Married by Accident

by Christine Rimmer

  Her fingers went still in his hair. He waited for her to speak. When she didn’t, he commanded quietly, “Say it. whatever it is.”

  She did. “Annie says she’s telling Preston the truth, on Wednesday, after his birthday.”

  He made a disbelieving sound. “Right.”

  “She has to tell him by Thursday. If she doesn’t, she knows that I will.” Her stomach rose and slowly fell as she sighed. “Wednesday or Thursday, neither one is that far away.”

  He sat up then, took her hands, looked into her night-shadowed violet eyes. “How long will you stay?”

  She pulled one hand free of his grip. His mother’s diamond winked at him. Then she touched his face, laying her palm against his cheek. “I’ll go as soon as she tells him.”

  “She’ll want you to stay. She’ll say she needs you.”

  Her thumb brushed his lips. “I’ve done what I could. She’s come home where she belongs. I should have left the day we got here.”

  “But you didn’t.”

  “No.”

  “So let’s leave what you should have done out of this.” Keeping hold of her right hand, he rocked back on his heels and stood.

  Her fingers stiffened in his. Looking down, he could see anxiousness in her eyes. “Cole? Annie...she knows. About us.”

  His gut tightened. He didn’t need his little sister poking her nose in this, not at all. And for a number of reasons, not the least of which was the sense of responsibility he felt toward Annie.

  Cole had prided himself, in recent years, anyway, on the good example he set for Annie of how a man ought to behave. Annie might have run off with Jimmy Logan, ended up with a baby and no husband, but at least Cole had been able to tell himself that Annie hadn’t learned such behavior at home.

  He demanded, “How does she know?”

  “She guessed. She saw us together, at lunchtime, when you were washing your hands and I was—”

  “Nothing happened at lunchtime.”

  “She saw the way we looked at each other.”

  He relaxed a little. “Then she doesn’t know—not how far it’s gone, anyway. Unless you told her?”

  “I didn’t tell her anything. She only thinks that we’re...in love.”

  Love. He wished she hadn’t said that word. It reminded him too starkly of all they wouldn’t share.

  He hauled her to her feet, hooked a hand around her neck and brought her close enough that her soft body touched his all the way down. Desire coursed through him. “She doesn’t know—” he pressed his hand to the small of her back, to make his meaning clear “—about this?”

  She gasped, put her hands on his chest, resisting the pull between them as she tried to frame her answer. “She might have guessed. I couldn’t say. But she promised to stay out of it, to let us work it out on our own.”

  It could have been worse. He gentled his hold on her, stroked her back, caressed her shoulder. “Are you gonna lock that door tomorrow night?”

  “No,” she admitted in a small, shamed voice.

  “And as long as it’s open, I will walk through it. Soon enough, Annie will tell my father what he deserves to know. And you’ll leave. Right?”

  She nodded.

  “So it’s all settled. We know exactly what we’ve got—and pretty much how long we’ll have it.”

  “Yes. Yes, that’s true.”

  “Annie will mind her own business.”

  “She said that she would.”

  “Then leave it alone.”

  “But—”

  “Melinda. Leave it alone. Let’s make the most of the time we have.” He slid his hand down, pressed the small of her back again, bringing her hips up and in, nestling himself between them.

  She let out a tiny sound of submission. Those soft hands stopped holding him away. They slid up his chest. She moaned as he covered her sweet mouth with his.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Melinda and Annie went shopping the next morning. Cole told them they could have three hours and no more. “I want to be back at work by noon. Got it? Noon, at the latest.”

  They promised him that they wouldn’t let him down.

  The drive to Fredericksburg took forty-five minutes. When they got there, they raced around the big supermarket, grabbing what they needed off the shelves. Once the food was bought, they hurried up and down Main Street, scouring the charming variety of shops and choosing gifts quickly—two nice shirts and pair of tooled boots with a belt to match, as well as a few novelty items that Annie said were just for fun.

  They were back in the car and on their way home by eleven. They reached Bluebonnet’s Main Street at twenty to twelve.

