by Becki Willis
“Find me a big one.”
“How about that one?”
“That’ll do. I’m piling it full of the whole big mess that’s become our wedding. Seriously, Brash, this thing has gotten completely out of hand.”
She heard his sharp intake of breath. Felt his arms stiffen around her. “What are you saying?” he asked sharply. “Are you calling off the wedding?”
“No! No, never that!” she assured him, tightly squeezing his arms to her. “Well,” she amended, “maybe the wedding itself, but not the marriage.”
“Call me dense, but I don’t think I understand.”
“When you first asked me to marry you, we talked about what kind of wedding we wanted. We both said small and simple. But then everyone started adding their opinions. And they offered to help, which was fantastic, but before I even knew it, it had somehow mushroomed into something I didn’t even recognize.”
“So, what are you saying?”
“I’m saying I don’t like all that frilly tulle. And I don’t like fancy sit-down dinners, and I don’t like other women coming onto you, even if they do buy their shoes at Tractor Supply.”
“Huh?” He was clearly confused.
Maddy brushed her fingers through her hair. “Granny Bert,” she said by way of explanation. “My point is, yesterday, Genny said something that’s really gotten me thinking. She said that it was our wedding, and it should be the way we want it.”
“I absolutely agree.”
“Do you want a big wedding?”
His answer was simple. “I want to marry you. I don’t care if it’s in a church, a tree house, or down at the JP’s office.”
“What if it was here, at our spot?”
“Like we originally talked about.”
“Exactly. Before everyone else took control of our day and spun it into something neither one of us actually wants.”
“I just want you, Maddy.” His voice warmed her, from the heart out.
“And I want to be your wife. Period.”
“So, no fancy wedding?”
She shrugged. “See for yourself. It’s about to make the bend, right about… now.” She shook her head in feigned resignation. “Too late now. The fancy wedding is already gone.”
“Now, see? That wasn’t so hard, was it?”
“Your method always works,” she agreed. “But I know our families will be disappointed, so I propose a compromise. Like Genny said, we could let Granny Bert and your mom throw the party they want, and you and I can have the wedding we want.”
“Private wedding, public party?”
“It would work, don’t you think?”
“I think it’s brilliant, just like my bride to be.” He dropped a kiss onto the top of her head.
“Are you sure?” Experiencing a moment of doubt—she was always the dependable one, after all, and couldn’t bear to let people down—she said, “I’m talking really small. Our three children and our parents. Assuming, of course, that mine are back from Uganda by then. Granny Bert, your grandparents, and Genny and Cutter. Your sister Laura and maybe, maybe, your other siblings, and Shannon and Matt. I know it will hurt Annette’s feelings—”
“Hey, if my ex-wife can be there, why not your former mother-in-law?”
“Because Shannon is Megan’s mother and Matt is your best friend.”
“And Annette is Blake and Bethani’s grandmother. And don’t forget, she’s taking all three kids skiing during our honeymoon.”
“Okay, okay. Annette and Charles can come. But that’s it.”
“I insist on having the preacher present. I don’t want you getting away on a technicality.”
“Definitely the preacher. We’re talking twenty, twenty-five people, tops. Think we can get away with it?”
“I don’t know why not.”
Madison took a deep breath and let it out on a satisfied sigh. “It’s settled then,” she said with a smart nod. “We’re having a wildflower wedding.”
Brash burrowed his face into her neck. “Two weeks and four days, Maddy,” he murmured. “I’m marking them down, one cold shower at a time.” There was just enough emotion in his voice, just enough tremor, to make his words ring with truth.
She didn’t dare turn around in his arms. It would be too easy to push him back against the truck bed and have her way with him. Too tempting. Breathing heavily, she contemplated it for a moment longer, before swallowing hard and quickly changing the subject.
“So. Yesterday, Granny Bert told me something I did not know.”
“Yeah?” It was a struggle for both of them, getting their desire under control.
