Stranded with the Groom Page 2

  Someone broke into a laugh. “Oh, yeah. Reverend. That’s a good one….”

  “He’s perfect,” someone else declared. “He even looks like a real preacher.”

  Looking appropriately grave, the “reverend” bowed to the crowd. The usual whistles and catcalls followed. “Reverend” Green turned his gaze to the spindle-legged antique table a few feet from the cardboard train. “I see you have everything ready.” On the table, courtesy of the Historical Society, waited a Bible, a valuable circa-1880 dip pen and matching inkwell and a copy of an authentic late-nineteenth-century marriage license.

  Emelda, smiling sweetly, emerged from the wings. A smattering of applause greeted her as she got the Bible and handed it to the “reverend.”

  “Ahem,” said the “reverend.” “If you’ll stand here. And you here…” Katie, Justin and Emelda moved into the positions Mr. Green indicated.

  The man in black opened the old Bible. A hush fell over the crowd as he instructed, “Will the bride and groom join hands?” Caldwell removed his hat. He dropped it to the stage floor, took Katie’s hand and gave her an encouraging smile. She made herself smile back and didn’t jerk away, in spite of the way his touch caused a tingling all through her, a sensation both embarrassing and scarily exciting.

  The fake preacher began, “We are gathered here together…”

  It was so strange, standing there on the narrow wooden stage with the cardboard train behind them and the wind howling beyond the stone walls as the pretend reverend recited the well-known words of the marriage ceremony.

  The rowdy crowd stayed quiet. And the words themselves were so beautiful. Green asked if there was anyone present who saw any reason that Justin and Katie should not be joined. No one made a sound. If not for the wind, you could have heard a feather whispering its way to the floor. Green said, “Then we shall proceed….”

  And Katie and the stranger beside her exchanged their pretend vows. When the “reverend” said, “I now pronounce you husband and wife,” Katie had to gulp back tears.

  Really, this whole weird situation was making her way too emotional.

  “You may kiss the bride.”

  Oh, God. The kiss…

  It hadn’t seemed so bad when it was only good old Ben. But Justin Caldwell was another story. He was just so good-looking, so exactly like the kind of man any woman would want to kiss.

  Truth was, Katie wouldn’t mind kissing him. Not at all. Under different circumstances.

  Maybe. If they ever came to really know each other…

  Oh, why was she obsessing over this? The final vow-sealing kiss was part of the program. It wouldn’t be much of a pretend wedding without it.

  Almost over, Katie silently promised herself as Caldwell turned to face her. With a small, tight sigh, she lifted her chin. Pressing her eyes shut and pursing up her mouth, she waited for her “groom” to lean down and give her a quick, polite peck.

  The peck didn’t happen. Warily, she opened her right eye to a slit. Caldwell was looking down at her, apparently waiting for her to look at him. When he saw she was peeking, one corner of that full mouth of his quirked up and he winked at her.

  A ridiculous giggle forced its way up in her throat and almost got away from her. She gulped it back, straightened her head and opened both eyes. At the same time as she was controlling her silly urge to laugh, the man before her reached out his hand. He did it so slowly and carefully, she didn’t even flinch.

  He took the end of the bow that tied her bonnet under her chin. One little tug and the bow fell away.

  Gently, he guided the bonnet from her head. Her brown curls, which she’d hastily shoved in beneath the hat, fell loose to her shoulders. Justin—all of a sudden, she found she was mentally calling him by his first name—tossed the hat to Emelda and then, with tender, careful fingers, he smoothed her hair.

  Oh, God. Her throat had gone tight. She felt as if she would cry again. This pretending to get married was darned hard on her nerves—or maybe she had a little natural-born performer in her, after all. Maybe she was simply “getting into” her part.

  Their formerly boisterous audience remained pin-drop quiet. How did people in the theater put it? The phrase came to her. She and Justin had the crowd in the palms of their hands….

  Justin braced a finger under her chin and she took his cue, lifting her mouth for him.

  His dark head descended and his lips—so gently—covered hers.

