eyes in the mirror and realize she does want to know. She deserves to.

I take a shaky breath and begin.

“I remember in art class, freshman year, I made this clay pig,” I say. “Mom and dad had just bought all those Red Wattles, and I thought they were so cool.”

Amber’s eyes hold mine in the mirror, and she nods once, urging me on. I draw the brush down slowly, still keeping up the pretense of the task. “Anyway, a bunch of sophomore jocks cornered me in the hall after class,” I say. “They started calling me Miss Piggy, making oinking noises, that sort of thing.”

“Jesus.”

“I wasn’t a skinny kid,” I say. “So the teasing stung. Anyway, one of them grabbed the pig from me. Matthew Lerten or Brian Grimes or one of those guys. They started tossing it around, playing keep away. I was running back and forth, crying and begging them to give it back.”

“Oh, Jade.”

My throat gets tight again, and it takes a few more breaths before I can force the rest of the words out. “Brandon came walking down the hall then. He didn’t know who I was, but a couple of the guys had made varsity that year, so I guess he knew them from football.”

“Did he say something to you?”

My hands stop moving and the brush stills in her hair. “No,” I say. “Not to me. He didn’t say a word to me.”

“Oh.” She waits in breathless silence, knowing there’s more.

“But he did say something to the guys,” I continue. “He grabbed the pig out of the air and handed it to me without looking.” I swallow hard, determined to force out the rest of the words. Determined not to cry. “Then he told the guys to knock it the fuck off. Walked away without another word.”

“Oh my God.” A tear slips down Amber’s cheek, and it kills me to see her so broken up over something that happened such a long time ago. Something I’m positive Brandon doesn’t remember.

“I’m sure it wasn’t even a blip on his radar,” I tell her. “But it meant a lot to me.” I give a hollow little laugh. “I guess it must have been November then, because Christmas cards were out on the shelf at Freddies. I bought one and stuck it in his locker.”

“What did it say?”

I shrug, not positive I remember exactly. “Something about him being a nice guy,” I say. “I didn’t sign my name or anything. He wouldn’t have known it anyway.”

“Wow,” she says. “So is that why you didn’t want me to hire him?”

“It wasn’t that, exactly,” I say. “I just didn’t think I wanted that reminder in my life. Something I’ve worked hard to put behind me.”

She nods and swipes the back of her hand under her eye. “You could have told me, you know.”

I shake my head and run the brush through her hair again. There are no tangles left, but it feels nice to glide the bristles through those glossy strands. “I didn’t want to relive all that.”

“Still,” she says. She must sense I want to change the subject. That I’m ready to move on. “So how are things now?” she asks. “With Brandon, I mean.”

I can’t help it. My face breaks into a stupid grin, and I find myself blushing. “Good,” I admit. “Really good.”

“I’m glad,” she says. “You deserve it.” She stands up and turns to face me, and for a second, I think we’re going to hug.

Instead, she grabs the brush from my hand. “You know what else you deserve?”

“What?”

“Someone brushing your hair for a change.”

“I don’t need—”

“Sit!” she commands, and I do.

I ease into the chair, sighing with pleasure as Amber pulls the brush along my scalp. It feels heavenly, soft and soothing, like scratching an itch I didn’t know was there.

“See?” she says. “It feels good to have someone take care of you sometimes.”

I meet her eyes in the mirror and nod. “Yeah,” I murmur. “It kinda does.”

“There you go,” I say, handing a pair of photos to a young mother in a startlingly low-cut Christmas sweater. “Here’s the one of the boys next to Blitzen, and the other one of all three of you with Santa.”

“Mmm, this one’s yummy, don’t you think?”

I’m honestly not sure if she means Santa, Zak’s photography skills, or the candy cane she just nabbed from the bowl beside the Christmas tree, but I nod anyway and pretend not to notice the hungry look she shoots at Brandon’s backside as he stands up from the Santa throne and bends down to collect his things.

“You’ll be here for two more weeks?” she asks. “All the way up to Christmas day?”

“Not Mondays,” I tell her. “But every day besides that. And after that, we shift into wedding season. There’s information about it on our website if you know anyone who’s getting married.”

