The 12 Brides of Summer Novella Collection #3

by Margaret Brownley

  Marilee drew in her breath. “Miss Davis,” she said, careful to keep her expression neutral for the auxiliary president’s sake. “Now if you’ll excuse me. . .”

  “Sorry. Didn’t mean to keep you.”

  Scrambling up to the driver’s seat as quickly as decorum would allow, she gathered the reins in hand. “Good day, Mr. Colbert.”

  He raked her over with bold regard. Tipping his broad-brimmed hat, he flashed a smile. “I like it,” he called up to her.

  “Like what?”

  “Why, your perfume, of course. My dog likes it, too.”

  She snapped her mouth shut. Impertinent man! Such a personal comment was bad enough, but to say it out loud so anyone could hear was beyond the pale.

  With an indignant toss of her head, she shook the reins hard and drove off.

  Chapter 3

  Jed stood on the bank of the Bee Flat River. Bamboo fishing rod held over his shoulder, he brought it forward with a snap of the wrist. The line sailed overhead and hook and sinker hit the water with a splash.

  Rod in hand, he settled onto a grassy spot. Nearby, Dyna sniffed the bucket of fish.

  He came back Friday doused in perfume, but today only the faintest aroma of lavender-rose remained. Still, it was enough to trigger the memory of a pretty round face, big blue eyes, and hair that looked as light and soft as corn silk.

  The perfume smelled a whole lot better on the music teacher than it did on Dyna, that’s for certain and sure. It crossed his mind that she might know something about Dyna’s disappearing act, but he soon discounted that idea. A fine lady like her wouldn’t look twice at a big clumsy cow dog like Dyna.

  He’d noticed her in church before, but this morning was the first he’d seen her up close. She was one of those uptight women from the east and obviously didn’t think much of him.

  He just wished she hadn’t looked at him like he had rabies or something. Not that he blamed her.

  There was probably a better way to say “You smell like my dog.” The memory made him wince. Since being on the outs with the ladies, his manners had grown as rusty as an old water pump. It was scary to think he was better able to talk to an animal than a member of the opposite sex.

  As if to guess his thoughts, Dyna let out a short, sharp bark.

  “Shh. You’ll scare away the fish.” He picked up a stick and tossed it. Dyna bounded after it, ears back. Instead of retrieving it he stopped to sniff around a huge cottonwood. The stick forgotten, Dyna began to dig, dirt flying from beneath his front paws.

  A clod of dirt landed in Jed’s lap, and the smell of damp earth absorbed the last of the lavender-rose fragrance. “Watch it,” he said, but the dog paid him no heed. He just kept digging.

  Jed reeled his line in slowly and gave his bait a jerk. He didn’t even know why Miss Davis was on his mind. She obviously wanted nothing to do with him. Nor he with her. He’d had his fill of female troubles in recent months. So what did he need a stuck-up music teacher for?

  Dyna nudged his arm. When he failed to respond, the dog dropped something into his lap and barked.

  “Shh. I told you—”

  Thinking Dyna had dug up a bone, Jed lifted the soil-caked object between thumb and forefinger. Nope. Not a bone. He shook off the dirt, blinked, and shook some more. “What in blazes?”

  He reeled in his line and set his pole on the ground. He then reexamined the packet. This time there was no question. Dyna had dug up a stack of money bound by a paper band.

  Dyna ran to the hole he’d dug underneath the tree and looked back as if to say what are you waiting for? Jed jumped to his feet and followed. Dropping down on his knees, he reached into a rotted gunnysack and pulled out a second packet.

  Hauling the sack out of the hole, he ripped it all the way open and his jaw dropped. There had to be at least fifty grand staring him in the face. He pushed back his hat and shook his head. Holy mackerel!

  Chapter 4

  Marilee bumped into Mrs. Pickwick at Henderson’s Dry Goods early that Monday morning.

  “How lovely to see you,” Marilee said with a smile. With all her faults, the woman had been kind enough to take Marilee under her wing when she first arrived in town. It was Mrs. Pickwick’s brother-in-law who rented her the house.

  “You, too.” Mrs. Pickwick ran a jeweled hand across a bolt of calico. “You are coming to the Tuesday Afternoon Club meeting, aren’t you? I thought we would discuss what book we want to read next.”

