Country Bride

by Debbie Macomber

  Luke advanced several steps toward her. “What are you talking about?”

  She ground her fist into her hip. “I just got back from the feed store. Does that tell you anything?”

  “No.”

  “I’ll bet.”

  He frowned. “Kate, I swear to you, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  She made a doubting noise that came out sounding and feeling like a sob. Yet he appeared so bewildered. She didn’t know how any man could cause her such life-shattering embarrassment and maintain that look of faithful integrity.

  The tears wouldn’t be restrained any longer, and they fell from her eyes, running down her face. They felt cool against her flushed cheeks.

  “Kate? What’s wrong?”

  Kate turned and walked rapidly away from Luke rather than allow him to witness her loss of control. She hurried into the house and slumped in a chair, hiding her face in her hands as she battled the terrible urge to weep hysterically. The painful sensation in the pit of her stomach grew more intense every time she took a breath.

  The door opened and she said, “Go away.”

  “Kate?”

  “Haven’t...you...done...enough?” Each word rolled from her tongue on the end of a hiccuping sob.

  He knelt in front of her and wrapped his arms around her, holding her close, but she pushed him away, refusing the comfort he offered.

  Kate’s shoulders still heaved. With an exasperated sigh, Luke got up. He stood back on his boot heels and buried his hands in his pockets. “All right, tell me about it.”

  “Pastor...Wilkins...bet...twenty...dollars...on...December,” she told him between sobs. Her fingers curled into fists. “Even...Clay...put in a...wager.”

  Seeing his name on that huge blackboard had hurt more than anything.

  “Kate, I swear to you I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Furiously she wiped the tears from her face and tried to marshal her self-control enough to speak clearly. “The...feed store,” she managed.

  “What about the feed store?”

  “They’re taking bets—it’s a regular lottery,” she cried, all the more furious with him because he was making her spell out this latest humiliation.

  “Bets on what?” Luke’s frown was growing darker, and Kate could tell that he was dangerously close to losing his patience.

  “On us!” she wailed, as if that much, at least, should be obvious.

  “For what?”

  “When we’re going to be married!” she shouted. “What else? Half the town’s gambling on the date of our wedding.”

  Luke moaned, closing his eyes, as if he couldn’t quite believe what she was telling him.

  “You honestly didn’t know?”

  “Of course not.” He was beginning to look perturbed as only Luke could. His dark eyes took on a cold glare that would intimidate the strongest of men. “How’d you find out?”

  “Sally Daley said something about it after school, and then in the school car park one of the mothers told me March is a lovely time of year for a wedding. March sixteenth, she said. Then...then I made the mistake of stopping in at the feed store on my way home to...to check out what was going on.”

  Luke nodded, but Kate had the impression he was only half listening to her.

  “As far as I’m concerned, there’s just one thing for me to do,” she said, gaining strength from her decision. “I’ll offer my resignation to the school board tomorrow morning and leave the district this weekend.”

  Luke sent her a quick, angry look. “That won’t be necessary. I’ll take care of this my own way.”

  Seven

  At one time Kate spent as many hours at Elk Run, the Franklin stud farm, as she did at the Circle L. But when she arrived Tuesday night for dinner, Elk Run no longer felt familiar. It seemed like years instead of weeks since her last visit. Kate’s enthusiasm for this dinner with Clay and Rorie had never been high, but now she felt decidedly uncomfortable.

  “Kate, welcome.” Rorie flew out the door the minute Kate pulled into the driveway. She stepped from the car into Rorie’s hug.

  Clay Franklin followed his wife and briefly held Kate close, smiling down on her the same way he always had from the time she was thirteen. Back then, she’d worshipped him from afar, and she’d worshipped him more with each passing year. Kate paused, waiting for the surge of regret and pain she’d been expecting; to her astonishment, it didn’t come.

  “We’re so glad you could make it,” Rorie said as she opened the door.

  Recognising Kate, Clay’s old dog, Blue, ambled over for his usual pat. Kate was more than happy to comply and bent down to scratch his ears.

  Mary, the Franklins’ housekeeper, bustled about the kitchen, dressed in her bib apron, hair twisted into thick braids and piled on top of her head. Kate could scarcely remember a time she hadn’t seen Mary in an apron. The scent of freshly baked pie permeated the room, mingling with the hearty aroma of roast beef and simmering vegetables.

  “I hope that’s one of your award-winning pies I’m smelling, Mary,” Kate said. “I’ve had my heart set on a piece all day.”

  “Oh, get away with you,” Mary returned gruffly, but the happy light that sparked from her eyes told Kate how gratified the housekeeper was by her request.

  “When are you going to give me your recipe?” Kate asked, although she didn’t know whom she’d be baking pies for now that her father had remarried. “No one can bake an apple pie like yours.”

  “Mary won’t share her secret with me, either,” Rorie said, giving a soft laugh. “I don’t think she’s willing to trust a city slicker yet.”

  “I never wrote down any recipe,” Mary grumbled, casting Rorie a stern look. “I just make my pies the same way my mother did.”

  “I wish I could bake like Mary does,” Rorie said, slipping her arm around her husband’s waist. They exchanged a meaningful glance. Clay’s smile showed he couldn’t care less whether or not she could bake a pie.

