by Katie Lane
Spring Texas Bride
The Brides of Bliss Texas, Book 1
Katie Lane
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Sneak Peek!
Dear Reader
Also by Katie Lane
About the Author
Copyright April 2018 by Katie Lane
Cover Design & Interior Format by The Killion Group, Inc.
www.thekilliongroupinc.com
All Rights Reserved.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the writer’s imagination. All rights reserved. Scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing of this book without the permission of the author is unlawful piracy and theft.
To obtain permission to excerpt portions of the text, please contact the author at [email protected] Thank you for respecting this author’s hard work and livelihood.
To my oldest daughter and spring bride, Aubrey Lane,
your vivacious, giggly personality never fails to brighten my day
Chapter One
The fish weren’t biting.
Waylon Kendall stared at the red and white bobber, willing it to dip under the sparkling sunlit surface of the pond. When it only wobbled slightly in the ripples kicked up by the wind, he started to reel it back in.
It was a beautiful day, especially for the first week of February. The breeze was nippy, but the Texas sun was hot. A perfect day for fishing—whether you caught a fish or not. Or at least that’s what he tried to tell himself. But, truth be told, he never had liked fishing. It bored the hell out of him. His daddy and two younger brothers loved to fish. To them, fishing wasn’t just a hobby. It was an addiction. They lived for their fishing trips when they could sit in a boat or on a sunny bank, drink beer, and watch a bobber bob. It helped them decompress from their family responsibilities and the stress of their jobs.
That was exactly why Waylon had grabbed his fishing pole and tackle box late that Sunday afternoon. He’d hoped fishing would help him relax and decompress. Not from family—unlike his brothers, he didn’t have a wife or kids—but from his job as the sheriff of Bliss, Texas.
There had been six generations of lawmen in his family. Six. His great-great-great grandfather had been one of the first Texas Rangers. His great-great-grandfather, a territorial sheriff who had captured some of the most notorious outlaws in the west. His great-grandfather and grandfather had become two of Dallas’s most decorated police officers. And his father had been the sheriff of Bliss, Texas, for over thirty-five years before he called it quits and moved to Austin. Law enforcement ran strong in Waylon’s veins. He was born to serve and protect.
He was not born to fish.
He finished reeling in his line and checked the hook. The worm was still attached . . . and wiggling. He felt a stab of sympathy for the bait’s plight. Recently he’d felt like a worm on a hook, speared through the gut and unable to wiggle free.
Of course, he’d asked to be impaled. The job of sheriff was an elected position, and he’d put his name on the ballot knowing that he was a shoe-in. Everyone in the county knew Waylon would someday replace his father Malcolm Kendall. And Waylon had looked forward to the time when he got to wear the shiny sheriff’s badge his father had pinned on every morning.
But that was before he realized the kind of responsibility that came with the star. As a deputy for his father, he hadn’t felt accountable for the entire county’s safety. If fact, he hadn’t taken his deputy job seriously at all. He’d acted like a good ol’ boy who teased and joked with everyone and believed in issuing warnings and giving second chances. If a person didn’t heed his warning, he could always count on his father to step in and actually enforce the law.
Waylon didn’t realize his mistake until after he’d won the election and people refused to take him seriously. They expected second chances . . . and thirds and fourths. He’d started feeling like his brothers when they corrected his nieces and nephews. “I’m giving you to the count of three to stop that or else” didn’t work. And while there wasn’t a lot of criminal activity in Bliss, there was a lot of misbehaving. Misbehaving that, if left unchecked, could lead to someone getting hurt. And Waylon wasn’t about to let that happen. He cared about his town and the people who lived there.
So he became tough. He stopped being the good ol’ boy who joked and teased and became a hard-ass who didn’t issue warnings or give second chances. If you broke the law, you got a citation or tossed in jail. No excuses.
Subsequently, his personal life had gone to hell. He was no longer invited to parties and barbecues. No one wanted the “mean boss” spoiling their good times. Not that he would’ve attended even if he had been invited. As a deputy, he had been able to take off his badge and become a civilian. As the sheriff, he felt like he was never off-duty.
The sound of crinkling paper pulled his attention away from the wiggling worm. A squirrel had slipped down from one of the oak trees to grab the last piece of his granola bar out of the wrapper. The animal didn’t seem to be too worried about getting caught. It stared back at Waylon with big brown eyes as it quickly filled its furry cheeks with honey, oats, and flaxseed. But it did freeze when the dog lying next to Waylon stopped snoring and opened one bloodshot eye. The squirrel had nothing to worry about. The dog was no threat. This was proven when the droopy eyelid closed and the snoring continued.
Waylon had gotten the dog for company. He’d thought that a bloodhound would be the perfect canine detective to help him sniff out crime. But it turned out that Sherlock had a nasal condition that affected his sense of smell . . . not to mention he was the laziest creature in the entire state of Texas. He cared nothing about hunting down criminals or chasing a squirrel that was eating his master’s breakfast. All he cared about was food and naptime.
