The Cowboy's Make Believe Bride (Wyoming Matchmaker Book 2)

by Kristi Rose

  “Hello,” she said and extended a leathery-looking hand.

  Ranch hands, Cori thought. She glanced at her own pale one as she went to shake the woman's.

  “I'm Bette Zykowski. You can call me Mrs. Z. My land butts up to The Second Chance Ranch.”

  “Cori Walters.”

  “You're adorable,” Mrs. Z said, then switched her focus to Fort. “I'm glad you took my advice. Why you've kept this sweet creature from us I'll never know.”

  “That's my fault,” Cori said and glanced at Fort. “He's been asking, but I've put it off. When he comes to see me, I don't have to share him with anyone, but here I have to share him with everyone.” She gestured to the crowd. Some had gone back to eating while others were surreptitiously checking her out.

  A waitress about Fort's age came up to the table. “Hey, you all ready to order?” She stared at Cori.

  “Sally, this is my girlfriend, Cori. This is Sally.”

  “Hi,” Cori said. “Nice to meet you.” She didn't bother extending her hand. The waitress wouldn't take it. Cori knew contempt when she saw it, and Sally had it all over her face.

  “What can I get you, Fort,” Sally asked in a syrupy sweet voice.

  “I'll have two eggs, hard, with two sides of bacon. Coffee, too, please.”

  “You want me to make sure the bacon is extra crispy like you like?” Sally asked while watching Cori.

  “Sure. And get Cori the Lumberjack special.”

  Cori scanned the menu for the Lumberjack.

  “Are you sure? She looks like the sort to eat a grapefruit and nothing else.”

  “Oh, she'll eat it.” He turned to Cori. “If you eat it all, then it's free.”

  Cori found it on the menu and gulped. The special was a little bit of everything: eggs, pancakes, bacon, sausage, biscuits and gravy, and hash browns. “That looks like a lot of food,” she said as her stomach growled.

  He raised one brow and smiled.

  “But I'll give it my best,” she said.

  “That's the spirit, short stuff,” he said and squeezed her shoulder.

  Sally stomped off in a huff.

  “I hope she doesn't spit in my food,” Cori mumbled.

  “Oh, yes. There are going to be a handful of women in town who will be disappointed with your appearance. There was talk that he'd made you up, and I think a few of those women were hoping it was true.”

  Cori briefly caught Fort's eye before saying brightly, “Well, here I am. In the flesh.”

  “Does this mean you'll be throwing your hat in and running for sheriff?” Mrs. Z asked.

  Fort nodded. “It does.”

  Mrs. Z hooted. “Hey Deke, looks like you'll have some competition,” she yelled across the room.

  Deke was still standing by the counter talking with Witty. He turned, smiled, and said, “I'm looking forward to it.”

  An older man, a rancher based on his weathered skin and large belt buckle, stood and shouted Fort's name.

  “Yes, sir, Mr. Phillips?”

  “I'd like to know why you want to be sheriff here and not some other town or her town?” Mr. Phillips asked, jabbing a finger in Cori's direction before putting his hands on his hips.

  Cori was sitting close enough she was privy to Fort’s initial reaction. He stiffened, and his mouth dropped open slightly as if searching for words. Cori was getting to know Fort, a different side to him, and one thing was certain, he loved Wolf Creek and the people in it. He was going to great lengths for them, and when he showed her around, he'd told her who ran what, filling in little details about the people. Trouble was the old Fort, the one from Brewster, wasn't letting anyone in to get to know him better.

  Cori pushed herself up so she was crouched on the booth, looking over Fort's shoulder. “I'll tell you why Fort wants to be sheriff here and not somewhere else like Brewster. He's too shy to open up, especially to a large group of people at one time.” She placed a hand on his shoulder. “But I'm not.”

  A few people in the room chuckled.

