The Bride Wore Starlight

by Lizbeth Selvig

  A moment later Alec slid into the passenger seat.

  “Take me for breakfast dessert,” he said and dangled the keys.

  She almost protested again. Instead she met his gaze, and something inside gave a little twist. Unexpected courage flowed directly into her veins—maybe because he sat beside her so nonchalantly, as if she’d never crashed a car and now hadn’t driven in close to a year. She took yet another deep breath, accepted the key slowly, and put it in the ignition. Before she turned it, she moved her right leg several times between the accelerator and the brake.

  “You’ll be fine,” he said.

  Her racing heart slowed a tick.

  After the mirrors had been adjusted, the seat put perfectly in the right place, and her surroundings thoroughly checked, she couldn’t procrastinate any longer. She put the truck in reverse, looked in the mirror, and shot backward like a bullet. With a squeal and a hard stomp on the brake, she came to a jolting halt.

  “Oh, jeez,” she cried.

  He didn’t twitch a muscle. “Nice start.”

  “Alec, I don’t want to do this.”

  “Too late, you’ve already done it. You’re fine.”

  “How can you be so frickin’ calm? What if I smash up your truck? What if I smash you up?”

  “I’ve ridden horses trying to smash me up with a lot less protection than I have in this truck. I’m not worried. And I have insurance.”

  He could not be this calm. It wasn’t natural. Still, she remembered what a master performance he’d given this morning in front of Tim. The man must have nerves of steel.

  She got out of the parking lot with only a few more jarring stops. The accelerator pedal took the lightest touch of any vehicle she’d ever driven, and combined with her unease, their forward progress would have made the rawest of student drivers look accomplished. Through it all Alec remained unperturbed.

  She turned out of the VA center complex and relaxed slightly on the paved county road. A few moments of driving brought her away from the medical center’s traffic, and she let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. It was seven miles to the small town of Wolf Paw Pass. She could do this. Suddenly, she was flying. In a truck, on the ground, at forty-five miles per hour, she was free as a falcon let loose to hunt.

  “You’re smiling.”

  “I’m driving,” she replied.

  “You are. Pretty amazing right?”

  “You’ve been here, too, haven’t you? Feeling this.”

  “Took me six months after the accident. I had a six-speed Mazda, and I had to give it up because of the clutch. That was a big hurdle for me. I still miss driving a manual transmission. I could, but it’s just not as slick or quite as quick and safe with no feeling in the foot. I finally chose to compromise. And that made the difference. I found out that being able to drive is a big step in recovery.”

  She could definitely see that. If she could drive, she could—

  She cut off her thoughts. She had no vehicle. She had no way to pay for insurance even if a car magically appeared in front of her. And just because she might be able to drive somewhere didn’t mean she could do anything once she arrived. This was jumping far ahead of herself.

  Nonetheless, the feeling of having wings made her just a little bit high.

  The semi appeared in front of her after she rounded a gentle curve in the mountain road. With a screech she slammed the brake and banged forward into her seatbelt. Beside her, Alec’s torso took a similar jolt.

  “Whoa!” He gave the first sound of surprise since they’d started.

  There was more than plenty of room between her and the big truck, and she managed to keep from stopping fully, but the calm joy she’d begun to feel vanished, replaced by a white-knuckle grip caused as much by embarrassment as fear.

  “I’m so sorry,” she said, barely loud enough for him to hear.

  “You know why that happened, right?” he asked.

  “Yes,” she said, her voice sharp. “Because I’m not ready for this.”

  “No.” He returned to calm. “This would have happened even six more months from now. Your brain has to remember that bad things don’t happen every time there’s traffic. It’s trying to protect you—just tell it you’re fine. You’ll remember now that semis and trailers appear.”

  “You’re making this pop psychology crap up,” she said.

  He grinned. “But it makes perfect sense, right?”

  She blew a huge breath slowly through her lips. “Yeah. I admit it. I saw logs rolling at me.”

