All the attention and the fuss was like getting a tooth pulled in her opinion. Her first wedding had been a simple errand to the courthouse with her intended, another no-nonsense police officer like her. Sure she’d worn a dress, but that had been about as much tradition as she’d allowed. Her second wedding—and she still couldn’t believe she was saying that—was going to be at The Grand Mountain Hotel, owned by her fiancée, Mac Maven, a hotel mogul and a World Series of Poker champion. Mac was as smooth and charming as she was prickly. He dressed in tailored suits while she favored her green cotton deputy sheriff uniform. He liked bourbon while she usually chose beer. On paper, they didn’t seem to fit, but he was the love of her life. Go figure. He’d known her well enough not to suggest a big wedding. She’d jokingly suggested getting hitched in Vegas, to which he’d only raised one of his elegant dark brows. No, Mac was going to have a stylish wedding, surrounded by their small group of friends and family in Dare Valley.
