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said. “My mom started to explain it, but then she got confused and told me it was a towels-only relation.”

Bubba nodded. “Yep. That’s what Trista said.”

“What the hell does that mean?” Beau asked.

“You buy them a couple of towels—”

“Or more if they’re the small ones you just wipe your hands on,” Bubba said.

“Yep,” JD said. “There’s a hierarchy. A full place setting of china is at the top—for like a first cousin if your mamas are on speaking terms.”

“A can opener is for the marriages you think won’t last or the ones you don’t approve of, like when Misty Oliver married Sam Berhman after dating his brother for three years.”

“Gabriel and I got a can opener from Miss Mills,” JD said.

Gabriel, who was wearing little Brianna in a backpack, walked up and nodded in agreement.

Beau shook his head. Luckily, his mom didn’t pay attention to all that uppity small-town social circle nonsense. She’d married a cowboy and stuck to her garden and horses. She always said she could tolerate horses a lot better than she could tolerate people.

Beau, JD, and Gabriel wandered over to the food line, where they found Carmen loading up a plate for Bryce. “Are you trying to work your way to my heart through my stomach?” Bryce asked.

“Nope,” Carmen said. “Snatching your heart would only require undoing the top button of my blouse. I sure as hell wouldn’t knock myself out with pheasant piccata.”

Bryce laughed and took his plate. “Where are you sitting, little brother?”

“With the invited guests,” Beau joked. “I think you might need to go sit behind the chuckwagon.”

“Invitation or no,” Carmen said. “Neither one of you should be anywhere near the white tablecloths.”

“They’re fine,” JD said. “Bryce, there’s plenty of room for you at our table.”

“I tell you what,” Carmen said. “I’ll let you boys sit with the civilized folks if you do me a favor.”

“What is it?” Bryce asked.

“I don’t have time to explain right now.”

“Well, I hate to agree to something without even knowing what it is.”

Carmen crossed her arms over her chef’s jacket, which was unbuttoned well past the mark that would win Bryce’s heart, and raised a single eyebrow.

“Yes, ma’am,” Bryce said.

Beau snorted. “I’m not agreeing to a damn thing.”

“It’s for Brittany,” Carmen said.

Aw hell. Beau looked at the table where Brittany sat sniffling.

“Okay, fine,” he said. “Can I have two plates? One is for Alice.”

A few minutes later he was sitting at the table, barely tasting his food—which was no doubt delicious—while his knee bumped against Alice’s, or her shoulder rubbed his, or she laughed at something somebody said, sending a waterfall of utter fucking delight washing over him.

She did not seem embarrassed at all by his dirty clothes or five o’clock shadow. In fact, at times, when she looked at him, he sensed something akin to . . . pride. Like she was both pleased and proud to be with him.

He wiped his mouth on a napkin and then brushed a strand of hair out of Alice’s face. She’d been talking about genealogy—something about the origin of the pedigree chart—and stopped to smile at him.

That smile. It seeped into his pores and filled him with a skin-tingling warmth, like that first delicious moment of wrapping yourself in a towel fresh from the dryer. The grand clock of the universe slowed down, stretching the moment, as they linked hands beneath the table.

“Ahem,” Carmen said.

When had she arrived? And why was everyone grinning at them?

“Beau Montgomery, did you hear a single word I just said?” Carmen asked.

“Nope. You must have been mumbling.”

“She needs to speak with us,” Bryce said.

“All the men at this table, please come with me,” Carmen said.

Alice looked at Beau and shrugged. “No idea what’s going on.”

Beau and the rest of the guys followed Carmen back to the chuckwagon and gathered around.

“Listen,” she said. “Nothing is going right for Brittany today.”

They all nodded. That was pretty obvious.

“And her bachelorette party is tonight.”

They all nodded again. Maybe Carmen was going to ask them to help set up tables or carry ice chests of beer.

“And her strippers canceled.”

“Aw, hell no,” Bryce said. “No way. Uh-uh.”

JD’s mouth opened as reality set in. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

“Nope. Four of the Mount ’Em Cowboys ate some bad barbacoa last night. So Brittany’s uncle Howard has offered to play the ukulele instead, and that is the saddest thing I’ve ever heard.”

Bryce winced. “Well, we can’t have that.”

One of Brittany’s bridesmaids came to the back door of the chuckwagon. “Do you have any more napkins? Brittany has saturated hers with tears.”

“Jesus,” Beau said, shaking his head.

Carmen handed the woman a roll of paper towels. “You tell Brittany to dry her eyes. She’s going to have some cowboy strippers. Isn’t she, boys?”

“I’ll do it,” Bubba said with a shrug. “No problem.”

“Me too,” Bryce said quickly. He rotated his pelvis with a wink, getting a blush and a grin out of Carmen.

“I’m in,” JD said. “Why not? I’ve got the moves.”

Carmen eyed him up and down. “Dad bods are in now, so thanks.”

Gabriel busted out laughing, and JD raised the brim of his Stetson to look his husband in the eye. He was clearly trying to maintain a stern expression, but he couldn’t swing it. He finally broke out in a grin and said, “Who’s your daddy?” and everyone cracked up.

“I’m bowing out,” Gabe said. “I’ve got to look after Brianna.”

But then it got quiet. They were all looking at Beau.

“I’ve kind of got plans for this evening . . .”

“Alice is going to be at the bachelorette party,” Carmen said. “Go take a shower. Wear your chaps—make sure these other guys get some—and meet us in the High Chaparral Party Room in an hour.”

Chapter

Thirty

Beau arranged the last two rose petals carefully on the bed and took a step back to admire the results of his labor.

A bottle of champagne chilled in the mini fridge. He’d snagged two crystal flutes from Carmen’s stash of catering goods, and they sat on