by Debra Cowan
Would Ellie be a bridesmaid at Lucy’s wedding next Saturday?
“And mine on Sunday?” Darla caught Ellie’s hand in hers. “Oh, please?”
Ever since Ellie had returned to Smoke River two weeks ago with all five of her students safe and sound, she’d been invited everywhere—church socials and barn dances, picnics and hay-rides. Manette’s grandfather, Rooney Cloudman, had told the whole town about her adventure in Gillette Springs while denying his crucial role in talking the renegade Indian braves out of attacking the town. Thad MacAllister, Teddy’s father, had enthusiastically embroidered both tales, and now both Rooney and Ellie were treated as if they walked on water.
“Well, will you?” both girls entreated in unison.
“Y-yes, I suppose so.” Her heart gave an uncharacteristic flutter at the thought of the weddings. She swore she hadn’t stopped thinking about Matt Johnson for a single minute since her return.
“Oh, good!” Darla released her hand. “Tomorrow let’s meet at the dressmaker’s and—” She broke off, staring out Ellie’s front window. “Oh, my!”
Lucy pushed aside the gingham curtain and gasped. “Who is that extraordinary-looking man?” she whispered. Her brown eyes were wider than Ellie had ever seen them.
Darla crowded her aside. “Just look at him!”
Lucy elbowed her way closer. “Why, that’s the handsomest man I’ve ever seen, even including my Henry.”
Ellie scooted to the window and peeked over their heads. What she saw made her heart stop.
A man, a tall man on a dark horse, was dismounting in her front yard. She couldn’t see his face since his back was to them, but his boots looked shiny; the gray Stetson he wore looked brand-new, the brim stiff and the crown still uncreased. The jeans he wore had extra-long legs and fitted snugly over his…
It couldn’t be!
Definitely not. This man looked too well-scrubbed, too close-shaven, his dark hair cut too neatly. But the way he walked, so loose and easy…
“He’s coming this way!” Darla squealed.
Ellie pressed her hand against her mouth. It couldn’t be him. It couldn’t possibly be…
And then he lifted his head and looked directly at her with intent gray-green eyes and a familiar half smile. She bolted out the front door, leaving Lucy and Darla glued to the window.
“Why, just look at that!” Lucy murmured. She watched through the glass as Ellie went flying off the porch and into the man’s arms.
“Well!” Darla huffed. “She never said a word about any man. Who is he? Oh!”
She withdrew from the window and closed the curtains. “Lucy,” she announced in a voice tinged with disbelief. “You don’t suppose—”
“Oh, yes, I do,” Lucy blurted. She yanked the curtains aside for a better view. “Oh! She’s kissing him!”
“No, silly, he’s kissing her.”
The two young women watched in rapt silence. After a long minute, Lucy pressed the ruffled shoulder of her dress against Darla’s puffed muslin sleeve.
“I wonder if she’ll ask us to be bridesmaids.”
With reluctance Matt lifted his mouth from Ellie’s, then kissed her again before she could open her eyes. She tasted of chocolate. “Delicious,” he muttered when he could draw breath.
He rested his cheek against her forehead and inhaled the scent of her hair and the spicy odor of her skin that had haunted his dreams for the past two weeks.
“Delicious,” he said again. “I’m in love with you, Ellie. Don’t know how it happened, it just did.” He pressed his lips just behind her earlobe, let his tongue follow the shell of her ear. “You taste so damn good. Better tell me to stop, or—”
She made a small sound. “I don’t want you to stop, Matt. Don’t ever stop.”
“Marry me,” he murmured. “Today. Or tomorrow if today’s too soon.”
Ellie gulped. “Today is…”
“Tuesday,” he said, his voice hoarse. He groaned and sought her mouth again.
“Too soon,” she managed against his lips.
“Tomorrow, then.” He deepened the kiss until her knees began to tremble.
“Matt, stop. Tell me about Royce?”