  “Don’t bury the fear—recognize it and move on.”

  “What fear did you have to move on from?”

  “Same things. Vehicles appearing from nowhere. People jumping out from places I didn’t expect. Loud noises.”

  “That’s awful.”

  “It’s what professional help is for. War sucks, but soldiers don’t have to stay damaged.”

  “I will try to be more like you.” She fixed her eyes on the road, humbled and slightly overwhelmed by his attitude. How did you get through trauma like his with such a perfect attitude?

  “Oh, honey, don’t do that. Be more like you.”

  That was good advice, too, she supposed, but too easy to say. She didn’t bother telling him that her very few marketable skills had been taken away in the accident. What did a barrel racing former Miss Wyoming turn to when she’d turned to rodeo and beauty pageants in the first place because her childhood dreams were unrealistic?

  Whatever it was, she had to find it soon—or live off her sisters’ good will for the rest of her life.

  Melodrama. She’d always been told she was good at it.

  They reached Wolf Paw Pass five minutes later, and Joely let the self-pity go in favor of concentrating on small-town driving. She progressed to comfort more quickly than she had in the parking lot as she cruised down familiar Mountain Street, the town’s main drag. Wolf Paw Pass had changed over the decades and grown from a tiny town of six hundred to double that thanks to the veterans’ center complex nearby and a combined forces training grounds for military, police, and fire professionals.

  Despite the influx of people and the transient nature of a military population, the town retained its secluded, rustic feel. The town council took great pride in maintaining original buildings and keeping the charm of the friendly little community intact. Many shop fronts had been there since long before Joely’s time.

  “Which will it be for breakfast dessert?” Alec asked. “Ina’s or Dottie’s?”

  “Dottie’s has amazing coffee cake. But Ina’s has those scones she serves with one little scoop of ice cream.”

  “Your choice. We’re celebrating your wheels.”

  “Hmmm.” She wrinkled her nose, contemplating two good choices. “Scones. Ice cream in the morning is too decadent to pass up. Plus. I can show you my digs.”

  “Your what?”

  “Two blocks over from Ina’s—the little place I found that didn’t require a huge deposit or the first and second months’ rent.”

  “That sounds minorly iffy.”

  “Or serendipitous.”

  He nodded his approval. “So Ina’s is two blocks ahead. Can you parallel park?”

  “Sheesh, Alec. I’d kind of like to shoot you all of a sudden. Haven’t you tortured me enough and had enough excitement?”

  He shrugged. “In for a penny, in for a pound.”

  “That’s very quaint.”

  “I had a sainted grandmother a lot like yours once. She used to say that. But she was kind of a troublemaker.”

  “Swell. That’s where you got it.”

  “Proudly. There.” He pointed at an empty spot half a block from the little shop that was their destination—Ina’s with the pretty lilac-colored awning and red-and-pink curlicue lettering.

  She stopped the big truck beside the car in front of the space and put it into reverse. With a jerk she backed up too far. She shifted and shot forward three feet. Alec b
egan to laugh. With a rocking, jerky inefficiency, Joely worked to figure out the accelerator’s true touch, and by the time she’d shimmied and jolted her way into the spot, she was choking on her own laughter. Alec sat back in his seat and rubbed his forehead.

  He snorted. “That was like parking in a spinning washing machine. Did you learn to do that all by yourself?”

  She wiped her eyes. “Crap. I’m sorry. I used to be able to back a four-horse trailer into a tight spot on a diagonal. Guess some things aren’t like riding a bike. My leg didn’t want to move back and forth the way it should.”

  “We’ll just make sure all your parking spots are straight from now on. You never have to do this again as far as I’m concerned.”

  “Yeah? Well, whether I passed the test or not, I’m done parking anywhere for the day. You’re driving home, Cowboy.”

  “Okay.”

  She frowned. “That was too easy.”

  “Nah, I proved my point.”

  “Yeah. With me, the poster child for unsafe driving.”

