"Look," he said, breaking into a discourse on pink roses compared to peach roses, "do up something nice. Simple, but nice, okay?"
"Surely, you want something that has special meaning for you and your bride, something that signifies your relationship?"
Prickly pear? He didn't think this woman would understand that request.
"Regular flowers will– No, wait. I know something. Indian Paintbrush."
"Indian Paintbrush?"
"It's a wildflower. Has bright red flowers." Whose vibrancy had always reminded him of Matty.
"Actually, its flowers are small and greenish." Her voice broke. "It's the bracts that are red."
"If you can't get any—"
"I can. It's not something I would usually have from suppliers, but some is growing in my yard. It's... I'm so moved." She had a hand to her heart and was blinking back tears. "So touched. It's perfect, just perfect. No one ever thinks of it for a wedding bouquet, but nothing could be more perfect. How did you know that Indian Paintbrush's essence makes dreams come true?"
"Is that a fact? Uh, look, I really got to go now, so if you'll bill me like we talked about, and have the flowers delivered to the courthouse in the morning, I'm sure you'll make them look fine."
"Oh, I will, I will," she vowed. "With Indian Paintbrush as the base flower and then complemented by other elements that will enhance its ability to balance polarities. It's really all about yin and yang. Of course, this mountain-grown plant is more subtle, has a stronger element of yin than the desert's yang–"
Dave closed the door on yin and yang, and sighed in relief.
* * * *
The bride looked thunderous.
Knowing Matty as he did, Dave preferred that to the pinched, white expression she'd worn on the drive to the county courthouse this morning. When he'd picked her up at the Flying W an hour and a half ago, she'd looked like a bull-rider who'd taken a fall and broken a few vital bones. Now she looked like the bull–about to charge.
When he'd stepped into the empty kitchen at the appointed time, he'd fought off a wave of missing Grams, then called out to Matty that he was there. He'd been fully prepared to wait like he used to, but she'd come downstairs almost immediately.
He'd like to think the tightness in his chest and throat was at the surprise, but it seemed doubtful.
She wore a suit, but not like any of the suits he'd seen women wear in the courthouse. And not like anything he'd ever seen Matty in before.
It had just enough color to not be off white. Not pink, not peach, either, but something in between. The skirt was straight and stopped above her knees, leaving a nice length of curve before reaching some strappy black shoes with a heel a little bigger than on her cowboy boots. He could tell that because her eyes were about two inches below his instead of their usual three. The jacket was molded to her curves like a caress. As far as he could tell, from the faint curve and hint of shadow that showed at the point of the V opening, she wore no blouse under it.
He could imagine his hand stroking down into that shadow, to the smooth heat and curves he remembered so well.
Slip a couple buttons loose, and–
Jerking his mind away from that, he looked up. Her hair was pulled back from her face in a sleek line that twisted somehow at the back of her head, leaving a few tendrils at her nape. She wore drop pearl earrings he remembered his parents giving her for her eighteenth birthday.
She moistened her lips with her tongue and his mind started down another familiar, hot path. This time, when he looked up, he met her eyes.
Defiant vulnerability.
"Now I know how the cattle feel when they're being auctioned off," she muttered. Her voice sounded strained, and she cleared her throat.
Odd, he had to clear his throat, too.
He'd pushed aside a temptation to ease his own reaction by teasing her, and said simply, "You look beautiful, Matty."
She'd flushed, fast and bright, and then she'd gone pale. And she'd stayed pale and silent throughout the trip to Jefferson.
He was tempted to touch her. Hell, he was tempted to draw her into his arms and explore the soft lips she'd wetted until she opened them and let him inside to the warmth and sweetness of her mouth. To explore that shadow where her jacket buttoned until she opened even more to him.
Clamping down on his thoughts, he turned the truck's heater on instead.
The change in her from nervous to furious had occurred at the courthouse. They'd filled in all the blanks of the license form and handed it over to the motherly looking clerk with the permanent smile lines etched at her eyes.
