The Accidental Bride

by Denise Hunter

  “I know that, I just . . .” Abigail heaved a sigh. “Come on, are we friends or what? It took a lot of creativity to grab a few minutes alone, and if you don’t spill soon, they’ll be back.”

  Fine. Whatever. “If you must know, the groom was Travis.”

  “Yeah, I know. Wade said they used to compete sometimes on the—” Abigail’s eyes popped open. “Travis? The Travis?”

  “The very one.”

  “Holy cow, Shay, I had no idea—why didn’t you tell me he was back?”

  “All Moose Creek knows he’s back.”

  “Well, I’m new here, remember? Oh my goodness. Your first love. Your soul mate. No wonder you—oooh, that kiss . . . No wonder Beau’s all prickly.”

  “He’s not prickly.”

  “He’s livid. He’s so handsome . . .”

  “Beau?”

  Abigail nudged Shay’s foot. “No, silly, Travis. It’s all making sense now.”

  Shay was glad it made sense to someone. Her own thoughts were a tangled knot of barbed wire.

  “I’m surprised you agreed to it.”

  “Didn’t know Travis was the groom. That was your aunt’s little surprise.” A breeze tugged at her hair, and the smell of roasted pork wafted by, turning her stomach.

  “I should’ve known. Aunt Lucy’s such a matchmaker.”

  “Well, she’s wasting her time.”

  “Not if that kiss was anything to go by.” Abigail winked.

  Shay knew her friend was teasing, but Travis had never been a joking matter. “Last thing I need is another cowardly man.”

  Last thing she needed was another man, period.

  “Sorry.” Abigail smiled sheepishly.

  Shay and Olivia were fine on their own. The girl had been devastated by her father’s desertion. She’d asked him every time he called when he was coming back. When he died, she cried daily for three months while Shay stifled her anger. Only when the anger wore off had she shed tears of sadness at his loss. In the end, she’d decided the anger was easier.

  No, they didn’t need some man strolling into their lives and breaking their hearts again, humiliating them in front of the whole town.

  Abigail nudged her foot. “So what are you going to do? Wade said he’s here until his folks return from Guatemala, and that’s not for—” Her eyes swung upward, over Shay’s head.

  “His being here is no concern of mine.”

  “Shay . . .”

  “I got plenty to keep me busy and—”

  “Uh, Shay.”

  “—last thing I’m worried about is—”

  “Travis McCoy!” Abigail stood to her feet. “I’m Abigail, Wade’s wife.”

  He is not standing behind me. Shay turned and followed a long denim leg upward.

  Travis stood behind her with Wade. Towering over her. She stood, dusted off her rear end, and crossed her arms. She wasn’t going to look.

  “Shay, I’m sure you know Travis,” Wade said. “Seeing as how you just got married and all.”

  “Ha, ha,” Abigail said, a bit too animated. “Cute, honey.”

  “We went to school together,” Shay said.

  “Actually,” Travis said, “we were high school sweethearts.”

  She looked. He’d changed into a black T-shirt and faded jeans and wore his cowboy hat. Too bad the bolo tie was gone. She’d missed her chance.

  “Actually”—Shay fixed her eyes on Travis—“we were engaged. He left me at the altar.”

  “Oh, uh, I see.” Wade pocketed his hands, looked helplessly at Abigail.

  “Now, where’d Maddy and Olivia run off to?” Abigail said. “Those girls. Always running off somewhere.”

  “You asked them to fetch you a lemonade.” Beau approached the group and handed Shay the Coke she’d requested. He looked between the three of them. “Did I interrupt something?”

  “No.”

  “Not a thing!” Abigail said.

  Travis nodded Beau’s way. “Meyers. Good to see you.”

  “McCoy.” Beau gave him a reluctant nod and draped his arm around Shay’s shoulders.

  The action was ornery and gutsier than she would’ve given Beau credit for. Just because she could, Shay let his arm rest there. Her eyes flickered to Travis, but he’d turned to watch the Silver Spurs. A shadow flickered across his jaw.

