“Are you seriously saying that to me?” Sometimes he could be so clueless I wanted to scream at him, but I didn’t. I swallowed hard and pushed down the lump in my throat. He meant well. He just put his foot into his mouth sometimes. Too many times.
“Listen, I gotta go, babe. I’ll let you know when I’ve booked the new flight. Dad should be there to pick you up.”
“You mean you haven’t even booked your new flight yet?”
I was talking to myself. Carter had already hung up. I grunted my frustration and shoved my phone into my pocket. No way was I staying in Bristlecone Springs without him. I didn’t know anyone in the small town, and I didn’t even think his father liked me. He’d been polite and charming for the hours we’d had to spend together last Christmas at his house before the snow let up. But I never quite forgot the way he’d stared at me in shock when I announced I was engaged to Carter. How awkward would it be to stay at his ranch without his son?
Yes, I would fly back home. The minute I got my baggage, I would go to the check-in area. One of the airlines had to have a flight to D.C. leaving within the hour. Just when I grabbed after my cherry-red suitcase, an enormous man stepped in front of me and plucked the suitcase from the band.
“Sir, I’m afraid that’s mine,” I said.
“I should hope so.” The masculine voice stopped me in my tracks. I’d heard that deep rumble only on one occasion, but I would never forget such a rich baritone. It was all male, a far cry from his son’s higher-pitched tone.
Mr. Magnuson turned to me with a smile. “Ozzie, right? Nice to meet you again.” He put my suitcase down and extended a hand toward me. His grip was strong and warm. I was a big guy and had always been, but Mr. Magnuson was a different kind of big. He was a mountain of a man with a short beard, squared jawline, and broad shoulders. He wore an open flannel shirt over a T-shirt, which stretched across him in a close fit that accentuated the solid wall of his chest and the bulging muscles in his arms.
My mouth went dry, and a tremor shot up my arm. When he released my hand, I let out a breath.
“Yes, it’s Ozzie or Oz. Some friends call me Zie. Whatever feels normal to you. I’m not particular.”Except to being called porky.
“Ozzie will do.” He had nice gray eyes bracketed by crow’s feet that crinkled his deeply tanned skin. He must spend a lot of time out in the sun. He looked good for a man who was pushing fifty, at least a decade younger. “Is this all you brought?”
“There’s another suitcase with the wedding stuff.”
“That’s right. Congrats again on the engagement. I’m afraid the last time we met, I might not have seemed pleased, but the news came as a shock. Carter hadn’t mentioned anything.”
“It’s okay. I understand. Thanks again for offering to have the wedding at the ranch and taking care of the expenses.”
I hadn’t been keen on the idea, but Carter had insisted that we take his father’s offer, so we didn’t have to spend our own money. Mr. Magnuson’s offer had come with a catch, though; we had to host the ceremony on his ranch.
A wedding on a ranch wasn’t exactly how I’d pictured my big day. I’d been thinking about it since I was nine and convinced myself I would marry my fourth-grade teacher after he stopped a bully from picking on me. It hadn’t mattered to me he was already married and wasn’t even gay. The man might have changed, but I still had the dream of a beautiful beach wedding.
Not anymore.
“Don’t mention it,” Mr. Magnuson said. “Do you spot the other bag?”
Carter’s father unsettled me. Five minutes in his presence and I was getting all flustered about the wedding again.
“There it is.”
I stepped forward, but Mr. Magnuson placed a firm hand on my waist. “I’ve got it.”
The warmth of his touch seeped through my clothes, and I froze. He grabbed the suitcase like it weighed nothing and set it on its feet. “I guess this is it. Let’s go.” He frowned. “Something wrong?”
My cheeks heated, and I averted my face to hide my blush.What the hell’s wrong with me?
“No.”
“All right, then. This way.”
“I can take one of the suitcases.”
“You already have your carry-on. It’s fine.”
I followed Mr. Magnuson through the airport, feeling oddly out of place beside his towering frame. The contrast between us was stark—me, not just large but also soft, carrying the extra pounds that had always been a part of me, and him, all hard muscles and rugged handsomeness. Even his walk was aconfident swagger that made people part way for him naturally, while I always felt like I was in the way.
Without me having to ask, he slowed his pace so I didn’t have to run to keep up with him. I didn’t think he did it because he noticed I was a bit breathless. His reaction to things happening around him seemed effortless, as if deep down, he was attuned to his environment and adapted on the spot without considering it too much.
At the elevator, he stepped aside, gesturing for me to enter first. It was a minor act that caught me off guard. Carter rarely showed such simple signs of courtesy, always too invested in his world. If he wasn’t on his phone talking with one of his friends, he was playing one of his many games.