"What about the blood tests?" Matty had suddenly asked.
Dave had been surprised she'd been paying that much attention to the process of form-filling-out and such.
"What about them?"
"Don't you have to show her the results?"
He opened his mouth, but before he could answer, the clerk announced, "Don't need blood tests here, honey. Not to get a license."
Matty spun on him. "You said we needed blood tests!"
"I never said that." He was glad to again be on this familiar–and safe–footing with Matty. "I simply got us in to see Doc and you assumed it was because the blood tests were a requirement."
"Why you–"
"Now, honey..." He got out the traditional phrase of the placating male without laughing, but barely. "Doc said you hadn't been in for a checkup in ages and you looked a little rundown, but knowing how you felt about needles, he didn't think you'd come in on your own, so..."
"Are you saying you tricked me into having a blood test under false pretenses for my health, you lying, no-good–?"
"I think it's a good idea," interrupted the woman behind the desk, apparently unperturbed by Matty's flaring anger at her intended groom. Chances were she'd seen it before. "No matter what the state says. You can't be too sure these days. And it lets a couple start married life without one more worry hanging over their heads. They have enough things to fret about. Money and a place to live and in-laws and then when the little ones start coming... Well, I say it's one less thing to worry about, knowing you're neither of you bringing in something to the marriage that nobody should have to deal with."
"We don't need to be tested for that," Matty said curtly. "We're not–"
He jogged her elbow hard to remind her not to say too much.
"Oh, I know every young couple thinks that, but if they were all right, there wouldn't be this terrible disease around the way it is, now would there? So, I say, better safe than sorry. Yes, sir, you get that test and then you know for sure. And that way–" She finished off the form with a flourish and handed it to Dave. "–you start your marriage with a clean slate. Now, you bring that back to me with the signatures after you've seen the preacher and we'll see that you're officially married in the eyes of Clark County and the state of Wyoming."
Matty blinked at her. "Just like that?"
The woman beamed back. "Just like that."
"No waiting period?"
"No, not here in Clark County. Fill out the form, pay your fee, get your license and find a judge or a preacher and you can be married in half an hour."
"Thank you." From the way those words came out, Matty was grinding her teeth. She glared at him. "Let's go."
"Congratulations, you two! Hope the wedding's beautiful."
Out in the hallway, Dave simply nodded toward the stairs and said, "Judge Halloran's office is upstairs."
But she must have heard something in his voice, because she hissed at him, "If you laugh, David Edward Currick, I will string you up to a tree where nobody'll ever find you, smear you with honey and leave you for the buzzards."
He wasn't sure he would have laughed–he was expecting the reference to the judge's office to be the final straw that prompted Matty to end this. It had already progressed a lot farther than he'd expected. But at her response a chuckle escaped. "Well, the honey part sounds fine, but I'm not partial to the rest of it."
>
She spun on him a third of the way up the stairs, unmindful of the two men forced to detour around them.
"You knew I wanted to get married right away–the sooner the better–and you delayed it for a week. A whole week! If you didn't want to do this, why didn't you tell me?"
"I wanted to give you time to change your mind."
Her wrath faded abruptly, and the look she gave him was searching.
"I'm not going to change my mind, Dave. But I can see why you might think that. If you want to back out, I'd understand. It's..." She swallowed, clearly not able or not willing to say more.
It had to be something pretty damned big pushing her toward wanting to–needing to–marry him so suddenly.
There was nothing sudden about his wanting to marry Matty. But he'd given up on the dream a long time ago. He'd even tried his damnedest to find someone else who gave him that until-death-do-us-part feeling. It hadn't worked. He'd pretty much figured on being alone.
And now Matty was standing in front of him saying she wasn't going to call off this crazy plan of hers to get married–for reasons unspecified, and with no pretense that she was in love with him.
He felt like a man awaking from a dream to find himself standing in front of an open airplane door, and facing the decision of whether to jump or not.
A wise man would be sure he wore a parachute before he faced that choice.