  The moment drew out, none of them wanting to sit because doing so would be rude without issuing Travis an invitation. And no one wanted that kind of awkwardness.

  Abigail surrendered to the pressure first. “Travis, would you like to—”

  Shay cut her off with a sharp glance.

  “I should take off,” Travis said. “Promised Mrs. Teasley I’d judge the huckleberry pies.”

  “Tough gig,” Wade said.

  Travis shrugged, backing away. “Somebody’s gotta do it. See y’all later.”

  His gaze swung to Shay one last time, that lazy grin tugging one side of his mouth.

  A big butterfly flopped over in her belly.

  Then he turned and walked away, fading into the darkness.

  “Some nerve,” Beau muttered.

  They sank down onto the blanket, and Shay put enough space between them to fit a pregnant hog.

  9

  Shay got out of the truck and stepped out into the tall grass. Coming around the other side, Olivia wiped away the trickle of sweat that rolled down her temple.

  She only had a few more salt blocks to drop, then the cattle would be set on minerals for the week.

  “You’re done, munchkin. Why don’t you run home and see if Maddy wants to come over?”

  Olivia hopped into the bed and pushed the heavy salt block toward the tailgate. “We’re not finished.”

  Her daughter had done nothing but work all day, all week. Some summer vacation. And soon they’d be booted off their property. Shay hadn’t broken the news to her yet, didn’t know what she was waiting for.

  She grabbed the fifty-pound salt block. “I’m almost done. Go do something fun.”

  It wouldn’t take her long to finish, and the smile on Olivia’s face as she wheeled away and jogged toward the house was worth it.

  Shay walked the block over to the cattle and set it on the ground. “Lick away, girls.”

  She’d forgotten how much Manny had done around here, but it was coming back to her in the form of sore muscles and calloused hands.

  Long as her hours were, they did nothing to alleviate the growing pile of bills. She’d put off her creditors as long as she dared, and still the foreclosure loomed. At this point, selling cattle was pointless, nothing but a downhill slope to ruin. Without the cattle, she’d have no means of income.

  Twenty minutes later her cell vibrated in her pocket. She pulled the last block to the edge of the bed, then checked her phone.

  “Hey, sweetie.”

  “Maddy invited me to supper. That okay?”

  She could hardly blame her daughter. Rice and beans were getting pretty old. “It’s okay with Wade and Abigail?”

  “Yeah.”

  “All right. Be back before dark or call for a ride.”

  “Thanks, Mom!”

  Shay said good-bye, turned off the phone, then hoisted the salt block. She didn’t deserve her daughter’s gratitude. She’d promised herself she wouldn’t give Olivia more chores than she already had. Yet the girl had been out here all week while all her peers were swimming in the creek or taking shopping excursions to Billings.

  She knew just how that felt, and darned if her daughter was going to live that way. Help me, Jesus. Provide what we need soon. We’re down to the wire, You know.

  Her phone pealed. Probably Olivia again. It took a few seconds to balance the salt block on her thigh and check the caller ID. Unknown Number.

  Another collector. They just wouldn’t leave her alone. Wasn’t she trying her best? She could only do so much.

  She shifted the block on her thigh and pocketed the phone. The salt block teetered on her leg, then slipp
ed from her gloved hand. It hit her foot with a dull thud.

  The pain came a full second later, shooting through her foot with a force that buckled her leg. Shay bit down on her lip, stifling a groan as she lowered herself to the ground. She pulled her knee to her chest and grimaced.

  She’d really done it now. She propped her foot on the cussed salt block, hoping to alleviate the throbbing. She’d likely just bruised the muscle or something.

  It was already feeling a little better, wasn’t it? She clamped her teeth down hard. Help me, Jesus. I do not need an injury right now, and I sure as shooting don’t need a doctor bill.

  If she just breathed, focused on something else, the pain would ebb away, and she could get back to work.

  Travis removed his hat, wiped his forehead, and replaced the hat. Buck started toward the pen, but Travis pulled the reins the other direction. “Not today, buddy. Got an errand.” Not a fun one, but necessary. And long overdue.