  “Fort's always been about community. When we were kids, he'd work his dad's ranch, go to school, and then go about town helping others when times were down for them.” She gave his shoulder a squeeze. “Remember Mrs. Bellows?” she asked him, then returned her attention to the crowd. “Mrs. Bellows lost her only child and husband in a car accident when we were younger kids. To stay afloat, she had her own garden and bees. Fort would go over there and help her till and plant and pull honeycomb. Every week he did something for her for years, until she passed away his senior year. He didn't do it for money. She didn't have much and paid him in banana bread. His favorite. He did it for community. Brewster is no longer a community of people united but divided. They've had some bad luck and hard times. It's no longer the home he knew as a kid. I barely recognize it myself. But Wolf Creek, wow, what an amazing town. Fort gave me a tour earlier. I know that the Jacobson's who run the drugstore are expecting twins and that Mrs. Jacobson loves to ride horses. Competes even, but her doctor has restricted her from riding. Which, understandably, is making her a little sad.”

  “And mean. Yesterday she called me an old coot and told me to not come back until after the twins were born,” Mr. Phillips said.

  “Well, you are an old coot,” Mrs. Z replied.

  The crowd laughed.

  “Did you know Fort's teamed up with her husband and found her some volunteer work for the Sheriff's Department to keep her busy and distracted?” Cori continued.

  Fort ducked his head, shook it briefly, and said, “Well, we're hunting buddies and I'm just hoping we'll be able to hunt again one day.”

  More laughter.

  “There's a charm to this town that's palpable. I felt it the moment I came here. You all have managed to preserve a quality of life that's hard to find anywhere else. And Fort here, a man who still shaves the old school way”—she made like she was using a brush to lather cream on her face and then stretched her head back, pretending to shave her neck with a straight razor—“embodies that way of life. Will do anything to protect it, to keep this community intact. This is his home, where his soul comes alive. Even I can see it on his face. There was a visible change in him yesterday once we got away from the airport and closer to Wolf Creek. That's why he's running for sheriff, because he believes in this town, the people, the way of life, and it’s his home. Of course, he'd never say all this. He's more an actions-speak-louder-than-words kinda guy.” She hung her hand off his shoulder hoping her ring would catch some of the diner's light and the patron's attention.

  She looked around the room, used her best pageant smile while trying to make eye contact with as many people as she could. She wanted this for Fort. Maybe in part to make up for what her dad had done, but also because he would be really good at it. She then slid back into her seat and tucked her trembling hands beneath her legs.

  “Well said, dear,” Mrs. Z said.

  The crowd had gone back to chatting, occasionally sending furtive looks their way. Fort was quiet, so much so that it made her nervous.

  When their meal came, Sally fairly tossed the dishes at Cori. While they ate, several of the locals came and made their introductions. She thought she'd be too nervous to eat, but the food was good, comforting, and she was starving. She didn't require encouragement to finish the meal; it was gone in a flash.

  “Hey, Sally. Looks like my girl is getting her meal for free,” Fort yelled.

  The crowd laughed. “Leave her to us, Deputy, we'll fatten her right up,” someone called.

  “If the election were a food-eating contest, Fort's girl would win,” Deke said.

  Chuckles rang through the room, and Cori felt her cheeks go hot.

  “Don't be embarrassed, girl,” Mrs. Z said. “You've just gone from being an outsider they'll hold at arms’ distance to someone they want to know.”

  Well, that would be a new experience for her. She wasn't sure how to handle it.

  “I have to get to work,” Fort said
and slid his keys along the table to Cori. “Here's the truck keys. You think you can find the way back to the ranch?”

  “Sure. It's a straight shot.” She picked up his simple keys, one round silver ring and three keys.

  “Don't forget to come back and get me at eleven.”

  The conversation was so civil and easy she forgot she hated him. Okay, disliked him a lot. She made a mock grimace. “Oh, I can't make any promises.”

  Fort gave her a stern look.

  She waved dismissively. “Go try and scare someone else.”

  He tossed some dollars on the table, tipped his hat to Mrs. Z, and was gone.

  Mrs. Z was smiling at her. “I've been around. Seen lots of people married who liked each other, loved each other, and some who couldn't stand each other. I see something in you two. Something amazing if you both take the leap.”

