This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Copyright © 2018 by Robin Lanier
Excerpt from Here Comes the Bride © 2017 by Robin Lanier
Cover illustration and design by Elizabeth Turner Stokes. Cover copyright © 2018 by Hachette Book Group, Inc.
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ISBNs: 978-1-5387-1286-3 (mass market); 978-1-5387-1287-0 (ebook)
E3-20171120-DANF
Table of Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Acknowledgments
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Epilogue
About the Author
Praise for Hope Ramsay
Also by Hope Ramsay
Want more Hope Ramsay?
For Carla
Acknowledgments
First and foremost I’d like to thank my friend Caroline Bradley for helping me flesh out Courtney’s list of “man types.” Caroline and I had great fun coming up with this list. Even though we may have descended into a tiny bit of man-bashing, it was for a good cause. I always intended to redeem both Courtney and Matt. I’d also like to acknowledge the authors in the Ruby Slippered Sisterhood’s chat room, who kept me accountable during the three months of almost non-stop writing that was necessary in order to meet this book’s deadline. In particular, I want to thank AJ, Janet, Cynthia, Lenee, and Debbie. You guys rock as cheerleaders. As always, I would be nowhere in my career without my agent, Elaine English, my wonderful editor of many years, Alex Logan, and the fabulous team at Forever Romance, who continue to support me through the ups and downs of this business. Thank you all very much.
Chapter One
Courtney Wallace hated the month of June.
The sixth month of the year brought heat, humidity, and a mother lode of brides. Why everyone wanted to get married in June was a mystery. In Courtney’s opinion, September and October were the best months to get married.
But for some reason, September and October were slow months at Eagle Hill Manor, where Courtney was the main wedding and event planner. And June was nothing short of a madhouse. It was still a week shy of Memorial Day, and already the inn’s lineup of June brides had stressed her out. Today she’d had to deal with no less than three June-bride meltdowns.
So drinks at the Jaybird Café and Music Hall sounded like a great way to unwind, especially since it was Wednesday—open mic night—and Courtney’s friend Arwen Jacobs was planning to perform. Arwen, who was painfully shy about singing in public, needed all the support she could get. Her songs were wonderful, complicated, and insightful, which meant people tended to talk over them.
Courtney and Arwen sat at their favorite table, toward the back of the room, away from the stage. As usual, Arwen looked like an accountant in a blue suit and a white silk T-shirt. She’d pulled her brown hair into a side part with a tortoiseshell clip in a no-nonsense style that made her look about nineteen. The freckles across her nose added to the impression. Unlike the other musicians and wannabes who showed up on Wednesday nights, Arwen didn’t believe in pretending to be someone she wasn’t. Most of the other performers sat close to the stage, and their hair color ran the gamut from natural to bright purple.
“You’ll be fine,” Courtney said.
“If I can get my fingers to stop shaking.” Arwen took a long swig of her Diet Coke. She never drank on open mic nights.
Courtney rolled her head to loosen her tight neck muscles and drew in a deep breath filled with the scent of the bacon and cheese potato skins sitting on the table between them. She loved this place with its scarred tables and exposed-brick walls. The music hall was anything but pretentious. To Courtney, it was like her home away from home.
She took a swig of her Manhattan. “Ah, this drink is exactly what I need tonight. Have I mentioned how much I hate June brides?” she said.
Arwen nodded and then suddenly stilled, like a fawn caught in the headlights.
Courtney followed her friend’s gaze to the front door, where Matthew Lyndon had just strolled into the Jaybird looking precisely like Casanova, or maybe Don Juan.
Whichever. It didn’t matter. He was pure sex in motion, all wide shoulders and slim hips and a sinewy way of moving, like an athlete, or a dancer, or a dangerous, predatory cat. Courtney didn’t know very much about him, except that he was a member of the Lyndon family, which around these parts made him local royalty. That, and the fact that he was a Hook-up Artist and a jerk.
Courtney had developed a list of male loser types that any woman should avoid at all costs. The list included the Man Baby, the Nice Guy Not, the Space Invader, the Too Selfless to Be True, and the Emotionally Unavailable. But the Hook-up Artist was number one on her list of losers. A Hook-up Artist was the kind of player any wise woman would stay away from.
Courtney was about to look away from the loser when Brandon
