Cinderella's Big Sky Groom

by Christine Rimmer

  “About what?”

  “Whatever you’d like to talk about.” She listed a few safe subjects. “The weather. My problem students. The exemplary Mrs. Simms.” And thought of a few that probably weren’t so safe: your childhood. Your ex-wife…

  He was watching her mouth. “I’ve got other things than talking on my mind.”

  She spoke tenderly. “Yes, I know. But don’t think about that.”

  “Easy for you to say.”

  “No. No, it’s not, actually.”

  That seemed to mollify him. Enough that he dropped into his chair again.

  She sat down herself. “Now I’m going to ask you how your day went. And you’re going to tell me. And when you’re done telling me, I’ll tell you all about my day. And after that, if we’re both still awake, we’ll think of something else to talk about.”

  He looked slightly bewildered—and so handsome her heart ached. “This is crazy, isn’t it?”

  “Which? Pretending we’re engaged or your coming here tonight?”

  “Both.”

  “We could stop.” Oh, why had she said that? What if he said that he thought they should stop?

  But he didn’t. He stood again. “It’s too soon for you to call it off. We need to give it a few more weeks.”

  Do we? a part of her wanted to ask. Do we really?

  But that would only bring them a little closer to an ending.

  She didn’t want it to end. Not ever.

  But if it was going to end, she’d take every minute she could get until then.

  “I’m going,” he said. “It’s after ten. And we both have to work tomorrow.”

  “I’m still glad you came.”

  “Crazy,” he said again, musingly this time.

  She got up and followed him to the door.

  On Thursday Lynn called Arlene’s house again. Arlene herself answered this time. And she didn’t hang up—at least, not immediately.

  “Oh.” Arlene made a humphing sound. “It’s you. Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine, Arlene.”

  A silence, then, “I suppose I should tell you that I feel kind of bad that I called you trash. I don’t really think you’re trash.”

  “I know.”

  “But what you did was rotten and low.”

  “I’m sorry you think that.”

  Arlene humphed again. And then the line went dead.

  Lynn decided to call that conversation progress. She stopped in at the drugstore the next day and bought three all-occasion greeting cards, each one with “I love you and miss you” sentiments inside. She mailed them off right away—one each for Jewel and Arlene and Trish.

  That weekend, on Saturday, she and Ross drove to Billings again. They had dinner and saw a movie. During the drive back, Lynn tried to get him to talk more about his family, about his life before he’d come to Whitehorn. He grudgingly admitted that he had worked as a ranch hand for two summers while he was in his teens. The ranch had been a huge one, bigger than the Kincaid spread, not far from Billings. The rancher had taken a liking to him and ended up helping him, getting letters of recommendation for him when he’d started applying for college scholarships. The rancher had even had a few friends who were Princeton alumni.

  “He pulled some strings, I guess you could say. And that’s how I ended up getting a scholarship to go there.”

  Lynn jumped in with both feet then. “Where did your wife go to college?”

  He looked straight ahead. “I’m not married.”

  “But…you were married? When you lived in Denver?”

  “Yes.”

  “What was her name?”

  “Elana.”

  “What was she like?”

  He did cast her a glance then, an unreadable one. “My marriage didn’t work out. My wife died. And I’d rather not talk about it.”

  Lynn did a double take. “She died? But I heard you were divorced.”

  A low, disgusted sound escaped him. “From Trish, right?”

  “Well, yes, but—”

  “Look. I might have told your sister I was divorced. If my wife hadn’t died, I would have been. The marriage was over at that point, I promise you.”

  “But—”

  He cut her off again. “In my experience, if a man says he’s divorced, people hesitate to pry. On the other hand, if he says he’s a widower, he’s fair game—for expressions of sympathy. And questions. A lot of questions. From ‘How long were you married?’ to ‘How did she die?’ I didn’t want to get into all that, so yes, it’s possible I said I was divorced.”

  “But you’re not. You’re a widower.”

