Lori Wick Short Stories, Vol. 2: Beyond the Picket Fence

by Lori Wick

  “This looks like fun,” the tall trooper said with a smile.

  “Well, if I could get to the church, I think it might be more fun.”

  The man stopped. “Dominique Brinks?”

  “Yes, how did you know?”

  “My daughter reads your books, and you’d have thought it was her own wedding, the way she reacted when she learned the news.”

  “Can you give us a lift?” Virginia asked. “We’re running very late.”

  “Absolutely. I’ll even call road service for you and have this fixed. Where do you want the car delivered?”

  “To the Bible Church.”

  “All right. Hop in, and we’ll be there in a few minutes.”

  Petra had been watching from the backseat and now came leaping out to ride in the state trooper’s car. This was almost as much fun as her father marrying Nikki.

  There was little Nikki could do with her hands and dress before they arrived, but the moment they pulled up in front of the church, she shot in the door and to the ladies’ room to make repairs. When she emerged, Dorian was waiting. He was alone and came right to her. Nikki looked up at him and told herself not to bawl.

  “My dress got dirty, and I broke a nail,” she whispered.

  “I don’t care.” He had eyes only for her face. “I only care that you’re standing in this church and that you’re going to become my wife.”

  Nikki’s chest lifted with a huge sigh. “I knew you would be a good sport, Dr. Swann.”

  Dorian offered his arm. “Come and be my wife, Nikki.”

  Nikki was a girl who knew a good thing when she saw it; there was no need to ask twice. There was also no need to ask twice when, two hours later, Pastor Andersen asked Nikki to stand up and share her escapade for all at the reception. The natural storyteller emerged, and she had the occupants of the community hall in near hysterics as she told about the flat tire and the policeman’s recognition of her.

  “His daughter is a big fan. I’d have offered to sign a book for her on the spot if I’d had one along.”

  With that closing remark she sat back down next to Dorian, who leaned to kiss her. They shared a long look, each telling the other they couldn’t wait to be alone.

  Three weeks later, the honeymoon over and Nikki completely moved in to the big white house, the children were in bed and Nikki was waiting for Dorian to come home. She had known there would be times when she would feel the strong effects of being a doctor’s wife, and as she sat on the porch watching for his car, she knew there would be a lifetime of this. There was no anxiety in her, however. Dorian was the kindest man she’d ever known, and even when his patients needed him at inopportune times, knowing that he was coming home to her was comfort enough.

  Her heart leaped in her chest when she saw his lights, and she swiftly scooted inside to meet him at the kitchen door. They shared a kiss before Nikki told him she would put his dinner together, but Dorian told her he wasn’t hungry.

  “I find I just want to hold my wife,” he said softly as he led the way to the big chair in the living room. He dropped into it, and Nikki climbed into his lap.

  “How was your day?” Nikki was the first to ask this time.

  “Busy, but it went well. I’ve gained some kind of celebrity status now that I’m married to Dominique Brinks.”

  “Is that right?” Nikki knew when she was being teased.

  “Yes, it is. I saw two fourth graders today who had more questions about you than I had time for.”

  Knowing he would just keep it up, Nikki tried not to smile. Still, a grin peeked through.

  “Yes, indeed,” the physician went on, having the time of his life. “Me, a small town doctor married to the Dominique Brinks. And she even sits in my lap,” he added with a mischievous lift of his brows.

  Nikki’s smile was huge as she tenderly framed Dorian’s face in her hands.

  “You may call me Mrs. Dorian Swann.”

  And Dorian did, just before he kissed her again.

  A Note from Lori: I love Christmas movies, and just like Nikki, I make myself save them for the holiday season. Irving Berlin’s White Christmas rates very near the top for me, and it was from the movie that I used the name Pine Tree, Vermont. A careful search of the atlas told me there is no such town, but the name was so wonderful I couldn’t resist using it.

