by Becki Willis
Her grandmother sat back and leveled her gaze upon her. “Whose wedding is this?” she boomed.
“Mine and Brash’s, of course.”
“So have the wedding you and Brash want. Don’t worry about the rest of us. We’ve all had our own weddings. We don’t need to be meddling in yours.”
“I wouldn’t call it meddling.” Madison squirmed in her seat again. “Exactly.”
“Do you want proper dinner settings?”
“No. We want a buffet. Maybe even a barbecue. Or a crawfish boil.”
“Then tell Annette no. Do you want five miles of tulle and those little sparkling lights everywhere?”
“The lights might be nice, but I’m not a fan of tulle.”
“Then tell Lydia no. She’s the mother of the groom, not the wedding designer. Same for Laura. She’s his sister, not the coordinator. Do you want Dolly Mac Crowder at the wedding?”
“Well, no, not really. But she’s your friend…”
“Ha!” Granny Bert cackled. “That woman and I haven’t been friends since 1950. We’re what you call friendly adversaries. The only reason I wanted to invite her is to rub her face in the fact you’re marrying the most eligible, sought-after bachelor in town. With Cutter married, Brash is the only decent catch left, and the last hope for her horse-faced granddaughter Hillary. That woman has been after Brash deCordova since he set foot back in this town!”
“Granny, you can’t talk about people that way. She’s not horse-faced, she’s…” Madison searched for a better description for the long-faced, homely woman. None came to mind. With a slight giggle, she admitted, “Okay, so she’s horse-faced. But you can’t say that out loud.”
“We’re all thinking it. Someone hollers ‘hey,’ and that woman comes at a gallop!”
“Granny, you’re incorrigible!”
“I hear she buys her shoes at Tractor Supply, in the farrier department.”
“Granny!”
“I can go on all day. Or you can tell me to take Horse Face’s grandmother off the guest list.”
In a small voice, Madison said, “Take Horse Face’s grandmother off the guest list.”
“Done.” She nodded smartly but held up a bony finger for one concession. “But don’t ask me to take Jolene Kopetsky off the list. Sticker will be back in town in time to be my date, and I want to parade him in front of Jolene. Would you believe that hussy had the gall to call him while he was out in Wyoming?”
Madison let out a long-suffering sigh. “Granny, would you just marry the man already? You can’t expect him to keep waiting on you his entire life—”
“Waiting! That man has waited on me with six wives!” her grandmother huffed.
“Only because you were happily married to Grandpa Joe. But it’s been nine years, Granny. It’s okay to marry someone else.”
“I kept my marriage vows for fifty-three years,” she boasted stubbornly, “and I’m not about to break them now, especially for the likes of Sticker Pierce!”
“Then let the man go and let him see who he pleases!” Madison cried in exasperation. “You can’t keep stringing him along like this.”
“It’s worked all these years,” she pointed out with a sniff. “Why change things now?”
Madison threw her hands up. “You’re impossible!”
“And you were telling me what else is bothering you. This is about more than the wedding.”
Her grandmother did, in fact, know her too well. Madison made designs in the condensation on her tea glass. She got as far as “Nigel Barrett h—” when her grandmother interrupted.
“You said it all, with just the name. That man has become downright ornery in his old age.”
She didn’t point out that the two of them were roughly the same age. “He hired me to do some research for him,” she said instead, “but he’s not making it easy. I don’t remember him being so hard to get along with, back when we were in high school. We used to sneak out to his pasture and have—” she stopped in the middle of her sentence, unsure of whether or not to go on. Even though it had been over twenty years ago, she was clearly incriminating herself.
Granny Bert laughed. “I know all about your pasture parties, girl. There wasn’t much that got past your grandfather and me. You forget, we raised four boys, your father among them. You were a breeze to raise, compared to my Charlie.”
“Mr. Barrett had to know it was us. We made a point to pick up our… trash, but—”
“Beer cans,” her grandmother corrected.
“—but I know we must have left ruts. We even built bonfires out there. I’m surprised he didn’t make us leave.”
“Your grandfather always made sure the fire was out after y’all left. More than once, he plowed over your ruts, too.”
Mouth agape, Madison stared at the older woman. “You mean to tell me… We thought we were so cool, and so smart, sneaking out like that. You knew all along?”
“A dozen trucks bouncing across a field in the dark? All that hootin’ and hollerin’, and the loud music? Everyone knew! Andy deCordova’s place backs up to Barrett’s. He’d call your grandpa and tell him how the field looked, and between the two of them, they took care of it.”
“You’re telling me that my grandfather and Brash’s father knew a bunch of underaged kids were out drinking in a pasture, and they just let us? And they cleaned up after us?”
“It kept you off the roads and out of mischief. Gave you a sense of freedom, even though we all knew where you were and what you were up to.” She tapped the table with her bony fingers. “Remember that, when your kids pull the same stunt.”
“But—” she was still sputtering, trying to comprehend this revelation from the past.
