Cathy Mcdavid - A Cowboy's Christmas Proposal

Like the faulty water pressure in the pipes and the creaking floorboards, no amount of tinkering had remedied the finicky closet door. Molly’s grandmother, Emily, claimed the many quirks only added to the old house’s charm.

Molly did agree the house possessed a certain appeal. People raved over the quaint and rustic decor inspired by local history, nearby cattle ranches and the herd of wild mustangs that had once roamed the valley. At least, those were the comments Molly had received from guests who’d viewed their website and booked a wedding, or a honeymoon stay in one of the six cabins.

Five weddings were scheduled these last four days of November and a dozen so far in December. Understandably, the holidays were a popular time to get married. What better than to combine two joyous occasions?

Only 50 percent of the ranch’s cabins, however, had been booked. As head of guest relations, Molly worried. Grandma Em, their resident wedding coordinator, had assured her the situation was temporary. Lately, she’d issued the statement with a twinkle in her eye.

That, too, worried Molly. Grandma Em had poured almost her entire savings into the ranch, converting her country home on ten acres into what would hopefully be the most popular, and most unique, wedding venue and bed-and-breakfast in Arizona. She should be fretting and pacing and biting her nails to the quick. Or, like Molly, racing around in a constant state of agitation. She certainly shouldn’t be dismissing valid concerns with a casual shrug.

Molly contemplated the three O’Malley women as she chose an outfit. They were a study in contrast, each of them dealing with stress differently. While Molly planned for every conceivable catastrophe, her older sister, Bridget, stayed up late testing recipes and developing menus. Grandma Em, perhaps the smartest of them, took things in stride.

Both sisters had worked in the hospitality industry since graduating college—Bridget as a pastry chef and Molly in hotel administration. When their grandmother had called last summer and invited them to share in her long-held dream of owning and operating a Western-themed wedding ranch, they’d jumped at the chance—for entirely different reasons.

Hurrying down the hall, Molly stopped at the bathroom door and knocked loudly.

“You almost done?”

“Give me two minutes,” Bridget hollered above another pipe-banging symphony.

Molly groaned in frustration, more annoyed with herself for oversleeping than at her sister for dawdling. She’d stayed up late last night, too, envisioning every detail of their grand opening and mentally reviewing her lengthy to-do list.

While she waited, her glance traveled the hall to Grandma Em’s bedroom. She’d apparently risen some time ago, for the door sat ajar and not a single peep came from inside the room.

Likely, she was downstairs, making coffee and toasting homemade bagels for breakfast. Molly was straining her ears for any hint of activity when Bridget flung open the bathroom door and emerged from behind a cloud of steam.

“Thanks for hogging the entire hot water supply.”

“Get up earlier next time.”

Molly huffed as she shouldered past her sister. Being adults didn’t stop them from squabbling like they had when they were young.

“Whatever.” Bridget darted to her room, tucking in the tail of the bath towel she wore on her head like a turban. Several red tendrils had escaped and lay plastered against her neck, forming a row of inverted question marks. Molly’s own wavy hair would look the same when she stepped from the shower.

It was one of many similarities between them. They shared freckled cheeks, a cleft in their chins, a love of sweets and an unwavering determination to marry a man just like their late father.

They also had their differences. Big ones. While Bridget was an open book, messy to a fault, and tended to easily trust people, Molly kept her thoughts and feelings to herself, preferred her surroundings and every aspect of her life to be neat and tidy, and exercised caution in all situations.

She had good reason. Her twice-wounded heart needed protecting. Grandma Em’s invitation, issued on the heels of Molly’s latest breakup, had provided the perfect opportunity. She’d packed her car and bid Southern California goodbye without a single regret.

Molly showered in record time before the hot water really did run out—another quirk of the old house—then returned to her room. After throwing on her clothes, she ran a brush through her wet hair. She’d style it and apply makeup later, before the open house started at noon. There was simply too much to accomplish before then.

Of course Bridget had beaten her downstairs. Molly made straight for the kitchen, expecting to be assaulted by the aroma of freshly brewed coffee and toasting bagels. Instead, Bridget stood at the counter, dropping clumps of thick, chocolatey batter onto a cookie sheet. The coffeepot sat untouched.

“Where’s Grandma?” Molly asked, mildly irritated. She desperately needed to fuel up on caffeine.

“I haven’t seen her yet.”

How odd. Maybe she was on an emergency run to the market for some last-minute item. Though, on second thought, the town’s one small grocery store didn’t open until nine.

“Did you call her?” Molly asked.

“Been too busy.”

Fishing her cell phone from her jeans pocket, she dialed Grandma Em. The call went straight to voice mail.

“She must have forgotten to charge her phone.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time.” Bridget slid the cookie sheet into the oven.

Ignoring the twinge of anxiety winding through her, Molly set down her phone and filled the coffeepot with water. They did have a brand-new individual cup brewing system in the dining room, but that was reserved for guests.

“Do you think we were wrong to plan our grand opening in the middle of the holiday season?” she asked. “It’s still technically Thanksgiving weekend. People are going to be out shopping or putting up Christmas decorations.”

“We can’t afford to wait.”

“True.” Expenses were mounting while revenues wouldn’t pick up until after they officially opened. Molly knew that for a fact as she handled the ranch books.

It was then she spotted the small piece of notepaper taped to the refrigerator. Grandma Em’s familiar handwriting jumped out at her.

“What’s this?” With her free hand, Molly tore off the note and started reading. The next instant, her fingers went slack, and she nearly dropped the pot. “I don’t believe it!”

“What’s wrong?” Bridget glanced up from sprinkling flour onto a rolling mat.

“Grandma’s gone.” The words fell from Molly’s mouth in a shocked whisper.

“Where? The café?”

“Try the Grand Canyon and then Nevada. In Homer’s RV.” Molly gaped at her sister, alarm battling with disbelief. “They’ve eloped. They’re getting married in Reno and then taking a monthlong road trip.”

“No way!” Bridget wiped her hands on a towel and charged across the kitchen. She snatched the note from Molly and quickly scanned the paper.

“She must be kidding,” Molly said. “Grandma wouldn’t leave on the day of our open house for anything. Right?”

“I don’t know. She might.”

“What are you talking about?”

Bridget thrust the note back at her. “She made a comment the other day about really liking Homer.”

That was news to Molly. Yes, Grandma and Homer were friends and went out to lunch sometimes. But eloping? Surely Molly would have noticed her grandmother falling in love. She wasn’t entirely self-absorbed.

“You should have told me.”

“Honestly,” Bridget said, “I didn’t think a lot about it other than if Grandma had a boyfriend, then good for her. At least one of us was dating.”