“I was telling her about my new job with Nigel Barrett. Do you remember how a bunch of us kids used to go out to his pasture and have those parties?”
“Sure do.”
“Did you know that your father, and my grandfather, and apparently half the town, knew about those?”
She felt him shrug. “It doesn’t really surprise me. I usually know when the kids nowadays have their parties a couple of miles downstream. I pretend I don’t know, but I always make sure the grass is mowed, so they don’t have to worry about snakes, or the fire getting out.”
She punched him in the arm. “You men are so sneaky!” she accused.
“It keeps the kids safe, and off the streets.”
“She also told me something else. She said several years ago, you bought some of Mr. Barrett’s land.”
“That’s right. I needed to invest my money from the NFL, and I can’t think of a better investment than land. They’re not making any more of it, you know.”
“So, not all of the deCordova land is actually part of the ranch? Some of it is yours?”
“Only about two hundred acres,” he shrugged. “Not a lot, in comparison to the rest.”
“I had no idea,” she murmured. “Where is your land?”
“You’re sitting on it.”
“This is yours?” she squealed, turning now to look at him. “Our spot is actually on your land? We’re getting married on your land?” Her voice rose in excitement. “That’s even better!”
“Not my land, Maddy. Our land. Our spot, our land. Everything I have is yours now.” He sealed his promise with a deep kiss.
“I just want you,” she insisted against his lips.
“You have me.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Lydia deCordova took the news of a wildflower wedding with grace and understanding. She wanted whatever the happy couple wanted, she insisted. She was merely thrilled to be getting Madison as a daughter-in-law and seeing her son so happy. She couldn’t quite hide her pleasure, however, when Madison gave her full reign over the reception. According to Madison, she was leaving that to Lydia, Granny Bert, and, if they didn’t mind too terribly, Annette. The only stipulation was no fancy sit-down dinner.
With that detail out of the way, Madison felt much lighter. She dropped by the police station to share the good news with Brash.
“He’s in his office,” Vina Jones said, without appearing to look up. It only went to prove what Madison had long suspected: the woman had eyes like a fly, seeing everything at once. The older woman of indeterminable age ran the department with impeccable efficiency and the iron rule of a military sergeant. One look from her withering gaze, and even hardened criminals fell in line.
For the longest time, the older woman had intimidated Madison, until she realized it was all a front. Away from the office, Vina was a sweet and doting grandmother; her grandson Jamal was Blake’s best friend. In a weak moment now and then, that same matronly attitude spilled over at work.
“To what do I owe this pleasure?” Brash asked, breaking out in a smile when he saw Madison slip into his office.
“I have good news. Your mom wasn’t upset about the change in plans. She took it like a champ.”
Brash chuckled but wasn’t surprised. “She’s married to a rancher and raised four kids. She’s used to going with the flow.”
“W
e were even able to change the invitations. Instead of inviting people to the wedding, we’re now inviting them to the reception. I hope you don’t mind, but there will be a slight time lag between the wedding at two, and the reception at six.”
When he ran his slow, sexy gaze over the length of her body, she knew exactly what he was thinking. Her breathing quickened as he visually peeled away her clothing, one piece at a time. “That may be enough time,” he drawled. “Or, we may be late to the reception.”
Caught up in his fantasy, Madison murmured, “What reception?”
They stared at each other across the breadth of his desk, until Brash abruptly sat, muttering to himself, “Two weeks, three days.”
“Should I go?” she offered.
“Too late. Besides, I wanted to talk to you about something.”
“What’s that?” She seated herself in one of the visitor chairs. After that sensual undressing with his eyes, she covertly checked for loose buttons.
“I’ve been in contact with the park rangers and the DPS, concerning Bobby Ray Erickson’s death. They’re ruling it natural causes and aren’t requesting an autopsy.”
“Did you share your concerns with them?”
“Yes, but you know the drill. The widow is refusing to grant a voluntary autopsy. Without her consent, and without probable cause, and with budgets being what they are, they can’t formally request further investigation.”
