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“You Ready To Walk Down The Aisle In A White Dress, Promise To Love And Honor Me, Then Kiss Me And Throw A Bouquet?”

As Cole outlined the scenario, an unexpected vision bloomed in his mind. Sydney in a white dress. Sydney in a veil. Sydney with a spray of delicate roses trembling in her hands. He could feel her skin, smell her perfume, taste the sweetness of her lush lips.

“We’d both know it was fake,” she said.

Cole startled out of the vision and gave a short nod. “Yeah. Right. We’d both know it was fake. ”

“And that’s what would matter. That’s what would count. ” She squared her shoulders. “Knowing the benefits, I could do it. ”

“Then so can I,” said Cole, just as he’d known he would from the second his brother conceived the plan. His family needed him, and that was all that needed to be said.

Thunderbolt over Texas

Barbara Dunlop

BARBARA DUNLOP

For Angela of the Vikings.

Princess and Warrior.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

One

Most people loved a good wedding.

Cole Erickson hated them.

It wasn’t that he had anything against joy and bliss, or anything in particular against happily-ever-after. It was the fact that white dresses, seven-tiered cakes and elegant bouquets of roses reminded him that he’d failed countless generations of Ericksons and had broken more than a few hearts along the way.

So, as the recessional sounded in the Blue Earth Valley Church, and as his brother, Kyle, and Kyle’s new bride, Katie, glided back down the aisle, Cole’s smile was strained. He tucked the empty ring box into the breast pocket of his tux, took the arm of the maid of honor and followed the happy couple through the anteroom and onto the porch.

Outside, they were greeted by an entire town of well-wishers raining confetti and taking up the newly coined tradition of blowing bubbles at the bride and groom.

Somebody shoved a neon-orange bottle of bubble mix into Cole’s hand. Emily, the freckle-faced maid of honor, laughed and released his arm, unscrewing the cap on her bottle and joining in the bubble cascade.

Grandma Erickson shifted to stand next to Cole. She waved away his offer of the bubble solution, but threw a handful of confetti across the wooden steps.

“Extra two hundred for the cleanup,” she said.

“Only happens once in a lifetime,” Cole returned, even though the soap and shredded paper looked more messy than festive.

“I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that. ”