“I must be seeing things.” Hunter DeMassi’s voice carried across the flower-filled courtyard that sat between the Rebel First Presbyterian Church and the massive reception hall behind it. “I can’t believe it. You came.”
Gator Hallsey closed the few yards that separated them, his polished black cowboy boots clattering on the stone walkway. “I said I would, didn’t I?” And Gator always kept his word.
At least where Hunter was concerned.
It didn’t matter that he hadn’t been inside of a church since his grandmother, God rest her soul, had toted him to Sunday school when he’d been barely knee-high. Or that he was about to stand up in front of a roomful of people that included the entire Rebel County Sheriff’s office and several bigwigs from Austin. Feds even, judging by the cluster of black SUVs situated in the parking lot.
He ignored the sense of unease that rolled through him and gave Hunter a wink. “I can’t let you get hitched without a Best Man, now can I?”
“Thanks, man.” Hunter clapped him on the shoulder just as a middle-aged woman rushed up, a single red rose in one hand and a lethal-looking stickpin in the other.
“Is this him?” Mabel Leroy Tucker asked.
“The one and only.” Hunter grinned.
“We thought you weren’t coming.” Mabel grimaced as she stepped up in front of Gator. “I specifically told everyone in the bridal party to be here a half hour early.”
“Gator’s here against his will,” Hunter offered. “He’s not a big believer when it comes to matrimony.”
“Nonsense,” Mabel muttered. “Matrimony is the most wonderful thing in the world.” She grasped the black satin lapel of the tuxedo coat that he wore with a pair of starched Wranglers and a stiff white dress shirt.
He ignored the urge to tug at the collar.
At least Hunter hadn’t forced him into a complete monkey suit. He and Jenna had wanted a country wedding and so they’d let the groomsmen keep their jeans and boots and, as far as Gator was concerned, their dignity.
As much as any man could muster with the bridal march blaring in his ears.
“Hold still,” she murmured, coming at him with the pearl-tipped straight pin. “There.” She smoothed his jacket and straightened his collar for a split second before responding to something someone said over the Bluetooth hooked over her ear. “No, no,” she shrieked, nearly splintering his eardrum. “The rose petals are for the flower girl. Do not sprinkle them on the cake table. They’ll clash with the sugar flowers on the cake…” Her voice trailed off as she shook her head and turned on her heel. “No, no, no. Don’t give her the flower basket yet. She’s only three years old. They’ll be all over the ground before the processional even starts. Or worse. Remember the flower girl at the Canyon-Guthrie wedding? She ate them like popcorn. We had to take her to the ER to get her stomach pumped smack-dab in the middle of the reception. Just hold onto it. I’m coming. I’ll get her situated in the wagon and then we’ll hand her the basket. Five minutes,” she called over her shoulder to Hunter and Gator. “The reverend will signal when it’s time.” And then she disappeared through the side door that led into the main sanctuary.
“You sure about this?” Gator asked, stepping up to his old friend.
He and Hunter had been inseparable back in the day, before Hunter’s brother had died and he’d traded in his wicked ways in favor of civic duty.
“Are you kidding? I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.” He turned and stared through the side window of the church, at the bridal party milling about in the foyer.
His attention fixed solely on the woman in white. Jenna Tucker did make one hell of a vision in a fitted white dress. One that quickly ducked back behind a massive fern when she caught Gator looking in at her.
“You know it’s my duty as your best man to make sure you realize what you’re getting into.”
“Actually, it’s your duty to get me to the altar no matter what.”
“Maybe. But it’s my duty as your friend to lead the way should you want to make a fast getaway. This is the real deal, man. No going back.” Gator’s gaze went to Callie Tucker Sawyer, the matron of honor, who wore a fitted red dress that matched the red rose bouquet in her hand and accented the baby growing inside of her. She was due any time now by the looks of her and thrilled to death if the smile on her face was any indication. She held tight to her husband, Brett, who wore the same get-up as Gator. Next to them stood Brandy Tucker McCall, matron of honor number two, and her groomsman husband, Tyler.
Both men had sown their own wild oats back in the day and so Gator had crossed paths with them many times over the years.
But not lately.
They’d settled down with the Tucker sisters and while Gator, himself, would sooner kick his own ass than waltz down the aisle, he had to admit that both men looked extremely happy.
As happy as the groom.
Yeah, right.
Their cat’s-got-the-canary expressions were no doubt due to the mason jars filled with Texas Thunder Tea, a blend of the infamous Sawyer-Tucker moonshine now being distributed by Foggy Bottom Distillers and Miss Mabel’s sweet Texas tea. The ribbon-wrapped jars were being handed out as a signature cocktail to the guests who mingled in the nearby garden area before heading inside for the ceremony. No doubt both men had downed a few pints in preparation for the hot-as-hell tuxedo jackets.
Gator wished he’d arrived a few minutes sooner and grabbed a jar of his own. Maybe then he wouldn’t be so antsy, as if he were the one about to hang up his precious bachelor card. But then he’d been hard-pressed to get here in the nick of time after this last run from Houston.
He’d delivered a trunkful of premium hooch to a golf pro who lived in River Oaks. A man who could have easily bought his liquor through the proper channels.
But that wasn’t nearly as much fun.
There was something taboo about hooking up with a bootlegger and buying a jug of pure liquid fire. Or so Jeff Something-or-other had told him when he’d made his delivery.
It was all about the novelty of it.
Luckily there were plenty still fascinated with the old school art of shine to keep Gator and his two partners hauling butt six days out of seven.
“You ought to think about slowing down yourself,” Hunter told him, as if noting the exhaustion tugging at his muscles.
He grinned. “Plenty of time for that when I’m six feet under. Besides, with you stepping down as sheriff to help Jenna with her horses, I was actually thinking about expanding my business.” He winked. “No more conflict of interest.”
Hunter grinned. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you. Bobby isn’t likely to look the other way now that he’s wearing the badge.”
“Bobby’s not nearly fast enough to catch me and you damn well know it.”
“Maybe not now, but everybody has to slow down eventually.” Hunter’s eyes gleamed. “Settle down. Even the infamous Gator Hallsey.”
Gator wasn’t sure why the words suddenly bothered him. Sure, at thirty-four he was getting older. But he was still as fast as he’d ever been. Faster even.
As for settling down …
He’d yet to meet a woman hot enough, sweet enough, to make him want to hang up his hat and kick off his boots for anything longer than a one-night stand.
“You might be snapping on the old ball and chain, but don’t try to take me down with you. I like being single.”
“That’s what I used to say, but then I met Jenna. Speaking of meeting someone, Bobby’s got this friend. Her name’s Kaitlyn,” Hunter started, but then the side door opened and Thomas Rhett’s “Die a Happy Man” drifted from inside.
“It’s time,” said the reverend who ducked out and motioned to Hunter.
Thankfully.
Because the last thing Gator wanted was to hear Hunter DeMassi, his old running buddy, suggest a fix-up.
Gator Hallsey liked being single. Hell, he loved it.
Then again, his buddy sure as hell did look happy.
The notion struck and instead of grabbing Hunter’s arm and hauling him the other way, he clapped him on the back and smiled. “Let’s go get you married, buddy.”