  That did it. The Heritage Day revelers burst into wild applause, sharp whistles, heavy stomping and raucous catcalls.

  Katie hardly even heard them. She was too wrapped up in Justin’s kiss. It was a kiss that started out questioning and moved on to tender and from there to downright passionate.

  Oh, my goodness! Did he know how to kiss or what? She grabbed onto his broad, hard shoulders and kissed him back for all she was worth.

  When he finally pulled away, she stared up at him, dazed. He had those blue, blue eyes. Mesmerizing eyes. She could drown in those eyes and never regret being lost….

  “Ahem,” said the “reverend,” good and loud, gazing out over the audience with a look of stern disapproval until they quieted again. “There remains the documentation to attend to.”

  Katie blinked and collected herself, bringing a hand up and smoothing her hair. Justin turned to face Josiah Green, who had crossed to the spindle-legged table. He picked up the old pen and dipped it in the ink and expertly began filling out the fake marriage license. “That’s Katie…?”

  “Fenton.”

  “Speak up, young lady.”

  “Katherine Adele Fenton.” She said her whole name that time, nice and clear, and then she spelled it for him.

  “And Justin…?”

  “Caldwell.” He spelled his name, too.

  They acted it all out as if it were the real thing, filling in all the blanks, signing their names. When the “reverend” called for another witness besides Emelda, one of the guys from down on the floor jumped right up onto the stage and signed where Josiah Green pointed.

  When the last blank line had been filled in, Green expertly applied the sterling silver rocker blotter. Then he held up the license for all to see. “And so it is that yet another young and hopeful couple are happily joined in holy wedlock.”

  As the clapping and stomping started up again, Emelda stepped forward. She waited, looking prim and yet indulgent, her wrinkled hands folded in front of her, until the noise died down. Then she announced that, weather permitting, there was to be a reception at the Heritage Museum over on Elk Avenue. “Everyone is welcome to attend. Help yourself to the goodies—and don’t forget that donation box. We count on all of you to make the museum a success. Just follow the bride and groom in their authentic buckboard carriage.”

  Evidently, the crowd found that suggestion too exciting to take standing still. They surged up onto the stage and surrounded the small wedding party, jostling and jumping around, knocking over the cardboard train and almost upsetting the antique table with its precious load of vintage writing supplies. Laughing and shouting, they tugged and coaxed and herded Katie and Justin down the stage steps, across the main floor and out into the foyer.

  Katie laughed and let herself be dragged along. By then, the crazy situation had somehow captured her. The day’s events had begun to seem like some weird and yet magical dream. Her lips still tingled from the feel of Justin’s mouth on hers. And she was pleased, she truly was, that her little reenactment, skirting so close to disaster, had ended up a great success.

  In the foyer, the crowd surged straight for the double doors that opened directly onto the covered wooden sidewalk of Old Town’s Main Street. They pushed the doors wide and a blinding gust of freezing wind and snow blew in, making everyone laugh all the louder.

  “Brrrr. It’s a cold one.”

  “Yep. She’s really movin’ in.”

  “Gonna be one wild night, and that’s for certain.”

  The snow swirled so thick, the
other side of Main Street was nothing more than a vague shadow through the whiteness. The horse, a palomino mare, and the buckboard were there, waiting, the reins thrown and wrapped around one of the nineteenth-century-style hitching posts that ran at intervals along Main at the edge of the sidewalk, bringing to mind an earlier time.

  Katie herself had requested the horse, whose name was Buttercup. The mare belonged to Caleb. He kept a fine stable of horses out at the family ranch, the Lazy D. A sweet-natured, gentle animal, Buttercup was getting along in years—and, boy, did she look cold. Icicles hung from her mouth. She glanced toward the crowd and snorted good and loud, as if to say, Get me out of this. Now…

  Really, maybe they ought to slow down here. The snow did look pretty bad.

  “Um, I think that we ought to…” She let the sentence die. She’d always had a too-soft voice. And no one was listening, anyway.

  The revelers herded her and Justin into the old open, two-seater carriage. It creaked and shifted as it took their weight.