  He cut across the pasture, then crossed the shallow creek that divided their properties. The creek where they used to meet on hot summer days and cool autumn evenings. They’d carved their initials on a big oak on the day he’d asked her to be his girl. It still showed; he’d already checked.

  He wondered if Shay had cooled her heels. He’d given her nine days, but now he wondered if the anger had only festered since he’d left her on the town square lawn with Beau Meyers.

  He nudged Buck into a canter as they peaked the slope of the creek bank—as if saving two minutes was going to help matters. In the old days when she got her dander up, he just let her get it all out. She kicked up a ruckus and eventually the anger drained away, leaving her spent.

  Once during their junior year, she’d caught him flirting with Marla Jenkins. When he’d tried to steal a kiss from Shay after school, she’d shoved him into his locker.

  Later, by the creek, she’d broken into tears, and he’d held her while she sobbed, feeling like all kinds of fool for hurting her. Her emotions had always run high. But not until you got close. Until then, she was a tall, prickly fence.

  He’d broken through that fence, and two years later he’d gone and hurt her good. His gut ached even now just thinking about what a royal fool he’d been, leaving her in Cody. His errand to Kmart for cheap rings had turned into a desertion of the worst kind.

  And fourteen years later you’re going to ask for her forgiveness?

  Not that he hadn’t tried before. But after waiting alone on the courthouse steps and then finding a ride back to Moose Creek, Shay hadn’t been in the mood for apologies.

  And could he blame her?

  Just ahead, her ranch came into view. There was a small house sitting in front of the trailer where she’d grown up. A new barn. Shay and her ex must’ve done okay for a while. The thought reminded him of Shay’s exit from the bank and the distress he’d seen on her face.

  None o’ your business, McCoy. Miss Lucy had set him straight on that.

  He rode through the grassy meadow toward the house. She was probably sitting down to supper ’bout now, with her daughter. As he neared the structure, he saw signs of neglect. Peeling paint, weeds run amok in the garden, a hanging porch planter that sprouted a fern’s brittle skeleton.

  He thought of his own parents’ ranch, running like a well-oiled machine even with the owners gone, while Shay’s place ran into the ground. He wished he could help.

  Yeah, like that’s going to happen. The woman had enough pride in her little finger to supply the town for weeks. As he neared the barn, he saw that the corral fence was in disrepair. Didn’t she have any help around here?

  A noise in the barn had him pulling on his reins. A grunting, a human sound. He dismounted and tied Buck to the fence post. Inside, the barn was dark. The smells of fresh straw and horseflesh greeted him.

  He heard movement in the tack room and took a few steps forward. Shay was carrying a saddle, and hefted it upward toward the wall peg. She missed and groaned as she lowered the heavy equipment, staggering. She was favoring her right leg.

  Travis stepped forward and relieved her of her load. She jumped and lurched away, tottering on one leg.

  He hung the saddle and reached out to steady her.

  She swatted his hand away, catching her own balance. “What are you doing here?”

  “What’s wrong with your leg?”

  She set her left foot down on the dirt and flinched. “Nothing.”

  “Like heck.”

  A trickle of sweat ran from beneath her hat down her temple. Her face was flushed with exertion. She grabbed a brush and turned toward her horse outside the tack room, limping.

  He followed. “What happened?”

  “Bruised my foot. What do you want, McCoy?”

  That was no bruise. Not the way she was limping. He grabbed the brush, wrestled it from her. “Sit down, take off your boot.”

  Shay jabbed her hands on her hips. “I have work to do.”

  “I’ll do it.” He started brushing the horse, holding eye contact with Shay until she huffed and hobbled out the barn door.

  He brushed her mare until her mahogany coat gleamed, then returned her to a stall.

  When he left the barn, Shay was sitting in the grass, her back against the red wood, her face as white as a February pasture. Her boot was still on.

  Blast it, woman. He reached for the boot.

  “Don’t!” She jerked away.

  He heard the panic in her voice. She’d gone and hurt herself good and was too blame stubborn to admit it.

