The Accidental Bride

by Denise Hunter

  “Pretty tough on him out there,” the older woman said.

  “He left me high and dry.”

  “It was years ago, child.”

  “At the altar.”

  “Courthouse steps, I recall.”

  “Same difference.”

  “It was foolish and selfish.”

  “Blame right.” She had returned to Moose Creek alone. The whispers and stares were almost as bad as losing him. The rejection. Almost as bad as lying on Miss Lucy’s couch night after night smothering her sobs in her pillow, yearning for his touch.

  “Figured you two would’ve run into each other by now.” Miss Lucy finished the last button and helped Shay peel the dress from her arms. “But I guess not, with you buried away at your place like you’ve been.”

  “I wasn’t hiding.”

  Miss Lucy’s brows popped over her frames. “Didn’t mean that, dear.”

  The woman’s soft voice tweaked Shay’s conscience. “Sorry. I’m touchy.” She stepped from the gown and removed her boots.

  “Don’t be. You got a lot of troubles, and you surely didn’t expect chemistry to come waltzing through the door this morning.”

  “That wasn’t chemistry, it was animosity.”

  “Enough sparks between the pair of you to light the town at midnight.”

  Shay snatched her Levi’s off a box. “Hogwash.”

  “Had me a hot flash and I’m way past that.”

  Shay heaved a sigh, torn between frustration and humor.

  Miss Lucy folded the gown, tucked it into the box, and slipped the lid back on while Shay finished dressing. She still had the meeting at the bank, and she needed a moment to gather herself before she faced that particular hurdle.

  Who was she kidding? She’d had fourteen years to get over Travis McCoy, and it still hadn’t been long enough.

  3

  Shay tucked her hands under her legs and forced her gaze to John Oakley’s beady little eyes. She’d had about two minutes to recover from her encounter with Travis, and her nerves were shot. The bank had just closed up for the day and was silent as a tomb.

  John laced his fingers, rested his hands on his desk, and gave her the look. She’d seen it the last three times she’d been in. Had to beg for this meeting today.

  Please, God. I need some help here. A miracle would be good.

  “We’ve been through this before, Shay,” he said in his nasal voice.

  “I just need more time.”

  “You’ve had time.” The look turned smug. He poked his glasses up with his index finger.

  Shay pressed her lips together. She wanted to remind him he was no older than she was, no more important just because he had money. She wanted to remind him of the time he peed his pants on their first-grade field trip and point out that his hairline had receded two inches since graduation. But none of that would help her cause.

  “May I be honest, Shay?”

  She bit the inside of her mouth. Hard. “Sure.”

  “I know the property’s been in your family awhile—”

  “Three generations.”

  He tucked his weak little chin. “Right. A long time, no one’s arguing that. Your folks both worked it hard and barely kept it afloat.”

  “I made regular payments for years. I wasn’t so much as a day late—”

  “Until a year ago. I’m not the enemy here, Shay. When your husband was here running the place, the payments weren’t a problem, right? Now, it pains me to say it, but Garrett’s desertion, not my bank, put you in a bind. God rest his soul.”

  He did not just go there.

  “It takes two to handle a ranch the size of yours. We’ve given you plenty of notice, and you’re months behind. The bank demands payment in full or an auction date will be set in thirty days, just as the letter said.”

  A public auction. Could there be a more humiliating scenario? She imagined her neighbors walking the property, judging the upkeep—or lack thereof—and putting in low bids on the property that she and her ancestors had sweated and bled over.

  She’d beg if she had to. “I can’t lose it, John.”

  If Olivia wasn’t going to have a father, she was at least going to have a place to call home—a place with roots that went deep.

  “Please. It’s the only home Olivia’s ever known . . . the only home I’ve ever known. And I have a hand to consider.”

  “Manny’s just a part-time high school kid. And as for your daughter . . . children are very resilient.”

  What did John Oakley know about children? He hadn’t even managed a date for the high school prom. Shay wanted to smack the smug look from his face.

  Instead she tried again. “Just sixty days, then. I’ll come up with the money somehow.” She could sell her truck and some cattle.

