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approached them. Along with Cordelia Rollins, Josie and Wade McCabe turned and gestured to the stretch limousine in the drive. “We arranged for a last-minute honeymoon, too.”
    Cordelia, who liked everything to be perfect, confessed fretfully, “Unfortunately, due to the short notice, we could only book you one night in the bridal suite at Lake Laramie Lodge. But if you’d like to stay on in a regular room, that’s been set up, too.”
    Ginger and Rand shook their heads in unison. “Sorry, y’all,” she told them, “but we’re going to have to head back to Summit tomorrow.”
    Rand nodded. “We both have a lot of work to do.”
    Their parents looked disappointed for the two of them, but not surprised. One bouquet toss and a spirited goodbye later, and Ginger and Rand were cozily ensconced in the back of the limo. The glass divider was up, to allow them maximum privacy.
    Sighing wearily, Ginger let her head fall back against the seat and she closed her eyes. Rand clasped her hand in his. “You okay?” he asked.
    Was she? Ginger still felt that odd, unexpected emptiness in her heart. Telling herself it was just a reaction to all that had happened, she replied, “Yes. Just tired.”
    “Then we’ll get you out of that dress and straight into bed.”
    That had her opening her eyes, turning her head.
    Rand looked sheepish. “You know what I mean,” he said.
    Ginger did. And for that, she was grateful.
    Rand—like the rest of the McCabe men—could be exceedingly gallant. She knew that side of him would come in handy when their baby was born.
    Upon arrival, Rand and Ginger were whisked straight to the spacious suite on the top floor of the lodge. The thousand-foot space sported a living area, majestic bedroom and large spa-style bath. A big box of chocolates and a bottle of champagne on ice sat waiting, along with a sumptuous repast of fruit, bread and cheese. All in all, it was much too romantic, way too decadent and private, for comfort.
    Ginger wondered how she was going to spend an entire night here, alone with Rand, and not do exactly what they had in the past...succumb.
    “Would you like me to open the champagne for you?” the bellman asked cheerfully after setting their overnight bags down.
    Rand declined the offer, then tipped the bellman, who promptly congratulated them again and headed out. Once they were finally alone, Rand looked her over, taking in every inch of her. “What’s wrong?”
    How about nearly everything? Ginger thought. Then, trying a diversionary tactic, said, “Did you ever wonder why our parents threw us a big lavish wedding instead of trying to stop us?”
    * * *
    A CTUALLY , R AND HAD given that a thought or two in the previous eight hours. Aware that Ginger still looked better than any woman had a right to look after the day they’d had, he locked the door and moved further into the room.
    “My mom and dad know there’s no dissuading me once I set my mind to something.” He watched as Ginger attempted to work the tiara and veil out of her upswept hair. When it seemed she needed a hand, he stepped in to assist. While she stood stock-still, he found the pins and gently worked them free. Finished, he handed her the headdress. “What about your mom? Why was she so eager to see us get hitched?”
    Ginger lifted her skirts, showing a flash of silk-clad ankle, and paused to toe off her high heels. Before Rand could help her, she eased off her satin garter, too, and dropped it onto the coffee table between them. Ignoring his look of comically exaggerated disappointment, she said, “My mom says her thirty-year marriage was the best thing that ever happened to her, and she wants me married to the love of my life, too.”
    Rand drank in the orange-blossom scent of her perfume. “How’d she feel about your divorce?”
    Ginger sighed and went back to working the pins out of her hair. Finished, she ran her fingers through the silky copper mane and arranged the softly curling strands