“Crazy dog.” Waylon muttered as he scratched Sherlock’s floppy ears. He recast his line. But after only a few minutes of watching the bobber, he started thinking about everything that he should be doing. Mowing his lawn. Cleaning his house. Grocery shopping. And the mountain of paperwork he had to do since his assistant Gail had taken an extended leave of absence to care for her aging mother.
He could ignore the household chores, but he couldn’t ignore his work. Heaving a sigh, he got to his feet. “Come on, Sherlock. Fun’s over.” The dog pulled together his miles of drooping skin and slowly followed Waylon to the truck. Waylon had just tossed his fishing gear in the bed when his phone rang.
If it had been his personal cellphone, he would’ve ignored it. His mama had been calling a lot lately, dropping not-so-subtle hints about the single women in Bliss who would make wonderful wives. Waylon didn’t want a wife. His life was stressful enough without adding to it. But he couldn’t deny that he needed a woman. Fishing might not help his stress, but a night of great sex certainly would. Unfortunately for him, sex with a woman from the community was out of the question. He didn’t want to walk into Lucy’s Place Diner and hear his sexual escapades being gossiped about. He’d worked to
o hard for the town’s respect to lose it because he was horny.
He pulled the cellphone he used strictly for emergency calls from his front pocket and checked the caller ID before he answered. “What’s up, Tuck?”
Tucker Riddell had only been his deputy for a few months. He was fresh out of the academy and still a little high-strung and superhero drunk. He thought he was Robin, Waylon was Batman, and Bliss was Gotham City. Still, he was a good kid with hardworking values.
“We got us a situation, Sheriff.” Tucker’s voice was two octaves higher than normal, which was already pretty damn high.
“Take a deep breath and tell me what’s going on.”
“It’s a 10-32.” Tucker liked to use code. Usually wrong.
“Someone drowned?”
“I thought 10-32 was drunk and disorderly.”
Waylon opened his truck door and waited for Sherlock to jump in. “Someone is drunk and disorderly? Where?”
“The Watering Hole.”
Waylon was surprised. People had gotten drunk and disorderly at the town’s only bar before, but usually on Twofer Tuesdays when the entire town showed up for buy-one-get-one-free beer and hot wings. Never on a Sunday afternoon when most folks were home taking naps . . . or fishing.
“Who is it?” he asked.
“Mike and Orville.”
Mike and Orville? The two were best friends and had been ever since Waylon could remember. They were regulars at the bar, but had never gotten drunk or caused any problems. Something wasn’t right.
“You want me to take them to the jail and book ‘em?” Tucker asked.
“No, I’ll be there in fifteen.”
In less than thirteen minutes, he was driving down Main Street in Bliss. A couple years back, the street had looked like a ghost town. Most of the businesses were closed and the buildings vacant. But then fate had smiled on Bliss, although most folks thought fate had gotten a little help from the ghost of Lucy Arrington.
Lucy was the great-granddaughter of the founder of Bliss. She had written a classic series of novels called Tender Heart in the 1960s based on the mail-order brides her great-grandfather had brought to Texas to marry the cowboys who worked his huge ranch. She’d died before she could write the final book in the series. Or at least, that’s what everyone thought until the first chapter of the lost book was discovered. The hunt for the book brought new people into town. People who opened up businesses like Lucy’s Place Diner and Home Sweet Home, the home décor shop that sold antiques and Tender Heart souvenirs.
Finding Lucy’s final book and the new businesses opening motivated the townsfolk to start taking pride in Bliss. Old business owners gave their storefronts facelifts, and the town council added new lampposts and trees all along Main Street. There was even a new Tender Heart museum that was filled with artifacts from Lucy’s life and the lives of the original mail-order brides. Which had made more tourists show up. And added more stress for Waylon.
He pulled into the Watering Hole parking lot and parked behind Tucker’s patrol car. As he’d expected, there were only a few vehicles in the lot. He recognized Mike’s and Orville’s trucks and the Cadillac that belonged to the owner, Hank. He did not recognize the white Jeep Wrangler or the trailer attached to its hitch. No one in Bliss owned a cotton-candy-pink vintage trailer with the words Spring Fling printed on the back in scrolled letters.
Waylon studied the i’s dotted with daisies for just a second before he got out and gave a command for Sherlock to stay. Not that the dog was going anywhere. He was fast asleep in the backseat.
When Waylon got inside the bar, he found Hank sweeping up glass. The owner nodded toward the poolroom. “I had Tucker take them to the back. I didn’t want any more of my glasses broken.”
Waylon took his aviator sunglasses off and hooked them in his shirt collar before heading to the poolroom. The light was brighter in the room. Mike sat at one table with a swollen eye and Orville sat at another table with a puffy lip. The men were still bickering. Tucker stood between them with his hand on his gun as if waiting for them to make a move so he could quick draw. All Waylon had to do was step into the room to get the men to shut up.
He pushed back his cowboy hat and turned to Tucker. “Tell me what happened.”
Tucker visibly relaxed. “From what I can piece together, they were having a beer and talking about the Cowboys’ dismal season when a woman walked in and one thing led to another.”
