Page 1 of Wrong Number, Right Grumpy Biker

CHAPTER 1

HANNAH

I should have known better than to pack so much for a three-day wedding. The trunk of my car looked like I'd robbed a craft store on the way out of Dallas.

I’d picked up an emergency sewing kit, three types of fashion tape, and enough tulle to outfit a small ballet company. Lyra had sent me a list of what she needed. I'd brought everything on it, plus anything else I could think of that she might need.

That's what a good maid of honor did. I was supposed to anticipate potential problems before they had a chance to become disasters.

I hauled the first box out of the trunk and bumped the car door shut with my hip. The August heat slapped me across the face, reminding me why I'd left Broken Bend for a city with functional air conditioning. Lyra's house sat at the end of a gravel drive lined with live oaks, and the shade made the temperature almost bearable.

The front door opened before I reached the porch.

"You brought the whole store, didn't you?" Lyra stood in the doorway, her blonde hair pulled into a messy bun, wearing cutoff shorts and one of her fiancé’s old rodeo shirts.

"Just the essentials."

"Hannah." She jogged down the steps and grabbed the box from my arms. "I asked for a sewing kit and some bobby pins."

“They’re in there somewhere, along with everything else we could ever need.”

She laughed and pulled me into a one-armed hug that made the drive from Dallas worth it. We'd been best friends since middle school, when she'd moved to Broken Bend and I'd claimed her at lunch on her first day. Fourteen years later, she still smelled like vanilla and trouble.

"I couldn't survive this weekend without you," she said.

"You won't have to. I've got contingency plans for everything except a runaway groom."

"Carson's not going anywhere." She set the box on the porch and helped me carry the rest of the supplies inside. Her living room had been transformed into wedding central. Seating charts covered the coffee table. Bridesmaid dresses hung from the door frame. A half-assembled centerpiece sat next to a glue gun that looked like it had been through a war.

I surveyed the chaos with the calm of someone who'd been planning her dream wedding since she was twelve.

"Okay. First priority. Do you have the final guest count?"

"Somewhere." Lyra gestured at a stack of papers.

I found the list wedged between two bridal magazines and scanned the names. Halfway down the second page, I stopped.

"You've got Mr. and Mrs. Patterson assigned to room twelve."

"Yeah?"

"So are the Hendersons."

Lyra's face went pale. "Oh my gosh.”

“Don’t worry. I'll call the inn and take care of it.” I pulled out my phone and added the task to my to-do list. "What else do we need to tackle?”

"The florist confirmed the wrong bouquet color."

“We can fix that. What else?"

"Carson's mother changed the rehearsal dinner seating chart without asking."

That one made me pause. I'd dealt with mother-of-the-groom interference before, but Carson's mom had seemed reasonable when I'd met her at Easter.

"Do you want the original chart or a diplomatic revision?"

"Can you make it look like her idea was actually mine?"