  John’s chuckle made her neck hairs stand on end. “Shay, honey, I’m sorry. I’ve done all I can.” He checked his watch.

  “Please, John. As a friend.” That was stretching it.

  “Best thing you can do is start packing your things. Look for an apartment here in town. You could make those little baskets full-time.”

  Her barbed-wire baskets were hardly going to put a roof over their heads and food on the table, and John knew it. Besides, the ranch was her legacy, such as it was. Her home.

  John stood, his chair rolling backward as he extended his hand. “Wish you the best, honey.”

  Begging had gotten her nowhere. Shay gritted her teeth as she stood and shook his hand. She lifted her chin and straightened her back as she left the bank, a posture she’d perfected long ago. She heard John locking up behind her.

  What now, God? I need money and soon. A burning started at the back of her eyes. You have to do something. Anything. Please!

  She was going to have to let Manny go. Somehow she’d find a way to pay him for the last two weeks. But it wasn’t fair, his working for nothing, not with his own family struggling. It was why she’d hired him to begin with.

  Shay crossed the street, narrowly missing a sedan with an Idaho plate when it didn’t yield at the pedestrian walk. She restrained the impulse to scream. She was dangling by her last thread. She wanted to yell or kick something. Or better yet, crawl into bed, pull the covers over her head, and sink into oblivion.

  Instead she hopped the curb and entered the bustling diner. Olivia was seated at the counter sipping a chocolate milk. A dollar twenty-five.

  Her daughter turned at the bell. “You’re late, Mom, and I—What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing,” Shay said, then caught sight of Travis in a nearby booth.

  “Your eyes are red,” Olivia said.

  Shay fished in her purse for her wallet, her fingers clumsy. “Ready to go?”

  “Mrs. Franklin said it was on the house. I didn’t even order it.”

  “You thanked her?”

  “Yep.”

  “Let’s go, then.”

  “Hold on.” Olivia slurped her milk.

  Shay could feel Travis’s eyes boring into her back. At least she was wearing her best shirt and jeans. At least she wasn’t in a wedding gown. The confrontation in the shop returned to mind, piling on top of the disaster at the bank. The weight of it tugged at her shoulders.

  “Come on.”

  “Sheesh, Mom.” Olivia drained her cup and then hopped off the stool.

  Shay hooked her arm around her daughter’s shoulders and hustled her from the diner. “Got work to do.”

  Lots of it. Not that it would do any good.

  As she crossed the street to her beat-up truck, she could swear she felt Travis’s eyes on her every step of the way.

  4

  Travis dismounted Buck and led him into the barn. He wasn’t sure why his folks had been so reluctant to leave the Barr M all these years, or why they’d asked him to watch over it while they went on their long-term mission trip. The place ran like clockwork under the foreman, Jacob Whitehorse.

  Jacob entered the barn as Travis pulled the saddle from
Buck. Jacob had the thick black hair and strong bone structure of his Indian ancestors.

  They worked in silence like two men born to the job. Two men who were weary after a long day in the saddle.

  “Good weather today,” Jacob said.

  “Not bad for June.”

  “Must be tame compared to Texas.”

  “In more ways than one.” The rodeo circuit had been good for Travis’s wallet and good for his ego. But pulling his truck into Moose Creek was coming home.

  “Heard from your parents?”

  “When they arrived in Guatemala. Told ’em you had everything under control. Not sure why I’m here.”

  “You know your dad. ’Sides, someone has to keep up the books. Math’s not my thing.”

  His dad liked all his ducks in a row. That was one reason the Barr M had prospered while so many other ranches had gone under. Ranches like Shay’s.

  The sight of her leaving the bank three days earlier pricked at him like a burr. Even through the diner’s smudged window he’d seen her distress. It was written in the rigid set of her shoulders, in the straight line of her spine. She was a proud girl, always had been.

  After he’d left the diner, he stopped to see Miss Lucy, hoping to find out what was going on. If Shay was in financial trouble, maybe he could help. John Oakley clearly hadn’t offered any assistance. But Miss Lucy had been a closed vault.

