Bossy Bridegroom

by Mary Connealy

  Jeanie shook her head.

  “We owe God that much.” He threaded his fingers through hers. “We owe our faith that much—to try. Just walking away from each other isn’t honoring our vows any more than divorcing would be. God asks more of us than that. We need to get to know each other. Really start over. Nothing that we had before is a foundation for a marriage, so we throw that out and get to know each other as if we were strangers. Because we are strangers. We’re new people. New in Christ. Let’s just start over.” He eased his hands free and reached one out to shake. “It’s the right thing to do, isn’t it?”

  “Why is ‘the right thing to do’ always what I don’t want?”

  “You’re not the one who has the struggle ahead of you. Or if it is a struggle, it will be to keep me accountable. I’m the one who has to change. I’m the one who has anger and control issues knotted up inside. Give me a chance, please, Jeanie? Please?” His eyes pleaded. His words begged. His hand waited.

  She couldn’t tell him no. And hadn’t that always been her fundamental problem? But this time, galling though it was, she felt the truth of it. They weren’t honoring their marriage vows by living separately and alone for the rest of their lives.

  Heart sinking, tears threatening, she reached out. Their hands met and held. “All right. I’ll try.” Tears spilled over as they shook.

  He pulled her forward and held her, hugging her. She didn’t realize how long it had been since someone had really held her. Not a brief hello hug, but real contact. The loneliness of her life made her cling to him—in joy for the human touch and in despair because she sensed she’d just taken her first step toward self-destruction.

  nine

  Michael took his cue from Jeanie and began simply to say yes when something was asked of him.

  It took less than a week before he’d gained a reputation as someone who’d lend a hand, and besides what he did for free, he made a few dollars. He was the Cold Creek handyman—a big change from a shark hustling building contracts.

  He mowed lawns, did minor household repairs, fixed leaky faucets. He charged next to nothing and often didn’t ask for money at all.

  It was a way to make a living. The business and marketing strategy of his corporation consisted of hand-printed signs taped up at the senior center, grocery store, bank, and mini-mart.

  He joined the volunteer fire department, chipped in on all the Memorial Day committees that were shorthanded, and agreed to help with the Monday morning church service at the nursing home.

  He did as much with Jeanie as he could, but when their lives pulled them in separate directions, he went where he was needed, because he sensed Jeanie respected his willingness to serve others and he wanted her respect.

  He returned his rented car to Rapid City and came home with a small pickup, careful not to buy anything too flashy, even though he could well afford it.

  They’d been together five days when he came home one evening and announced fearfully, “Jeanie, I bought a house.”

  “What?”

  He lifted both hands as if he were warding off a pit bull. “Listen, I didn’t do it to control you or to judge where you live. I was repairing a drainpipe on Myra Dean’s house, and her son showed up. He lives out of town, and we got to talking. He told me he really needed to get some money out of the house.”

  “You bought Myra’s house?”

  Michael had run himself ragged serving coffee at her funeral.

  “Her family has a lot of bills to pay for the nursing home and the funeral, and they had no prospects. I promise I paid an honest price.” A steal is what it was. If that huge old house had been sitting in Chicago somewhere, it would have cost a half million dollars. He’d bought it for fifty thousand, and Lance had practically wept with gratitude.

  “It’s a white elephant. It’s practically falling down. It’s been sitting empty for three years since Myra moved into the nursing home.”

  Michael shook his head. “It’s been neglected, but it’s got great bones, a solid foundation. And I love that American foursquare architecture. I’ll enjoy refurbishing it. I had to do it for Myra’s son, didn’t I?”

  Jeanie shook her head. “Yes, you’re right.” She whacked him with the bat. “But you should have talked to me first.”

  “It was a spur of the moment thing. I’m sorry.”

  “I’m busy. I’m not helping you pack and move.”

  “I’ll close on it tomorrow and move everything by the weekend. You’ll live with me in it, won’t you? If not, we’ll just stay here.”

  Jeanie knew Myra, and she knew the years in the nursing home had cost her family a lot. The Dean family did need the cash. “Yes, I’ll live there.”

