She led Whitney inside. The whole house was festooned—there was no other word for it—with red bows and pine boughs. A massive tree, blinking with red-and-white lights, the biggest star Whitney had ever seen perched on top, stood in a bay window. The whole place had such a rustic Christmas charm that Whitney felt herself grinning. This would be a perfect way to spend Christmas, instead of watching It’s a Wonderful Life on the couch at home.
A small brown animal with extremely long ears clomped up to her and sniffed. “Well, hello again, Betty,” Whitney said as she crouched down onto her heels. “You remember me? You spent a few months sitting on my couch last winter.”
The miniature donkey sniffed Whitney’s hair and brayed before rubbing her head into Whitney’s hands.
“If I recall correctly,” Jo said, setting down Whitney’s bag, “your pups didn’t particularly care for a donkey in the house.”
“Not particularly,” Whitney agreed. Fifi hadn’t minded as long as Betty stayed off her bed, but Gater had taken it as a personal insult that Whitney had allowed a hoofed animal into the house. As far as Gater was concerned, hoofed animals belonged in the barn.
She stood. Betty leaned against her legs so that Whitney could stroke her long ears.
“You’re not going to believe this,” Jo said as she moved Whitney’s other bag, “but Matthew wants her to walk down the aisle. He’s rigged up a basket so she can carry the flower petals and it’s got a pillow attached on top so she can carry the rings. The flower girl will walk beside her and throw the petals. He says it’ll be an amazing visual.”
Whitney blinked. “Wait—Matthew? I thought you were marrying Phillip?”
“She is.” A blindingly handsome man strode into the room—tall and blond and instantly recognizable. “Hello,” he said with a grin as he walked up to Whitney. He leaned forward, his eyes fastened on hers, and stuck out a hand. “I’m Phillip Beaumont.”
The Phillip Beaumont. Having formerly been someone famous, Whitney was not prone to getting starstruck. But Phillip was looking at her so intently that for a moment, she forgot her own name.
“And you must be Whitney Maddox,” he went on, effortlessly filling the silence. “Jo’s told me about the months she spent with you last winter. She said you raise some of the most beautiful Trakehners she’s ever worked with.”
“Oh. Yes!” Whitney shook her head. Phillip was a famous horseman and her Trakehner horses were a remarkably safe subject. “Joy was mine—Pride and Joy.”
“The stallion who took gold in the World Equestrian Games?” Phillip smiled down at her and she realized he still had her hand. “I don’t have any Trakehners. Clearly that’s something I need to rectify.”
She looked at Jo, feeling helpless and more than a little guilty that Jo’s intended was making her blush. But Jo just laughed.
“Too much,” Jo said to Phillip as she looped her arm through his. “Whitney’s not used to that much charm.” She looked at Whitney. “Sorry about that. Phillip, this is Whitney. Whitney, this is Phillip.”
Whitney nodded, trying to remember the correct social interaction. “It’s a pleasure. Congratulations on getting married.”
Phillip grinned at her, but then he thankfully focused that full-wattage smile on Jo. “Thanks.”
They stared at each other for a moment, the adoration obvious. Whitney looked away.
It’d been a long time since a man had looked at her like that. And, honestly, she couldn’t be sure that Drako Evans had ever looked at her quite like that. Their short-lived engagement hadn’t been about love. It had been about pissing off their parents. And it had worked. The headlines had been spectacular. Maybe that was why those headlines still haunted her.
As she rubbed Betty’s ears, Whitney noticed the dinner table was set for four. For the first time since she’d arrived, she smelled food cooking. Lasagna and baking bread. Her stomach rumbled.
“So,” Phillip said into the silence. His piercing blue eyes turned back to her. “Matthew will be here in about forty minutes for dinner.”
Which did nothing to answer the question she’d asked Jo earlier. “Matthew is...who?”
This time, Phillip’s grin was a little less charming, a little sharper. “Matthew Beaumont. My best man and younger brother.”
Whitney blinked. “Oh?”
“He’s organizing the wedding,” Phillip went on as if that were no big deal.
“He’s convinced that this is the PR event of the year,” Jo said. “I told him I’d be happy getting married by a judge—”
“Or running off to Vegas,” Phillip added, wrapping his arm around Jo’s waist and pulling her into a tight embrace.
“But he insists this big wedding is the Beaumont way. And since I’m going to be a Beaumont now...” Jo sighed. “He’s taken control of this and turned it into a spectacle.”
Whitney stared at Jo and Phillip, unsure what to say. The Jo she knew wouldn’t let anyone steamroll her into a grandiose wedding.
“But,” Jo went on, softening into a smile that could almost be described as shy, “it’s going to be amazing. The chapel is beautiful and we’ll have a team of Percherons pulling a carriage from there to the reception. The photographer is experienced and the dress...” She got a dreamy look in her eyes. “Well, you’ll see tomorrow. We have a dress fitting at ten.”
“It sounds like it’s going to be perfect,” Whitney said. And she meant it—a Christmas Eve ceremony? Horse-drawn carriages? Gowns? It had all the trappings of a true storybook wedding.
“It better be.” Phillip chuckled.
“Let me show you to your room,” Jo said, grabbing a bag.
That sounded good to Whitney. She needed a moment to sort through everything. She lived a quiet life now, one where she didn’t have to navigate family relations or PR events masquerading as weddings. As long as she didn’t leave her ranch, all she worried about was catching Donald when he was on a soapbox.
Jo led her through the house, pointing out which parts were original, which wasn’t much, and which parts had been added later, which was most of it. She showed Whitney the part that Phillip had added, the master suite with a hot tub on the deck.
Then the hall turned again and they were in a different part, built in the 1970s. This was the guest quarters, Jo told her. Whitney had a private bath and was far enough removed from the rest of the house that she wouldn’t hear anything else.
Jo opened a door and flipped on the light. Whitney had half expected vintage ’70s decor, but the room was done in cozy green-and-red plaids that made it look Christmassy. A bouquet of fresh pine and holly was arranged on the mantel over a small fireplace.
Jo walked over to it and flipped a switch. Flames jumped to life in the grate. “Phillip had automatic switches installed a few years ago,” she explained. On the other side of the bed was a dresser. Jo said, “Extra blankets are in there. It’s going to be a lot colder here than it is at your ranch.”
“Good to know.” Whitney set her bag down at the foot of the bed. The only other furniture in the room was a small table with an armchair next to it. The room looked like a great place to spend the winter. She felt herself relax a little bit. “So...you and Phillip?”
“Me and Phillip,” Jo agreed, sounding as though she didn’t quite believe it herself. “He’s—well, you’ve seen him in action. He has a way of just looking at a woman that’s...suggestive.”
“So