Janey was locking the door to the county clerk’s office and waved to Barbara as she walked down the hall. “Dr. MacDonald took the licenses up to Sonny’s office. I told him he should wait there and not down here. Don’t you look pretty! Red is definitely your color.”
“Not very nuptial.”
“It’s the color of your heart’s blood, isn’t it? Isn’t that what you’re giving him? Your heart?”
“Why, Janey, I never knew you were a romantic!”
“The way I love on my cats? Of course I am a romantic. Now, come on, and don’t fall up the stairs and break your ankle. Yoo-hoo, Sonny! We’re here,” Janey called through the partially open door of the mayor’s office. She opened the door and shepherded Barbara ahead of her as though she didn’t quite trust her not to run. Seth and Emma sat on the leather sofa under the windows. Seth stood up when the two women came in and hugged Barbara. Barbara bent over Emma and hugged her, as well.
“I can’t believe you came,” Barbara whispered.
“Actually, I’m sore but I feel pretty good,” Emma said. “Fast labor and no drugs.”
At the far end of the room, Stephen stood under the flags of Tennessee, Williamston County and the United States. Maybe it was the late afternoon shadows, but Barbara thought he looked ashen. He took a tentative step toward her but didn’t get close enough to touch. “You’re not really a kidnapped bride, are you?”
She laid her palm against his cheek. He captured her hand and held it.
“Not kidnapped, but yours. No more doubts.”
He kissed her palm and let her go.
She turned back to Emma and Seth. “How is baby Diana?”
“She’s great. I, on the other hand, have just had my first experience with a breast pump. Only for you, Barbara. I’m already starting to leak. Sonny, let’s get this show on the road.”
“Let’s. Barbara, will you come take Stephen’s right hand in your left. Fine.”
The words of the ceremony were so familiar to them both from other weddings they had attended, yet the knowledge that they were creating a bond for themselves that they would never break felt other-worldly.
Sonny finished reading the preliminaries, then said, “Can anyone present give any reason why these two should not be joined in matrimony?”
“I can!”
Everyone froze as Elaine stormed into the room, panting from her run up the stairs from the lobby below, with Roger and Anne behind her.
“Elaine?”
“Daddy, you can’t do this. You’re ruining our lives, making us a laughingstock...”
“Elaine,” Roger said softly, “shut up.” He turned to Stephen and offered his hand. “Sorry about this. I didn’t think she’d go this far. We called your priest friend when we were halfway to Holly Springs. He told us about the change of venue, so here we are.”
“Oh, shoot,” Sonny said with a bark of laughter. “I been marrying folks for over forty years. I’ve always wanted somebody to hop up and say yes but today’s the first time it ever happened.”
“Elaine,” Stephen said, “you and Anne go stand over there.” He kept his voice calm but so cold that Elaine gulped and backed away. “No, you will not flounce off. You will remain and do as your husband says. Be quiet. Roger, I could use a best man.”
“Got it.” Roger stepped up beside Stephen.
Anne, with a single glare at her sister and without a word, stepped over to stand beside Barbara.
“Now, as I was saying...”
“Don’t do this, Mother!” Caitlyn stormed into the room. “Elaine called me and told me you had gone crazy, but I didn’t believe you could do this without asking us.”
“Young lady, go stand over there in the corner with your soon-to-be sister-in-law and do not speak a word or I will have you both locked up for contempt of court.”
Sonny leaned over and whispered to Janey, “Can I do that?”
She shrugged. “I have no idea, but then neither do they. Get on with it, Sonny, before the entire hundred-and-first airborne parachutes in for coffee.”
Sonny cleared his throat. “Right.”
The rings were produced and fitted onto Stephen and Barbara’s fingers. At last, Sonny said, “Now, with the power vested in me...”
The ceremony finished without incident except for the occasional snuffle from the back of the room.
“Mother, I made it!” Mark charged into the room carrying an armload of white roses. “Here. You said you wanted white roses for your wedding. Am I too late? I decided to come at the last minute.”
“Is this one for or against?” Sonny whispered.
“For, at least I think he is,” Barbara said.
“Then for the second time, with the power vested in me—or it was the last time I checked—I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss your bride. Whew. I’m glad that’s over. Here, gimme your hands and turn around. May I introduce to you Mr.—uh, Doctor—and Mrs.—uh, Doctor. Oh, shoot, Dr. and Dr. Stephen MacDonald. Now, y’all stand back and behave yourselves while ol’ Sonny kisses the bride.”
EPILOGUE
“SNOW FLURRIES! Stephen darling, that’s the last thing we need. We’ll wind up sliding off into a ditch and missing our own wedding service.”
“Only flurries, my sweet. What can you expect in January? No accumulation. No slick roads. Everyone will get to the church safely.”
“After what happened at our wedding, I’d like this confirmation or affirmation of our vows, or whatever they call it, to be peaceable.”
“It will be. Emma and Seth are bringing Diana. She may scream, but nobody else will.”