  Travis and Jacob finished grooming their horses, left the barn, and parted ways at the lane that headed toward Jacob’s place. The sun had set over the Gallatin Range, silhouetting them against the pink-streaked sky. Travis had missed those mountains. Missed the towering trees, the grassy valley, and the loamy smell of dirt. He’d left it on his own accord, but he hadn’t realized the mistake until it was too late.

  He was on the porch steps when he heard a car rolling down the lane. A cloud of dust plumed behind a vintage yellow Volkswagen. He pocketed his hands as he approached the vehicle.

  Miss Lucy stopped her car, turned it off, and rolled down her window.

  Travis removed his hat. “Evening, ma’am.”

  “We need to talk.” The furrows above the notch in her glasses deepened.

  He reached for her door. “Come on in, sit a spell.”

  “Thank you, but I can’t be long. The girls have been home alone all day.”

  “The girls” were made of fabric and stuffed with polyester, but Travis didn’t comment. “What can I do for you, then?”

  “You can play Joseph Adams in the Founders Day ceremony.”

  She couldn’t be serious. Miss Lucy’s request tied his tongue in a slipknot. The woman had been there three days ago. Hadn’t she seen the way Shay had looked at him, heard the way she had spoken to him?

  “Cat got your tongue?”

  “I thought . . . Riley Raines was doing that.”

  “He has a girlfriend this year—Missy Teasley—and she’s a jealous one. Her mama asked me to find someone else.”

  “And you thought you’d honk Shay off real good by asking the man at the top of her Most Hated list.”

  “She doesn’t hate you.”

  “Could’ve fooled me.”

  “Well, you haven’t fooled anybody, least of all me.” Miss Lucy’s eyes, magnified by the bottle glasses, narrowed knowingly.

  Travis looked toward the darkening sky and clamped his jaw. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Don’t be contrary with me, Travis McCoy. I’ve known you since you were running around this place in nothing but a diaper. You’re still in love with Shay.”

  His eyes drifted back to hers. “That’s crazy.” If Miss Lucy had seen right through him, what about Shay?

  Okay, so it was true. He’d never forgotten her, and by the time he realized what he’d lost, she’d fallen hook, line, and sinker for some musician patsy. But then the guy up and left her.

  Just like you, McCoy. The thought tasted like dust.

  Plainly, Shay put him in the same category with her ex-husband. “You saw how she was.”

  “Can you blame her? You hurt her. She’s had a hard life, and the last thing she needs is the likes of you stomping all over her heart again.”

  “Then why’re you asking me—”

  “Because sometimes true love needs a little help. Shay still sees you as the stupid young boy who threw her away like yesterday’s garbage.”

  Ouch.

  “I see the man you’ve become. You just might be worthy of her now. Maybe.”

  He wasn’t so sure. He knew he didn’t deserve a second chance, and he wouldn’t hurt Shay for the world. She’d been his best friend. His first love. He’d missed her every day since he left. Had spent nights dreaming about their talks by the creek, their clandestine meetings in her barn when her parents thought she was in bed.

  He remembered the way she looked in that antique gown. Beautiful. The thought of another man standing next to her, taking those vows—even if they were pretending—rankled.

  “Shay know you’re asking me?”

  “ ’Course not. You think I’m crazy?”

  Half the town did, but Travis liked to think of Lucy Bowers as eccentric. “She’s gonna be ticked if we spring it on her.” When had he agreed to this?

  “That . . . or she’ll look into your warm gray eyes and see the truth. How vulnerable are you willing to be?”

  “I haven’t even apologized.” He’d planned to do that first thing. Then he’d seen her in that gown, and his brain turned to mush.

  “There’ll be time for that later.”

  “If she doesn’t leave me at the altar this time.”

  The woman cackled. “Now, wouldn’t that be a Founders Day ceremony for the record books.”

  On second thought, maybe that wouldn’t be so awful. Might do Shay good to turn the tables on him. Maybe she’d even slap him for good measure. On the other hand, did he want to do something so public when he was uncertain of her reaction?

  “I don’t know, Miss Lucy. She seemed awful sore.”