“You say formally?”
“Captain Petty suggested that if I wanted to ask some questions—unofficially, of course—he wouldn’t stand in my way.”
“So now what?”
He was slow in answering. “I hate to ask this. I know you’re busy.”
“Yes, I am,” she agreed. “Mr. Barrett and two teenagers see to that. But it just so happens the time I allotted for wedding planning just freed up. Oh, except for next Tuesday. Derron is taking me shopping. What do you want me to do?”
Blue eyes gleaming, he let his naughty gaze trail over her again, but he kept the moment light. “That, my love, is a loaded question.”
“Let me rephrase that. How can I help you with the case?”
He leaned back in his chair, the leather seeming to share his sigh. The answering pop could have come from his knee or from the tension springs. “I thought you might reach out to the widow. Her name was Collette, right?”
“Yes.”
“You two seemed to have a connection. I thought that maybe you could check in with her, see how she’s doing. Ask a few subtle questions. Get a feel for the situation, now that the initial shock has worn off.”
“What am I looking for?”
“I’m not sure. There was something off Sunday, but I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. According to the reports, he recently aced a health-screening test. Two weeks later, he supposedly drops dead of a heart attack. I’m not saying it doesn’t happen, but something about this just didn’t feel right. I’m hoping you might pick up on it. Unless, of course,” he added, “it upsets you.”
“What do you mean? Why would it upset me?”
“I thought it might bring back bad memories of when Gray died.”
Tears misted her eyes. “Thank you for that. And yes, it did. I sensed that her marriage was as troubled as mine. I’m fine now, really I am. But I love you for worrying about my feelings.”
“I always worry about you, sweetheart, and how you’re feeling. We’re a team. It’s what we do.”
“I guess I should go call her. I should have a few minutes, between Mr. Barrett’s texts.” She rolled her eyes to express her aggravation.
“That bad, huh?”
“It makes me wonder if he really did get bad news at the doctor. He’s overly zealous about finding any living relatives that are out there.”
“Whenever I need a local background check, I talk to your grandmother.”
“One step ahead of you, big guy.”
“Then use my backup plan. My mother.”
“You know, that may not be a bad idea. She and Mr. Barrett are neighbors, of a sort.” Madison twisted her mouth in thought. “Too bad you didn’t mention that thirty minutes ago, before I left her house.”
“You know she’d love to see you again. And with the wedding in less than three weeks, I’m sure she’ll be checking in with you daily.” An amused smile hovered on his mouth. “Just to see how much more tulle to order, that sort of thing.”
“Funny.” She wrinkled her nose at him. “I may have mentioned today—repeatedly—how I’m not a fan of frou-frou. I repeatedly used the words ‘clean, straight lines.’ I’m hoping she got the hint.”
When Madison’s phone buzzed, she glanced down at it and frowned.
“Mr. Barrett?” he guessed.
“Actually, no. Believe it or not, it’s Collette. She wants to meet for lunch tomorrow.”
Brash flashed her a charming smile. “And just like that, another obstacle floats away.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Small towns had a special knack for making the best of consolidating spaces and resources, particularly when those resources came in the form of paying customers/clients/patients. Naomi and Juliet were no different.
The Sisters Clinic, for instance, was a multi-functional building that served many purposes. The Tuesday/Thursday Clinic was open two days a week to service the medical needs of the community. Mondays and Fridays were reserved for chiropractic needs, while on Wednesdays, the semi-retired Doc Menger, DDS occupied the space. The townspeople felt fortunate to have their own local dentist, if only for one day a week. Getting in to see the doctor was sometimes difficult, but it beat driving to Riverton or to the bigger city of Bryan/College Station.
On this Wednesday, Blake had a dental appointment after a close encounter with a baseball bat left his tooth chipped. The doctor would squeeze them in, but warned they would probably have to wait.