Stephen pulled her into his lap, where she snuggled up with her head under his chin.
“Don’t get too comfortable, darling,” she whispered. “We have animals to feed before we dress and drive down.”
“I married you for better or worse. I did not count on raccoons and foxes.”
“Don’t forget the baby beavers. We should fill the kiddie pool in their enclosure down at Emma’s tomorrow morning.”
“Up, woman. Might as well get it done.”
In the barn Stephen rubbed the nose of a big bay gelding recovering from a mild colic, and asked, “What have you done with Elaine, Barbara? I figure you’ve stashed her somewhere, and we’re left with the clone. A marked improvement.”
“Move, Mabel, drat it!” Barbara shoved the goose, who hissed at her, but moved out of her way. “All her friends were so fascinated by her version of our elopement, she’s made herself into the heroine of the afternoon, smoothing the way for her daddy to marry his brilliant veterinarian wife.”
“You’re joking.”
“Nope. Anne said she had lunch on Friday with Elaine and Caitlyn. They could barely finish their salads for all the ladies who stopped by the table and wanted to hear all about it. Elaine’s thrilled. Anne says she’s happier than she’s seen her since she married Roger. She’s stopped trying to impress everybody and is starting to make some friends.
“Then I asked her to make an appointment with her hairdresser to get my hair cut and highlighted. Let’s go get dressed. Don’t want to be late to our second wedding.”
On the drive down to Holly Springs, they discussed the construction of the new house they were planning together behind the clinic. Stephen swore the scheme was her idea. She laughed at that.
“I’m glad we decided to build our house in our own pasture rather than in Seth and Emma’s,” Barbara said. “Closer to the practice.”
“Farther from the flight cage.”
“We may have the occasional baby barn owl that needs rehab, but I hope that’s the last Orville.”
“I have not minded living in your apartment, although it’s claustrophobic for you.”
“Not as bad as I thought. I enjoy your company. And Vince loves The
Hovel. He swears he’s going to finish Emma’s barn. No idea when he’ll have the time.”
“Still no girlfriend? You swore there’d be one.”
“Not yet. He’s bringing in new female clients who are young, attractive and unmarried. Not because of his skills, although those are good. I can’t complain so long as they pay their vet bills.”
* * *
THE LITTLE CHURCH was blooming with white roses and full of friends and clients.
As Mark took his place beside Stephen, Walt leaned over and whispered, “See, I told you between the two of you—and me—we could make this happen.”
This time around Barbara wore a peach silk shantung dress with a short veil attached to a comb in her freshly styled hair.
Stephen wore a suit that really had been tailored for him in London.
The blessing ceremony at eleven o’clock in the morning on Friday went without a hitch or a glitch. When Walt queried the guests about “just impediments,” Stephen spared a narrow-eyed glance at Elaine. She gave him a bland smile. She was a hundred percent reconciled to her father’s marriage and had discovered she really enjoyed smartening Barbara up.
The ceremony was short but moving. Even Caitlyn snuffled into her lace-edged handkerchief.
After the union was blessed, Walt said, “Join us in the parish hall for champagne, wedding cake, refreshments and dancing.”
Sonny Prather leaned over and said to Stephen, “I did it better. He didn’t have a bunch of hooligans trying to keep him from finishing up the ceremony.”
“Sonny, you were magnificent,” Stephen said and gave him a clap on the back nearly as hard as the ones Sonny gave other people.
After the toasts, the jazz combo struck up a waltz. Stephen led Barbara onto the floor.
Stephen had grown up in an era where kids took ballroom dancing and practiced something called deportment. He swooped into a waltz with Barbara, who managed to follow him without tripping. He hadn’t used his cane for weeks.
“I’m letting you lead,” Barbara whispered.
“Remember that when we get home tonight.”
“Don’t push your luck, husband.”
He and Barbara both glowed when they looked at one another, as if they were lit from within. At least that’s what everyone kept telling them.
“Come on, everyone,” Stephen called over his shoulder. “Dance.”
By dribs and drabs everyone did. When the floor was pleasantly full, Stephen and Barbara slipped out the door to the rector’s study and put their arms around one another. “When did you know?” Barbara asked.
“That I loved you? Orville told me. Telepathy, you know. Plus, he screamed at me that I was an idiot if I let you go. All I really knew at first was that you were the most interesting woman I’d met in years. I figured the only way I could hold on to you was to marry you. So I did.”
“I hope Orville found his mate,” Barbara said.
“He deserves her. He found me mine.”
* * * * *
Keep reading for an excerpt from The Rancher’s Redemption by Melinda Curtis.
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The Rancher's Redemption
by Melinda Curtis
CHAPTER ONE
NEVER LOOK BACK.
That’s what Ben Blackwell’s grandfather, Big E, always said.
At least, that’s what he used to say. Back when he and Ben used to talk. Back before Big E eloped with Ben’s fiancée. Back before Ben left behind trail dust and boots and Montana to be a top public utilities lawyer in New York City.