  Cori looked at the empty plates before her and searched for words.

  “You don't need to say anything. Just think about it. It’s not often something real is within your reach.” She scooted out of the booth and was off with a clack of her heels.

  In that precise moment, Cori hated who she was and what she and Fort were doing. Doing people wrong was wrong, regardless of the act. She didn't want Fort to be a pariah in the town he'd declared his home like she was. She could guess what “home” meant to him. It was having a land to build something permanent, a town where he fit in. Home was community. She watched him struggle back in Texas, working hard to turn the small herd and land his dad had won into a real ranch, a place they could grow roots. If she were to guess, if this plan went wrong here, Fort would personalize it as another failure and she would have played a role in it. Cori took her camera from her bag and removed the lens cap. After turning it toward herself, she snapped a few selfies. She wanted to remember what she looked like the moment she moved forward with her plan to con a town.

  After she set the camera on the table and angled it to capture most of the diner, she pressed the shutter several times, hoping to catch candid photos of the townsfolk and get insight on the town vibe. The Smithsonian and Nikon photo contests were coming up, and Cori really hoped to have something entered. If she could win one of those, or even place, the accolades alone would give her the confidence to pursue photography. It would be the sign from the universe telling her what to do with her life, that photography was her path, her purpose.

  Fort's money lay on the table, including an ample tip, so she made her way outside, stopping to meet and shake hands with many of the locals. Cori walked the square of the town, all four blocks, window shopping along the way. Occasionally, folks would wave at her from the other side. Here only hours, and she was more welcome than she had been in years in her hometown.

  14

  Cori wandered to the square center where a giant gazebo sat. A sidewalk with offshoots in the four cardinal directions circled the large building. Cori found an empty bench that faced the Sheriff's Office. For being so small, the town was bustling. She lifted her camera and took several shots. Mostly of the landscape or the wisp of a skirt from a child running behind a tree. A couple of ranchers rode horses into town and tied them up to a post outside the diner. She laughed as she captured the image. It was charm and camaraderie. Wolf Creek was community.

  As she scrolled through the digital images, deleting the blurry ones, a tall woman about the same age as Cori sat down beside her. She leaned over and looked at the screen. “Wow, that's really good.” It was a shot of a horse fanning itself with its tail and the rancher beside it, his back large and broad, doing the same with his hat.

  Cori turned off the camera and turned to the woman. Not only was she tall to Cori's short but light to Cori's dark. She had caramel-colored hair and friendly-looking, light hazel eyes.

  She extended a hand. “Hi, I'm Megan, but everyone calls me Cricket.”

  “I'm Cori.”

  “Oh, I know. You're all everyone can talk about.”

  Cori experienced a flash of panic.

  Cricket rushed her next words. “Only because they are excited to meet you. They find you fascinating. The girl who captured Fort's heart.”

  Cori looked away embarrassed and a little sad that Fort was what made her fascinating. She understood, she supposed. He'd fascinated her as a kid, but just once she'd like to be the source of interest because of who she was, not for who she was pretending to date. “Please spread the word, there is nothing interesting about me.”

  “May I?” Cricket took the camera from Cori. She scrolled through the images on the screen. “I'd say these are pretty amazing. I find that interesting. You're a natural behind the camera.”

  “Being behind it is easy,” Cori said.

  Cricket chuckled. “How long did you do the pageant circuit?”

  Her question caught Cori completely off guard. Her mouth dropped open with no words but “uh” escaping. How did Cricket know? Had she searched Cori's name on the web and knew her history? Was she about to pepper her with questions about her dad? If Cricket knew, then others would, too. That's how small towns work.

  Cricket's smile was soft, kind. Did she pity Cori?

  “I know a pageant smile anywhere. I did them all through my teens and finally convinced my mom to let me quit when I hit college. My sister did them through college.”

  Cori slowly let go of the breath she was holding, somewhat relieved, not that she wasn't waiting for the next boom to come.

