If I Only Had A...Husband (The Bridal Circle #1)

by Andrea Edwards

  Well rid of him maybe, but still having to carry the burden that he’d given her. If only there was a way to make her believe that he’d done all this out of caring, not pity.

  If only...

  A movement in the trees caused him to turn and there in the low branches of the maple tree, he saw it.

  A birdhouse.

  “Penny?” Gran called up the back stairs. “Shouldn’t we be going?”

  “In a minute.”

  Penny was only half-dressed as she sat on her bed, her notebook lying open in front of her. The poetry reading was set to start in fifteen minutes and she wasn’t ready. But how could she be ready when her whole world had tumbled upside down only eighteen hours ago?

  She didn’t even have time to figure out if she was smart to realize it at last, or dumb to not have realized it sooner. All she knew was that she had a lifetime of happiness to fight for. And the only guarantee she could make for the evening was that Brad Corrigan was not getting out of town easily.

  She read over her poem one last time, then glanced at the clock. It was now or never. She folded up her poem and went over to her dresser. She’d put her makeup on earlier—rosy red cheeks and star-speckled eyes-so she just pulled on her flannel shirt and jeans, then grabbed up her straw hat. Her poem went in her pocket and boots on her feet. She took a last look at herself in the mirror and smiled.

  She did make a damn good scarecrow.

  Brad pulled his rental car up next to Penny’s truck in the Sam’s Place parking lot, then hoisted the box from his trunk and slid it into the back of the pickup. It had taken him all day and lots of digging in his memory to try to come up with some of the nursery’s frequent customers back then, but unbelievably he had found all eight of the birdhouses. All he’d had to do then was loosen the tops and number them, so Penny could read the poem in order.

  Once she did that, she would believe that he had done everything out of love for her, not because he thought she was dumb. He would have set her free of that demon hopefully forever. And then he would be the only one haunted.

  “About time you got here,” Dorothy said.

  Brad turned. Dorothy was walking over from the bar’s porch, a carry-on suitcase in one hand and a larger bag in the other.

  “Hey, let me take those.”

  She shook her head as she put them down by his car. “There’s two more over by the building. How about if you get them? I’ll toss these into your trunk.”

  “Great. We’ll be all ready to go after the reading, then.” He wished they were gone already. How could he see Penny one more time, knowing it would be the last?

  “You know, you ought to be staying here,” Dorothy told him as he loaded her other two bags.

  “Let’s not go there again. It’s over. Through. Done with.” He slammed the car trunk closed and then walked in silence into the bar. For two people who were on the way to adventure and excitement in a few hours, they were pretty damn glum.

  “It sure sounds noisy,” Dorothy said as they went down the hall.

  “Maybe there’s a party in the bar,” Brad suggested.

  But as they rounded the corner, they could hear that the laughter and talking was coming from the meeting room. People had spilled out into the hallway, but all of them were straining to see inside.

  “Quite a turnout,” Brad said. He was glad for Penny’s sake. Maybe this would make her feel better.

  “I’ll say.”

  They stopped at the back of the crowd. Dorothy looked ready to push her way in, but Brad wondered if he should bother. There were so many people in the room, Penny wouldn’t even notice if he was here or not.

  But then Heather came through the crowd, all smiles when she saw them, and hugged both Dorothy and Brad. “I’m so glad you both could make it. Come on. We’ve got a spot inside saved for you.”

  Brad went first to open a path, but it wasn’t necessary. The crowd parted like the Red Sea to let them through.

  Brad just looked around at the smiling faces of the townspeople. The Jamisons and Nancy Abbott and Matt Harris. Mickey Juarez and the Kirby brothers. Mr. Mayberry and the Clevingers. An uneasy feeling grew in his stomach, but he could hardly back out. Heather led them to some empty chairs off to one side. Aunty Em was already there and smiled at them.

