Читать книгу The Husband Show - Kristine Rolofson, Kristine Rolofson - Страница 9

CHAPTER TWO

AS THE GATHERED guests began to stand and mingle and the bride and groom signed official papers, the mayor of Willing, Jerry Thompson, sat trapped on a bale of hay between the town’s teenaged unwed mother and the infamous mother of the bride, a woman married so many times she’d lost count. As a young man deeply committed to improving the small town, Jerry was accustomed to being in situations where the utmost tact was called for. He was the master of small talk, of mingling, of schmoozing.

Unfortunately he was not comfortable sitting next to a woman who was feeding her baby in a very, um, natural way. There was a blanket, there was no skin showing, but still...

Awkward.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, there’s another one.” Loralee, mother of the bride and self-appointed grandmother to Shelly’s baby, wore a slinky purple dress and pale pink boots with purple embroidery on the shafts. She was sixty-two and, as she’d told Jerry earlier, not ready to wear a polyester housedress and serviceable shoes.

“Another what?” Shelly shifted her lump of baby against her chest. Little Laura didn’t make a peep.

“Another man hoping to meet women from California. Some of these men think that single women by the busloads are running rampant on Main Street.”

“So?” Jerry entered the conversation against his better judgment. Like eating half a chocolate cream pie, he would regret he’d done it. He didn’t bother to notice who Loralee was staring at, having decided to look straight ahead and avoid any risk of seeing the breast-feeding process.

“The word’s out.”

“That was the whole idea to begin with,” Jerry muttered. “Attract people? Make the town viable again? The word being out is a good thing, remember? Besides, he’s probably a friend of Owen’s from Washington. There were quite a few coming, weren’t there?”

“Not with a child. I pretty much memorized the guest list, having gone over it so many times with Meg.”

“He’s very handsome, too,” Shelly murmured. “He seems a little familiar. Are you sure we don’t know him?”

Jerry finally turned to look. An unfamiliar tall man stood inside the barn door and looked around as if he was hoping to see someone he knew. A young girl with gold short hair stood close to him. The stranger leaned over and said something to her and she shook her head.

“I’ve never seen him before. Maybe he’s another reporter,” Jerry said. “I’ll go find out.”

“Don’t give him an interview. This is a private party.” Loralee sniffed. “Publicity is okay, but not at my daughter’s wedding.”

Jerry paid no attention to Loralee’s complaint. He lived for publicity. He’d engineered the town’s involvement in the reality dating show and he’d welcomed the Hollywood crew to Willing. His girlfriend produced the show, which had resulted in at least one of the town’s bachelors finding the woman of his dreams, and the show was due to be aired the last Monday of April. He’d had many calls from many reporters, but he hadn’t talked to anyone who’d intended to come to Willing six weeks early.

He hadn’t talked to anyone who was interested in the MacGregor wedding, either, because it had nothing to do with the upcoming show.

“I’ll check him out.” Jerry lifted himself from the bale of hay and brushed off his pants. The barn, decorated in a real Western flavor, could be used for many wedding receptions in the years to come. They’d filmed one of the big moments of the show here this winter, and since then Owen had kept it empty. It was a huge space, undivided by stalls or stanchions or whatever barns had inside them. It would have held a lot of hay, if that’s what it was originally used for.

The wooden floor was faded and worn, but it had charm and character. The huge beams sparkled with ropes of tiny white lights.

“One whole day,” Les said, pointing to the beams as Jerry paused beside him. “That’s how long it took us to string those lights. We strung some for the show, but Meg wanted more. A lot more.”

“It looks good.”

The young man glanced toward Shelly, who was now holding her baby upright and patting its little back. “It’s a good place for weddings.”

Jerry agreed. “Owen and Meg could do a nice business here, with the barn and the catering and the whole rustic Montana historic ranch thing going on.”

“It holds more people than the community center, or the café,” Les added.

“If it looks good on the show, they’ve got it made. You can’t buy that kind of publicity.”

“No, sir, you can’t.” Les’s attention moved back to Shelly. “I’d sure like to get married. This wedding is pretty big, though. And it sure must cost a lot. It would take me a real long time to save up for a wedding.”

