“Maybe twenty minutes ago. Too late to think about going to bed. I let Bucket out. It’s cold and he hasn’t been fed, so I figure he’ll be back soon.”

As if in response to his words, there was a scratching at the door. Conner opened it for Bucket, who came romping in, tracking snow and shaking it off his fur. Conner filled the empty dish with kibble. “Rough night?” he asked his partner.

Travis muttered a curse. “You might say that. I spent half the night arguing with Maggie, and the rest of it sleeping on her damned hard couch because she wasn’t in the mood to cuddle, and I was too tired to drive home.”

“Arguing with sweet Maggie? I can’t imagine that,” Conner said.

“Then you don’t know her. When she gets her mind set on something, sweet Maggie can be as stubborn as an undertaker’s mule.”

Undertakers didn’t usually have mules, but Conner got the idea. “I’m listening if you want to talk,” he said.

For a long moment, the only sounds in the room were the crackle of the fire in the stove and the crunch of Bucket wolfing down his breakfast. At last, Travis spoke.

“All I want is to get married,” he said. “The less time and fuss involved, the better. Hell, for all I care, I could elope tonight, fly to Vegas, and get married by an Elvis impersonator, or maybe just walk into City Hall and ask Tracy to do the honors.”

“Let me guess. Maggie wants a proper celebration,” Conner said.

“You got it. She wants a big whoop-de-do for the whole town. A church wedding with a walk down the aisle, followed by a reception for everybody, with a fancy cake and dancing to live music—the whole works. She’s even got the money saved up to pay for it—like she doesn’t need me except to stand there and put the damned ring on her finger.”

“I’m surprised the two of you haven’t worked this out before now. Most brides have their weddings planned months in advance.” Conner recalled Ronda May, who’d figured out the whole production, except for the groom.

“Well, you know how it is.” Travis massaged the kinks in his lower back. “I’ve been busy running the ranch, and Maggie’s had a full-time job as mayor. In the little time we’ve found to spend together, we’ve had better things to do than talk about the wedding. I assumed we’d . . . you know . . . just get married and be done with it. Now, last night, Maggie dropped the whole damned three-ring circus on me. She’s even got the church reserved and the invitations ordered. And I’ll have to rent a tux—so will you, if you’re going to be my best man.”

“When were you going to ask me?”