  “I am so jubilant you have all joined us this evening.” Alex was up at a podium at the front of the room, addressing the crowd. “We have pledged to recite poems by various area poets, but I believe we’ll commence with Penny Donnelly. So, if she would come forward...”

  There was a murmur from the back of the room and Brad turned. He remembered how beautiful she’d looked at the last reading, her hair as bright as the sun, her eyes all aglow. Could he bear to see that radiance again? But there was Penny suddenly—and she was dressed as a scarecrow!

  What was this? Anger coursed through him. Was someone trying to make fun of her? But she was laughing as she greeted people. The smile she sent his way held more joy than he’d ever seen. Joy and something else. Something that filled his heart with hope, and at the same time, scared the hell out of him.

  Then she was up in the front of the room and her smile held only welcome. “Hi, everybody. Thanks for coming.” She glanced down at her costume with a grin. “This probably isn’t what you expected to see up here reading poems tonight, but it’s what you’re getting, so relax and enjoy.”

  Alex stepped aside from the podium and Penny settled herself there, after giving him a warm smile—that set Brad’s teeth on edge with jealousy. Lordy, this evening had better pass quickly.

  “You’re probably wondering why I’m dressed this way,” Penny said. “Well, you see, very recently someone told me I had made a great Scarecrow. At the time, I found this pretty discouraging because we all know the Scarecrow is dumb.”

  Jeez, was she on that kick again? He almost told her to stop, but just clamped his lips shut. He folded his arms over his chest, as if that would keep him seated and quiet as Penny went on.

  “But last night I reread The Wizard of Oz and I discovered something—the Scarecrow wasn’t dumb at all. He only thought he was dumb.”

  Brad began to relax a bit. Her voice radiated laughter and joy and some of it seeped behind his reserve.

  “The Wizard knew better,” she continued. “Well, I found my own Wizard—Brad—and he set me straight, too.”

  Everyone turned to look at him—to smile at him—but he was just watching Penny. Did she really believe what she was saying? There was something different about her. A new confidence. A new feeling of freedom.

  “So anyway, this is my ‘come clean’ night,” she said. “I’m here to be honest and confess I’m a C student at Midwest.”

  As if anyone really cared about her grade point average. There was no shocked outcry, no one stood up and left. Brad let a small smile onto his lips, his happiness growing along with her confidence.

  She went on. “And that I’m not going to be speaking at the Oz conference.”

  Her smile fell. If she was going to be honest, so was he. “That conference thing was my fault,” Brad pointed out loudly. “Not yours.”

  She just grinned at him, her eyes brimming with emotion that touched him even at this distance. “Brad likes to believe it’s his fault,” she said. “Because he tried to buy me a spot to speak at the conference, which is, of course, the absolute sweetest thing anyone ever did for me.”

  There was something in her gaze that made him strong, that swept away his reticence. Or maybe it was his conscience that just wouldn’t let him off the hook so easily. “It was criminal meddling,” he stated as he got to his feet. “I had no right to interfere.”

  “Trying to give someone what they think is their heart’s desire is criminal?” she asked. Her voice was lower and her eyes were locked with his. “No, it was loving and generous.”

  His mind knew there were people all around them. that they were fifteen feet apart in the middle of a crowded room, yet his heart saw o
nly her. As much as it felt as if he were basking in her sunshine, he couldn’t have her looking at him like that. After all the hurt he’d caused her, he didn’t deserve it.

  “You would have been better off if I hadn’t come back,” he said.

  “But I’d still be reaching for impossibly silly goals.”

  “They weren’t silly. I never said they were.”

  “You two wanna be alone?” someone called out.

  “Just ignore us.”

  “I think they already are.”

  The time, the place, the reality came back to Brad in a rush and he looked around him. People were all smiling but his heart closed back up. Tightened with the unplanned opening. Penny just smiled at him and it eased some of the tension in him as he sat slowly back down.

  “Maybe it’s time for my poem,” she said and unfolded a piece of paper.