  They drove by the red phone booth and the tiny post office with its regulation flagpole and rather droopy-looking flag. A few people wandered up and down the street. They waved as Melinda drove past. In the open space next to the post office, a small group of children played with a big green ball.

  At the Bluebonnet Grocery, two old men shared a bench on the wide front porch. Behind the men hung a chalkboard with what appeared to be the day’s bargains scrawled on it: Broccoli 69 cents a bunch. Fresh Peaches 79/1b. Near the steps that led down to the street, a black dog snoozed in the shade of the overhang.

  “Pull over,” Annie commanded just as they were about to pass the store. “Pull in right there. Now.”

  Melinda pressed the brake automatically, then tried to protest. “But Annie, we have to—”

  “This’ll only take a minute.”

  Shaking her head, Melinda parked a few feet from where the black dog lay.

  Annie snapped open her seat belt. “Come on.”

  “Annie, we’ve got ice cream in the back and it’s almost twelve. Brady’s probably starving and we promised Cole that—”

  “The longer you sit here and argue with me, the softer that ice cream will get.”

  Grumbling under her breath, Melinda got out of the car.

  Annie urged, “Come here. Come on.”

  Melinda went around the front of the car and grudgingly took Annie’s extended hand.

  “Annie Yuma, that you?” One of the old men on the porch canted forward and squinted their way.

  “Yes, Mr. Tolly. How are you?”

  “Good as I’m likely to get. You home to stay?”

  “Yes, sir. I am.”

  “Who’s your friend with the fancy car?”

  “This is Melinda. She’s here for a visit.”

  “Your friend got a last name?”

  Annie’s eyes shifted away. Melinda spoke up. “Bravo. I’m Melinda Bravo.”

  “Well, welcome to Bluebonnet, Melinda Bravo.” The old man waved at her. “You’re a pretty one. We like pretty women around here.”

  She pasted on a smile and waved in return. Mr. Tolly spoke to Annie, then. “You tell Preston that we are waitin’ to see him around town again.”

  “Yes, Mr. Tolly. I’ll tell him. I will.”

  The old man sat back, nodding sagely. Then he and the other man put their grizzled heads together and began talking in low voices.

  Annie whirled on Melinda and whispered hotly, “You shouldn’t have said your last name. If my dad hears—”

  “How’s he going to hear before Wednesday? He never even comes out of his room.”

  Annie pulled a disgusted face. “There’s no sense taking chances.”

  “Well, it’s too late now, isn’t it? And we really do have to get back to the house.”

  Across the street, two women emerged from the post office. Annie smiled and waved at them.

  “How you doin’, Annie?” one of the women called.

  “Fine, Mrs. Hendricks. Just fine.” Annie hauled on Melinda’s hand. “Come on.”

  “Annie, I told you. We have got to—”

  “Quit arguin’. Come on.” Towing Melinda along behind, Annie marched along the hard-packed dirt that served as a sidewalk between the grocery store and the next building over. Three steps went up the side of that building. A
nnie dragged Melinda up the steps, then stopped before the empty window to the right of the door.

  “Well?” Annie released Melinda’s hand and gestured expansively. “What do you think?”

  Melinda shrugged. “Of what?”

  “Oh, you are just impossible.” She flung a hand out toward the window. “Read the sign.”

  Melinda read aloud. “Store For Rent. So?”

  “Look inside.”

  “Annie.”

  “Go on. Go on, look.”

  So Melinda pressed her face against the dusty glass. She saw bare floors and a checkout counter, a couple of glassfronted display cases, a few random straight chairs—nothing at all to get excited about. She brushed the grime off her nose and declared, ”It’s an empty shop. So what?”

  “Melinda. Think. You could rent it.”

  “For what?”

  “You could...have your own store. You could sell clothes, nice ones, reasonably priced. And gifts. So that folks like us wouldn’t have to go all the way to Fredericksburg just to buy a birthday present. And...you could even have one of those little coffee bar things, like they have in L.A. With ice cream and sodas for the summer, and hot things when the weather cools. It could be—”

  “Annie. I’ve worked in one shop in my life. An exclusive lingerie boutique in Beverly Hills. What would I know about running a store in a town like this?”