With most of the seats already taken, Madison and her son settled upon a stingily padded bench for the long haul.
“Looks like this could take awhile,” the teen remarked.
“At least he could see us today, and we didn’t have to wait until next week.”
“Yeah, I don’t think I could work him into my schedule next week.” Blake made it sound as if the dentist were making an appointment with him, not the other way around. “Way too busy. Baseball games on Tuesday and Friday, practice Monday and Thursday, Debate Team Wednesday, FFA Banquet on Thursday, track meet on Saturday.” The teen consulted an invisible calendar just above his head. “Did I forget anything?”
“A little thing called school?” his mother suggested.
His shrug was nonchalant. “Eh. I’ll squeeze it in if I have time.”
“How’s your project coming along for Mr. Perez’s class?”
“Slow. You’d think he’d cut me some slack, seeing as we’re related, but he’s a stickler about nepotism. He almost failed Teryl last semester, and she’s his own daughter!”
“In a small town like this, if he made an exception for everyone who was related to him, he’d never give a failing grade.”
“Apparently, blood isn’t thicker than ink,” the teenager complained. “Looking at my last paper, I thought he had a cut on his finger. There was red ink slashed all over that sucker.”
Madison arched a haughty brow. “Maybe if you spent more time studying, and less time on sports…”
“Nah, I doubt that would help.” He quickly discounted the suggestion. “Is he on the guest list, though? Maybe I could soften him up with a big plate of barbecue.”
“He’s on the guest list for the reception,” Madison confirmed. “Not even my first cousins are invited to the ceremony, and Carter is at least my third.”
“How is it he’s kin?”
“His grandfather was Granny Bert’s brother.” She ran the branches of the family tree through her mind. “Uncle Clyde, whose daughter was Theresa, whose son was Carter. Yep, my third cousin.”
“Is that the same as first co
usin, twice removed?”
“I think so. I’m trying to brush up on my understanding of how all that works. I have a client who’s looking for his family, so I’m trying to learn about ancestry and family bloodlines.”
“He should do one of those DNA tests.”
“He did. The trouble is, of eight hundred and something potential matches, very few share enough DNA to be the nieces and nephews he’s looking for.”
“Why doesn’t he just check with his sisters and brothers?”
“He lost contact with them years ago. Besides, all of them have passed away by now. Of nine siblings, he’s the only one still surviving.”
“Sounds kind of sad,” the teen reflected. “Not just to outlive your entire family, but to lose touch with them, too. As annoying as my twin sister can be at times, I can’t imagine not ever talking to her again.”
“I know, honey. It’s very sad.” She patted the teenager’s leg, thankful that both her children had such a strong sense of family and community. It had been their idea to do the Cookie Campaign at Christmas, and they had helped create a new family tradition to embrace starting over here in The Sisters. Despite being teenagers with very hectic schedules, they never grumbled about spending time with their large extended families.
An abundance of good food, she suspected, might be part of the reason why her son seldom complained, but it didn’t matter. He willingly spent time with family, and she was a firm believer in giving children roots.
Thoughts of family and roots brought Nigel Barrett to mind. As Blake’s phone snagged his attention, Madison considered her next move on finding the elderly man’s relatives. Like it or not, a visit to the River County Courthouse was probably in order.
After making a few notes in her phone, Madison tucked the device away and looked toward the reception window with a hopeful expression. Blake’s name still hadn’t been called. The receptionist wasn’t at her desk, so Madison picked up a nearby magazine with lukewarm interest.
Even if she had an inherent interest in mountain climbing—which she didn’t—it would have been difficult to concentrate on reading, given the loud discussion taking place back and forth across the room. She and Blake sat in the middle of the room with their backs to the door. Across from her against the far wall, Harry Applegate carried on a conversation with an unknown man seated behind her, near the door. Instead of moving closer to one another and continuing to talk in private, the men simply raised their voices to be heard. Never mind that one woman was on the phone, and two other people watched the television in the corner.