  I’m only a scarecrow

  And not all that smart

  So what do I know?

  Where can I start?

  I knew I was dumb,

  And not at all wise,

  But I wanted to see

  Pride in everyone’s eyes.

  If I got a degree

  In a big brainy field

  Success would mean

  Dumbness concealed.

  Someone did tell me

  I was far from a fool,

  And I was quite wrong

  To measure brains by that rule.

  But I didn’t listen,

  I didn’t want to hear,

  I needed glory and acclaim

  To be the star one year.

  My friend foresaw disaster,

  He predicted the doom,

  Though he tried to save me

  My attempts ended in gloom.

  Though from ruin and wreckage,

  A truth I did learn,

  And repeat it each night,

  In my heart it is burned.

  I am who I am,

  Sometimes smart, sometimes not,

  But pride is earned by being good,

  Not for the awards you’ve got

  So I’d like to tell him,

  When push comes to shove,

  The only thing that matters

  Is that you are loved.

  “And that you know ten languages, of course,” she added.

  There was laughter and applause as she stepped away from the podium. Both Heather and Dorothy hugged her as she came to sit next to Aunty Em, but Brad was just still.

  “So, what do you think?” Aunty Em asked, nudging him in the ribs. “She’s a pretty special lady, don’t you think?”

  But he’d always thought she was special. Tonight hadn’t changed that. What he hadn’t realized until now was that she was ten million times smarter than him. Love was the only thing that mattered.

  But he didn’t have her ten damn languages.

  “Brad.” Penny was leaning across Aunty Em to touch his arm. “Can we talk before you leave? It’s important.”

  He nodded, but his heart kept echoing her words. Before he left. In just an hour or so he’d be going. How many languages could he learn in sixty minutes?

  “Our next poet is a young man from...”

  He barely heard Alex’s introduction of the next speaker. Okay, maybe he wasn’t the one for Penny. His lack of languages proved that. But he could give her something before he left. He could publicly assure her and everyone that he never thought she was dumb. If she had thought that had been behind his actions, then so did most of the town. And she deserved better than that.

  He got to his feet and edged toward the aisle.

  “Brad?” Penny whispered.

  “Where’re you going?” Dorothy wanted to know.

  “I’ll be right back,” he murmured as he turned into the aisle.

  People were giving him strange looks, but he just smiled. He’d get that box from Penny’s truck and be right back. He had a poem to read, too.

  Once out in the hallway, he broke into a half run, then was out the back door and hurrying across the parking lot. So what if the poem revealed his feelings to everyone here? What was the worst they would do? Laugh? After tonight he’d never see them again anyway, so what difference did that make? Nothing compared to opening himself up for Penny.

  He got to Penny’s truck and pulled open the door at the back of the cab. Or tried to. The latch wouldn’t turn. He tried again, harder this time thinking it was stuck, but it wasn’t. It was locked. How the hell could it be locked when he had just opened it?

  “What are you doing?” Penny snapped.

  He spun around. Penny—a worried look on her scarecrow face—had come out after him. And so had just about everyone else. Dorothy, Heather. Alex. Most of the poetry-reading crowd. Even Aunty Em was there, pushing her way through the others, and looking like she was ready to use her cane on him.

  “Just where do you think you’re going, young man?” she demanded.

  He just stared at her, at Penny and everyone, and shook his head. “I came out to get something. I was coming right back in.”

  “Looked like he was leaving to me,” someone muttered.

  “Running off after Penny’s nice poem, too.”

  Brad sighed and tugged at the handle again. “I just need to get this box out of here,” he said. “But the thing’s locked.”

  “It can’t be locked,” Penny said and came over to try herself. “I never lock it.” She couldn’t budge it, either.

  “Maybe I did somehow when I put the box in.” It was the only thing he could think of. “Use your key.”

  She glared at him. “I don’t have a key for it. Dad lost it ages ago. That’s why I never lock it.”