  “I’ll be there,” Marilee said.

  Mrs. Pickwick lowered her voice. “Was that Mr. Colbert I saw you talking to?”

  “Mr. Colbert?” Just saying his name put her in a state of confusion. One moment he had insulted her and the next. . . “Oh, you mean in church?”

  “Yes, and after.”

  “I left my glove behind, and he kindly returned it.”

  The woman stared down her pointed nose. “Well, you better watch your step. As you know, he broke Maizie Denton’s heart with his womanizing ways.”

  Oh, yes, Marilee did know that. Maizie and her broken heart had been the main topic of conversation for weeks and had taken up most of the Tuesday Afternoon Club meetings.

  Thanking the woman for her concern, Marilee paid for her goods and walked out of the store with her basket of purchases flung over her arm.

  At the end of the street a crowd of people was gathered by the windmill. A man stood on a soapbox talking through a megaphone. The bulk of his body told her it was Mayor Blackmon. Thinking it was a political rally, she set her basket into the wagon, anxious to get home before the heat of the day.

  Just as she started to climb up to the driver’s seat she heard an all-too-familiar bark. The sound came from the direction of the crowd. Shading her eyes against the sun she scanned the area. Was that Mozart sitting next to the soapbox? She couldn’t be certain, but it sure did look like him. Of course most cow dogs looked alike. Still. . .

  Only one way to find out. Reaching for her parasol, she popped it open and hurried toward the knot of people.

  Standing on tiptoes, she craned her neck to see over the crowd. Next to the mayor stood none other than the blacksmith—Mr. Colbert, looking tall and handsome and very much in command. At his feet sat a black-and-white dog with exactly the same markings as Mo. If it wasn’t him then it had to be his twin.

  Closing her parasol, she inched her way through the crowd to get a better look. Marilee never thought to have something in common with the likes of Mr. Colbert, but it seemed they both owned similar dogs.

  The mayor patted Mr. Colbert on the back. He barely reached the blacksmith’s shoulders, but what he lacked in height he made up for in width.

  “If it wasn’t for Jed, here, and his dog, we might never have found the money,” he said, and the crowd applauded.

  Marilee waited for the clapping to stop before turning to the man next to her. “What’s this about money?” she asked.

  “The bank was robbed two years ago, and they just now found the stolen loot,” he replied.

  “Oh, I see.” Marilee shouldered her way to the front of the crowd.

  “As a token of our appreciation,” the mayor was saying, “It’s my pleasure to present this check for—”

  Just then the dog looked up, spotted Marilee, and barked. He leaped toward the crowd in a streak of flying fur and practically knocked her down, his dirty paws all over her skirt.

  She rubbed his head. “Mo, is that you?” Phew. What a dreadful odor. A wagonload of fish on a hot day couldn’t smell worse. “What are you doing here?”

  She looked up to find the mayor and Mr. Colbert staring at her. “Excuse me, ma’am, but I’m trying to make a presentation here,” the mayor said. “The dog is a hero.”

  A hero? Mo?

  “There must be some sort of mistake,” she said. “This is my dog and—”

  The mayor reared back and looked at Colbert. “What is she talking about?”

  “That’s what I want to know,” Colbert
said. “Dyna, come here, boy.”

  Much to Marilee’s chagrin, her dog turned and ran to the soapbox. He plopped his behind next to Colbert, and his tail swept the ground like the broom of a fastidious housewife.

  “Excuse me, sir,” she called politely, not wishing to make a scene. She walked up to the soapbox. “But I do believe that’s my dog.”

  As if to concur, Mo rose on all fours and moved to her side.

  The mayor looked from Colbert to Marilee and back to Colbert. “Is that true?”

  “Of course it’s not true,” Colbert said. “Dyna, come here, boy.” The dog obeyed.

  The mayor scratched his head. “The reward is supposed to go to the dog’s owner.”

  “That would be me,” Colbert and Marilee said in unison. They locked gazes.

  “The dog is mine,” she said. “His name is Mozart, but I call him Mo.”

  A look of annoyance crossed Colbert’s face. “I’m afraid you’re mistaken, Miss Davis. His name is Dynamite—Dyna for short.”