  “You could learn as you go. And you’ve got good taste. You’ve got real style.”

  “Do you really think style is what is needed in Bluebonnet?”

  “Well, I certainly do. Don’t look at me like that. I’m serious. The ladies of Bluebonnet are like everybody else. Don’t you go sellin’ them short. They could use a little glamour, too, you know.”

  Melinda closed her eyes and silently counted to ten. “Annie. Remember what you told me yesterday? That you’d stay out of my business? That you wouldn’t interfere?”

  Annie’s mouth went into the pinched position. “I am not interferin’. I am suggestin’, that’s all.”

  “Well, okay. You’ve suggested. Now, we’d better get home.”

  “I just thought—”

  “Annie. Stop.”

  Annie folded her arms across her middle and scowled down at her shoes. But when she glanced up, she was grinning. “You’ll think about it. I know you will. And I won’t say another word. Ideas are like seeds, you know? You plant them. Then you just have to wait, give them a chance to grow.”

  “Annie, it is five minutes till noon.”

  “Well, come on then.” Annie headed for the car. “I’m ready to go.”

  That afternoon, they wrapped the presents in bright paper and pressed the ice cream into a cake layer pan to freeze into shape overnight.

  “Tomorrow, after breakfast, we’ll bake the cake,” Annie said. “And in the afternoon, we’ll put it together and spread the frosting on. We’ll cook a meal to die for, you know?” She went and picked up Brady, from his portable playpen. He gurgled at her. She said, almost as if she were addressing the baby, “And then you will go in and tell my father—”

  “Wait a minute.”

  “Hmm?” Annie laid her son gently on her shoulder—and more or less batted her eyes at Melinda.

  “Who will tell your father?”

  “Well now, Melinda.” Annie patted Brady’s back. “He really does like you. Whenever he speaks of you, his eyes get a light in them. And you’re not like me, someone always pushin’ him to get better. It’ll take him off guard, if you do it.”

  “Your father doesn’t strike me as a man who will enjoy being taken off guard.”

  “Who cares if he enjoys it? We have to do what’s necessary to get him out of that room. And what’s necessary is for you to ask him.”

  Melinda tried to look uncompromising.

  Apparently it didn’t work. “You will, won’t you... please?”

  “Oh, Annie...”

  “It will work. I just know it. If you’re the one that does it.” Brady let out another happy little gurgle. “See?” Annie said, “Brady agrees with me.”

  “You simply will not give up when you want something, will you?”

  “Then you’ll do it?”

  Someday, Melinda told herself, she would tell Annie no and mean it.

  “Melinda? Melinda, please...”

  “Oh, all right. I suppose so.”

  “You are the best friend. The best friend a gal ever had!”

  Cole came back in at six. He was quiet all through dinner and he didn’t eat much.

  Annie remarked on his lack of appetite.

  He said, “A case of swamp fever, over at the Linton place. I had to put the animal down.”

  “Oh, Cole. I am so sorry.” Annie put her hand over his.

  He looked down at his plate. “I guess I won’t finish this.”

  “That’s fine. You go on.”

  He rose from the table and left them.

  Once he was gone, Annie said, “He’ll be okay. He just needs a little time alone.”

  Melinda asked, “What’s swamp fever?”

  “Horses get it—not real often, thank the Lord. It’s infectious anemia. Spread by mosquitoes and flies. There isn’t any cure for it. And once a horse has it, you have two choices. You can isolate him or put him down. Isolation’s almost impossible on a working ranch. So usually, when they get it, that just has to be the end.” Annie pushed her own plate away. “A horse takes a lot of training, you know? A lot of love. There’s always someone hurtin’ bad, when a horse has to be put down.”

  Melinda went to Cole that night. Still dressed in the flowered skirt and T-shirt she’d pulled on that morning, she opened the door between their rooms and saw him sitting on the sofa, by the window. The stereo was playing softly, a tune Melinda didn’t recognize, but something country, a ballad about lost love.