  “Yes. I’m a widower. Now let’s talk about something else.”

  “I’d just like to know—”

  “It’s the past. It’s done with.”

  Lynn didn’t believe that. Not for a minute. “Is it?”

  “Drop it, Lynn. I mean it.” The words were hard as granite rocks.

  Lynn subsided into silence. Not a word was spoken through the remainder of the drive home.

  When they got to her house, he walked her to her door. But he didn’t kiss her. And he didn’t call the next day.

  On Monday Lynn learned that Mrs. Parchly, the school secretary, planned to hire an assistant, someone who would be part-time clerical and part-time teacher’s aide. The pay was modest to start, but the benefit package would be a good one. It occurred to Lynn that Trish had the basic qualifications for the job.

  She stewed about whether or not to try to approach Trish on the subject. So far, Trish had hardly proved a model employee. It might not even be fair to the school for Lynn to recommend her. If Trish were hired and made a mess of it, Lynn would feel at least partly to blame.

  She was still trying to decide what to do when she got home at four—and found Trish sitting on her front step.

  “Can I…come in? Just for a few minutes?”

  “Sure.”

  They went to the breakfast nook and sat across from each other at the round maple table.

  “Thanks for the card,” Trish said in a tiny, lost-sounding voice.

  “You’re welcome.”

  “When I got it, I just sat down and cried.”

  “I didn’t mean for you to cry.”

  “Well, I did. I cried. And I thought about you and how you’re my sister and…well, men can come and go—but a person only gets so many sisters in her life.” Trish folded her hands on the table and then stared at them, her soft lower lip quivering. “I guess…I’ve got to admit it….” Trish faltered. Lynn held her breath.

  She let it out when Trish made herself go on. “You didn’t really steal Ross Garrison from me. He never even liked me much, anyway. I guess I’m just not his type. But I…I thought I could make him like me. And then, when it turned out he wanted you, well, I was so jealous, I could have kicked a hog barefooted. You know how I get when things don’t go my way….”

  Lynn did know. She also knew how much grit and love it had taken for spoiled little Trish to come here today. She reached out, then thought better of it. She folded her own hands, just to have something to do with them.

  Trish spotted the ring. “Wow. That’s some diamond.”

  Lynn met her sister’s eyes and wished she had taken the thing off when she first saw Trish waiting for her, out there on the step.

  But what good would that have done? It would only be another lie, to hide the major one. The one that Winona had said would bring truth.

  And what truth?

  Certainly not Ross Garrison’s truth. Whenever Lynn tried to get near that, he cut her right off. She could still see him, the other night, his strong jaw clenched, staring straight ahead as he told her that he wasn’t divorced, after all.

  That his wife had died, for goodness sake.

  Trish sat a little straighter. “Look. It’s all right. You’re engaged to him. And I just better get used to it. I know that. I do.” Trish sniffed. “Mom’s still mad—but she’ll get over it.
And don’t get that doubtful look. She will. She always does. And besides, she…misses you. Just like me and Arlene do. We all keep getting in fights with each other, you know? Poor Clyde. We’re drivin’ him crazy. We get on each other’s nerves. And you’re not there. To settle us down. Now you’re not around, it’s pretty obvious to all of us, even if we don’t like having to admit it, how much we really did count on you. And for more than just keeping things neat and tidy, you know?”

  A feeling of lightness spread through Lynn. Maybe she’d never really reach Ross Garrison, but as far as her family went, things were looking up. “Oh, Trish…”

  “I miss you, Lynnie.”

  “I miss you, too.”

  “We have to get over this stupid problem between us. We’re a family, aren’t we?”

  “Yes. We certainly are.”

  “It’s just like Papa always said…”

  Lynn smiled to herself. Trish had always called Horace Taylor her “papa.”

  “You remember what he said, Lynnie? That family is more precious than diamonds or gold. And that we were a family, Papa and Mom, Arlene and you and me.”

  “Yes. I remember.”