  “Now, you listen here. That girl’s been at the top of my prayer list since you left her to face her future all alone. I don’t know how she might react right off, but I’ve put in hours on my knees for Shay, and I’ve got peace about this plan of mine.”

  “Glad you do.”

  The woman started her car. “You just show up and let those eyes tell her what you feel, young man. Leave the rest up to me. Deal?” She stuck her age-spotted hand out the window.

  Travis took her hand in his and squeezed gently. He was in for it now, for better or worse. Literally.

  The wry grin slid from his face as he watched Miss Lucy’s car roll down the lane. He was pretty sure, in all the ways that mattered, that he was the crazy one.

  5

  How about Cocoa?” From her spot on the ground, Olivia gripped the bottle. The calf sucked greedily, almost wrestling it from her daughter’s hands.

  “You know how I feel about that,” Shay said. First a name, then a pet, then she was one cow shy of a herd. Besides, barring a miracle, the calf and everything else would soon belong to someone else. She continued raking out the stall, the pungent odors of cow flesh, dung, and straw filling her nostrils.

  “Her spots look like spilled cocoa. Not that I would know what that looks like.” Olivia shot Shay a mischievous glance. “Man, she’s hungry.”

  The calf’s mama hadn’t survived childbirth, but Olivia was standing in just fine. She’d been nursing the baby like clockwork. Off in the distance in town, the Moose Creek marching band struck up a tune. The Founders Day parade had begun.

  “Where’s Manny?” Olivia asked. “He said he’d show me how to win the ringtoss game. I’m coming home with a stuffed animal so big it takes up half my room.”

  That wouldn’t be hard. “I had to let Manny go.”

  “Why?” Olivia pulled the empty bottle from the calf’s mouth and scrambled to her feet, a frown drawing her brows together.

  “Can’t affo
rd the help.”

  “But he needs this job. He’s saving for Mr. Ryan’s old truck.”

  It had about killed Shay to do it. But there was no money, and she wouldn’t have him working without pay anymore. “He’ll get another job, munchkin. I’ll give him a hearty recommendation.”

  She could feel her daughter’s glare on her back as she set down the rake and began spreading fresh straw. The faint strains of “Yankee Doodle” faded as the band turned a corner in town.

  “Can I go meet Maddy now?” There was a remnant of anger in her voice.

  “Finish your chores?”

  “Yep.”

  “Go ahead, then. When will you be home?”

  “Aren’t you coming?”

  Shay scanned the rows of dirty stalls. When those were finished, she had to do laundry and finish the books. “Seen one Founders Day, seen them all. I’ll meet you at the ceremony, if that’s okay with Abigail and Wade.”

  Her daughter shrugged, gave the calf one last pet, and hopped on the bike Shay had gotten her for Christmas from a used bicycle shop in Billings. It was a bike that had brought Olivia and Maddy together. As in, her daughter stealing Maddy’s.

  Shay sighed. Offspring had countless ways of humiliating you. But God had brought something good from that mess. He’d brought Maddy into Olivia’s life and Abigail into hers. She hadn’t had a best friend in years.

  In a nearby stall, Brandy nickered.

  “No time for a ride today, girl.”

  Shay never missed Founders Day. No one did. The history of Moose Creek’s beginnings had been meticulously documented with dates, names, and details. The particularity of the stories had given rise to uncommon pride in the little town’s heritage.

  Which was all just fine and dandy, except this time she was the one wearing Prudence Adams’s wedding gown. It had hung in her closet all week, mocking her every time she opened the door. How had she gotten herself into this?

  A picture of Miss Lucy, her eyes wide and frantic, appeared like a cartoon balloon.

  Oh yeah.

  At least her chores were an excuse to avoid Travis McCoy. Maybe she could avoid him completely if he didn’t attend the ceremony. He’d missed it for fourteen years, what was one more? He probably wouldn’t be there. After all the big-time stuff he’d done in Texas, this little rinky-dink town probably bored him silly. By the time his folks came back in six months, he’d be itching to return to his exciting rodeo life where women no doubt dropped at his feet like flies.