Last Year's Bride (Montana Born Brides) Read Free

the great heavy doors. But as he did so, they opened automatically with a barely audible swish. Cole stopped, his eyes widening. Then, shaking his head in amazement at what Troy had accomplished, he strode in through a glassed-in airlock designed to keep the Montana winter outside while allowing a view of a lobby within. It would have done the Copper Kings proud.
    Marietta ’s mining past had never reached the glory days its founders had hoped for. It had never, not even in its heyday, had the wealth that Butte once had. Marietta’s own entrepreneurs had done their best, but by the time Cole was born, the place had pretty much become a ghost town. It was hard to imagine it decked out in early 20 th century finery.
    But tonight he saw clearly that once upon a time the aspirations had been there —or Troy had done a heck of a job paying homage to a past that had never been.
    He hadn ’t spared any expense, that was certain. The high-ceilinged lobby wore its handsome mahogany furnishings, its thick plush rugs and polished marble floors with the ease of entitlement. In junior high Cole and Dillon and their buddies had skate-boarded across those floors. Now they gleamed. The whole place had the look of old money well spent.
    When he ’d heard what Troy had planned for the Graff, Cole had had his doubts. “Kind of trying to make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear, isn’t it?” he’d said last summer.
    Troy had shrugged, then given him a flicker of that sly Sheenan smile. “Guess we’ll have to wait and see.”
    Obviously Troy had seen potential there that Cole had never recognized. The Graff wore its new looks well. The prisms on the chandelier high above the lobby sparkled, tinkling softly as Cole and other late stragglers stamped their feet to knock off new snow, then headed toward the cloak room.
    “ Whoa, look at you!” Sadie’s friend, Nicole, goggled at him when Cole handed her his jacket. Her gaze slid appreciatively over his charcoal suit, dark red shirt and black tie. “You clean up good!” Her low appreciative whistle and wide grin made heads turn. Strangers—city folk from the look of them—men in tuxes and women in long dresses—looked around to study him.
    Cole felt his neck heat. He had an urge to run his fingers inside the suddenly tight collar of his shirt. Em insisted she hadn’t starched his collar, but Cole wasn’t sure he believed it.
    “ Want me to take your hat, too?” Nicole offered.
    “ Nope. Thanks.” He’d feel naked without his hat.
    “ Hat doesn’t make the man, Cole,” she chided.
    Maybe not. But he reckoned the hat was part of what Lacey McKay would want to see. Now he tipped it in Nicole’s direction just the way his grandfather used to do. Then he squared his shoulders and headed toward the sound of the music.
    Cole had never minded dancing. He’d shuffled and waltzed his way around his fair share of post-rodeo dances. His grandmother had taught him and his brother how when they were barely as high as her waist.
    “ A gal likes a spin on the dance floor,” she’d told them. “You learn now, you’ll thank your old gran.”
    But this didn ’t look like any dance floor Cole had ever trod. The thousands of tiny pink lights scattered across the ceiling looked like some Valentine version of the Milky Way. A fleet of large round tables with starched pink tablecloths sailed along the edges of the dance floor. Each table had a scattering of candles, a hearts-and-flowers centerpiece, and was set with fine white china, silver, wine glasses and goblets, all of which reflected the sparkling lights above. It looked more romantic than his brother’s Beacon Hill wedding reception had. Beautiful people were everywhere—and Cole recognized damn few of them.
    “ Was I right or was I right?” Troy Sheenan appeared at his side, waved a hand to encompass the room, then slanted him a quick proud grin.
    Cole took a deep breath and shook his head, still not quite able to believe the