  “You’ll get better. You’ve got legs now. You can get where you need to go. A big first step.”

  “Not a step at all. I have no car and no way to get one until all the insurance mess is settled. That could take another year I’m told. I’ll be sticking around town pretty closely.”

  “But wasn’t the original plan for you to go to the ranch?”

  “It was.” She pointed down the street to one of the oldest business buildings in town, the last on the block that could use a solid renovation. “But I decided that if I want any chance at earning my own money, I have to live where I can get to a place of work by myself. Believe me, it’s not ideal, I know. Still . . . ” She trailed off with a shrug. “Nothing’s ideal anymore.”

  “Let’s go see this new apartment.”

  She swung slowly alongside him on the crutches, and although she tired quickly, the sense of satisfaction growing in her as they neared the place she’d rented kept her going. Her sudden buoyed spirits surprised her. The decision to move here had been another act of sheer stubbornness, and she’d spent the days since signing the one-month lease second-guessing the choice. But taking Alec to see it, on her own with no explanation or justification necessary, gave her a sense of independence she hadn’t felt since the accident. If she was honest, she hadn’t felt it in four years.

  “It’s in the basement of the building and was renovated probably five years ago. It’s not bad—some cosmetic stuff needs doing, but it’s livable. Above me is the thrift store and Cyril Grimes’ Jackson Hole Properties.”

  “Okay,” he said.

  They reached the old building front, its brick façade stained with age.

  “Around the side,” she said.

  They followed a cracked sidewalk lined with struggling hosta plants and day lilies, and turned the building corner. Joely’s optimism died in an explosion of shock. Beneath the small overhang over the stoop of her new door, seated on the concrete, stiff and unmoving with its head slumped awkwardly to the front and side, was a body.

  Chapter Nine

  ALEC PULLED UP short at the sight of the figure on the cement stoop and reached for Joely’s hand at her cry of shock. He didn’t blame her. The man clothed in a thin wool overcoat and brown, cuffed dress trousers was certainly still enough to be a corpse.

  “Oh, Alec, is he . . . ?”

  “It’s unlikely.” He stopped her from voicing the word and stroked her thumb with his in a gesture of comfort. Despite his words, he guessed it wasn’t completely out of the question that the man was dead. The nights were still dipping into the thirties here in the higher elevations. If the person was old or infirm, he might have succumbed to cold. Or natural causes.

  “We should call someone,” she said.

  “I’ll check on him.”

  “Oh, don’t. What if—”

  He squeezed her hand this time, and she clung to him. He liked the feeling of her body huddling into his side like a nervous pup. He’d seen enough bodies in his life that the idea of checking on this one didn’t frighten him, but she clearly didn’t want to find out the worst.

  “It’ll be fine,” he said. “You can just stay right here.”

  She nodded and released her grip on his hand and arm.

  Alec approached the man and studied him. He thought he saw the coat front rise and fall, so he leaned over him and put a hopeful hand on his shoulder. To his relief the body was supple, not stiff.

  “Sir? Sir, is everything all right?”

  It took several gentle shakes and a few more called “hellos” before the man opened one rheumy eye and blinked. A second later he started violently with a throaty cry of surprise.

  “Don’t!” he said. “You can’t do this.”

  “Whoa, hey, it’s all right.” Alec stepped back. “We’re not here to hurt you or do anything. Just making sure you’re okay.”

  He jumped up, as agile and quick as if he’d found himself on fire. The action was all the more impressive when it was clear the man had to be in his late seventies or perhaps older. His coat flew open, revealing a fairly neat, green print, button-down shirt.

  “You aren’t Alastair,” he said in a strangely proper accent, faintly British.

  “I am not,” Alec agreed. “Are you waiting for him?”

  The man’s features calmed, and his eyes cleared. “I am searching for him.”

  “Here on this front stoop?”

  He clamped his coat together with one fist. “Of course not,” he said. “I apologize for falling asleep. I am here looking for Joellen Crockett.”