  “I did them until I hit thirteen. I flat refused to do them after that.”

  Cricket nodded with understanding. “Broke my mom's heart when I stopped. Or would have if I hadn’t jumped into the family business.” She gestured to the building across the street that housed the local newspaper.

  Cori looked between the building and Cricket. “The family business is a newspaper?”

  “Yep, my great -grandfather on my father's side started it. My dad had no interest in continuing the family business and became a rancher. He hired my mom who was a journalist in Salt Lake City to come and run the paper. She took it from a one-town once-a-week rag to the only paper for the county. We cover our town, Bison's Prairie, and Elk's Pass, which is on this side of us.” She gestured with her thumb to the east. “We print twice a week. Wednesdays and Sundays. It helped that my dad is a rancher since most of our stories are for the ranchers and about the ranchers. Now I run it.”

  “That's supercool,” Cori said. She'd have liked to take over the family business, back when she thought that was ranching.

  “And I'm looking for a photographer. Currently, it's me, and I'm not that good. Plus, I can't be two places at once. You're excellent. I can't pay you a lot, but I can give you a byline.”

  “Um…” Cori didn't know what to do. It was wrong to take a job knowing she was leaving, but this was an opportunity for experience she couldn’t afford to ignore.

  Cricket nudged her. “Come on, say yes. You can cover the election and do fun things like stakeout Mr. Phillips’ land. He's had some cows go missing and swears it's the work of aliens.”

  “Aliens? You don't say.” Cori lifted her camera to her eye. She'd like to get a picture of that. Not that she believed in aliens, but she wasn't about to rule anything out. Not if it could get her the winning slot in the photography contest.

  “Yeah, there's no sign of the missing cows. No footprints. No carcass. Nothing.”

  “No crop circles? How about in the house? Cups of water everywhere? TV signal staticky?” Cori asked, laughing at her M. Knight Shyamalan reference.

  Cricket chuckled. “Yeah, none of that. That I know of. Boy, this would be fun around Halloween.”

  “Timing is everything,” Cori agreed.

  “So, how about it? I'm a family-friendly place. Once you and Fort are married, and if you decide to have babies all the time, I can work around that. I really could use the help.”

  Cori was nodding before she knew she'd decided. Her heart was ahead of her brain. “Yeah, okay. I'll give it a
shot.”

  “Great! Now, get me some shots of the candidates so I can put together a spread.” Cricket jumped from the bench. “Thank you so much, Cori. You're a lifesaver.”

  Wow. When had she ever heard that? Um, never.

  15

  Still in uniform, Fort exited the Sheriff's office with an hour left to the day. It had been a long shift. Mainly because he expected more to happen. What precisely, he wasn't sure, but something more than a complaint about some teens speeding off Thigpen Road. He'd driven out to the Williams’ ranch, the complainers, dealt with the bored teens, and left the ranch with a loaf of fresh-from-the-oven banana bread courtesy of Mrs. Williams, who told him if she had known it was his favorite, she'd have been making him some all along.

  The bread was the one highlight.

  Accessing the limited database the department used had produced zero hits on the name Conway Witty or his image. If he wanted to dig into a larger database, he'd need to send the image to a bigger city like Cody and wait the seven to ten business days for the results. Only way to expedite it would be if Witty did something to get arrested.

  Fort could only hope.

  The streets were quiet, essentially rolled up for the night. Cori had backed his truck into the spot and was lying in the bed, her camera pressed to her face and focused at the sky. He'd spent part of the day considering her. She'd been prickly as a kid, and he still saw that in her now. But what had been annoying then was easily seen as a protective mechanism now. Far as he could tell, she'd been alone most of her life, being someone else her parent's preferred, whether it was the pageant girl for her mom or unknowing narc for her dad.

  “Is there a market for inky photos?” He placed the bread next to her feet.

  “I'm hoping to catch a UFO.” She lifted her head. “Do I smell banana bread?”

  Fort pushed what was left of the foil-wrapped loaf toward her. “Mrs. Williams made it for me.”