  Once more Kate braced herself for the pain of seeing them together, gentle and loving, but to her surprise she didn’t feel so much as a pinprick of distress. She relaxed, wondering at what was happening—or rather, wasn’t—and why.

  “Where’s Skip?” she asked suddenly. She missed Clay’s younger brother almost as much as she did Clay. They’d been friends for years.

  “Football practice,” Clay explained. “He’s quarterback this year and proud as a peacock. He’ll be home later.”

  “About the time Mary serves her pie,” Rorie whispered to Kate. Skip’s appetite for sweets was legendary.

  The small party headed into the homey living room. The piano stood against one wall, and Kate noted the music on the stand. She’d always been the one who’d played that piano, but it was Rorie who played for Clay now. There’d been a time when Kate and Clay had sung together, their voices blending in a melodious harmony. But Clay sang with Rorie now.

  Kate expected the knowledge to claw at her insides, and she did feel a small twinge of regret—but that was all.

  “Skip’s hoping to catch you later,” Rorie said.

  “As I recall, you played quarterback your senior year of high school,” Kate reminded Clay as she claimed the overstuffed chair. “That was the first year the Nightingale team made it to the state finals.”

  Rorie smiled delightedly at her husband. “You never told me that.”

  “There wasn’t much to tell,” Clay said with a short laugh. “We were eliminated in the first round.” He sat beside Rorie and draped his arm around her shoulders, as if he had to keep touching her to believe she was here at his side.

  Mary carried in a tray of wineglasses and an unopened bottle of a locally produced sparkling white. “I take it Devin and Dorothea arrived safely i
n California?” she asked as she uncorked the wine.

  “Yes, Dad phoned when they arrived at Dorothea’s daughter’s house.”

  “We didn’t get a chance to say more than a few words to you at the reception,” Rorie apologized. “You were so busy pouring coffee, there wasn’t much opportunity to chat.”

  “I know. It was good of you and Clay to come.”

  “We wouldn’t have missed it for the world,” Clay said.

  “I wanted to tell you how nice your father and Dorothea looked together. And for that matter, you and Luke, too,” Rorie added.

  “Thank you,” Kate said simply, wondering if her friends had heard about the incident on the Wilkins’s front porch. It still embarrassed Kate to think of all her father’s friends seeing her and Luke together...like that. “So much has happened in the last month,” she said, trying to change the subject before either of them mentioned her father’s wedding again. “Who’d ever have believed Luke would end up buying the ranch?”

  “It must’ve come as a shock to you,” Clay said evenly, “but I’ve been after him for years to get his own spread.”

  “What are your plans now that the Circle L’s been sold?” Rorie asked.

  “I’m looking for a place in town,” she said, and sipped her wine.

  “From what Luke told me, he’d rather you continued living on the ranch,” Clay said, studying her as though he knew something she didn’t.

  “I know,” Kate admitted. “It’s very generous of him, but I’d prefer to get an apartment of my own.”

  “Good luck finding one,” Clay murmured.

  They were both aware that a decent apartment might be difficult to locate. Nightingale was a place of family dwellings, not singles’ apartments.

  They chatted easily as they waited for Mary to announce dinner. Every now and then, Kate saw Clay glance over at Rorie. His look was tender and warm and filled with the deep joy that came from loving completely and knowing that love was returned.

  When Rorie Campbell had arrived in their midst, Kate had seen almost immediately that Clay was attracted to her. That was understandable, after all, since Rorie was a beautiful woman. In the beginning, Kate had done everything she could to combat her jealousy. Rorie had been due to leave Elk Run in a few days and once she was gone, Kate had told herself, their lives and feelings would return to normal.

  Eventually Rorie did go back to San Francisco, but Clay couldn’t forget her. Kate had done her best to pretend; she’d even talked Clay into setting a wedding date, pressuring him in a not-so-subtle way to marry her quickly. They’d been talking about it for years, and Kate wanted the deed done before Rorie realized what she’d given up. Their getting married seemed the perfect solution. Then, if Rorie did come to Nightingale again, it would be too late.

  Kate’s strategy had been a desperate one, planned by a desperate woman. And as often happened in such cases, her scheme backfired.

  Kate didn’t think she’d ever forget the day Clay told her he wanted to break their engagement. The words had scarred her soul like lye on tender skin. He’d come to the ranch, and from the minute he’d asked to talk to her, Kate had known something was terribly wrong. She’d tried to ease the tension with talk of bridesmaids’ dresses and floral arrangements, but Clay had stopped her.

  He’d sat with his hands folded, his eyes regarding her sadly. “I wouldn’t hurt you for anything,” he’d said, and his words rang with truth and regret.

  “Clay, you could never hurt me.” Which was a lie, because he was already inflicting pain.

  He’d told her then, simply and directly, that it would be wrong for them to marry. Not once did he mention Rorie’s name. He didn’t need to. Kate had known for weeks that Clay was in love with the other woman. But she’d chosen instead to involve her heart in a painful game of pretend.