“Your money’s best spent elsewhere,” Jerry agreed. The young man’s love for the once homeless teenager was sweet, but Shelly had issues. She was only nineteen, had a baby with a rodeo charmer who’d turned out to be married and lived with Loralee in one of Meg’s cabins. She worked as a waitress and lived off tips, plus the extra money she made cleaning houses.

She wasn’t Jerry’s idea of the perfect love interest, but to each his own.

“I’m saving up for a house,” Les said. “I’m thinking about building something small, out at my grandparents’.”

“It’s good to have a plan.” Jerry pointed out the man near the doorway. “Do you know who that is?”

“Nope.”

“Well, I’m going to go find out. Loralee doesn’t want any wedding crashers.”

“I saw that movie. She’s right. Owen wouldn’t like that.” Les narrowed his eyes. “Whoa! The guy’s talking to my grandfather.”

Sure enough, Lawrence Parcell appeared to be helping the stranger out, pointing to the tables where the food was being set up. “He could be one of Owen’s city friends, but Loralee doesn’t think so.”

“Why would a wedding crasher bring a kid?”

“Good point.” Jerry edged away. “Let’s go see.”

He didn’t really think the guy was trouble, but it was as good an excuse as any to move through the crowd, shake some hands, spread goodwill and accept congratulations for the success of the filming of the TV show.

Jerry wanted to bask in the glory of the first of many Willing weddings. In fact, he’d offered to give a toast before dinner. To the first of many Willing weddings, he’d say, lifting a glass of champagne. To the first of many blissful couples, to happy brides and brave grooms and to populating the Willing school with more students. To new businesses. To tourists. To increased tax revenues.

No, he couldn’t go that far. But it was tempting.

He’d been advised by Owen to keep it personal. No campaign speeches, the groom had ordered. Keep it simple.

Jerry wasn’t fond of simple. He was up for reelection in a year and a half.

He eased past his constituents, a boisterous group who talked to one another as if they hadn’t been out of their homes in months. Well, winter could do that, make you feel as if you lived in a cave with a television set and a phone and a freezer full of fish, beef and maybe some venison. Thankfully he lived in the middle of town and could get out whenever he wanted. He could walk to the café, to the Dahl, to the community center for the various meetings and social activities.

Tracy had wanted him to come to California for the winter, but he couldn’t get away for more than a week at a time. And once a month, if he was lucky. He played bingo with the seniors on Saturday nights, competed in the Dahl’s Trivial Pursuit contest, organized the annual film festival—a collection of local residents’ home movies—and managed every detail of his town’s involvement with the television show.

Tracy thought he was insane.

“Really? Charles Russell?” the stranger was saying.

“They’ve got a museum in Great Falls,” Mr. Parcell said. “You can see where he painted. Pretty impressive, if you like art.”

“I like art,” the man replied. “Maybe my daughter—”

“Ever heard of Charles Russell, young lady?”

The child nodded. “I studied artists of the American West last year. Charles Russell was known as one of the greatest and produced over four thousand works.”

“Well, now,” Les’s grandfather drawled. “I’m impressed with your education. Where’d you go to school?”

“I used to attend Lady Bishop Pettigrew’s,” the little blonde girl replied. “But I was recently expelled.”

“Why?” Jerry interrupted, stepping into the small group. He couldn’t help himself. This angelic-looking child didn’t seem at all like a troublemaker. But maybe Lady Pettigrew’s had a stricter code of conduct than the schools in Montana.

“I have severe psychological issues.”

“Don’t we all?” Jerry said into the following silence. He held a hand out to what looked like the girl’s stunned father. “Jerry Thompson, mayor,” he said. “Since we haven’t met, I assume you’re a friend of the groom?”