“Mmm,” she says again, still eyeing Brandon. “Maybe if I find the right guy. It gets so lonely being a single mom, you know?”

She says these last words to Brandon, who has stepped up beside me and put a hand on my shoulder. The mom frowns and turns on her heel, seeming to remember that she has offspring she should locate.

“They’re washing up in the bathroom,” Amber says as she walks up and joins us. “We were over there at the craft table painting pictures of the reindeer.”

“Of course,” says Single Mom Barbie, smiling once more at Brandon before turning to collect her kids. “I’ll see you around,” she says. “I’m coming back next week with eight women from my Mommy-and-Me yoga class.”

“I look forward to visiting with the kids,” says Brandon politely as she sashays out the front door. Amber hurries to lock it behind them.

Brandon turns to me and offers a sexy smile. “Hey there.”

“Hey yourself.”

He grins and leans against the Santa throne. “We haven’t had two seconds to say hello all day. How are you doing?”

“I’m good,” I say, fighting hard to keep a goofy smile from creeping over my face. “Thanks for the note.”

“Thanks for last night,” he murmurs, leaning close. “I was thinking maybe later we could—”

“Hey, Bran!”

I jump back from Brandon and turn to see Stacey Fleming standing in the doorway at the opposite end of the barn, gripping the hand of a reluctant-looking toddler.

“I know you guys are closed,” she says, “but my niece is in town for just the day, and I promised her Santa is a good friend of mine who wouldn’t mind spending just a few minutes with us.”

I see Brandon’s jaw working as he grits his teeth, but he manages a friendly Santa smile. “Sure,” he says, adjusting his faux facial hair. “Come on over.”

Stacey struts across the room, leading the cherubic toddler by the hand.

“Our photographer went home already,” I tell her. “And my sister just took the last reindeer back to the barn.”

Stacey waves a hand like that’s irrelevant. “We’re just here for Santa.”

Brandon gives me a pained look as he settles back in his chair. Stacey clambers onto his lap and pulls the adorable niece up, too, and I have to look away from all that cute in one place.

There’s a knock at the door on the other side of the barn, so I leave this happy little scene and go to answer it. Throwing open the heavy wood panel, I’m greeted by a sweet-faced brunette with Betty Boop curls and Bettie Page curves.

“Can I help you?” I ask.

“I’m Bree. From Ponderosa Luxury Ranch Resort.” She nods toward Brandon and lowers her voice. “Also Santa’s cousin, though I’d better skip greeting him so he doesn’t break character.”

I’m torn between feeling annoyed she’s here or grateful for the consideration. Either way, I can’t very well leave her standing out in the cold.

“Come on in,” I tell her. “You’re here for your meeting with Amber?”

She nods and steps in, and I can’t help admiring her pixie-like features. She’s tiny, but something about her seems fierce. “Yes, but I’m early. Sorry, I didn’t realize how close our ranches are to each other. I can wait in my car if you want.”

“No, it’s fine. Come on, you can hang out in the office where it’s warm.”

I lead her across the barn, smiling a little as she gives Brandon a covert wave before continuing through to the office. I offer her a seat, then stand there debating about whether to leave her alone or wait with her for Amber.

She saves me the trouble of making a decision. “Actually, I was wondering if I could talk to you a second.”

“Me? I mostly handle the animals. Amber’s the business and marketing side of the—”

“It’s not about business,” she says, then nods at the door. “May I?”

I assume she’s asking to close it and not to exit, so I nod. “Sure.”

I wait while she pushes the door shut and reseats herself with hands on her lap. “So I understand you’ve got something going on with my cousin.”

“What?” I choke out. “Did he say that?”

“Not to me, to my brother.” She shrugs. “But I’m a nosy little sister, so—”

“Yeah, I know how that goes,” I mutter. “I have one of my own.”

Bree glances toward the door again, then lowers her voice. “Has he talked to you about his parents?”

I nod, surprised we’re going down this path mere seconds into our first meeting. “Yes.” I rest my hands on the desk, determined to be cautious with how much I reveal. “I understand why Christmas isn’t his favorite time of year.”

“It’s not just that. Brandon’s terrified of relationships. He watched his dad go from being a happy husband and father to—to—well, practically a vegetable. That’ll mess with a guy.”

