Claiming The Cowboy (Meier Ranch Brothers 3)

“Permission granted.” Bettye Lindsey jumped all over that like a duck on a june bug, such that the entire room broke out in chuckles.

Gretchen’s mind raced. She couldn’t imagine what business he had with the city, unless he had ideas about the rest of the block. But Yancy knew they had already passed a motion to table that discussion. She shot a questioning look at Darcy.

Darcy handed Chase a handkerchief.

Traitor.

He blotted his forehead and put it back in his pocket. For the first time since he had entered the room, he looked at Gretchen. And not just looked. Really looked. Enough to galvanize the air in her lungs.

“I’d like to take this opportunity to thank the council for rezoning the property on Main. My brothers and I and our investors intend to open a business the town can be proud of. And I’d like to publicly thank Emile Pickford for looking to the future and honoring the true spirit of this town.”

Chase glanced to the Pickford contingent assembled. Emile inclined his head and smiled.

“I came to this distillery opportunity with the idea that it would put Close Call on the map. On the rodeo circuit, no one had ever heard of the town or knew anything about how wonderful it is. I guess I wanted others to see for themselves that there were places like this left in the world. Lots of them. And when it comes right down to it, we’re the ones who oftentimes set the example for the rest of the world to follow. How things should be. How neighbors should watch out for each other. The kindness of strangers, though there aren’t many of those around here.”

This elicited a smattering of chuckles.

“Anyway, I came back here with this grand idea, and I met someone who challenged me every step of the way. Every time I thought I had things figured out, she would buck my plans to see if I’d get up again. Well, she had never met a bull rider, I guess. We’re stubborn with just the right amount of crazy thrown in. She is the most selfless, hardworking, intelligent person I’ve ever known. She has a great future ahead of her in state government, so this town is lucky to have her.” In case anyone had nodded off, Chase leaned close to the microphone and added, “That’s Mayor de Havilland.”

Heat bloomed at Gretchen’s cheeks.

Darcy started an enthusiastic round of applause that spread like Amens at a Sunday service. Dale Euclid rolled his eyes, lumbered to his feet, and left the room. When the noise died, Chase continued.

“She was the first person in a long time to value what I had to say, even if I didn’t say it in the fanciest way. And it took me leaving to realize that she always had, all the way back to when we were kids, and I sat in the school’s empty hallway beside her. Back then, I told her all the reasons she didn’t want to talk to me. And she convinced me of all the reasons people did. And it had nothing to do with how long I could stay on a bull. She taught me that there is a place for new ambition and new dreams when the first ones come true. And if those two things happen to collide with love, well, it’s better than any eight seconds, anywhere.”

Chase reached in his suit pocket, stepped to the side of the microphone, and knelt before her.

A din swelled in the room. Someone in the back of the room screamed “Microphone!” At which point, Digger Owens, romantic that he was, grabbed Gretchen’s microphone and held it mid-air, close to Chase. A sibilance of shhhs followed like someone had let loose a nest of rattlesnakes.

“No one else has ever made me want to challenge the Meier record on years of marital bliss, and my brothers already have a head start…”

Wes let out a whoop to make a cowboy proud.

“I love you, Gretchen de Havilland, mayor of Close Call and soon-to-be attorney general of Texas. Marry me, and I promise I won’t flip off anyone in your campaign pictures.”

A surprise eddy of laughter swirled up from her taut belly, nothing compared to the feeling of being avalanched beneath a wall of love and happiness and hope. Her hands shook, her eyes watered—not at all the confidence of a mayor—but she didn’t care.

Digger shoved the microphone close to her mouth.

“Yes.”

Cheers erupted around the room.

“Do we need a majority vote on this?” joked Yancy.

“No. Hell, no!” shouted Bettye. “Kiss her, already!”

Chase did. Long and sweet and laughing, right at the end.

“So much for an aversion to formality, Mr. Meier.”

“So much for resistance, Mayor de Havilland.”

And the Close Call city council meeting became an engagement party, complete with the finest specialty tortes for two hundred miles and the finest people anywhere on earth. The story may have been embellished a bit, as small-town folks are prone to do, but about this, one truth was undeniable: true love was sweetness and light and a box of donuts, jelly filling on the chin and all.

And that was no bull.

Epilogue