“Not exactly,” the other man said, flashing a quick smile. “I’m Jake Hove, and this is my daughter, Winter.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet both of you.” Jerry shook hands with them. The man seemed friendly enough, though he kept scanning the crowd as if he was looking for someone. Winter didn’t seem severely disturbed. Jerry thought she seemed like a nice enough kid. She didn’t have any obvious piercings or tattoos. She was expensively dressed, in designer jeans and a hoodie. Growing up in Los Angeles had taught him to recognize high-end clothing. “Did you say Hove? Any relation to—”

“Sam,” Jake said. “My brother. We’re not attending the reception,” he added quickly, glancing at the girl. “We’re in town and I wanted to see—”

“We waited outside during the wedding,” Winter broke in. “We didn’t wish to be rude.”

“The bride and groom wouldn’t have cared or even noticed,” Mr. Parcell said. “The whole town was invited. Of course, they know everyone in town, so it was only right.”

Winter nodded. “We saw the poster at the bar.”

“We weren’t in the bar,” Jake quickly assured them.

“I was,” Winter said. “I needed to make use of the facilities.”

The old man frowned. “What?”

“She talks like that sometimes,” Jake told him.

Jerry wondered if severe psychological issues manifested as speaking with a British accent. Maybe the child had different personalities, like Sybil in that movie he’d seen when he was a kid. Jerry shuddered.

Jake scanned the crowd. “Is Sam here?”

“He’ll be up at the main house with Lucia getting the food ready,” Jerry said. “She and Marie Swallow are organizing the potluck in the tent.”

“I’ll check there. Thanks.”

“It’s the big white Victorian,” Jerry added. “You passed it when you walked in, and of course, you’ll have seen the reception tent. It’s almost as big as the barn.”

“Thanks.” Jake put his hand on Winter’s shoulder. “We’ll head over there.”

“How long are you going to be in town?”

“I’m not sure. We’re on our way home. To Nashville.”

“That’s quite a drive,” Jerry said, glancing toward the child again. “I hope you’ll enjoy your stay in Willing. We have a lot of things going on in town right now, with the television show about to air.”

“Television show?” Now that caught the girl’s interest.

Jerry nodded. “Oh, yeah. We’re about to become famous. Your uncle can tell you all about it. He was at most of the filming.”

“But I thought he makes documentaries,” Winter said. “In South America.” She turned to her father. “You didn’t tell me he filmed a show here.”

“I didn’t know,” her father said. “We didn’t talk very long and—”

“Oh, this wasn’t one of Sam’s fishing films. This had nothing to do with him. Ours was a reality show,” Jerry explained. “We took twenty-four of our most eligible men here in town and created a dating show.”

“Willing to Wed?” Jake grinned.

“Yes! You’ve heard of it?” The money spent on publicity was paying off already.

“A woman at your local bar told us about it.”

“Tall? Silver hair? Attitude?”

Jake grinned. “Yes.”

“Watch out,” he warned. “That’s Aurora Jones. She can emasculate you with one look. The woman makes my life miserable.”

“You’re, uh, involved?”

“No! There isn’t a man in town who would take her on.” He looked around the room, half expecting Aurora would pop out from behind a flower-covered post and badger him about her building permit again. “We have a professional relationship.”

“I thought she was nice.” Winter glared at him as if he’d just said Cinderella was an evil witch who stepped on mice and punched princes.

“I suppose she can be,” he offered. “When she wants to.”

Les’s grandfather leaned forward. “Did you see the grizzly bear inside the Dahl?”

Winter nodded. “It was a grizzly bear?”

The old man nodded. “Owen MacGregor’s grandfather shot that bear and had it mounted for the Dahl. There are some people around here who think a grizzly would be easier to get along with than Aurora Jones.”

“I beg your pardon,” Winter said. “But I must disagree.”

“So does my wife,” the old man declared. “She says she’s clever with a needle.”

“What does that mean, ‘clever with a needle’?”

“Quilting,” he explained. “The women around here spend hours cutting up fabric and sewing it back together.”

“I think we’ll go find my brother now,” Jake said, urging the child toward the door.

“Watch out. Aurora’s probably gone back to the kitchen with the rest of them.”

“The kitchen?” Mike Peterson, standing nearby, chuckled. “I hope she didn’t cook anything.”

“She didn’t,” Les assured him. “She donated the champagne instead.”