  “Thanks. I promise you won’t have to lift a finger.”

  Jeanie rolled her eyes at him and turned to the kitchen to pull a pizza out of the oven. Frozen.

  Michael felt lucky that she hadn’t bought a personal pan size. She was cooking dinner for both of them. He was tempted to jump up and down and yell, but he was afraid the bat would come out.

  Working on so many aspects of the Memorial Day celebration got him involved. Maybe too involved. The weekend events bothered him for their complete lack of flare, and he convinced the town fathers to let him put a couple of ads in the Rapid City paper, at his expense, to lure in tourists interested in the buffalo. He enlisted a couple of area seniors to be available to drive a minivan out to the herd if anyone showed up wanting to pay for the privilege.

  And he met his daughter.

  “She’s huge.” Michael caught Jeanie’s hand, his eyes riveted on Sally. He took a step toward the little blond beauty, and someone blocked his path. He was so diverted by Sally he ran headlong into Buffy—his sister-in-law with the temperament of a buffalo.

  “I heard you’d shown up in town.” Buffy jammed her fists onto her hips and looked as if she’d tear into him with the least provocation. Michael sincerely hoped no one gave her a bat.

  Buffy was two years younger than Jeanie, but they’d been in the same grade because of Buffy’s genius IQ. While Jeanie played, Buffy studied. While Jeanie flirted, Buffy worked nights and weekends at a nearby wildlife park just outside Chicago. Buffy was lean and had dark, straight hair. He remembered she’d always worn it in a braid, but today it hung in loose, gentle curls. Then, as now, she’d ignored makeup. She’d been very solemn and quiet. The complete opposite of his blond, blue-eyed, flirty, flashy Jeanie.

  She was six years younger than Michael, and back in high school, even from that disadvantaged level, she’d told him to his face he was scum for hanging around a girl as young as her sister. At the time he’d hated the little brat. Plain, no flare, no humor, no personality. But even then he’d recognized her as a better person than either Jeanie or him. Her words had echoed in his head like a sleeping conscience. And that only made him hate her more.

  Maybe it was because he’d finally grown up, but he noticed immediately that she’d become a beautiful woman. Grouchy but beautiful.

  “This is that no-account coyote who abandoned Sally?” A gruff voice pulled Michael’s eyes up and up until they met Wyatt Shaw’s. He stood behind Buffy. Jeanie had said Buffy’s new husband was a rancher, but Michael would have known it at a glance. The weathered skin, dark hair hanging a bit long below a gray Stetson, and an attitude as cold as a South Dakota winter. Wyatt held his little girl, Audra, in his huge, work-scarred hands. Patting the toddler’s back while the baby giggled until her dark curls bounced muted Wyatt’s arctic demeanor.

  Michael knew he deserved this scorn, and he was determined to stand here and take it like a man.

  “This is him.” Buffy turned her eyes on Jeanie, and Michael braced himself to protect his wife.

  “Aunt Jeanie!” A small blond tornado hit Jeanie in the legs. Michael saw Sally up close at last.

  Aunt Jeanie. The words registered and cut like a knife.

  Then two more balls of energy came onto the scene. Wyatt had twin sons.
>
  Michael couldn’t take his eyes off of Sally, the image of Jeanie.

  Then Buffy caught his arm.

  Reluctantly, he turned.

  “We need to talk. You’ve got”—Buffy glanced at Sally, who was talking nonstop to Jeanie, along with the twins who were as identical as mirror images—“papers we need signed.”

  Michael clenched his jaw. Now wasn’t the time or place to tell Buffy that he intended to get back together with Jeanie and reclaim his daughter. He nodded. “We do need to talk.”

  “After church. We can send the kids to a friend’s house for lunch and have this out.”

  Michael wasn’t quite ready to have anything out. He suspected that, as things stood, for him to start a fight over Sally might be the last straw with Jeanie. She’d kick him out and there’d be no further chance of reconciliation. But he had until the end of summer to protest the termination of his parental rights. He didn’t need to tell anyone anything right now. He’d let things bump along as they were until he’d renewed his marriage.