  “Well, now Papa’s gone. And I miss him. I really do.”

  “Me, too.”

  “But the rest of us, you and me and Mom and Leenie…we’re still here. Still family. Aren’t we?”

  “Yes. Definitely. We are.”

  “It would be so wrong for us to forget that. For us to let stupid things, like who got the house—and who got a certain man—break us apart. We just can’t let that happen.”

  “No. We can’t.”

  “We won’t, will we?”

  “Absolutely not.”

  A single tear tracked its way down Trish’s soft cheek. “I knew you would say that. But I’m sure glad to hear it, anyway.”

  The café curtains were open. For a moment Trish stared out at the backyard. Then she heaved a big sigh. “I need to get my own place.” She looked back at Lynn. “No. I am not dropping hints that you should take me back here. It’s time I found something just for myself. I know it won’t be big. Something dinky is okay. As long as it’s mine.” She tipped her chin at a jaunty angle—a pose that betrayed the apprehension in her eyes. “I have to grow up someday, now, don’t I?”

  Softly Lynn asked, “Have you had any luck finding a new job?”

  “Not yet. But I am trying. And I’m not gonna move—unless Clyde gets fed up and kicks me out—until I find one. I still have the money Papa left me, but I want my place to be something I pay for myself, something I earned, you know? I’ve been doing a lot of thinking lately, and it seems to me that a girl ought to earn her own way. Then, if the right fella ever does come along, well, I could be like you. Not depending on him to take care of me. Not needing him, you know? But just being with him because I wanted to, not because of something I could get from him.”

  It really did sound as if Lynn’s baby sister had started to grow up. “Listen…” Lynn hesitated, still unsure if she was doing the right thing.

  Green eyes bright and hopeful, Trish waited for her to go on.

  Lynn took the leap. “There’s a job opening up at the school….”

  Wednesday was Veterans’ Day. Ross kept his office open. He had three early appointments: a new client seeking a divorce, one who wanted to make some changes to his will, and an adoption case. After that, there were the walk-ins: two land disputes and a Chapter Seven bankruptcy.

  He and Mrs. Simms spent the remainder of the morning catching up on correspondence. She had his files in good order now. The office was spotless, everything in its place, tempting him to ask his new secretary if she’d ever considered cleaning houses in her spare time.

  All through the morning, Lynn was never far from his mind. School would be closed today, wouldn’t it? Would she be at home?

  He hadn’t contacted her since Saturday night, when she’d tried to pump him for details about Elana. That had really bothered him.

  He was never going to discuss his wife with Lynn. It was bad enough that he’d told her the truth concerning his real beginnings. She hadn’t needed to know about dear old Dad, the gambling, boozing womanizer, and Mom, the hopeless drunk.

  But she had asked—and asked directly. There had been no way to get out of telling her, except to flatly refuse. And for some reason he himself didn’t understand, he hadn’t wanted to refuse her.

  Still, he’d had to draw the line at the subject of Elana. His guilt and self-loathing on that score were his and his alone.

  After he’d drawn that line, it had seemed wiser to keep away for a while, to give them both a little breather. Their “engagement” had been going on for over two weeks now. He’d bought her a ring, and they’d been seen together frequently. It wasn’t going to rouse anyone’s suspicions if they took a few days off from each other.

  But unfortunately, he missed her. Way too much.

  Dangerous. Damn dangerous, the way he couldn’t seem to get her off his mind. Four or five times a day, at least, he had to stop himself from calling her. Sometimes he’d even gone so far as to pick up the phone and punch up the first two or three digits of her number.

  But then he’d cut off the connection, thinking, No. Wait. Give it a little more time….

  Were three and a half days enough?

  They would have to be.

  Because by noon on Wednesday, he’d decided they’d had enough damn time apart.

  Chapter Twelve

  The phone rang at five minutes past noon. Lynn’s pulse started pounding; her breath caught in her throat.

  She knew it would be him.

  It was. “Lunch,” he said.