  Keep reading for more bonus material in volume 2 of the Lori Wick Short Stories collection!

  free sample: Where the Wild Rose Blooms by Lori Wick

  free sample: A Journey by Chance by Sally John

  More eBooks in the Lori Wick Short Stories Collection

  Other Books by Lori Wick

  Where the Wild Rose Blooms

  Enjoy this special selection from the first book in Lori Wick’s endearing Rocky Mountain Memories series, Where the Wild Rose Blooms.

  1

  Cut right out of the side of a mountain, Georgetown was filled with narrow streets and friendly businesses. The town of more than 3000 residents sat in a deep valley. Rocky-faced mountains, with just a sprinkling of pines, rose on three sides. The high elevation caused snow to remain on the tallest peaks even in midsummer. Amid the beauty, silver miners built shacks and moved equipment in to plumb the earth. Mine tailings made their own hills and valleys, looming dark and mysterious in the landscape.

  Streets lined with houses ran north and south, east and west. Their colors ranged from white to more somber grays, with the occasional pink or bright-blue facade. Clear Creek, flowing fast and clear as its name, ran through the middle of town. Children of all ages loved to cross or stand on the wooden bridge that spanned it, its sides supported with heavy wood beams.

  Clayton Taggart, a town local, waved to a few of the creek-gazers as he stopped his wagon in front of the general store and climbed down. He rubbed the small of his back and then looped the horses’ reins over the hitching post. He’d been in the saddle for days, and the seat of the buckboard had not felt comfortable. However, his mother had a long list of supplies she needed from town. Milly, Clayton’s younger sister, was ill, or his mother would have come herself.

  Clayton walked across the street to the barber shop, thinking, as he often did, that there must be an easier way to make a living. Land and mine surveyors were in demand, but they couldn’t live, like the mine owners, in town. A dream, one he’d had for years, flashed into his mind, but he forced the thought away. It was going to take more time, and he was going to have to be patient.

  “Well now, Clay,” the barber greeted the 18-year-old warmly once he was inside the shop.

  “Hello, Hap. Have you time for a cut?”

  “The chair’s all yours.”

  The regular crowd had gathered in the mismatched wooden chairs along one wall, some smoking and some reading the weekly news. They mumbled greetings as Clayton dropped his hat onto the hook by the door and took a seat in the huge barber chair. The striped drape billowed in the air as it swung around his frame and settled below his throat.

  “Yer pa still out?” Hap wanted to know.

  “Yeah. He’ll be back in a few days.”

  “Musta been nice and cool in those hills,” Charlie Parks offered. He held a section of the paper in front of his nose, and Clayton only smiled. Georgetown itself was over 8500 feet in elevation, making the temperatures quite cool year round. However, it was true that the mine where Clayton had been working had been even cooler.

  “It’s still a lot of hard work,” Clayton commented softly, but no one seemed to hear.

  Hap snipped along for a time, working in silence, before Clayton asked, “So what’s new in town?” If someone didn’t talk to him, he was going to fall asleep.

  “Well, now.” Hap seemed pleased. “Young Doc Edwardson broke his leg.”

  “How’d he manage that?”

  Hal gave a wheezy laugh before answering. “Him and the missus had a fight, and he went slamming out the back door after dark. Fell down all four steps and busted his leg good. Had to call
his own pa to set the thing.”

  Clayton was amused but sympathetic.

  “Billy Roper and June Hawley have decided to get married, kinda suddenlike. Some say she’s in the family way.”

  Clayton’s eyes in the mirror became very stern, and Hap cleared his throat and changed the subject.

  “Mitch Fontaine’s brother and his family have moved into town.”

  Something in Hap’s voice caused Clayton to study him closely, but the older man’s look gave nothing away.

  “Yes, indeed,” he continued. “Name’s Morgan. Got a right pretty wife too.”

  “Where’re they living?” Clayton’s curiosity got the best of him.

  “In Mitch’s old place. Hey, you have been gone awhile, haven’t you, Clay?” Hap suddenly interjected.

  “Six weeks.” Clayton’s deep voice was mild.

  “I wonder that your mother didn’t tell you.”

  “I just got in last night, Hap, and Milly’s sick.”

  “Is she now? That’s a shame. Gonna miss the first day of school next week?”

  “She’s hoping not.”