  Alec frowned slightly and looked back at Joely. She shook her head, indicating she had no idea who he was. The man was very slightly shabby and wore a multiple days’ growth of gray, hedgehog-bristly beard. His clothing, however, was clean, and he had on a thick, blue stocking cap with about five inches of a gray ponytail hanging beneath the back edge.

  His eyes shone, bright and astute, and his words were definitely accented—softly European and educated. No smell of alcohol or anything to indicate he hadn’t bathed recently or was homeless clung to him, although a large, tightly stuffed cloth bag stood beside the wall on the stoop.

  “I’m Joellen Crockett.” Joely arrived beside Alec and leaned forward on her crutches. “Who are you?”

  “Since I arrived in town, people are calling me Mayberry,” he said, amusement lighting his eyes. “I have been staying in various places around the area, including one night in the local jail for a complete misunderstanding.”

  “Mayberry?” Joely asked, her voice intrigued.

  “An old television show.” The old man puckered his brows sympathetically as Joely adjusted her stance. “You’re quite a bit too young to remember it, my dear. Broken leg, ’eh?”

  “Something like that,” she replied. “What show?”

  “It was called The Andy Griffith Show. They say I’m like the character Otis the town drunk in Mayberry where the show took place. However, as most people are finding, I am not an alcoholic.”

  He was confusing is what he was. He looked like a homeless man, although the tidiest one Alec had ever seen, yet he spoke as if he’d come from a youth spent in England and seemed to know Joely.

  “I’m Alec Morrissey.” He held out his hand.

  Joely leaned on her crutches and extended her hand as well. “I’m Joely. This is my apartment.”

  He took each of their hands in turn with a firm, sure grasp. “I know it is. Joely. Such a lovely name. I found out you were moving here when I asked about your family at the café. Small towns are quite amazing when it comes to knowing everything about their local citizens.”

  Alec made a mental note to talk to Joely about the over-willingness of her new neighbors to impart information about her. The man seemed harmless, but telling strangers where people lived went again every safety-conscious rule Alec could think of.

  “How do you know my family?”

  “I don’t really, m
y dear. I knew your grandmother. I was hoping you would do me a great favor and deliver a note to her whenever you see her.”

  He reached into one deep pocket and pulled out a sealed blue envelope with “Mrs. Sadie Crockett” penned on the front in neat handwriting.

  “What is this?”

  “Just a greeting,” he replied. “Nothing nefarious. I am here looking for my nephew. My great-nephew, to be precise. I discovered Sadie is miraculously still alive, and I thought I would make contact.”

  “Who is your great-nephew?” Joely asked.

  “Not a local. I’ve followed his trail, so to speak. The fact that he’s come here is just a happy coincidence.”

  “I’d be glad to give this to my grandmother. Is there a way for her to find you again? Where are you staying?”

  “Mayberry” picked up his stuffed bag and slung it over his shoulder.

  “I stay wherever the spirit moves me to each night. Sometimes the local campground. Sometimes with others who rove as I do. Once in a while at a hotel. If Sadie wishes to find me, she can.” He moved from beneath the porch overhang and smiled. “I’m sorry to have startled you this morning, and I thank you most kindly for your help. I’ll let you get to your plans for the day.”

  “Hang on, can we take you . . . home?” Alec exchanged a quick glance with Joely, who shrugged and nodded.

  “No, no. Thank you. I prefer walking.”

  “Your nephew. Is that Alastair?” Alec asked.

  “I’m afraid so.” Resignation filled his eyes as if he’d just about given up on this person. “Fills my sleep with worried dreams. A good boy with some poor ideas. However, he’s the closest thing I have to a grandson, or a son for that matter. And we get on well enough.”

  “And you have to find him, why?”

  “He’s been away from home. I’d like to find him while I’m on my travels.”

  On his travels? A lost great-nephew. Secretive notes.

  Who was this man?