  “Fine, after church.” He had one hour to figure out just what he was going to say. For now, he decided to change the subject to the one thing that might possibly distract his cranky sister-in-law. “Has the mayor contacted you about the buffalo excursions for Memorial Day?”

  Buffy scowled. “We agreed to move a small group to the holding pens closer to town so the ride won’t be so long and the buffalo will be close to the road.”

  “Good. That’s settled then. You draw some tourists, right?”

  Buffy nodded. “We do.”

  “Do you have any pamphlets we could spread around to advertise the buffalo?”

  “We’ve got something.” Wyatt caught Buffy’s arm and added, “Come on, kids. The parson’s getting read to start.”

  The twins and Sally whined and said a lot of good-byes to Jeanie without so much as looking Michael’s way. His own daughter had walked right past him and had no idea who he was. It was like taking a knife to the heart. And it was a knife thrust by his own hand. His choices, his selfishness had led him to this pain.

  He felt a hand on his elbow and looked up. Jeanie’s sympathy was plain to see. She knew how he felt. Their eyes held.

  What was it she’d said? “God has forgiven me for that, but I’ll never forgive myself.” The difference was he’d brought her to the point where she’d abandoned Sally. Whatever forgiveness she needed, he needed a hundred times more.

  She tugged on his arm and led him into a pew near the back of the hundred-year-old church. Then she went up front to the piano and accompanied the organist.

  Michael felt abandoned though he was fiercely proud of how well Jeanie played.

  The Shaws were sitting about five rows ahead. Michael could watch Sally whisper to her father—Wyatt Shaw, not Michael—with adoring eyes. That was what he’d thrown away.

  His eyes burned, but he refused to let the tears fall. Instead, they stayed inside, cutting his heart like acid rain.

  ten

  Michael deserved whatever he got.

  Even so, Jeanie felt an almost compulsive need to protect Michael from Buffy, which was stupid, but she couldn’t help herself. She prayed for this “talk” as she played the hymns.

  Buffy had such a decent heart, she couldn’t be truly cruel to anyone. She’d allowed Jeanie back into the family as an aunt. And they were closer now than they’d ever been, real friends. They worshipped together because Jeanie had returned to Cold Creek and started attending here about a year after she’d abandoned Sally.

  Buffy had included Jeanie in get-togethers with her friend, Emily Hanson, another woman about their age, and Emily had become an even better friend than Buffy.

  But Buffy had no use for Michael. Never had.

  When church broke up, Jeanie left her place at the piano, fighting the urge to grab Michael and run.

  But why? Let Buffy have at him. Wanting to protect her jerk of a husband was just a leftover reflex from long ago.

  Jeanie emerged from church, aware Michael had a firm hold on her arm. Normally she’d have shaken him off. No bat at church, but if she would have had it, she would have whacked him, except she felt sorry for the big goon.

  Jeanie saw Buffy waving good-bye to the kids as they drove away with Emily and her husband, Jake. Emily was far along in a pregnancy, but she didn’t hesitate for a second to let the three rambunctious Shaw kids into her car.

  Buffy turned to Michael, Audra in her arms. Wyatt relieved her of the baby, as if to get the child to shelter.

  Michael headed straight for Buffy. No running and hiding for Michael Davidson, he seemed determined to take his tongue-lashing like a man. Though his steps were firm, his voice was gentle. “Buffy, before we start, I want you to know I’ve become a Christian since I left Jeanie and Sally. I’m back to make things right.” Michael settled himself, his feet slightly spread, as if he expected Buffy to start swinging and he was going to take the whole thing standing.

  “I want those papers signed before one more day goes by. You’ve—”

  “I’m glad you’re all together.” Bucky Herne approached the group, not aware he’d stepped into a kill zone. He directed his words to Wyatt. “I’ve got to get things squared away about the buffalo for Memorial Day.”

  Buffy’s eyes narrowed at the mayor. Jeanie could read Buffy’s mind. She took care of the buffalo herd. For that matter, this whole thing was Michael’s idea, and Jeanie volunteered to do almost all the work. And yet the mayor talked to Wyatt. Wyatt’s family had been here five generations. Roots bought respect in South Dakota.