“Royce!” He tipped her chin up. “I’m here beggin’ you to marry me and you want to know about Royce? He’s in the Deschutes County jail, awaiting trial. Now, kiss me!”
“You didn’t kill him, then?”
He tightened his arms around her. “I couldn’t, Ellie. I kept thinking about all the things I’d lose if I let myself settle for revenge.”
“What things?” His lips were so close to hers that when she whispered the words their mouths touched.
“Mostly you. I couldn’t lose you. And then there was something else, maybe a life together, you and me, and also—”
“Tomorrow,” she said. Tears sparkled in her eyes. “We will be married tomorrow.”
“Let’s see, that’s…” Matt raised his head and studied the setting sun “…about twelve hours from now. Too long.”
“Well, there’s nothing we can do about that,” Ellie whispered.
“Is that right? Care to sit by my campfire tonight?”
Epilogue
Everyone said it was the most unusual wedding ever seen in the Smoke River community church. The groom, tall and handsome in a dark suit with his U.S. Marshal’s badge pinned on the lapel, paced back and forth in the morning sunlight spilling across the altar, waiting for the bride to appear. Rooney Cloudman, at Matt’s side as best man, kept his eye on the restless groom and finally laid a restraining hand on the marshal’s arm.
Matt waited. And waited. Had Ellie changed her mind?
At last there was a stir at the back of the small church, but it wasn’t Ellie. First came Lucy Nichols in flounced yellow muslin, her tight blond curls bobbing with each step. Then Darla Weatherby moved slowly up the aisle wearing a dress of pink lawn and smiling at everyone along the aisle.
“Where the hell is Ellie?” Matt muttered to the older man beside him.
“Keep yer shirt on, she’s comin’,” Rooney whispered.
And just then, at the back of the church, appeared a vision in pale blue dimity. Ellie. She was so beautiful Matt’s throat ached. Tall and elegant, her face glowing, she paused to take up a bouquet of lilacs and await her escort, Wash Halliday.
“This is taking too damn long,” Matt grumbled. Before Rooney could stop him, Matt was striding up the aisle to the back of the church. Without a word he scooped Ellie up into his arms, kissed her thoroughly and carried her up to the altar amid a roar of cheers and whistles.
He set her on her feet, kissed her again and turned to the minister. “Start,” he ordered.
Later the bride tossed her bouquet of lilacs into a crowd of unmarried ladies with their arms outstretched. It was caught by Sarah Rose, the boardinghouse owner, who screamed and promptly burst into tears.
TEXAS CINDERELLA
Judith Stacy
Dear Reader,
Everyone loves a celebration. Whether it’s a birthday, graduation, patriotic occasion or religious holiday, we all enjoy getting into the spirit of the moment. Often, we do this with a party and, for many of us, planning the festivities is wonderful fun. There are decorations to select, a color scheme and tableware to decide on, beverages and food—lots of food—to serve. These special occasions are treasured moments enjoyed with friends and family.
When I came up with the idea for Texas Cinderella, I thought it would be fun to make Molly Douglas the Old-West version of our modern-day party planner. And what more exciting event is there to plan than a wedding?
Molly takes on the responsibility of planning the grandest wedding ever seen in Spindler, Texas. But things don’t go exactly as she intended—thanks to Adam Crawford, the town’s most eligible bachelor. It’s a wedding the townsfolk will never forget!
Wishing you many warm, wonderful occasions with loved ones.
Judith Stacy
With love to David,
Stacy, Judy, Seth and Brian.
This wouldn’t be any fun without you.
Chapter One
Texas, 1887
Something big had happened.
Molly Douglas leaned closer to the window in the dining room of the Cottonwood Hotel and gazed outside. To everyone else seated behind her, or anyone on the street, the town of Spindler looked much as it did every afternoon. Horses drew freight wagons and carriages down the dusty street, men with guns strapped to their hips and women with market baskets strolled the boardwalk. The town was busy—busier than ever these days, thanks to the stagecoach and railroad, or so Molly had been told. She’d only lived in Spindler a short while.