  She went to him, sat down beside him. He gave her a smile.

  She said, “Annie explained to me...about swamp fever.”

  He put his arm around her, pulled her near. She leaned her head on his shoulder, felt for his hand.

  He twined his fingers with hers. “Homer Linton’s got a daughter. She’s fifteen. She owned the horse. A sweet little red mare.”

  “The girl was there, is that what you’re saying, when you put the horse to sleep?”

  “I couldn’t order her not to be there. She had the right.” He sat back from Melinda a little, looked at her deeply, then pulled her head down onto his shoulder again. “It’s a part of the job, that’s what I tell myself.”

  “But it doesn’t help much, huh?”

  “No, not much.”

  She said, “If you want to talk about it a little, I’m willing to listen.”

  “You sure?” He did sound hopeful.

  “Yes. Tell me. I’m listening.”

  So he described the deep hole that had waited, bulldozed before he got there, in the middle of a pasture. He said that the rancher’s daughter had spoken to the mare so softly, telling her tender things, unwilling to let go.

  “Finally her father had to order her to take the horse to the ditch or he would do it. She led the mare over, then wouldn’t stand clear. Her father had to pull her away.”

  “You had to...do it right then?”

  She felt his nod against her hair. “The horse was startin’ to get agitated, with her owner carryin’ on, strugglin’ in her father’s arms. I moved up and gave the injection fast, before the mare even saw the needle. Thirty cc’s, that’s what it takes. The girl cried out, a long, deep, awful wailing sound. The mare staggered. Within seconds, she fell. I gave her a shove and she dropped into the ditch.” Melinda felt his lips then, pressing lightly at her temple. “It had to be done. Or more horses would die.”

  “But that doesn’t make it any easier.”

  “No. No easier. No easier at all.”

  She turned her head, seeking his mouth. They kissed, a quick and reassuring contact, his lips to hers.

  Then she
stood and pulled him up with her. She led him to the bed, pushed him down and pulled off his boots for him, then his socks. She unbuttoned his shirt, removed it. And then she had him stand again, so that she could dispense with his jeans and the white briefs he wore.

  When he was naked, she took off her own clothes and laid them on top of his, over a chair. They slid beneath the covers together. He pulled her close, with her back to him, his body wrapped around hers.

  He smoothed her hair and brushed his lips against her ear. “I could get too used to this.” His voice was very low, more breath than sound.

  She turned to him then, kissed him, felt desire bloom. She was the one who reached for the drawer, removed the small pouch, opened it and slid the condom in place.

  They made love lying on their sides, facing each other, not closing their eyes.

  By four the next afternoon, the red velvet cake, filled with vanilla bean ice cream and topped with butter-rich frosting and sparkling red sugar, waited in the freezer for the party that night. Every present had been wrapped. The molded raspberry salad was ready to serve and Annie had hung crepe paper spirals from the brass chandelier over the dining-room table, draping the strips outward in festive loops, then tacking them at the edges of the ceiling.

  “You’d better go in and ask him now,” she told Melinda. “Then we’ll fry up that chicken. Cole promised he’d be back at six.”

  Melinda hesitated.

  “Melinda, are you gonna back out on me?”

  Melinda wished that she could. But she had said she would do it. “No. I’m going. I am.”

  Melinda knocked softly on the closed door. She heard a thump on the other side, then a muffled voice commanded gruffly, “Come in.”

  He was sitting in his wheelchair, the metal walker just a foot away, the open side toward him. The chair hummed as he turned it her way. His face looked slightly flushed and his still-thick gray hair had fallen over his forehead. He brushed it back with a quick swipe of his good left hand. She realized he must have been practicing with the walker, and hid a smile at his efforts to pretend that he hadn’t been.

  “Well. Melinda. Hello.” He did look happy to see her—for a moment anyway. Then his eyes narrowed with suspicion. “You look nervous, daughter. What has Annie got you up to?”