“Focus, girl. We were talking about Nigel Barrett. And you’re right; he’s gotten more cantankerous through the years. It may be because he’s been forced to sell off pieces of his land, bit by bit, to pay the taxes. Made him a bit spiteful.”
“But he has two oil wells on his place. Why can’t he pay his taxes?”
“Those wells haven’t always been there, you know. About fifteen years ago, he had to sell a couple of hundred acres. A few years later, he sold even more.”
“Who to?”
Granny Bert gave her a sharp look. “You don’t know?”
“No. That’s why I asked you.”
“You may want to ask your bridegroom that question.”
“Brash bought Mr. Barrett’s land?” she squeaked in surprise.
“It butts up to his family’s property.” Her grandmother studied her again. “You really didn’t know?”
“We really haven’t gotten around to discussing finances and assets yet,” Madison admitted. “Of course, my side of the conversation won’t take long.”
“Barrett sold a tract on the west side of his place, too, to an outsider. Then they struck oil, and he never had to worry about money again. I hear he has a TV room that would put even your fancy media room to shame.”
“He told me about it. It sounds like that room alone is worth more than the rest of his house.”
“’Course, he was smart and kept full mineral rights to the land. With all this talk of new oil and gas activity in the area, he stands to make another fortune.”
“There’s talk of new activity?” she asked in surprise. The local economy always enjoyed a boon when oil and gas production was up.
“A landman came out last week to talk to me about leasing your grandpa’s farm. I turned over the day-to-day operations to your Uncle Joe Bert years ago, but I still control executive and royalty rights on the minerals. The first company made a fair offer, but I have a meeting with another one next week. I’m holding out for top dollar.”
“Remind me. What’s it mean to keep full mineral rights on your land?”
“It means you make money on the minerals when you lease it for oil or gas exploration, no matter who owns the surface. Smart move on Nigel’s part.” She thumped the table again. “So what did he hire y
ou for?”
Long ago, Madison learned that Granny Bert had no respect for client confidentiality. Not only did she eventually worm the information out of her, but the older woman was an invaluable source of information and insight into the workings of the local community.
“He bought one of those home DNA kits and is set on tracking down whatever family he may have left. Every time he gets a hit, or even just an inkling that someone may be related to him, he sends me their names and expects immediate results.”
“I reckon he feels there’s not a lot of time to squander. Besides fighting old Father Time, I hear he went to see his VA doctor a few weeks ago.”
“How did you hear that?”
“Oh, the usual way. Somebody told somebody else, and that somebody told me. You know what they say around town. If Bertha Cessna don’t know it, it ain’t worth knowing.” She punctuated the claim with a proud smirk and another thump of her fingers.
“So, did he get a bad report or something? Is that why he has a sudden interest in finding his next of kin?”
“My sources couldn’t say for sure, but that would be my guess.”
“Your ‘sources’ wouldn’t happen to know where I could find his niece, would they?”
“Would that be Earl’s daughter, or Betty Jean’s?”
“Earl’s, I suppose. He lost track of Betty Jean.”
“He may have, but that doesn’t mean the rest of us did,” Granny Bert snorted. “That poor girl was just trying to better herself. Her parents did nothing but use her as an indentured servant. She saw a chance to get out, and she took it.”
“Where did she end up?”
“Up the Brazos River, around Waco. Betty Jean’s gone now, but her daughter still lives in the area.”
Madison perked up. “That’s great! Do you have a name?”
“I’d have to make a couple of phone calls, but I could get it for you.”
“That would be perfect.”
“Earl settled not far from there, around Crawford, I seem to recall. I always think of him when they mention George W’s ranch.”
“Even more helpful.”
“So, now that you’re feeling perkier, tell me about the dead body you found yesterday.”
“How did you… oh, never mind.” Would she never become accustomed to her grandmother’s uncanny knack for knowing everything? “And for the record, I didn’t find it. It sort of found me. Me, and about seventy-five other spectators, gathered to watch the demonstration. The man just dropped dead, right there in front of us.”
“Leave it to you, girl. Leave it to you.”
CHAPTER SIX
As she watched her fiancé jog deftly up the steps to the Big House, Madison’s heart ached with fullness. How could something as small as her heart hold all the love she had for this man?
It wasn’t just that Brash deCordova was so undeniably handsome. His intense brown eyes and chiseled features turned heads the moment he strode into a room. The few strands of silver weaving through his dark-russet hair only enhanced his good looks, lending him a noble, dignified air.
It wasn’t just that he was incredibly virile. He was six feet, one inch of solid male. Two hundred and twenty some-odd pounds of muscle and brawn, conditioned as an athlete and a lawman. Long legs and long, sensual fingers. He had only to run his hand along her arm, and she was lost.
It wasn’t even that he was so downright sexy. His rich, deep voice and bedroom eyes were the stuff of fantasies. Brash had turned kissing into an art form. And he had a way of smiling at her, of trailing his eyes slowly along her body without physically touching her, that left her shaken to the core.