  “Mitch’s havin’ a sale.” Charlie Parks’ voice once again drifted out from behind the paper.

  “A sale?” Clayton asked skeptically.

  “Yep,” Hap took up the ball. “First ever. Morgan told Charlie here they’re going to be moving some new stock in, so they’ve put old items on sale.”

  Clayton almost shook his head but remembered Hap’s scissors just in time.

  “All kinds of changes goin’ on over there. You planning to stop, Clay?”

  “Yeah. Ma sent a list.”

  There was a certain amount of rustling from the chairs against the wall, but Clayton took little notice. Hap was finished with his haircut and fussing about his neck and ears with a small brush. Clayton flipped a coin to the older man and went for his hat.

  “Be sure and have the boys help you out when you get there,” Charlie interjected one last time, the paper still in place. To Clayton’s confusion, Hap and the other men howled with laughter.

  “Yes, sir, Clay,” Hap nearly shouted. “Meet the whole family and be sure those boys help you with your load.” Rumbles of laughter still sounded from the chairs, but all Clayton did was shake his head.

  “Thanks, Hap.”

  The old man never heard him. Clayton exited to calls of advice and more laughter. He stepped off the boardwalk and into the dirt street and headed to the general store, wondering over Mitch Fontaine’s brother. Clayton didn’t think Georgetown had room for any more characters.

  “Tag!” A voice rang out just as he reached the other side, and Clayton turned to wave at a friend. The other man was headed into the bank, so Clayton continued on his way. He stepped into Fontaine’s and, while the bell was still ringing in his ear, noticed the change. Not only were things rearranged, they looked cleaner and tidier, like in the days before Clara had fallen ill.

  The store sported two front doors, one for hardware and the other for dry goods and groceries. Clayton’s list was for dry goods, but the smell of leather that beckoned from the adjoining door tempted him to check out the saddles and riding gear. Clayton’s thoughts were interrupted when Mitch greeted him.

  “Well, Clay,” he said easily.

  Clayton looked up to see the older man approaching. With him was a man who could only be his brother. He was younger, but the family resemblance was there.

  “Hello, Mitch.” Clayton greeted him with a longtime familiarity.

  “Good to see you, Clay. Meet my brother, Morgan,” Mitch added with great enthusiasm.

  “Hello, sir,” the younger man said respectfully.

  “Clay, was it?” Morgan asked.

  “Yes. Clay Taggart.”

  “Good to meet you, Clay. I’m Morgan Fontaine, and this,” he waited until a woman approached from down one of the aisles, “is my wife, Adaline.”

  Clayton removed his hat. Hap may have exaggerated about the other things, but his estimation of a “right pretty wife” was more than true: Adaline Fontaine was a beauty.

  She had come to stand with Morgan, and he performed the introductions. “Addy, this is Clay Taggart.”

  “Hello, Mr. Taggart.” Her voice was rich and cultured.

  “Hello, ma’am.”

  “What can we do for you today?” she asked.

  Clayton reached toward his breast pocket, and a moment later they started on the list he withdrew. Everything from sugar to sewing needles was piled on and around the counter. Mitch and Morgan did most of the work, and Clayton fell into conversation with Mrs. Fontaine. He learned they had just moved from Boston, and she learned that his was the only home past their own.

  “Your mother must be Elaine.”

  “Yes.”

  “Please tell her how thankful we were for the baked goods she left at the house, and also apologize that I’ve not had time to come to see her. I do plan on it.”

  “I’ll tell her, but there’s no rush to come. My sister is ill and it might be best if you wait.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that. Is there anything we can do?”

  “Actually, she’s on the road to recovery, but thank you for asking. I’m sure my mother would welcome a visit. Maybe sometime next week.”

  “I’ll plan on that, Mr. Taggart.”

  “Please call me Clay.”

  “In that case, I’m Addy. I’ve noticed that people in town use first names, and to tell you the truth, I’m more comfortable with that.”

  The two exchanged a companionable smile, and Morgan joined them.

  “I think that’s everything, Mr. Taggart.”

  “Please call me Clay.”

