Page 41 of Lost Trust

She’s seated in front of a large mirror while a brunette I don’t recognize works a curling iron through her hair. Charli’s in a white silk robe, as are the other women. Champagne flutes and empty bottles are scattered about the room.

Judging by the giggles and flushed cheeks, they’ve been enjoying them for a while.

Charli catches my eye in the mirror. “Come in. Join us.”

I step farther into the room.

“Marina, this here is my friend Elise.”

The brunette smiles at me. “Nice to meet you.”

Charli turns her attention back to me. “Marina and her little cowboy are old friends of Bryce’s and new friends of mine.” She pauses. “And hopefully, she’s going to be our new barrel racing instructor at the rodeo academy.” Her eyes meet mine in the mirror. “So, we all have to be extra nice to them so they’ll want to stay.”

Ryder gasps, and my eyes snap to him.

“Can we, Mommy?”

“Um …”

“Oops,” Charli says, and I glance back at her. She mouths, I’m sorry.

“It’s okay.”

I look back at Ryder and see the hope on his face, and something warm spreads through my chest.

“We’ll talk about it later, baby.”

Matty clears her throat and reaches for the champagne bottle. “Let’s get the woman a glass.”

She fills an empty flute and hands it to me.

I laugh as I take it. “Thank you.”

Harleigh steps toward Evelyn and Ryder. “Well, Ryder, that is a very serious cowboy hat,” she says, attempting to distract him.

He touches the brim. “It’s a real cowboy one.”

Harleigh nods. “I love his boots too.”

“Me too,” Matty says. “I bet you ride horses?”

Ryder nods enthusiastically. “I can ride a big one like Rowdy. My mommy taught me how.”

“Rowdy is my barrel horse,” I explain.

“In that case, you’re gonna have to show us how good you are,” Shelby tells him.

Within minutes, every woman in the room has complimented his hat, his boots, his vest, or his tie.

Ryder loves every second of it. He stands in the middle of the room, beaming at all the attention.

The door opens, and a woman comes in, carrying a large platter of tiny finger sandwiches.

“All right, girls,” she announces, “you need to get something in your stomachs, or you’re all going to be stumbling down the aisle.”

“Oh, thank God. I’m starving!” Charli calls.

Charli gestures toward me. “Marina, this is Imma Jean. She’s an old family friend and basically a second mom to all of us.”