Read On the Way to a Wedding for Free Online Page A

moment, about the house plans. And nothing could be done about Catherine, and the wedding, and the poodle.
    The poodle .
    Dread shuddered through his chest. Maybe—just maybe—he could do something about the poodle.
    The cabin was cold. The fire needed more wood. Toria wiggled in closer to him, mewing in her sleep.
    So much for getting away for a few days. He’d have to get her to a hospital. Her ankle was probably okay, but it should be looked at. And she might have hit her head. They should check her head.
    She’d object. But as soon as they had something to eat, he was driving her to Canmore, assuming the road was passable.
    He heard a sound in the distance, lifted his head and looked over the back of the couch at the door. And listened . . .
    A vehicle had driven up. He could hear the engine cut, hear someone running up the path, hear footsteps on the porch. And then the door swung open and Pro burst into the cabin.
    They stared at each other for a beat. And then Ryder watched as Pro took in the scene—two pairs of jeans, her pink shirt, his blue jacket, and two pairs of socks draped over the chairs by the stove.
    And a lacy white bra dangling off the back of the couch.
    He should have moved that, but he hadn’t wanted to. He’d wanted her to notice it. Stupid of him, but there it was.
    Anyway, it didn’t look good. To be found here, sleeping with a woman other than Catherine.
    But it didn’t matter. This was Pro. Pro would understand. But . . . Why―
    “What are you doing here?”
    “I was worried about you,” Pro said, closing the door behind him.
    “Me?”
    “Why are you sleeping on the couch?”
    “You were worried about me? ”
    “There’s a car back there, in the ditch, with the air bag―”
    “She’s okay. She’s right here.” He glanced down at her. She was stretching, starting to wake up, and inadvertently rubbing against him in a way that was—not good. He looked back at Pro.
    The guy seemed a little more relaxed now. His shoulders had dropped and he seemed to be exhaling, letting go of a tense breath.
    Very odd. For Pro to worry about him.
    Pro took a step forward. “So you were . . .”
    “She was cold. It’s not what you think.”
    Pro lifted his eyebrows. “What do I think?”
    “Nothing.” Why was he feeling guilty? “She was freezing.” He wasn’t feeling guilty. “And I think she hit her head.”
    “I didn’t hit my head,” Toria mumbled. Her eyes were squeezed shut and she was frowning. “Why does my head hurt?”
    “That could be from the peaches,” Ryder told her, trying to move his arm out from under her neck.
    Pro walked around the couch to stand between the couch and the stove. “You found Aunt Tizzy’s peaches,” he said, looking at last night’s leftover supper.
    “Right. Tizzy. I thought it was Dizzy.”
    “Tizzy. Dizzy. Same thing. She has her moments, and she makes great peaches.” He paused. “You guys sure ate a lot of them.”
    “I didn’t eat any.”
    “No?”
    “Yeah, she ate half the jar.”
    “Oh.” That was all.
    “Why does my head hurt?” Toria lifted her hands to her head, but her hands were tangled in the sleeves of his shirt.
    “Because you’re hung over.” And then he noticed—the buttons of the shirt had come undone.
    “I’m not hung over. I don’t drink.” She blinked, trying to wake up. “Why does my foot hurt?”
    “Her foot?” Pro was somewhere behind him.
    “Yeah. I think she broke it.”
    “It’s a sprain,” Toria said, trying to wiggle away from him. “What are you doing? How come you’re on my couch?”
    “So now it’s your couch?”
    “Get off me.” She tried to push him away.
    He held her tighter. “Why don’t you get the cooler from my truck? I’ve got breakfast.”
    “Of course,” Pro said, as he moved toward the door.
    “And we need more wood,” Ryder called over the top of the couch. “Then we’ll get her to a hospital.”
    “I’m not going to a hospital.” She’d stopped