  Instead of accepting the truth when Clay had come to her with his decision, she’d insisted he was mistaken, that they were right for each other and had been all their lives. The memory humbled her now. She’d tried to convince him that all they needed was a little more time. By the next week, or maybe the next month, Clay would understand that he’d made a mistake and he’d want to go through with the wedding. She could afford to be patient because she loved him so much. Kindly, and as gently as possible, Clay had told her time wouldn’t alter the way he felt. Then he’d left, although she’d pleaded with him to stay.

  In the week that followed, Kate had felt as though she was walking around in a fog. She laughed, she smiled, she slept, she ate. The school year hadn’t started yet, so there was little else to occupy her mind. The days bled into each other, one indistinguishable from the next.

  Soon after he’d broken their engagement, Clay headed for San Francisco, purportedly to attend a horse show. In her heart, she’d expected Clay to return with Rorie at his side. As hard as it had been, she’d tried to accept the fact Clay loved Rorie and nothing was ever going to change that.

  To everyone’s surprise, Clay came home alone, and there was no mention of Rorie. Kate didn’t know what had happened between them. Hope stirred in her heart, and she’d briefly entertained thoughts of Clay resuming their engagement, the two of them marrying and settling down together, the way she’d always dreamed.

  Instead she stood helplessly by as Clay threw himself into his work, making unreasonable demands on himself and his men. At first she believed the situation would change. She began stopping off at Elk Run, trying to be the friend she knew Clay needed. But Clay didn’t want her. He didn’t want anyone.

  Except Rorie.

  Only then did Kate recognize that it was in her power to help this man she loved. She talked over her idea with Luke, even before she approached her father. Luke, and Luke alone, had seemed to understand and appreciate her sacrifice. When she couldn’t hold back the tears any longer, it had been Luke who’d held her in his arms and who’d beamed with pride over the unselfishness of what she’d done.

  As she sat, listening to the predinner conversation, even contributing now and then, she reminded herself that Luke had been the one who’d made it possible to survive that difficult time.

  Luke.

  Losing Clay had threatened to destroy her, mentally and physically. But Luke hadn’t allowed that to happen. It was then he’d started bullying her, she realized. She’d thought of him as a tyrant, with his unreasonable demands and his gentle harassments. Kate had been so furious with him for assuming command of her life that she’d overlooked the obvious. Only now could she understand and appreciate his strategy. Gradually, the fire had returned to her eyes and her life, although it had been fuelled by indignation. Nevertheless it was there, and Luke had been the person responsible.

  She’d been furious with him when she should’ve been grateful. Luke had never stopped being her friend—the best friend she’d ever had. She’d leaned heavily on him in the days and weeks before Clay married Rorie, though she’d never understood how much he’d done for her, how much he cared.

  The wineglasses were replenished and Kate proposed a toast. “To your happiness,” she said sincerely. It pained her to remember that Clay and Rorie had nearly lost each other. Because of her...

  Nightingale had needed a librarian, and with her father’s help, Kate had convinced the town council to offer the job to Rorie Campbell. When she’d turned them down, Kate herself had called Rorie, and together they’d wept over the phone and later in each other’s arms.

  So Rorie had returned to Nightingale, and she and Clay had been married. In October. The same month Kate had planned for her own wedding to Clay.

  Kate’s thoughts were pulled back to the present when Clay said, “Rorie has a piece of good news.” He cast a proud look at his wife.

  “What’s that?” Kate asked.

  Rorie blushed becomingly. “Clay shouldn’t have said anything. It�
��s not certain yet.”

  “Rorie,” Kate said, studying her carefully, “are you pregnant? Congratulations!”

  “No, no.” Rorie rushed to correct that impression. “Good grief, we’ve been married less than a month.”

  “It’s about Rorie’s book,” Clay explained.

  Vaguely Kate recalled that Rorie wrote children’s books. In fact, she’d been on her way to a writers’ conference when the car she was driving broke down on the road not far from Elk Run.

  “Has one of your stories been accepted for publication?” Kate asked eagerly.

  “Not exactly,” Rorie said.

  “An editor from New York phoned and asked for a few revisions, but she sounded enthusiastic about the book and there was talk of a contract once the revisions are done,” Clay said. His fingers were twined with his wife’s and he looked as excited as if he’d created the story himself.

  “Oh, Rorie, that’s wonderful.” Kate felt pleased and proud for her friend. “What’s the book about?”

  “Well, the story involves Star Bright and the night we delivered Nightsong, and it’s told from the foal’s point of view,” Rorie said.

  “I know I’m her husband,” Clay broke in, “but I read it, and I don’t mind telling you, the book’s gripping. Any editor worth her salt would snap it up in a minute.”

  “Oh, Clay, honestly!”

  “When will you know if it’s sold?” Kate asked. “I don’t think Nightingale’s ever had an author living here before. Dad could convince the town council to commission a sign. You might even become a tourist attraction. Who knows where this could go?”

  They all laughed, but Rorie cautioned, “It could be months before I hear, so don’t go having your father commission any signs.”

  “You should’ve seen her after she got the call,” Clay said, his eyes twinkling with merriment. “I didn’t know what to think. Rorie came running out of the house and started shrieking and jumping up and down.”