  “Use the outerwear and the blankets under the seat!” Emelda shouted from back in the doorway to the hall foyer. A frown had deepened the creases in her brow. Maybe she was having her doubts about this, too.

  But then Emelda put on a brave smile and waved and the wind died for a moment. Really, it was only two blocks west and then three more northeast to the museum. And, according to the weather reports, the storm was supposed to blow itself out quickly.

  It should be okay.

  Justin brushed the snow from a heavy ankle-length woolen coat—a tightly fitted one with jet buttons down the front and a curly woolen ruff at the neck. He helped her into it, then put on the rough gray man’s coat himself. There was a Cossack-style hat for her that matched the ruff at her neck. No hat for Justin, and he’d left the silly, floppy one back in the hall. But he didn’t seem to mind. There were heavy gloves for both of them.

  They shook out the pile of wool blankets and wrapped up in them. Justin pulled on his gloves and Josiah Green handed him the reins.

  “Bless you, my children,” Green intoned, as if the marriage vows he’d just led them through had been for real.

  “Thanks,” Justin muttered dryly. “Looks like we’ll need it.” He glanced at Katie. “Okay…” He had a you-got-us-into-this kind of look on his handsome face. “Where to?”

  “If you want, I’ll be glad to take the reins.”

  “I can handle it. Where to?”

  Even if he didn’t know what he was doing, it should be all right, she thought. Buttercup was patient and docile as they come. “Straight ahead. Then you’ll turn right on Elk, about three blocks down.”

  “What? I can’t hear you.”

  She forced herself to raise her voice and repeated the instructions.

  Justin shook the reins and clicked his tongue and Buttercup started walking. Her bridle, strung with bells, tinkled merrily as they set off, the beer-sodden townsfolk cheering them on.

  The wind rose again, howling, and the snow came down harder.

  A half block later, the thick, swirling flakes obscured the hall and the knot of cheering rowdies behind them. A minute or two after that, Katie couldn’t hear their voices. All at once, she and this stranger she’d just pretended to marry were alone in a whirling vortex of white.

  Katie glanced over her shoulder. She saw nothing but swirling snow and the shadows of the buildings and cars on either side of Main.

  The snow fell all the harder. It beat at them, borne by the hard-blowing wind. Katie huddled into the blankets, her cheekbones aching with the cold.

  Buttercup plodded on, the snow so thick that when Katie squinted into it, she could barely see the horse’s sleek golden rump. She turned to the man beside her. He seemed to sense her gaze on him. He gave her a quick, forced kind of smile—his nose was Rudolph-red, along with his cheeks and chin and ears—and then swiftly put his focus back on the wall of white in front of them.

  For a split second, she spied a spot of red to the side—the fire hydrant at the corner of Elk and Main. Wasn’t it? “Turn right! Here!” Katie shouted it out good and loud that time. Justin tugged the reins and the horse turned the corner.

  They passed close to the fire hydrant. Good. This was the right way. And as long as they were on Elk Avenue now, they’d literally run into the museum—a sprawling red clapboard building that had started out its existence as the Thunder Canyon School. It sat on a curve in the street, where Elk Avenue made a sharp turn due east.

  The palomino mare slogged on into the white. By then, Katie couldn’t see a thing beyond the side rails of the buckboard and Buttercup’s behind.

  Good Lord. Were they lost? It was beginning to look that way.

  Hungry for reassurance, Katie shouted over the howling wind, “We are still on Elk Avenue, aren’t we?”

  Justin shouted back, “I’m from out of town, remember? Hate to tell you, but I haven’t got a clue.”

  Chapter Two

  Just as Katie began to fear they’d somehow veered off into the open field on the west side of Elk Avenue, the rambling red clapboard building with its wide front porch loomed up to the left.

  “We’re here!” she yelled, thrilled at the sight.

  Justin tugged the reins and the horse turned into the parking lot. Ten or twelve feet from the front porch, the buckboard creaked to a stop—at which point it occurred to Katie that they couldn’t leave poor Buttercup out in this. “Go around the side! There’s a big shed out back.”

