Wedding Or Bust
God, this would be so much more fun if I were role-playing a hitchhiker, and my afternoon ended with getting railed by a rugged cowboy in the back of his pickup truck.
Instead, I’m stuck on the side of the road, glaring down at my flat tire in a dress and four-inch heels that prioritize fashion over function. I have less than an hour before Birdie, one of my best friends, gets married, and I can’t be late for the most important day of her life.
This is what I get for not accepting Briar’s offer to get ready at her place. She’s another one of our closest friends and lives at Silver Saddle Ranch with her fiancé Jensen, and their son Caleb—just down the road from her parents’ ranch house, where the wedding is taking place. It’s going to be a small, intimateceremony in the Halstead’s backyard and after helping set up the decorations during the rehearsal yesterday, I know it’ll be stunning. Now, if I could just get there on time to see it myself, that would be fantastic.
I called Hank at the local repair shop, but he’s out on another job and said it’ll be at least two hours before he can get out here. I’ve also tried Earl, the only taxi driver in town, three times already, but he’s not picking up. It would be a whole lot easier if we didn’t live in a small town with limited options.
I’m ready to start walking when I spot a truck in the distance. I step closer to the road and stick out my thumb. I’ve always wanted to hitchhike, but I pictured it happening during spring break in college, like in the movies, not on the way to a wedding in four-inch heels. Let’s just hope it’s not some creepy old man who has a foot fetish with a custom license plate that says “FEETLVR.”
As the truck gets closer, the guy behind the wheel glances at me before immediately looking away, flooring it like I’m radioactive.
“Oh, real nice, you spineless bastard!” I shout.
Okay, so maybe road rage isn’t the answer, but I find it strangely therapeutic to tell a stranger off, even if he can’t hear me. I’m so busy flipping him off I don’t notice the other truck until its engine rumbles as it pulls to a stop beside me.
I’m momentarily relieved until I look up to see the familiar blue pickup. The passenger window rolls down, revealing Heath wearing a smug grin with his arms draped across the steering wheel.
“You lost?” I deadpan, planting my hands on my hips.
“Was minding my own business when I spotted you giving some poor passerby the bird. Figured I better pull over before you start throwing rocks at the next poor soul who drives by,” he drawls before turning off his truck, climbing out, and circling thehood to join me. “The sheriff’s getting married today, and I can’t have you disrupting the peace when he’s supposed to be off the clock.”
I roll my eyes. “Can’t you just call him your brother like a normal person?”
Heath smirks as he leans against the passenger side of his pickup. “And give up the chance to rile you up? I’ll pass.”
“Congratulations. Mission accomplished,” I say with an exaggerated yawn, waving him off. “You can go now.”
Does it make sense to pass up what might be my only shot at getting help and arriving at the wedding on time? Of course not. But it’s Heath, and I won’t give him the satisfaction of watching me play the damsel in distress—not when he’ll never let me live it down.
I wouldn’t label what we share as hate or loathing. It’s more of a twisted addiction to needling each other just to feel that electric rush before one of us finally breaks. I can’t pinpoint exactly when it started, but I’d guess it was a few years ago. Prior to that, Heath didn’t pay much attention to me. He’s nine years older and used to treat Briar’s friends, me included, as nothing more than pesky tagalongs causing trouble.
I’ve always had a thing for older guys, and I have no shame admitting I had a massive crush on him. It was impossible not to when he walked around in Wranglers that made his butt look downright criminal and started sporting that scruff of his.
I was shocked when he finally noticed I existed, but equally perplexed when I often found him glowering at me from across the room and acting irritable whenever we spoke. I could have been offended, but instead, I decided to roll with it and discovered I secretly looked forward to every sharp exchange and heated glare.
“Aren’t you going to ask me for a ride?” Heath goads me.
I scoff. “Why would I do that?”
“Because you should be at the ranch helping Birdie finish getting ready for her nuptials, not putting yourself in danger thumbing rides on the most isolated stretch of road outside of Bluebell,” he counters, his tone rough with frustration.
If I didn’t know better, I’d think he almost sounds worried about me.
“I’ll take your concern into consideration.” I glance up and down the road, praying for another car to drive by. “It’s not like I asked for a flat tire or anything.”
Heath raises a brow as he cranes his neck to get a better look at the tire, then glances back at me. “Did you call the mechanic?”
“No, I opted to stand in the scorching sun hoping to snag a future husband who appreciates a sweaty bridesmaid in death-trap heels instead,” I deadpan.
I’m more of a cowgirl boots or Doc Martens kind of girl. I love anything vintage with a story behind it. Still, I went all out for the wedding, and currently, that sacrifice feels a lot less worth it. I’m stuck without transportation, and there’s a very real possibility of having to walk miles in these things if Heath calls my bluff by getting back in his truck and drives away without me.
“Let me guess. You don’t know how to change a flat yourself?” he grunts, frowning.
I shrug. “Nope. I’ve had more important things to do.”
“Didn’t they teach you that in high school?”