  Michael turned to the mayor and cocked his head and focused. How well Jeanie remembered that focus. The man could make you feel like the center of the universe. That’s how he’d made her feel at first. Later she’d been more like a bug under a microscope.

  “Bucky, I’ve written up some detailed notes about Memorial Day. The Shaws are willing to bring about twenty head of buffalo to the holding pens near town.”

  Jeanie saw Bucky switch his attention from Wyatt, who wasn’t interested at any rate, to Michael. The older man practically preened under Michael’s respectful forcefulness.

  “And about rides out there—,” the mayor said.

  “At first we planned on having a few Cold Creek residents lend their minivans. But I’ve gotten such a good response from the ads—it included a phone number to book the bus tour in advance—that I rented a bus from Rapid City. It’s comfortable and seats about forty people. This will be at my expense, because I’m the one proposing it, and I don’t want the city to take any financial risks. I’ll make sure any profits go into the city coffers, too. And I’ve already arranged some publicity. The Rapid City Journal and the Hot Springs Star will run a story, and two of the local television stations have asked for interviews. Area radio stations have …”

  Michael just took off talking and left them all in his dust. Jeanie had heard about the rented buses, but TV and the biggest newspaper in the area? She’d never heard a peep. How like Michael to just start handling things.

  The mayor looked dazed. Wyatt looked intrigued as he bounced his little girl in his arms. Buffy looked irritated. She hadn’t forgotten those adoption papers. And then the car with her—Jeanie flinched—Buffy’s three kids came driving back into the church parking lot at top speed.

  The three Shaw children jumped out of the car. Jake swung his door open with a wild expression on his face. “Hey, I’m sorry about this, but Emily’s water just broke. We need to get to the hospital. We can’t take the kids after all.”

  “That’s fine.” Wyatt waved. “You want us to take Stephie?”

  “Nope, she wants to go along. Thanks, though.” He swung the door shut and tore off.

  Their little group grew, with the children adding to the chaos.

  Two more parishioners and the pastor came up, and the Memorial Day committee began an impromptu meeting.

  Buffy gave Michael a look that would have left a lesser
man writhing in pain on the ground. Michael was too busy holding court to notice.

  Jeanie went to Buffy’s side. “We’ll get it signed. Michael is determined to fix our marriage, and he has convinced me to at least try. I’ve been—” Jeanie realized Michael was inches away, and the man could multitask like nobody’s business. He’d hear this, plus the children were swarming around everyone.

  Jeanie pulled Buffy aside.

  “I’ll talk to him. He’s only got about three months left until the deadline, so even if he does nothing, it’ll be over soon.” Tears suddenly cut across Jeanie’s eyes, and she dashed a hand across them quickly, glad she didn’t wear mascara anymore.

  Buffy’s hand rested on Jeanie’s arm. “You know this is for the best.”

  Jeanie nodded. “It is. Even if Michael and I fix things, she”—Jeanie’s gaze darted toward Sally—“is your daughter. We won’t do anything to harm her.”

  Buffy looked skeptical. “Your husband has a knack for twisting the world to suit himself. I won’t rest easy until he’s signed those papers.”

  Jeanie had a moment of doubt. Michael hadn’t said loud and clear that Sally’s adoption was all right with him. At first he’d been furious. Then, when he found out Sally was in good hands, he’d accepted it. Or had he? Jeanie hadn’t trusted Michael for a long time.

  “We don’t have a motel or any overnight accommodations.” Mayor Herne tugged on his tie to loosen the knot, then pulled it all the way off, wrapped it around his hand, and slipped the tie in his suit coat pocket. The day was warm for early May.

  “Nothing for overnight?” Michael rubbed his chin with one thumb. “Memorial Day is a three-day weekend. To really make some money with tourism, we need somewhere for folks to stay.”

  “Do you have the papers, Jeanie?” Buffy drew Jeanie back to the most important matter at hand. “I’ve got copies if you need them.”

  “Mike has the ones he’s supposed to sign. And I promise I’ll talk to him. This isn’t the time or place.”