But she knew something had happened. Something big.
Across the street, Grace Maxwell darted out of the general store her parents owned and threaded her way between three men on horseback and an oncoming carriage, waving her arms.
Molly dashed toward the hotel lobby, mumbling a prayer that none of the customers seated in the dining room would ask her for anything. Molly’s duties at the Cottonwood Hotel did not include waiting on diners, but she certainly couldn’t ignore a paying customer.
“Something’s happened,” Grace announced, as she rushed into the lobby. Her eyes were wide and her breath came in short little puffs.
“Don’t faint before you can tell me,” Molly insisted and guided her to the blue circular sofa in the center of the lobby.
Grace had been Molly’s first—and was now her dearest—friend in Spindler. At nineteen, Grace was two years younger than Molly. They couldn’t have looked more different. Where Grace was short, with golden-blond hair and oddly dark eyes, Molly was tall with deep brown hair and blue eyes.
Molly dropped onto the sofa beside Grace. Her mind raced as she tried to imagine what horrible event could have brought Grace here in such a state.
A train wreck? A robbery? A killing somewhere?
Grace worked at the Maxwell General Store, which housed both the post office and the telegraph office. Grace’s family learned the news even before the editor of the Spindler Weekly Review.
“What is it?” Molly asked. “What happened?”
Grace pulled in a big breath, as if steadying herself, then whispered, “Adam Crawford.”
Molly’s heart rate picked up. A warm tingle swept her from head to toe—none of which suited her. But she—along with every other young woman in Spindler—reacted the same way at the mention of the town’s most eligible bachelor.
Grace leaned in and lowered her voice. “I just heard Mama tell Mrs. Dempsey that Adam Crawford intended to pay a call on someone,” she said.
Molly reeled back as if the words had stung her. Ever since she’d arrived in Spindler she’d heard the gossip that circulated about Adam Crawford. Tall, handsome, he owned a number of businesses in town. It was just a matter of time before he courted a woman. Everybody said so. But who would it be? Now, it seemed, that question would be answered.
An odd sense of disappointment swelled in Molly’s chest.
“Don’t you want to know who it is?” Grace asked, as if Molly had taken leave of her senses for not asking immediately.
Molly forced her chin up and cleared her throat. “Well, certainly. Of course I want to know.”
Grace glanced around, paused for effect, then announced, “You!”
“Me?”
Molly jumped from the sofa and pressed her hand to her lips.
Grace got to her feet. “Yes, you. Isn’t this exciting?”
Molly shook her head frantically. “No! Why me? Are you sure it’s me? It can’t be me.”
“It’s you. I heard Mama say the words myself,” Grace told her. “And you know Mama wouldn’t make up something like that.”
That was certainly true. Emma Maxwell wasn’t one for idle gossip, especially when it concerned the one man in town all the women—young and old—had speculated about for months.
“Aren’t you happy?” Grace asked.
“No,” Molly insisted, trying to ignore her still-racing heart. “I’m not interested in being courted. You know that.”
Grace gave her friend a little grin. “Well, you’d better get interested. Adam Crawford is a highly respected, powerful man in this town, and if he’s decided to pay a call on you there’s nothing you can do about it. Except enjoy it.”
Molly cringed as Grace giggled and squeezed her arm.
“Besides,” Grace said. “I’ve seen how you look at him. I know how you feel about him.”
Molly couldn’t bring herself to deny her friend’s words. They were, after all, true.
“I’ve got to get back to the store. Let me know everything,” Grace called as she hurried out the door.
With a groan, Molly dropped onto the circular sofa. How could this have happened? How could she have caught the eye of the most eligible bachelor in town?
Unlike all the other young women, she hadn’t done a thing to attract his attention. In fact, the attention of Adam Crawford was the very last thing she wanted. They’d never even been properly introduced.
She’d passed Adam on the street a few times and he’d tipped his hat courteously, and he’d eaten in the Cottonwood’s dining room often, where he’d smiled pleasantly at her. But that was it. Nothing more had ever passed between them.