“I see,” I say slowly. “It must have been hard.”

“He blames his mom for a lot of it,” she says. “Actually, that’s not true. He blames marriage. Or love, maybe. Anyway, you have to understand why Brandon swore off all of that years ago.”

I nod, not sure what she’s trying to tell me. To stay away from Brandon? I stay silent, hoping she’ll clue me in.

“Be careful.” Bree sighs. “He might look big and tough, but he’s soft and squishy on the inside. And so very, very sweet.”

“I know,” I reply, surprised to realize it’s true. I’ve seen Brandon’s soft side, probably more than she knows. “Look, if it’s any comfort to you, we’re not really that serious. I don’t think.”

“No?”

I shrug. “We hardly know each other.”

“Well, I know Brandon. And I can tell by looking at him that he’s in deep. And if you hurt him, so help me God, I’ll—”

“Hey, sorry I’m late.” My sister rushes through the door breathless and tousled. “I’m Amber,” she says, holding out her hand. “You must be Bree Bracelyn?”

Bree stands and returns the handshake. “You’re not late at all. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Amber.”

I sit there staring for a moment, still trying to figure out if Bree just threatened me. What was she starting to say?

Bree swings her gaze back to mine and holds for just a moment. There’s a warning there, a clear one. She blinks and it’s gone, replaced by a friendly, businesslike smile. “Jade and I were just getting to know each other,” Bree says. “I can’t believe we’ve been neighbors all this time and we’ve never met.”

“I suppose we’ve all been busy getting new businesses off the ground,” I offer. I stand up, ready to leave Amber to her meeting. “I should get out of your hair—”

“Actually, it would be great if you stayed,” Amber says, shooting me a look. “It might be easiest to have this conversation with all three of us.”

Bree glances at me, looking surprised. “I didn’t realize we were having an uneasy conversation.”

“We’re not,” I say. “Not exactly. It’s just—”

“First, we wanted to congratulate you on Ponderosa Luxury Ranch Resort,” Amber says, more masterful than I am at easing in slowly. “It seems like it’s really coming together.”

“Thanks,” Bree says, smiling. “It’s a lot of work, but we’re getting close.”

“So how did you end up with the property, anyway?” I ask. I’m trying to keep my voice casual, but I can tell from the flicker in her eye that my note of judgement came through loud and clear.

“My dad bought the place before I was born,” she says. “Had these grand fantasies of being a rancher, but he rarely found time to fly out here.”

“You’re from the East Coast?” Amber asks.

She nods. “Connecticut. My brothers and I only made it out here occasionally. After our dad died last year—”

“I’m so sorry,” Amber says, her brow creasing in a frown. “We’d heard the owner died, but I didn’t realize he had children.”

“Yes, well, we weren’t—close,” Bree says carefully. “Anyway, we came out here sometimes when we got breaks at boarding school. My brothers visited more than I did—I think maybe you met Sean?”

“Maybe,” Amber says, looking unsure.

“It would have been years ago,” Bree says, waving a hand. “Anyway, we inherited the place after our father passed.”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Amber says.

“Thank you.” Bree presses her lips together. “It was a complicated relationship.” She clears her throat. “Anyway, we wanted to do something special with the land. Something that honors his memory but also honors the region. We’ve done a lot of research on the history of the area and some of the Native American influences. Did you know there’s a rock outcropping on the east side of the property that used to be a sacred place for the people of the Warm Springs tribe?”

“I didn’t,” I tell her, a little surprised there’s something I don’t know about the history of my own backyard. “Are you incorporating that into the theme of the resort?”

“In tasteful ways, where it’s appropriate,” she says.

“Can you tell us a little more about the resort?” Amber asks. “Most of what we know is hearsay at this point.”

“Certainly.” Bree folds her hands in her lap. “We’re aiming for very high-end clientele. Extremely wealthy, and willing to pay a lot for pampering.”

“That sounds—” I stop myself, searching for a word that isn’t horrifying.

Bree just laughs. “I realize it sounds so snobby when I put it that way, but we basically want to give rich assholes—pardon my language—an opportunity to see the real West.” She smiles. “In between massage appointments and golf, of course.”

