Mail Order Bride Mishap (Into the West #3)

Chapter 22

The party had been going on for hours with no end in sight, he thought as he pulled at his collar, loosened his string tie. That’s what happened when you provided too good of food and drink, he silently chastised himself. But he’d had to do it for Fiona. She deserved the best, and he’d been determined to deliver that. Looked like he had. Too bad he didn’t feel better about it.

Ambling over to the tables he’d assigned as the buffet, Cookie took stock of the remaining food and drink. He’d cut off the alcohol already, though plenty had brought their own private stock, sneaking sips out of pocket flasks when they thought no one was looking. But he saw everything, more’s the pity.

There was still plenty of smoked ham and salmon, as well as the many side dishes the women from town had provided. Heck, they were going to be eating right into next week, he sighed, dark eyes searching the restaurant till they found the happy couple. The happy, married couple, he had to keep reminding himself, for, no matter that he knew Fiona was where she belonged, the realization still hollowed him out. The first woman to coax him out of his self-imposed hibernation, and she had to go and fall in love with someone else. Seemed to be the story of his life…

They looked tired but blissful, he grudgingly admitted, tilting his head as he studied Edward and Fiona while they joked and laughed with the bank president and his wife across the room. Edward had his arm around his new bride’s waist, holding her tight against him. As well he should, Cookie grunted. That Irish rose was a priceless commodity that Townsend would do well never to lose sight of.

“Don’t let the past get its hooks into ye again, Cookie.”

Noah Lawson’s smooth southern drawl suddenly beside him startled Cookie from his intense scrutiny of Fiona with Edward. He turned his attention to the horse wrangler, then glanced away quickly, embarrassed to be found…pining… for someone he’d never had any right to.

“Harrumph,” he growled in response, only receiving an engaging grin from the Civil War vet who knew him better than anyone, except, perhaps, Fiona. “That’s why I rarely drink, Lawson,” he continued. “My thoughts can turn me sour enough without the alcohol.” He met the younger man’s kind eyes at last, though Noah flicked a look over Fiona before returning his attention to Cookie.

 “You may not think it now, Cookie, but she’s with the right man.”

Cookie grunted again. “Y’ think so?”

Noah turned a surprisingly astute gaze upon Cookie, and he found himself glancing away, embarrassed.

“You know so,” Lawson corrected, and Cookie gazed around the room, refused to be studied. But when the expectant silence lengthened and Noah didn’t shove off, Cookie finally looked back at him. Cocked a hip and nodded heavily.

“Mebbe most of me does,” he conceded. “But there’s that ten percent, that little bit, that wonders.” He watched the younger man purse his lips, nod slowly.

“True. I don’ know your whole story, an’ don’ think I need to know,” the wrangler finally drawled. “But I do know that you can’t find happiness by tryin’ to relive the past. You can never go back. Of that, I’m sure.” Here Noah paused, seemed to see something in his own memory that his words had triggered. Cookie let the companionable silence draw out, cloak them amidst all the merrymaking. Finally roused.

“I hear your words, and the right of them, livery-man,” he finally ventured with a self-mocking smile. “It’ll just take the rest of me a little more time to catch up.”

Noah put an arm around Cookie’s shoulder, startled him with the impulsive embrace. “You’re not really alone, Cookie. Not here in St. Helens. Remember that.”