Although he did seem to look her way quite often—but that was just because she was new in town, wasn’t it?
Molly got to her feet and drifted to the window. She gazed out at the bank building just down the block. Adam owned the Spindler Bank, along with his partner. He lived on the second floor.
Was he there now? In the bank? Making plans to call on her? Plans that would ruin her life?
Molly stilled her runaway thoughts and willed herself to calm down. Since arriving in Spindler to work at the hotel her aunt and uncle owned, she’d spurned the advances of every man in town. She had no intention of being courted by any man because she had no intention of marrying. She couldn’t.
Not after what had happened in Philadelphia.
Molly huffed irritably as she entered the dining room. The nerve of that man. Thinking he could simply announce that he intended to pay a call on her and it would have her doing high kicks across the hotel lobby.
She crossed the dining room and let herself into the smaller room through the double doors. This had been a storage area until Molly arrived. After taking one look at the space, she’d suggested to Aunt Libby that the place be cleaned up and used for a private dining room. After conferring with Uncle Roy, who’d been less than enthusiastic about her idea, Molly had been given permission to make the changes—as long as she did the work herself.
She’d done just that. In a matter of days the room was spotless, the windows sparkling in the sunlight. Molly had dug through boxes left by the previous owner in the dusty attic and found curtains and colorful table linens that she’d washed and ironed herself.
When word had gotten out that such a comfortable, quiet space was available at the Cottonwood, so many people had wanted to use it that Molly had begun taking reservations. She oversaw every detail of each event, making sure the occasion was perfect.
Uncle Roy didn’t share the town’s excitement over the meeting space in his hotel, nor had he complimented Molly on her idea. And he certainly hadn’t shared with her one thin dime of the money it brought in.
Molly stood in the doorway looking with pride at the tables set with yellow cloths and floral napkins, in anticipation of the women’s luncheon scheduled for later today. She changed the table settings as appropriate. Blue, when a group of businessmen met there. Pink, yellow or pale green for the women and young ladies who gathered to discuss church or civic functions.
With practiced ease, Molly counted out eight plates from the stack on the sideboard for this afternoon’s luncheon, pleased that she’d made her mark in town—and improved her uncle’s business—so quickly. Hardly a day went by that someone didn’t drop by the Cottonwood to inquire ab
out using the room, and each and every one of them complimented her on how lovely it looked.
Molly had learned from the best—her grandmother. As far back as she could remember the older woman had kept Molly at her side as she prepared for guests, instructing her on proper table settings, manners and deportment. Everything had to be perfect. Her grandmother allowed for no less, given her standing in Philadelphia society.
With a gasp, Molly froze and clutched the plates against her. Was that the reason Adam Crawford wanted to call on her? Had he heard about her socially prominent family? Molly, of course, had heard all about Adam’s wealthy Charleston family—everything about the man was the talk of the town. Had Adam selected her because he felt she would measure up to his standards? That the two families would be suited for one another?
Bitter anger and dread roiled through Molly, memories so hurtful she could barely stand to recall them. She’d left them behind when Aunt Libby had asked her to move to Spindler, and she rarely thought of them anymore. But now, with the distinct possibility that Adam Crawford would call on her, ask to court her, they all rushed back.
Molly clenched her fist. Darn that man for putting her in this position. She’d left those hurtful recollections behind and that’s exactly where she wanted them to stay.
Yet for a moment—just a moment—she imagined what it would be like to have a man like Adam call on her. A man of consequence from a highly regarded, well-thought-of family. How wonderful it would feel to be accepted, wanted.
Especially by a man who already had a special place in her heart.
She drew in a cleansing breath and forced her thoughts into the present. She had a new life here in Spindler, one free of shame and regret, one that she loved. And she wasn’t about to let anyone—not even Adam Crawford—change that.
Molly moved about the dining room placing the plates on the tables, feeling the determination build inside her. When Adam called on her, she’d simply refuse. Yes, that’s what she’d do.