And now, Ben was doing more than looking back—he’d gone back. Home to Falcon Creek and the Blackwell place, which had been a cattle ranch for five generations, but was now also a dude ranch.
“Big E wants us to call it a guest ranch,” Ethan, Ben’s twin, had corrected Ben when he’d muttered something about dudes on the phone last week.
Seemed like Ben had been muttering ever since—about his bossy older brother, Jonathon, who wanted him home ASAP; about his younger twin brothers, Tyler and Chance, who couldn’t seem to be bothered to help at the family homestead; about the grandfather whose picture was in the dictionary under selfish; and about the small-town attorney who was suing the ranch for water rights.
At thirty-two, Ben was too old to be dragged back into the family drama that orbited Big E and the Blackwell Ranch.
Too big for your city britches, more like.
That was his grandfather’s voice in his head. That voice had been talking nonstop since Ben had agreed to return to Falcon Creek.
You have arrived, big shot.
And he had.
Ben got out of his Mercedes, punched his arms into his suit jacket, ignoring the stifling feeling from being buttoned-up in the early afternoon heat. He’d flown from New York to Montana, and then driven to Falcon Creek without stopping. He didn’t plan to stay more than a few days—a week, tops.
Across the street, Pops Brewster looked up from his chess game on the Brewster Ranch Supply porch to get a good look at the city slicker. Annie Harper slammed too hard on her truck brakes as she pulled up to the stop sign, gaze ping-ponging between Ben and the intersection. In the Misty Whistle Coffee Shop parking lot, Izzy Langdon tipped his straw cowboy hat up, the better to ogle Ben’s ride.
Rachel Thompson opened the door to the law office of Calder & Associates, crossed her arms over her chest and glared at Ben. “Late as usual, Blackwell.”
“Welcome home,” Ben muttered, walking around a knee-high weed bending over the sidewalk. He stopped in front of the steps of a white clapboard shack, which had probably been built over a hundred years ago when the town had been founded. “Traffic was gridlocked, it was impossible getting out of Bozeman.” That was like saying traffic in the Mojave Desert was bumper-to-bumper.
Overexaggeration. Hyperbole. Sarcasm.
It was completely lost on Rachel. She spun on her high heels without so much as a roll of her eyes.
Reluctantly, Ben followed. It took him two tries to get the front door closed behind him. The building had settled, and the doorframe was no longer plumb. He slammed it home, earning a dry, “Really?” from Rachel.
“Really,” Ben said airily. “You should run a planer on that door.” And think about practicing law elsewhere.
The narrow, rectangular building was divided into two offices and a waiting area with a black couch that was so old it had butt impressions in the cushions. The buil
ding’s hardwood floor was worn to the nails that kept it in place and there was a crack in the ceiling plaster that spoke louder of foundation issues than the ill-fitting front door.
Everything about the office screamed struggling law practice, from the receptionist’s bare desk to the unread magazines perfectly fanned on the coffee table.
Rachel settled behind a large oak desk in her office, which had a clean blotter and a few neat, low stacks of paper.
By contrast, when Ben had left his office at Transk, Ipsum & Levi, his credenza had piles of depositions and his desk had been buried in briefs and court filings.
Ben paused in the doorway to Rachel’s office, assessing his adversary for any apparent weaknesses other than inadequate resources.
Rachel was still easy on the eyes, and still favored suits that lacked the sophistication and designer cachet most of his female opponents in New York wore into battle. Joe Calder was probably behind the closed door of the other office. He had to be ancient. When they’d met in court five years ago, Joe had shuffled into the courtroom slower than a turtle in deep sand.
Beware! Remember the tortoise and the hare, boy.
Well, this hare had won the last go-round, but not without a bit of finagling of the racecourse.
That’s what lawyers are supposed to do, boy, bend the law.
Ben ran a hand over his hair. “Where’s Joe?” He leaned back to see if the other office door was opening. “Will he be joining us?”
“Joe died last winter.” Rachel’s tone indicated she didn’t think she needed Joe. “He left me the practice.”
It looked like Joe hadn’t done Rachel any favors.
Ben dusted off the seat of a chair across from her before he sat down, but his gaze never really left Rachel.
They’d known each other since kindergarten, both raised as ranch kids on bordering properties. His grandfather hadn’t much cared for the Thompsons and hadn’t encouraged a friendship.
Ben had targeted Rachel in dodgeball in the fifth grade, because she wasn’t much of an athlete beyond being able to ride. She’d asked him to the Sadie Hawkins dance in the seventh grade, but they’d both been awkward about it, because what did you do with the opposite sex when you were almost thirteen? When Ben was fourteen and in high school, he had the answer to that question, but he’d moved on to dating Rachel’s best friend, Zoe Petit. Back in the day, Rachel and Zoe were always made-up and dressed-up, looking like they went to school in a Beverly Hills zip code.
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