  “Oh, for pity’s sake,” Aunty Em muttered and came over to the truck. She dug in her purse for a moment, then pulled out some long thin tools.

  “Lock picks?” Brad marveled. “You really come prepared.”

  “Ain’t got time for a biscuit run,” she said.

  He just laughed. “No, I guess not.”

  She poked one of the tools into the lock. A few little turns on her part and then she had the back open. “Now make it good, smart boy.”

  Smart boy? He hadn’t felt all that smart lately, but just pulled the box out of the back and set it on the ground. Everyone was watching, some eager, some bored. Penny’s eyes were wary and that did in whatever remnants of reticence were lingering in his heart.

  “I know I wasn’t scheduled for this evening,” he said. “But I have a poem to read, too. I wrote it ages ago. Eighteen years ago to be exact.” He pulled the first birdhouse out of the box.

  “A birdhouse?” Aunty Em snapped. “You got a box of birdhouses?”

  “Yep.” He pulled the loosened top off. “But these are special ones.”

  “I remember them,” Penny said slowly. “You brought those over the night before you moved.”

  “These are them?” Dorothy pulled back the flap on the box to look.

  “Just wait,” he ordered, and put the flap back down. “These things have been lying around for the past eighteen years. You didn’t read them when you had the chance, so now we’re doing it my way.”

  “Read them?” someone asked. “How do you read a birdhouse?”

  “There was something inside them,” Penny said. “I remember the tops were loose.”

  He took a deep breath, turned over the roof of the first birdhouse and read. “‘No matter the kind, the size or the hue, these flowers all tell of my feelings for you.”’

  “What flowers?” someone asked.

  He held up the birdhouse roof so everyone could see he’d painted towers on the inside.

  “Aw,” someone sighed.

  He handed the first roof to Penny, all wide-eyed and silent, then took the next birdhouse out. “‘Yellow acacia and cowslip bouquets, masses of calla in vibrant arrays.”’ He handed that roof over also. She just stared down at the lines surrounded by his feeble attempts to paint the individual flowers.

&n
bsp; “Oh, isn’t that sweet?” someone said.

  “What’s it mean?” someone else wanted to know.

  He went on to the third birdhouse. “‘Cudweed and peach blossom, and a strawberry tree...’”

  The fourth. “‘Myrtle and rose and wood sorrel for thee.”’

  “Cudweed? What’s that?” someone asked.

  “Shut up, will you?” Aunty Em snapped.

  The fifth. “‘But now it’s a daisy I have to present.”’

  The sixth. “‘And with meadow saffron I must be content.’”

  The seventh.“‘I wish volkamenia will forever find you...”’

  The eighth. “‘But when night’s curtain falls, a zinnia or two.’”

  He handed Penny the last of the roofs. “So anyway—”

  “But what does it mean?” Heather asked, looking over Penny’s shoulder at the poem. “It’s just a lot of flower names.”

  But Penny didn’t seem to be listening. Her eyes looked ready to overflow with tears as she looked at him. Her gaze was so deep, so steady, he thought she was trying to read into his soul. But she still would only see one language there.

  “Eighteen years is a long time,” she said softly.

  He nodded. “But it’s still true, every word of it.”

  “Not every word,” she said, dumping the pile of roofs into Dorothy’s arms. “We can do without daisies.”

  “Why would anyone do without daisies?” Heather asked. “They’re nice.”

  Penny just took a step closer to him. “And if we do without daisies, we don’t need the zinnias.”

  “I guess not” His heart was pounding so loud everyone must have been able to hear it Did she know what she was saying?

  “And then the meadow saffron can certainly go.” Her eyes locked with his, she came closer still.

  Maybe she did. Or maybe those were just some flowers she didn’t like. “That’s it?” he asked.

  When she shook her head, his heart wanted to stop. “I think we should dump the acacia and just stick to myrtle and roses.”