  “Clay it is. I’ll start these out, shall I?” He lifted a sack. “Where are the boys?” Morgan suddenly asked Addy.

  “In the storeroom,” she told him simply.

  “Ed! Jack!” Morgan raised his voice to a shout. “Come out here.”

  Clayton had just thrown a sack of oats onto one muscular shoulder when they appeared.

  “Boys,” their father continued. “Help Mr. Taggart out with his things.”

  Clayton couldn’t move. The boys were two of the most gorgeous females he’d ever laid eyes on. One was cute and the other was drop-dead beautiful. They weren’t very tall but already showed signs of lovely womanhood. They both had clean, starched-white aprons covering their dresses, which only worked to accentuate their dark blue eyes and mahogany-colored hair. Clayton knew he was gawking but couldn’t seem to help himself. He took in the amused gaze of one of the young women and still stared, but when his eyes swung to her beautiful sister, he saw only haughty disdain. Suddenly, Clayton’s amusement matched that of the first girl.

  “Come on,” Morgan urged, and both girls lifted parcels and started toward the door. Clayton came behind them, his eyes on the girls’ hair, which they both wore long and shiny down their backs.

  “Here you go,” Morgan spoke. “We’ll bring the rest out for you, Clay. We’ll only be a moment.”

  Clayton was only too glad to stand and wait; it gave him a chance to get over his shock. Morgan Fontaine made one trip and said goodbye, as he had other customers to wait on, but the girls made two more trips. On the final load the lovelier of the girls tripped on a high board and almost fell on her face. That Clayton found this amusing was more than obvious.

  She caught his laughing eyes, and he watched in fascination as her chin went into the air. She tossed her hair back with just the movement of her head, and her eyes flashed dark blue fire.

  “A gentleman would never laugh,” she told him in a contemptuous tone.

  Clayton’s smile only deepened. “Well, then, we both know where I stand.”

  Anger covered her exquisite features before she turned away and returned to the building in a huff. Watching until she disappeared, Clayton’s eyes swung to the remaining sister. They grinned at one another.

  “She doesn’t like you,” she said cheekily, and Clayton’
s shoulders shook with silent laughter.

  “She made that quite clear.” Clayton’s voice was deep. “Are you two really named Ed and Jack?”

  “Edwina and Jacqueline. Eddie and Jackie to everyone but Father, who always wanted boys.”

  “But he got girls,” Clayton clarified unnecessarily.

  “Yes.” Her dimples were still in place. “Five of them.”

  “Five?”

  “Yes.”

  They both laughed now, and when Clayton sobered he said, “Are you Jackie or Eddie?”

  “I’m Eddie. Jackie is the one who doesn’t like you.”

  Clayton only laughed again. “I wonder if I’ll be able to do anything about that.”

  Eddie cocked her head to one side. “I think you probably could, but something tells me you won’t.”

  Clayton shook his head. It was disconcerting to be read so easily. He could probably sweet-talk circles around the lovely Miss Fontaine, but Eddie was right, he wouldn’t.

  “Well, Mr. Taggart, I’d best get back to work.”

  “Please call me Clay, or Tag, like my friends do.”

  The adorable head cocked again. “Well, now, since I hope we’ll be friends, I’ll call you Tag.”

  Clayton smiled at her, but a moment later his eyes went back to the door.

  “Would I be out of line to ask how old you ladies are?”

  “Yes,” Eddie told him good-naturedly, “but I’ll tell you anyway. I just turned 18, and Jackie’s 15.”

  “And the rest of you?”

  “You are nosey,” Eddie teased. “Danny is 13, Lexa is 12, and Sammy is 10.”

  “Lexa?”

  “Alexandra,” Eddie supplied. “Father calls her Alex.”

  Clayton nodded, his smile back in place. “Well, Eddie, it’s been a pleasure. I hope to see you again.”

  “Don’t tell lies, Tag,” she coined his nickname immediately. “You hope to see Jackie again.”

  Clayton didn’t reply to this but threw her a huge grin. A moment later he’d climbed onto the buckboard and started the team toward home.

  Where the Wild Rose Blooms