  Just then Marilee’s student, Timmy Crawford, stepped forward. “That’s Miss Davis’s dog.”

  “Nonsense,” yelled a baldheaded man. “That’s Jed’s dog.”

  Others jumped into the fray, taking sides. Soon it seemed as if the whole town was up in arms.

  “That dog belongs to Miss Davis,” a student’s mother exclaimed. “And that’s that!”

  “Are you out of your cotton-pickin’ mind? That’s Jed’s hound.”

  “Jed’s hound my—”

  “Hold it,” the mayor pleaded. He held his hands up, palms out. “I’m sure we can settle this matter in an amicable fashion.”

  “I’ll show you amicable,” a thin man with a bushy beard yelled. “It’s Jed’s dog, and that’s all there is to it. He owes me money and promised to pay me out of the reward.”

  The man next to him refused to back down. “I’m telling you that’s Miss Davis’s dog.”

  With that he punched the other man in the jaw.

  No sooner had his knuckles made contact when fists began to fly. A baby let out a wail in high C, and his mother ran for cover. Thinking it was playtime, Mo barked joyfully as he pranced around two men rolling on the ground.

  Marilee winced at the sound of pounding flesh. “Stop,” she cried. “Please stop!” But her pleas fell on deaf ears. She glanced around for Mr. Colbert, but he was busy pulling two battling men apart.

  The skirmish brought the sheriff on the run. He yelled for everyone to hold their horses and when that failed to get the desired results, he pulled out his pistol, pointed the muzzle upward, and fired three shots.

  That did the trick. Men rolled off each other groaning and rubbing sore jaws.

  The sheriff holstered his gun and his horseshoe mustache twitched. “What’s going on here?”

  Everyone started talking at once.

  “She—”

  “He—”

  “One at a time!” the sheriff yelled. He pointed to Marilee. “What’s this about you trying to steal Jed’s dog?”

  “I am not stealing his dog.” Her voice shook with indignation, as did her parasol. “He’s my dog. He was a stray, and I took him in and—”

  “That dog ain’t no stray. He’s Jed’s dog!” yelled someone from the crowd.

  “Quiet!” the sheriff barked. This time he turned to Colbert. “Is this your dog or ain’t it?”

  “It’s my dog, all right,” Colbert said. “You know it is. Raised him from a puppy.”

  The sheriff circled the dog. “Well, it sure does look like Dynamite.”

  “Only it’s not,” Marilee said, fearing the tide had turned against her.

  The sheriff pushed his hat to the back of his head and looked at her with narrowed eyes. “Okay, I’ll give you two choices. One, we can split the dog in two and you’ll each get half—”

  Marilee gasped. “That. . .that’s a horrid idea!”

  The sheriff shrugged. “Worked for King Solomon.”

  Colbert glared at him, obviously in no mood for jokes. “What’s the second choice?”

  “The second choice is to put the dog in jail until we figure out his rightful owner.”

  Marilee shuddered at the thought of her dear sweet dog behind bars. “That would be downright cruel.”

  “And it still doesn’t tell us who gets the reward money,” someone yelled.

  The sheriff took Mo by the collar. “I guess that will have to wait till these two figure out who owns what.”

  “Wait.” Marilee moistened her lips. “You can give Mr. Colbert the reward. I’ll take the dog.”

  “I don’t care a fiddle about the money,” Mr. Colbert snapped. “All I care about is Dyna.”

  “His name is Mozart.”

  Mr. Colbert leaned forward until his nose practically touched hers. “What kind of dumb name is that for a—”

  The sheriff stepped between them. “All right, you two, that’s enough. We’re gonna handle this in a democratic way. We’ll let Dyna—Mozart—whatever his name, decide who he wants to go home with.”

  Mr. Colbert folded his arms across his chest. “Fine by me.”

  “Fine by me, too,” she said, glaring up at him. Harrumph. The man looked so sure Mo would choose him. He would soon find out otherwise. Oh, yes, indeed he would!

  “All right then,” the sheriff said. “Take ten paces back, both of you.” He spread his arms to demonstrate.

  Marilee counted her steps and turned; Colbert did likewise. They faced each other on the dusty road like two unflinching gunfighters about to draw their weapons. Their gazes clashed like swords.