  He hunkered down next to her. “Gotta come off, Shay.”

  “It’s fine.” She tried to stand. “Go away.”

  “Sit.” He grabbed her arm and held on until she relented, letting her weight sink back onto the ground, but not without a glare.

  He reached for her boot and gave a gentle tug.

  “Stop!”

  He saw a flash of fear in her eyes before she blinked it away.

  “I can’t get it off,” she squeezed out between teeth that were clenched in pain or anger, he wasn’t sure which.

  “Where’re your shears?”

  “You can’t cut my boots.”

  “Wanna bet?”

  “They’re my favorite pair!”

  Way she was looking at them, one part desperation, one part fear, he wondered if they were her only pair. Something inside him softened. Darned if she couldn’t get him every time. “I’ll buy you another.”

  “I don’t want your money.” This she spat with a little venom. The money he’d left her for. She didn’t have to say it.

  “I ruin ’em, I replace ’em.” He owed her more than a pair of boots, and they both knew it. “Come on, Shay. What’re you gonna do—wear them to bed? They have to come off.”

  He watched the emotions play out on her face as the battle waged inside her. She knew he was right. She was mule-headed, but she wasn’t dumb.

  She crossed her arms and gazed out across the pasture. “In the tack room, left side.”

  “Atta girl.” Travis retrieved the shears and returned. She’d pulled up her jeans, exposing that sliver of skin below her knee. There was a day he would’ve reached out and drawn his finger across the softness of her skin.

  “Can you just do it already?”

  Her hands were knotted on the ground at her side.

  He began cutting away the tough leather. The blade was dull, making the cutting difficult and slow. She tensed as he approached the ankle.

  “Where’s it hurt?”

  “Outside of my foot.”

  He slowed down, taking his time, careful of the tender area. Tried hard not to jostle her as the blades sliced down on the leather. “Easy now . . .”

  “I’m not a horse,” she snapped.

  He bit back a grin he knew she wouldn’t appreciate. Maybe a distraction was in order.

  “The other day I was remembering that time Sparky got in a fight with your mom’s cat.” He made another cut. “He thought he was so to
ugh. Came slinking back to us with his tail between his legs.” Over the arch . . . easy . . .

  “Wasn’t even hurt.” She spoke between gritted teeth.

  Almost there. “Just his pride. Didn’t go near your mom’s cat again. What was her name?”

  “Jasmine.”

  “That’s right. Jasmine. She was a prickly one.” He pulled the blade out and eased what was left of the boot from her foot.

  Even with the sock on, the swelling was obvious. “This is the easy part.”

  He eased it down over the heel and off, lowering her foot to his lap. The purplish-blue bruising wrapped around her foot and toward the arch. Looked a lot like his foot when he broke it in Houston falling from a particularly feisty bull.

  “How’d it happen?”

  “Dropped a salt block on it.”

  “Needs an X-ray.”

  “It’s just bruised.”

  “It’s broken, Shay.”

  She pulled her foot away. “You’re no doctor.”

  “That’s right, I’m not.”

  “Thanks for your help.” She made to stand. Braced her weight on her right foot and inched up the barn wall.

  “I’ll take you now.”

  “I’ll wait and see how it is in the morning.”

  “No, you won’t. You’ll go right on with your chores.”

  “You don’t know me, Travis McCoy.”

  “I know you more than you think. You haven’t changed at all, that much is clear.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” She tottered on one foot. Sweat dotted her forehead, and she looked ready to pass out.

  Stubborn woman. He fetched her hat and set it back on her head. “Nothing. It means nothing.”

  He took a few breaths, looked around the property, listened to a starling sing a quick song. “If it don’t set up right, you’ll have permanent damage.”

  “How would you know?”

  “Broke my foot a few years back, and it needed a pin. You don’t want surgery, now, do you? Or a permanent limp? Make it hard to get around. ’Sides, I’d have to start calling you Hop-along.”

  He could see the indecision in her pain-glazed eyes.

  “Dr. Garvin can give you something strong for the pain.”

  “Clinic’s closed.”