A wise man would know there had to be safer ways to test a hope that there might still be something between old lovers than by getting married.
A wise man would turn tail and run.
Who'd ever said he was wise when it came to Matilda Jeanette Brennan?
"I'm not backing out." He took her elbow and started her up the stairs again. "Judge Halloran's waiting for us."
So were Taylor Anne Larsen and Cal Ruskoff.
Matty balked at the sight of them. "What–?"
"We need witnesses, I thought you'd rather have friends than a couple strangers from the clerk's office." He didn't say that he'd also thought it would be a good idea to have witnesses that she'd been the one to back out. And that he'd chosen the two people available who he'd thought would be most protective of her. That's why he'd passed up Lisa–if worse came to worse, and an outsider was looking over the situation, his sister might be considered biased.
Matty made no other protest, even docilely took the bright bouquet Taylor handed her with only a quick glance at him. He returned a faint shrug. Someday he'd have to tell Matty the story of his ordering the Indian Paintbrush for her wedding bouquet, she'd get a kick out of it, especially the part where he'd fled the store. He almost laughed aloud when he remembered what had prompted him to order the flowers in the first place–marrying her was a darn sight more likely to ensure he got to see her again than a few flowers!
After being introduced to Matty and Cal, and saying hello to the two lawyers, whom he already knew, Judge Halloran got right to business.
The ceremony went fast. At least it felt that way to Dave. The whole thing seemed to take place in a sort of fog, where sounds irrationally shifted from louder to fainter than normal, and faces slipped in and out of focus.
A couple of ominous moments stood out clear and stark. The first came when Judge Halloran asked if anyone knew a reason these two should not be married.
There'd been a creak of boot leather, like Ruskoff had shifted his weight. Dave turned to the other man. Cal wore an expression that promised retribution if harm came to Matty. Dave simply looked back. Cal remained silent and in another second, the judge was rolling along with the familiar words that somehow sounded so odd.
The second worrisome moment came in the silence of waiting for Matty's "I do." She cleared her throat, and Dave didn't breathe. She could still back out. Now, right this second. Did he want her to?
"I do." Her voice came clear and strong and determined.
After that, it was still misty, but fairly easy. He'd even gotten a kick out of Matty's look of panic when the rings were mentioned, and her flicker of relief when he held up the ring for her hand, then surprise when Taylor handed over the ring Matty was to put on his hand.
He'd bought them as a kind of insurance against her saying he hadn't taken her seriously.
Then it came to, "You may kiss the bride."
Dave gave her–or himself–no time to think, but placed a hand to each side of her face to draw her toward him and kissed her. Hard. She grabbed his arms, apparently to steady herself, and gasped. Their mouths opened to one another, and his tongue found hers.
The heat and rhythm were instant and powerful.
He stroked his tongue inside her mouth, and hers twined against it. He took in the taste of her like a starving man. He shifted the angle to take it deeper, and she met him. It was what he'd imagined. It was much more.
The kiss ended only because they had to breathe. And that let in just enough common sense to remind him where they were and what was happening.
"I now pronounce you husband and wife." Judge Halloran gave a laugh. "And from the looks of it, just in time."
CHAPTER THREE
"I've got one more stop to make before we head to the ranch," Dave announced as he pulled into the Methodist Church parking lot where the exterior lights were starting to show against the shadows of dusk. "Promised Ervin I'd drop something by."
Matty moaned, but it seemed churlish to object too strenuously to someone doing a favor for a man of the cloth.
"Hurry up, then. I can't wait to get out of these clothes." She thought she caught a flicker across Dave's face, and wanted to kick herself for mentioning taking off her clothes. Ever since that kiss, she'd been trying her damnedest to keep the mood light and casual, and to pretend as best she could that there had been nothing unusual at all in the most bizarre morning of her life. "Why'd you insist we have lunch at Trents? You know I can't resist their prime rib."
"McDonald's didn't seem the place to take our witnesses for a wedding lunch."