  “A silver dollar says the lady wins,” the owner of the livery stables shouted.

  No sooner were the words out of his mouth than bets flew back and forth like swarming bees.

  Marilee tapped her foot. She didn’t have time for this nonsense. It was hot, and she just wanted to take Mo home. She raised her parasol over her head and waited.

  “Quiet!” the sheriff yelled at last with a wave of his arms. He waited for the crowd to fall silent. “This is how it’s gonna work. You’ll each call the dog by name. You have thirty seconds to get him to come to you and no more.” He pulled his watch out of his vest pocket and held up a hand. “We’ll let the lady go first.”

  Marilee patted her leg. “Come here, Mo. Come on, boy. Let’s go home.”

  Mo wagged his tail and barked, but didn’t move, not even when she promised to give him a nice juicy bone.

  The sheriff dropped his hand to indicate her time was up and swung his attention to Colbert. “Your turn.”

  Colbert touched the brim of his hat as if to say this is how it’s done. He then turned to the dog. “Come, Dyna. Let’s go home.” He promised to take the dog fishing and play ball.

  The dog cocked his head and his ears perked up, but he stubbornly remained in place.

  The sheriff shrugged. “It looks like the dog goes to the jailhouse with me.”

  Alarmed, Marilee tossed Mr. Colbert a beseeching glance. Her voice was shaking so much she could hardly get the words out. “Please, there must be another way.”

  Colbert’s eyes were as dark as the night sky, and for several long moments no one spoke. “Dyna can go home with the lady,” he said at last. “Least till we have time to figure this out.”

  “What about the money?” the mayor asked.

  “Hold on to it for now,” Colbert said. He then stalked away, and the crowd quickly dispersed.

  Marilee walked over to Mo, who didn’t look the least bit guilty for all the trouble he’d caused. “Let’s get you home. You need a bath.”

  Waving the fishy smell away, she grabbed the dog by the collar and led him to her buckboard.

  Chapter 5

  By noon the next day it seemed as if half the women in town had beaten a path to Marilee’s door. Mrs. Pickwick arrived a little after one in the afternoon.

  Mo looked up from where he was napping. He gave a halfhearted wag of his tail and laid hi
s head down again.

  “I swear, every summer is hotter than the last,” Mrs. Pickwick said, cooling herself off with a vigorous wave of her fan.

  Marilee commiserated with a nod. “Do sit, and I’ll get you a glass of lemonade.”

  Instead of sitting, Mrs. Pickwick followed Marilee into the kitchen, shaking her feathered head like a clucking hen. “Everyone in town is talking about the confusion with the dog. Who ever heard of such a thing?”

  “It’s crazy, I know.” Marilee filled two glasses with lemonade and set them on the table. She then followed this with a plate of freshly baked macaroons.

  “What are you going to do?” Mrs. Pickwick asked as she sat at the kitchen table and helped herself to a cookie.

  Marilee took a seat opposite her. “I’ve been praying about it, and I’ve decided it’s only right that I return Mo to Mr. Colbert.”

  Mrs. Pickwick practically choked. “Right? How could that be right?” She daintily wiped crumbs away from the corner of her mouth. “Why, you love that dog. And you take such good care of him.”

  “Yes, but I’ve only had him for a few months, whereas Mr. Colbert raised him from a puppy.” Now that she knew where Mo went every week, she couldn’t in good conscience claim Mo as hers. Through no fault of their own, she and the blacksmith had both been duped.

  Mrs. Pickwick reached for another cookie. “If you ask me, it’s a crying shame that you have to give him up.”

  “Yes, it is,” Marilee said and took a sip of lemonade. She set her glass down, her mind made up. “But I’ve been thinking about what Reverend Hampton said about the God days of summer, and I know it’s the right thing to do.” If only it didn’t hurt so much.

  A familiar bark drew Jed’s gaze from his workbench just as Dynamite bounced into the shop. A smile spreading across his face, Jed set his hammer down and stooped to give his dog a proper welcome.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked. On a weekday no less.

  For answer, Dynamite licked his hand, his tail whipping back and forth like a trainman’s lantern.

  A shadow blocked the open door and Jed looked up. He suddenly found himself drowning in the music teacher’s pretty blue eyes.