“Well, good,” Jerry muttered. “We won’t need the Red Cross tomorrow.”

* * *

ALL HE’D WANTED to do was find his brother. That’s all. He had Sam’s phone number. He had his address. Who would have thought an entire town would be closed for business on an April Sunday afternoon?

Now he was at a stranger’s wedding, on a ranch, in the middle of nowhere. He’d met the mayor and some of the locals and seen for himself the historic MacGregor Ranch. But he wanted to see Sam. Ten years was a long time. Ten years was pretty stupid.

“Brigadoon, that’s what this is,” his daughter said, following him out of the barn and into the sunshine. “Have you ever seen that movie?”

“No.” He started along a gravel path toward the main house, easily sixty yards away. A large addition jutted out from the back of the house, where a door was propped open.

“That’s where we are,” she said, hurrying to keep up. “In a land that time forgot.”

“You’re mixing up your movies. I saw The Land That Time Forgot.” Women kept disappearing into that opened door, which meant that’s where the food was.

“No, Brigadoon is when two people end up in a town where it’s two or three hundred years—well, a long time—ago, only it’s not. It’s modern day, but they’re not, you know, modern.” She looked back at the barn. “Do you think they’ll square-dance?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You’ve never heard of square dancing?”

“I’ve heard of square dancing,” he said, taking a deep breath as they approached the open door. Two laughing older women carrying casseroles stepped out. Jake said a silent prayer for patience. He was nervous, he realized. And that realization sent another stab of nerves into his belly. Guilt, fear and excitement warred for space in his chest. Jake didn’t often feel nervous, and he sure as heck didn’t like the feeling.

His life had changed beyond recognition recently, and he wasn’t sure he liked it all that much.

His guilt flared up again. He should have known Merry was up to something when she’d insisted on an annulment, a quick one. She was off to Europe, she wouldn’t meet with him and she hired a lawyer to handle the situation so Jake wouldn’t have to bother.

He’d been on tour, having gotten a job playing rhythm guitar in a band opening for Faith and Tim. His big break. He’d felt nothing for Merry but relief when she was gone.

“Tomorrow,” his suddenly talkative daughter continued, “this place could be enveloped in a mysterious mist and we’ll all disappear. Maybe we should escape while we can.”

Jake thought he might prefer to talk about Downton Abbey. “Do you really think Lady Mary will marry again?”

Winter giggled. That was a first. Jake stopped walking in order to see it for himself. The child looked younger when she smiled. “You look so funny,” she said. “And you don’t know who Lady Mary is!”

“Oh, yes, I do,” he grumbled, just to keep her smiling. “You talked about her all the way from Seattle to Spokane. She’s the oldest sister and she was supposed to inherit Downton Abbey but— What?”

Winter pointed to the door. “There she is!”

“Who?”

“The lady from the bar. See?”

Oh, he saw, all right. She would be hard to miss, Jake thought. Once again he realized that she was easily one of the most beautiful women he’d ever seen, with the kind of beauty that should be on magazine covers, except she wasn’t a bone-thin model. The dress hugged her curvaceous body in all the right places, yet floated around her legs to give her room to dance. In his experience playing in about five thousand bars, the women wearing floaty skirts always intended to dance.

The yellow boots were sexy as all get out, too.

And then there was the hair, platinum waves that fell well past her shoulders. She’d pinned back the sides, exposing a face that would be considered angelic, except that Mayor Jerry had warned him that she was anything but.

And he’d experienced her brusque manner himself, though she’d been kind to Winter and protective of her friends’ privacy.

An interesting woman.

Not his type.

The interesting woman who was not his type saw Winter and smiled, then looked at Jake. Her smile collapsed as they approached.

“You found it,” she said, not sounding the least bit happy to see them.

“We did. I was told Sam might be over here.” He gestured toward the door.

“He’s inside.” She hesitated. “Be careful.”

“Of what?”

“People carrying food. We’re setting up dinner in the tent. The bride and groom are having their pictures taken in front of the house and by the barn. When they’re done, we’ll eat.”

“I won’t keep Sam long,” Jake promised.