It was none of those things, and yet it was all of them. Most of all, Brash deCordova was a good man. A good, honest, hard-working man who gave generously of himself and who made it his life’s mission to help others. He was a dedicated officer of the law, he worked with several charities including his own football camp for underprivileged youth, and he was always the first to help in an emergency. He was an excellent father to his sixteen-year-old daughter and had already developed a special bond with Blake. He had even won Bethani over, who had been a devoted daddy’s girl, reluctant to join the Brash deCordova fan club. Not only that, but Brash had a strong sense of right and wrong, and he rarely wavered in his convictions. He was dependable and trustworthy, and loyal to a fault.
There were times, like now, when her feelings for this man frightened her. Except for her children, Madison had never known such all-consuming love before. As a teenager, she had been infatuated with the boy. She was impressed with his good looks and charm, dazzled by his prowess on the football field and his leadership abilities. When she came back to The Sisters last year, it hadn’t taken long to become impressed with the man. She found herself turning to him for support, appreciating the way he handled even difficult situations in a calm and rational manner. He quickly became her rock. Madison considered herself a strong and independent woman, but she often felt like an impostor; somehow, she had become dependent upon this man. Not for her happiness or for her sense of worth; no man had that power over her. But she was dependent upon him to be whole. He was the other half to the jigsaw puzzle of her life, the final piece that made her complete. He was, in every sense of the word, her soul mate.
“Hey there, gorgeous,” he said as he approached, in that sexy voice reserved just for her. It was decadent and warm, and set off a host of inappropriate thoughts for the situation at hand.
The situation was that she waited for him on the porch swing, in clear view of anyone passing by on the street. The situation was that the twins were home, holed up inside. The situation was that they had agreed to wait until their wedding night to consummate their relationship. Some called it old fashioned, but they called it setting an example for their impressionable teenagers.
“Hey there, yourself.” She smiled, patting the seat beside her.
He leaned down for a kiss, and then slid in beside her, his knee popping as he did so. “What are you doing out here on the porch swing?” he asked. “What thoughts are going through that beautiful and intelligent head of yours?”
“I was hoping we could take a ride.”
“Anywhere in particular?”
“I could use a session of your patented river therapy.”
His smile was indulgent. “Anything for you, sweetheart.”
“Let me tell the kids.”
She stepped inside to use the intercom, informing the kids of their plans. After locking the door and setting the alarm behind her, she walked hand in hand with Brash to his pickup truck. They made small talk as they drove out to his family’s ranch and took a winding dirt road through cotton fields and hay meadows, past grazing cattle and pumping oil rigs, to reach “their spot” on the river. Madison wondered if she’d ever get used to the momentary panic of backing up as close as possible to the riverbank, but she put her trust in Brash. He always braked in time, just as they crested the edge of the steep riverbanks and had an excellent view of the water below.
They got out and lowered the tailgate, so they could spread a blanket and sit comfortably upon the cold, hard metal. They sat in silence for a long moment, his arms around her, and her listening to the strong and steady thump of his heart. The sun was setting just beyond the trees, allowing the coolness of evening to slip in behind it. On the air rode the sweet scent of fresh grasses and newly budding leaves.
It was springtime, the time of new life and new growth. The perfect time to start a new life with this man beside her.
“I know you’re waiting on me to say something,” she finally said.
If he was impatient, he didn’t let it show. “Whenever you’re ready.”
She turned to look at the fields, just now beginning to show a bit of color. “The wildflowers will be out soon,” she predicted.
“Another couple of weeks, and they should be in full force.”
“Even the bluebonnets should be popping up by then.”
“Probably,” he agreed.
“Spring time is so beautiful in Texas. Especially here at the ranch.”
“I’ve always thought so.”
After another lull in conversation, Brash gently nudged her. “Pick out a log, Maddy, and lay your troubles on it,” he murmured into her ear.
They had been here many times over the course of the year. When troubles loomed, or when life began to weigh them down, they came out to engage in Brash’s self-devised ‘river therapy.’ The idea was to spot a limb or some other debris floating below in the Brazos River, and to imagine putting your worries upon it. Whatever it was that troubled you, you visually piled it onto the logs below, and watched as the current of the river carried it away. As corny as it sounded, for Madison, it was a foolproof method.
“See that little limb over there?”
“The one passing the curve?”
“That’s the one. I’m putting Dolly Mac Crowder on it.”
“I think you need a bigger limb,” he said, trying hard to keep the amusement from his voice. Dolly Mac was a large woman.
“Don’t laugh at me,” she warned in a sharp voice.
“Never.”
“Good, because I just tossed her horse-faced granddaughter up there with her. I don’t want either one of them at the wedding.”
“O-kay,” he said slowly, clearly wondering what they had done to cause such ire.
“And the log coming up right behind it? Annette’s fancy-smancy plate settings are sitting smackdab in the middle of that one.”
Together, they watched as the logs carried both problems downriver and, eventually, out of sight.
The next log was a bit harder to load. “And that one? The one twisting and turning its way downstream? Your mother’s tulle is on it. And that huge stack of bridal magazines Laura brought over for me to look through. Gone.”
They watched it until it disappeared around the bend. “Anything else?” he asked.