  “Right now?” Her heart lifted high in her chest, as if someone had just pumped it full of helium, enough to raise her feet right off the floor.

  “I’m at the office. I’ll pick you up. Ten minutes?”

  “Okay.” She hung up the phone and ran upstairs, where she changed her sweater twice, settling on one of the new ones, of course—teal-blue, with satin piping at the collar and on the sleeves. She freshened her makeup and fluffed up her hair.

  When the doorbell rang, she literally flew down to answer it.

  The sight of him standing there on her front step banished all the ugly, sad doubts she’d been living with over the past few lonely days. Maybe she was a fool—a fool living a fool’s dream.

  But right then, a fool’s dream was just fine with her.

  They went to the State Street Grill. In a way, she’d started to think of the lovely, quiet restaurant as “their place.” The food was excellent, and they enjoyed more privacy there than they did at the Hip Hop. And Ross said he liked to give the Grill his business. The restaurant was struggling a little, now that the summer season, with its modest tourist trade, had passed.

  Through the meal, she kept thinking she should mention the other night, should at least try to achieve some sort of mutual acknowledgment with him concerning what had happened. That she’d broached a subject he considered forbidden, that he’d responded by cutting her off and then avoiding her for three days.

  But every time she got her courage up to do it, she’d look across the table at him, see that gorgeous, rueful smile of his, the warmth and appreciation in his eyes. And she just couldn’t do it. Couldn’t ruin the moment. Couldn’t bear to watch his jaw harden and his eyes turn cold.

  So she told him of her progress with her family instead. That she and Trish had pretty much made peace, that Trish had an interview at the school for a new job, next Monday morning at nine. That she had called Arlene’s again yesterday, and spoken to her stepmother.

  “And?”

  “She stayed on the line long enough to complain about her blood pressure medicine. She thinks she wants to switch again. From a beta-blocker back to an ACE inhibitor.”

  “Is that good?”

  “Switching medicine? You’d have to ask her doctor about that.”

  “You know what I
mean. That she stayed on the line to complain about the drugs she’s taking.”

  “Yes. It is. Very good. It means she’s well on the way to forgiving me.”

  His expression darkened. “You’re not the one who needs forgiving, and you know it.”

  “I don’t care who needs it. I sincerely do not. If my stepmother thinks I need it, fine. Whatever it takes.”

  He didn’t agree with her. She could see that on his face. But he didn’t argue further, and she appreciated that.

  He kissed her when he dropped her off, a long, slow, sweet kiss, the kind that stole her breath and made her wish he’d never stop. When he lifted his head, she wanted to drag it back down again.

  He said, “There’s another dance at the Grange hall, this Saturday.”

  “Is that an invitation?”

  “Pick you up at eight.”

  “I’ll be ready.”

  “Lunch on Friday, too?”

  “I’d love that.”

  He put her away from him and stepped back. “See you.”

  “Yes…”

  And then he was gone.

  Over the next week, she saw him five times. Three times for lunch, then for the dance at the Grange hall—and once, on Friday night, the twentieth, for a dinner date. They went to Bozeman that time, to a place that was famous for its Italian and French cuisine. Not once during any of those five dates did they discuss his deceased wife. They talked about how well his office was running now, about her students, about the weather, which had so far been mild. They flirted and teased each other—and scrupulously avoided opportunities to go any further than flirting.

  Two or three times Lynn tried to lead them around to more intimate conversation. He always changed the subject—skillfully, yes, but she wasn’t fooled.

  His past life was off-limits.

  More and more, she believed that his heart was off-limits, that no matter how hard she tried, he would never let her in.

  And if that was the case, well, why did she keep kidding herself? They’d been on this whirlwind of lunches and dinners, of trips to Bozeman and Billings to sample French cuisine and visit movie houses, for almost a month now.

  A month.

  The length of time they’d agreed on when they started. Ironically, the lie they told was beginning to look like the truth. Not the engagement part of it. That remained a fake through and through.