  He frowned at her.

  She shouted, “The horse. We need to put her around back—to the left.”

  His frown deepened. She could see in those blue eyes that he thought Buttercup’s comfort was the least of their problems right then. But he didn’t argue. Shoulders hunched into his ugly old-fashioned coat, he flicked the reins and Buttercup started moving again.

  When they got to the rear of the building, Katie signaled him on past a long, narrow breezeway and around to the far side of the tall, barnlike shed. “I’ll open up,” she yelled and pushed back the blankets to swing her legs over the side. She opened the gate that enclosed a small paddock northwest of the shed. Justin drove the buckboard through and she managed to shut the gate.

  The snow was six or eight inches deep already. It dragged at her heavy skirts and instantly began soaking her delicate ankle-high lace-up shoes as she headed for the shed doors around back. How did women do it, way back when? She couldn’t help but wonder. There were some situations—this one, for instance—when a woman really needed to be wearing a sturdy pair of trousers and waterproof boots.

  There was a deep porchlike extension running the length of the shed at the rear, sheltering the doors. She ducked under the cover, stomping her shoes on the frozen ground and shaking the snow off her hem. Even with gloves on, her hands were so stiff with cold, it took forever to get the combination padlock to snap open. But eventually, about the time she started thinking her nose would freeze and fall off, the shackle popped from the case. She locked it onto the hasp.

  And then, though the wind fought her every step of the way, she pulled back one door and then the other, latching them both to hooks on the outside wall, so they wouldn’t blow shut again. She gestured Justin inside and he urged the old mare onward.

  Katie followed the buckboard inside as Justin hooked the reins over the back of the seat and jumped to the hard-packed dirt floor. “Cold in here.” He rubbed his arms and stomped his feet, looking around, puzzled, as Buttercup shook her head and the bells tinkled merrily. “What is this?”

  “Kind of a combination garage and barn. The Historical Society is planning on setting it up as a model of a blacksmith’s shop.” She indicated the heavy, rusting iron equipment against the walls and on the plank floor. “For right now, it’ll do to stable Buttercup ’til this mess blows over.” There were several oblong bales of hay stacked under the window, waiting to be used for props in some of the museum displays. Buttercup whickered at them hopefully.

 
; “Go on through there.” Katie indicated the door straight across from the ones she’d left open. It led to the breezeway and the museum. “It’s warm inside. And a couple of ladies from the Historical Society should be in there waiting, with the food and drinks.”

  He looked at her sideways. “What about you?”

  She was already trudging over to unhook Buttercup from the buckboard. “I learned to ride on this horse, I’ll have you know. I’m going to get her free of this rig and make her comfortable until someone from the ranch can come for her.”

  “The ranch?”

  “She’s Caleb’s, from out at the Lazy D.”

  He stomped his feet some more, making a big show of rubbing his arms. “Can’t someone inside take care of the horse?”

  “Anna Jacks and Tildy Matheson were supposed to set out the refreshments for the ‘wedding reception.’ They’re both at least eighty.”

  “Maybe someone else has shown up by now.”

  Doubtful, she thought. And even if they had, they’d most likely be drunk. “I’d rather just do it myself before I go in.”

  He gave her an appraising kind of look and muttered, heavy on the irony, “And you seemed so shy, back there at the hall.”

  She stiffened. Yes, okay. As a rule, she was a reserved sort of person. But when something needed doing, Katie Fenton didn’t shirk. She hitched up her chin and spoke in a carefully pleasant tone. “You can go on inside. I’ll be there as soon as I’m through here.”

  He insisted on helping her. So she set him the task of searching for a box cutter in the drawers full of rusting tools on the west wall. When he found one, she had him cut the wire on a couple of the bales and spread the hay. Meanwhile, she unhitched Buttercup from the rig, cleaned off the icicles from around her muzzle and wiped her down with one of the blankets from the buckboard.

  “Okay,” she said when the job was done. “Let’s go in.”

  He headed for the still-open doors to the pasture. “I’ll just shut these.”