work on such short notice to come to a wedding, and his daughter’s scared to death of flying. He wanted your grandmother to meet his children and brothers and grandchildren, and they’re spread out over six different states. Kind of romantic, if you think about it. Eloping and touring the country.”
“Except my mom and aunt haven’t met Homer, and none of us were invited to the wedding.”
Owen heard the hurt in her voice she tried to mask and felt a need to ease it. “The way Uncle Homer put it, they were trying to be fair. His family couldn’t come here and you’re not able to leave. Eloping was a compromise.”
Molly shook her head. “Grandma wouldn’t up and leave. Sweetheart Ranch is too important to her.”
“I’m sure she put you and your sister in charge because she’s confident in your abilities to manage the ranch without her.”
“We need her. Today’s our grand opening. The mayor’s coming. And a reporter from Channel 5.” Molly glanced over her shoulder at a clock on the fireplace mantel. “They’ll be here in three hours.”
Three and a half, to be exact. But Owen didn’t correct her as his kids were again demanding his attention.
“Daddy, I’m hungry.”
“Cody kicked me.”
“Where Mama? Want Mama.” Willa stuck her pudgy thumb in her mouth and sucked lustily.
Owen bent and scooped up his youngest. He simultaneously took hold of Cody’s shirt collar before the boy made a run for it. With her siblings restrained, Marisa was likely to stick close.
“I know you’re busy,” Owen said. “If you can show us to our cabin, we’ll get out of your hair.”
“Your cabin,” Molly repeated.
“Emily mentioned she’d reserved one for us.”
“Right.” Molly’s shoulders slumped ever so slightly, another sign of how hurt she was by the elopement. “I should have guessed. She’s been planning this for weeks. That’s why she insisted our vacancies didn’t matter.”
Owen suffered a stab of guilt. Perhaps he shouldn’t have encouraged Uncle Homer. “We can stay at the inn in town if it’s a problem.”
“It isn’t,” Molly said.
“You sure?”
“Positive. The cabin’s empty anyway.”
“Daddy,” Marisa pleaded.
“I wanna eat.” Cody twisted sideways.
Convinced his luck was about to run out, Owen said, “Let me get the kids settled and give them a snack. Then we’ll be back, and you can put me to work.” He flashed his best sales rep smile in an attempt to win her over.
“You’ll help?”
“I’m capable of more than marrying people.”
“We do need a minister,” she mused. “And someone to move furniture.”
“I’m good at heavy lifting.”
She returned his smile, a genuine one this time, and Owen found himself quite captivated. Strawberry blondes were his weakness, and this one came with the added bonus of freckles.
He admired Molly for more than her looks, though. She was obviously overwhelmed from being thrust into a difficult and unexpected situation. Yet, that hadn’t prevented her from doing her job.
A nose-to-the-grindstone attitude and the ability to navigate chaos were qualities Owen appreciated, and he cultivated them in himself. He attributed his success in two careers—professional cowboy and marketing—to those same qualities. He had every intention of applying them to repairing his strained relationship with his children.
Before any of them had taken a step, the front door whooshed opened. Molly went visibly weak with relief. “Finally! The flowers are here.”
Owen wished his arms were a foot longer. The better to contain Cody who was intent on beating the rest of them outside.
“Slow down, partner.”
Rather than the florist, a pinch-faced, pint-size elderly woman in a large, drab coat entered the parlor. Molly was about to be disappointed for a second time.
Except she immediately brightened. “Nora! Please tell me you’re here to rescue us.”
“What else would get me out of bed at this ungodly hour?”
Was eight forty-five an ungodly hour? Apparently for Nora it was.
“I assume this is Homer’s great-nephew.” Removing her coat, she gave Owen careful consideration. “He didn’t mention you were easy on the eyes.”
Owen grinned. “He didn’t mention you were, either.”
Her dour countenance magically transformed into a delighted grin. “And charming to boot. I do believe this next month is going to be quite enjoyable.”
“For me, too.”
She twittered. Owen didn’t think he’d heard a woman twitter since he first met his former mother-in-law.
“Are you a witch?” Cody glowered at her. “I don’t like witches.”
Owen was tempted to cover his son’s mouth before the boy embarrassed him further. “Sorry about that.”
“No worries. Your children are adorable. Emily asked me to watch them while you’re busy marrying folks. Got a half-dozen of my own grandkids, so I’m plenty experienced.”
Owen thought her assessment of his kids was much too kind. “I’d be very grateful and will compensate you.”
“Emily’s paying my salary. Said childcare was part of her arrangement with you.”
It was, but Owen didn’t want to take advantage.
“Did Grandma tell you she was eloping?” Molly asked Nora.
“I’m her best friend. She called me last night.”
Molly scowled. “She left us a note.”
“Don’t go getting bent out of shape. She didn’t tell you because you’d have tried to talk her out of it.”
“I absolutely would have.”
“See?” Nora moved her suitcase-sized purse to her other arm. I’m also supposed to take over guest relations for you.”
“What?” Molly drew back. “No!”
Nora shrugged. “Suit yourself. But it’s either that or wedding coordinator, and I’m thinking you’ll be a whole lot better at coordinating weddings than me, considering you have experience planning two of your own.”
Molly ignored the comment and faced Owen. “I’ll fetch the cabin key and meet you there. Number six. Drive around back. Farthest one on the left.” With that, she left.
Owen watched her retreating back. Molly had been married twice?
“Touched a nerve, apparently,” Nora said, erupting in laughter.
MOLLY WALKED TO the cabins, ruthlessly zipping her jacket against the late-November chill. She shouldn’t care what Owen thought of her. She hardly knew the man. They’d met mere minutes ago. So what if he was good-looking. He had three children and was probably married.
Then again, would a husband leave his wife for a month and take the kids? She doubted it, and he wasn’t the type. Owen Caufield had responsible written all over him.
Rather than continue fuming, she directed