"That wouldn't have helped anyway. I can't resist Big Macs, either," she said with a sigh. Though, if truth be told, the reason she'd eaten so much and so fast at lunch was nerves, not taste buds.
Why had he kissed her that way? Why had she kissed him back?
Habit? Instinct? Desire?
Not that any of that truly mattered. The only thing that mattered was the fear that Dave would think she'd asked him to marry her because she still wanted him. That he would think she'd set all this up as an elaborate ruse to get him to marry her. She'd have to make sure he understood that she still saw their marriage as strictly a business deal.
And that no strings in this deal led to the bedroom door.
As Dave closed the driver's door, she leaned back and closed her eyes, considering undoing the skirt button at her waist.
"I should have taken a doggy bag instead of finishing that whole meal," she muttered to herself.
"You're not the doggy bag sort, Matty."
Her eyes flew open to find Dave opening the passenger door, his grin faintly lopsided. "You're the I-can't-believe-I-ate-the-whole-thing type."
"I thought you had something for Ervin."
"I do. Come with me."
"You're kidding. I can hardly move. I just want to get–" She stopped herself from saying undressed.
"I'll carry you."
The offer, mixed with the thoughts sparked by her unspoken words, brought alive images that she dearly wished had stayed in deep hibernation. Dave's arms around her, lifting her from the water of the swimming hole, carrying her to the blanket in the shade. His hands peeling down her wet suit–
"What? Why would–hey! Stop that!" Matty pushed at Dave's shoulders, trying to shut out the heat that came from inside her as well as from his chest and arms surrounding her. But he already had one arm under her knees and the other circling her back. "Put me down!"
Who could have known the material of his jacket sleeve rubbing against the nylon-covered underside of her knees would be as distur
bingly erotic a friction as bare skin...maybe more so. Any motion she made to avoid that friction brought the rest of her into firmer contact with his chest and moved their faces so close that in another second...
"Quit squirming or I'll drop you. Hang on, Matty, I've got to open the door."
He fumbled with the latch of the main church door. The movement of his hand and arm had her bobbling up and down against his chest. And apparently lunch had not only left her stuffed but a little woozy, because her stomach was doing flips. She'd never before had this reaction to prime rib.
"It would be a whole lot easier if you put me down."
Her own voice sounded oddly breathy and low.
"You know what they say–ah!–" He swung the door open triumphantly and quickly carried her inside. "–about thresholds and newly married couples."
"Not the threshold of a church, for heaven's sake, Currick. That's–Oh, no, no way, you're not carrying me down those stairs."
"Scared, Matty?"
"Smart. If you fall, I go down first and you land on top of me. I'd be a pancake." He set her on her feet, and she started down the stairs that led off the main vestibule. "This is ridiculous–it's dark down here and deserted. Ervin's not even here. And I was perfectly comfortable in the truck, so why you insisted–"
"I thought you could use some exercise. Work off that prime rib," he said from directly behind.
"By carrying me? Currick, you are–"
"Surprise!"
Shouts and light jumped out at her, and Matty instinctively stepped back, directly into Dave. His arms came around her, crossing under her breasts, his chin resting against her hair. She made no effort to move.
"Surprise, Matty," he said softly as people started swarming toward them. Taylor and Lisa, Reverend Ervin Foley, Doc Johnson, Ruth and Hugh Moski, Joyce from the bank, Brandy from the post office, among a score of other familiar faces, and off to one side, standing by himself, Cal.
"What is this?"
"Your wedding reception," announced Joyce, with a satisfied smile. "We know you'd decided against a big wedding, but we had to do a little something to let you and Dave know how happy we are for you two!"
A quick glance showed that the "little something" included decorating the Methodist Church's basement meeting room with streamers and balloons, covering the folding tables with wedding-themed paper, opening a space for dancing, importing Hugh Moski's portable sound system and a white-frosted, rosette-studded, four-tiered wedding cake on a round table all its own, next to another table stacked with packages wrapped in pastel papers and bows.
Almost a Bride (Wyoming Wildflowers Book 1) Page 4