Waylon glanced at Mike and Orville, who had to be pushing seventy. “You two got in a fight over a woman?” It was surprising. Women and sports were the two main reasons for bar fights. But usually it was the younger, testosterone-filled men who lost their cool over a female.
“She was a woman worth fighting over.” Mike stood. “She was as pretty as a yellow rose of Texas and would’ve agreed to be my wife if not for that butthead.” He pointed a finger at Orville.
“Barbara Leigh would never have married you in a thousand years,” Orville said, as he rose to his feet. “She only went out with you once, while she went out with me three times.”
Waylon stepped between the men and pointed at Orville. “Sit down or I’m hauling you in. And I still might once I untangle this mess. Who is Barbara Leigh?”
“Barbara Leigh Fulton,” Orville clarified as he sat back down. “She was the homecoming queen of the class of 1967 and married that oil driller from Oklahoma.”
Waylon tried to fit the pieces together, but he was struggling. “And she got a divorce and came back to town?”
Orville shook his head. “Last I heard, Barbara Leigh is still happily married with six kids and thirteen grandkids. She sends Ms. Marble one of them photo Christmas cards every year with her entire family on it.”
Waylon was now more confused than ever. “So why were you fighting over her if she’s married and doesn’t even live here?”
Orville thought for a moment before he scratched his balding head. “Hell, I don’t rightly know. We were just sitting there talking with that sweet little gal from Houston about the loves of our lives, and the next thing you know, me and Mikey was going at it.”
Suddenly, things became crystal clear. Some troublemaker tourist had come into the bar and instigated a fight between the two friends. A fight that seemed to be winding down.
Mike chuckled. “We sure did get a little hotheaded over a woman who dumped us both.” He touched his swollen eye. “That’s quite a punch you got for an old man, Orville.”
Orville grinned. “You’re not so feeble yourself. What say I buy you a drink?”
Waylon could’ve hauled them in for being disorderly, but they hadn’t done any harm besides breaking a couple of glasses. Still, he thought it was best if they stopped while they were ahead. “What say we skip the drinks and head on home,” he said. “And on your way out, you need to make restitution with Hank for the glasses you broke.”
Both men nodded. “Yes, sir, Sheriff.” They walked out together, slapping each other on the back.
When they were gone, Waylon turned to Tucker. “Make sure Mike and Orville settle up with Hank and leave separately, then you can get back on patrol.”
“Will do, Sheriff.” Tucker saluted with a click of his boot heels.
Waylon rolled his eyes as he headed out the emergency exit door that led to the parking lot. The Jeep with the pink trailer was still there. He had little doubt that Spring Fling was the one who had started the fight. He couldn’t give a citation to someone for instigating, but he could make it clear that he didn’t like people causing trouble in his town. He slipped on his sunglasses as he strode over to the little door and knocked. The low-throated bark had his eyes narrowing. They narrowed even more when the door opened and he got a good look at Miss Spring Fling.
Her.
He should’ve known it would be her. If not by the name, then by the vibrant pink trailer. From the first moment he’d met her, he pegged her as the type of woman who liked to draw attention to herself. The neon blue streak in
her short black hair was a dead giveaway. As was her clothing. Today she wore a shirt and a pair of tight jeans that looked like they’d been run through a paper shredder. The tangerine material of the shirt was slitted to reveal the lime green tank top beneath, and the ripped jeans revealed long, tanned legs. Her feet were bare. Her toenails painted a blue as neon as the stripe in her hair.
But it wasn’t her neon toes or her ripped jeans or her striped hair that annoyed him the most. It was the twinkle in her big blue eyes whenever she looked at him. A twinkle that was impish, disrespectful, and impertinent.
“Why, Sheriff Kendall,” she said in a voice as bright as her trailer. “What a surprise.”
Chapter Two
Men didn’t usually intimidate Spring Hadley. But she had to admit that there was something a little intimidating about Sheriff Waylon Kendall. It was probably due to his size. She wasn’t short, and if you added the height of her trailer, she should be looking down at him. She wasn’t. His tan cowboy hat was eye level, and his broad shoulders filled her entire door. He wore a scowl on his face. A scowl that deepened as he studied her from head to toe and back again. The few times she’d run into him when she’d been visiting Bliss, she’d gotten the distinct impression that he didn’t like her. Now she was pretty positive that he didn’t.
It was puzzling.
People usually loved her.
The cute hound dog she’d rescued started snoring loudly, and the sheriff’s eyebrows lowered behind the top frame of his aviator sunglasses. “Do you have my dog?” The word dog came out slow, country, and kind of sexy.
She glanced over her shoulder at the dog lying on her bed, then back at the sheriff. “That’s your dog?” She was surprised. He seemed too uptight to own a laid-back hound dog. Even now, his shoulders were all bunched with tension, and the skin around his square jaw looked tight, like he was clenching his teeth. Her sisters Autumn and Summer thought the sheriff of Bliss was hot. And there was something ruggedly attractive about him. But Spring didn’t like uptight guys. She had to deal with an uptight sister and that was more than enough. She liked guys who enjoyed life as much as she did. Guys who knew how to smile . . . and didn’t hate her.