“Of course,” Amber says, looking thoughtful. She glances at me, then folds her hands on her lap. “It all sounds really ambitious.”

“It is,” Bree says. “You should come out for a tour when we’re a little closer to finished.”

I dig my fingernails into my knees, not sure how much longer I can beat around the bush. “Look, there’s something we wanted to talk to you about,” I say. “A concern we have.”

“Oh?” Bree’s expression is neutral, her voice cool.

Amber gives me a smile that says can it. “Not a concern, so much as a—”

“When did you decide to have country-style weddings out there?” I interrupt. “Because we applied for our event permit six months ago, and the very next week I got word that you guys did the same thing with a remarkably similar-sounding concept.”

“Oh. Oh.” Bree’s brow crinkles. “And you think I stole your idea?”

“No,” Amber insists, shooting me a warning look. “But we are trying to figure out whether it’s feasible for two properties so close together to execute similar plans.”

Bree frowns. “You’re thinking there’s not room enough for all of us to host weddings?”

I can’t tell if that’s a challenge in her voice or genuine curiosity. Either way, I’m ready to lay my cards on the table. “The viability of our business plan depends on hosting weddings during the seasons we aren’t doing holiday events with the reindeer,” I tell her. “We’ve been planning for years to offer an authentic country wedding destination.”

Amber nods and leans forward in her chair. “Mason jars full of daisies, twinkle lights strung up through the rafters, a dance floor in the middle of the barn—”

“—bales of hay for guests to set their plates on when they get up to dance,” I add, doing my best to set the scene. “One of the brides we’ve booked has this great plan to wear her great grandmother’s cowboy boots, along with her dress.”

“God, your way sounds much better,” Bree says.

Her expression is perfectly sincere, and it takes me a second to process what she’s saying. “Excuse me?”

Bree shakes her head, looking a little wistful. “We’re catering to a different crowd, I’m afraid. Society ladies in Vera Wang gowns and Louboutin heels who want the Cascade Mountains in the background of their wedding photos before they hustle into the air-conditioned ballroom for an eight-course meal that costs more than my car.”

I frown at her. “I hate to burst your bubble, but most folks around here don’t have that kind of money.”

“Exactly,” Bree says. “But the sort of families I went to school with do. And they’ll think nothing of dropping a couple hundred grand on flying everyone out here for an exotic, destination wedding.”

“Central Oregon is exotic?” Amber says.

“To the kinds of people I grew up with it is.” Bree smiles. “Look, maybe there’s a way we could work together. Our wedding guests will be looking for activities when they get tired of all the spa services and gourmet meals.”

“Rough life,” I mutter.

“Exactly,” Bree says. “So what if we could offer them some sort of real Western experience? Something like reindeer brushing or chicken feeding or fishing in your irrigation pond.”

I quirk an eyebrow at her, still not buying it. “Pay fifty bucks to shovel manure?”

“You’re joking, but guests like ours?” Bree shakes her head. “They’d love it. Anything to pretend they’re roughing it. That they’re getting a taste of the real West.”

I stare at her, wondering if I’ve misread the whole thing. If I’ve projected a mean girl where there wasn’t one, or maybe just failed to look for the common ground between our two worlds. It wouldn’t be the first time in my life I’ve been too quick to judge.

“That sounds good,” I say slowly. “I think maybe we can work with that.”

“What about a brainstorming lunch?” Amber suggests. “As soon as the Christmas craziness is done, and you guys get closer to opening. Maybe we can all sit down and come up with ideas for how to work together.”

“I’d like that,” Bree says, smiling. “Maybe I’ll invite my brothers, too.”

“Sure.” Amber nods. “I’d love to figure out if I remember your brother—Sean?”

“Sean,” Bree says. “And James and Mark and—well, I have a lot of brothers.

“I’d love to meet them,” I say, surprised to realize I mean it.

“Who knows?” Bree says, giving me a pointed look. “Maybe our cousin, Brandon, could join if we’re all getting along nicely and there are no complications.”

Her gaze locks with mine, and though it’s friendly, there’s a warning there that’s crystal clear. I stare back, determined not to blink first.

“Absolutely,” I tell her. “Sounds great.”