“Meg said you’re welcome to stay and enjoy the party.” She turned to Winter. “And you, too, of course. Lucia and Sam are really looking forward to meeting you.”

“I’ve never had an uncle before,” Winter confided.

“You’ll have three cousins after he gets married,” Aurora pointed out.

“He’s getting married?” This was news to Jake. All Sam had said over the phone was I’ve met someone. Someone special.

She stared at him. “He didn’t tell you?”

“I didn’t know it was official,” he bluffed.

“Hmm.”

“Well,” he said, attempting to move past her and go into the kitchen. “We have a lot of catching up to do. If you’ll excuse me....”

“Three cousins,” Winter repeated. “How old? Boys or girls?”

“Boys,” Aurora replied. “Younger than you.”

“Oh.” She didn’t bother to hide her disappointment.

“They’re not all that bad,” Aurora assured her. “And you’ll like your future aunt. Come on, then. I’ll help you find them.”

With that, they were ushered inside a large room set up like a dining hall. One part of the room held worn tables and benches, while the other was a large old-fashioned kitchen.

“I told you,” Winter muttered. “It’s like a hundred years ago.”

“How would you know?” He was curious; after all, she’d spent her life in Europe and he wouldn’t expect her to know a lot of American history.

“I’ve seen Westerns,” she told her father. “This is where the cowboys eat.”

“You’re right,” Aurora said. “This is the summer kitchen.”

The summer kitchen was filled with very busy women organizing platters of food. But in the middle of all the activity was a tall, dark-haired man who hurried through the crowd toward him.

Sam.

Jake swallowed the sudden lump in his throat. His little brother looked good. They shook hands and stood there for a moment, not sure what to do. Then they embraced. It could have been awkward, but it wasn’t. It was reassuring. Sam seemed glad to see him.

“What’s it been,” Jake’s younger brother asked, “ten years?”

“Something like that,” he replied. “I was performing in that show in Miami.”

“And I was coming back from Brazil.”

They grinned at each other.

“Ten years?” A petite black-haired woman hurried up to Sam’s side and smiled as she tucked her arm through his. “Shame on both of you!”

“I’d like you to meet my fiancée,” Sam announced. “Lucia Swallow.”

She released Sam and gave Jake a hug. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

“I am, too,” he replied, and put his hand on Winter’s shoulder. “My daughter, Winter. Winter, meet your uncle Sam and...Ms. Swallow.”

“Aunt Lucia,” Lucia corrected, giving Winter a hug. “I’ve never had a niece before.”

Sam shook Winter’s hand and grinned. “And now I’m an uncle. I didn’t know that until a little while ago. I’m really glad to meet you.”

“Thank you. I’m a bit of a surprise,” she informed them. “Jake didn’t know about me, either.”

Sam looked at Jake, with an expression that said we have a lot to catch up on. Jake nodded. He saw Lucia glance at Aurora, who had watched the family reunion with undisguised curiosity.

“You need to meet my sons,” Lucia said to Winter. “They’re with my mother. They’ll be so excited to know they have a cousin.”

“Stepcousin,” Winter corrected her, the familiar serious expression on her face. “I’m only a stepcousin.”

“That’s good enough,” Aurora said, joining the conversation. “You’re still part of the family, aren’t you?”

Winter considered that. “I suppose that’s true.”

“You’re very fortunate,” Aurora continued. “I don’t even have stepcousins.”

“You don’t?”

The silver-haired woman shrugged. “Not a one. No uncles, aunts or anyone else.”

“Like me,” Winter said.

Aurora shook her head. “No, you’re in much better shape.”

Jake thought the whole conversation was strange, but his daughter gave Aurora a quick smile.

“Come with me,” Sam said. “We’re going to track down the kids for Aunt Lucia and introduce you.”

“I hear you’re getting married?” Jake said casually.

“Yeah.” Sam glanced at Lucia and smiled as they left the two women standing there. “She’s made me settle down.”

“That’s hard to believe.”

“It was time,” his brother declared, but he looked happy about it.

Jake wasn’t sure if settling down was anything to celebrate, but he kept his thoughts to himself.