Tumbleweed Weddings

by Donna Robinson

  Callie thanked Bruce for the glass he handed her, grateful for something cold. Taking a sip, she glanced around. She had always loved his spacious home. Instead of carpet, the highly polished wood floor was partially covered with a large, braided blue rug. A nautical theme, in blue and white, dominated the room with lighthouses on the fireplace mantel and a ship’s wheel attached to the white-paneled wall.

  Aggie talked on about nothing while Bruce took a seat in a wooden rocking chair. After ten minutes of her blabber, he glanced at his watch. “Don’t you have a petition to give me?”

  “Oh, land’s sake! Course I do!” She plucked the clipboard from her lap and thrust it at him. “Now don’t forget about our meeting at the Elks lodge. Just one week away, Bruce.”

  “Yes.” He glanced through the sheaf of papers. “I plan to call some of these petitioners—random calls, of course—to make sure they signed willingly.” He looked at Aggie. “I’m simply satisfying my curiosity. Did all of these people sign the petition because they want to keep the library open, or did you talk them into it?”

  “Well, in all my days!” Aggie sputtered the words out. “Everyone who signed that thing wants it open, and some were stubborn as a mule about it.” She glared at Bruce. “Ya’ll on the council do not give a hoot for the pulse of Fort Lob. Only twelve people in the whole town refused to sign, and most of them were councilmen!”

  Callie glanced between the two. So much for falling in love! She cleared her throat. “Uh, Bruce, I have a question. If the council does decide to keep the library open, will they demolish the mansion and build a new building?”

  “No, I believe we’ll try to renovate the Dorsey-Smythe house.”

  “Oh good.” Callie let out a relieved sigh. “I’ve always loved that old place. It has so much history in it, and I would hate to see it torn down.”

  Bruce grunted his agreement. “But some of the council members don’t see eye to eye on restoring the mansion. They don’t value our town’s history.”

  “Like that Vern Snyder!” Aggie folded her arms. “He certainly has a mind of his own.”

  Bruce smiled. “Like a number of our citizens, Aggie. But you realize, of course, that in renovating the property, we will be forced to increase local taxes.”

  “So what’s a few more bucks? It’s like that nice young fella, Lane Hutchins, said. The Dorsey-Smythe is one of the best libraries in the country with a great collection of Wyoming books.” Aggie glanced at Callie. “Remember when Lucille went on that spending spree to get all them books?” Barely waiting for a nod, she turned back to Bruce. “And did ya’ll see the column by Herb Dreyfuss in this morning’s paper? ‘The Influence of Libraries in America.’ You’d think old Herbert knew what our citizens have been going through.”

  Bruce nodded. “I read it. In fact, it convinced me to be more open about keeping a library right here in our town. Our children and young people need it.” He looked at Callie. “And I suppose you want to keep your job.”

  “I certainly do!” Callie smiled, but her smile was for Herbert Dreyfuss.

  Chapter 13

  It was good to be back.

  Lane rode his Harley down Main Street and turned in at the Stables parking lot. The sun was high overhead, warming the air to ninety-seven degrees. He had removed his helmet as soon as he left the interstate, and he enjoyed the warm wind hitting his sunglasses and whipping through his hair.

  For the past two weeks, he’d stayed in his house in Cheyenne, writing two magazine articles and feverishly trying to beat his publisher’s deadline on a new book. He knew he’d never make the deadline if he stayed in Fort Lob. The people here were too … friendly. Even though he should move to a bigger town, he didn’t want to. The suffocating small-town feel was growing on him.

  Besides, he missed one particular person in this town—a twenty-something girl who hid her beauty behind a pair of glasses. Tomorrow would mark three weeks since their date, and he needed to give her a call.

  He parked the Harley but didn’t bother going to his apartment. Whistling, he sauntered across the street to Wilkins Grocery.

  The bell above the door jangled as he entered, and he relished the cool air. Removing his sunglasses, he dropped them in his shirt pocket.

  Jim Wilkins was checking out an old lady’s groceries. “Hey there, Lane!” he boomed out with a grin. “Haven’t seen you around these parts for a couple weeks.”

  “Uh, no, I was out of town.” Lane rushed on, not wanting Jim to ask questions. “But it’s great to be back, and I need some groceries. Do you have any fresh fruit, like strawberries?”

  “Of course we have strawberries. That will be twenty-seven dollars and forty-three cents, Mrs. Babcock. The strawberries are full price right now, but the watermelons are a steal. And a few of our apples are on sale, too. Thanks so much, Mrs. Babcock.” Jim’s loud voice never varied between the two conversations.

  Lane moved toward the produce section. “Thanks.”

  Twenty minutes later, he left the store with a carton of strawberries, a quart of milk, a box of cereal, and five frozen dinners. He walked back to the Stables and climbed the stairs to his apartment, ready to eat lunch.

  He was getting tired of frozen dinners.

  At six o’clock that evening, as he microwaved yet another frozen entrée, he realized he had left a book in his motorcycle saddlebag. He bounded down the stairs and out into the sunshine. After retrieving the book, he walked back to the apartment building.

  The blast from a car horn made him jump. He turned toward the sound.

  Callie rolled down her car window as she pulled into the parking lot and stopped. “Hey, Lane! I heard you were out of town. Welcome back!”

  Lane jogged over to her car. He hadn’t realized how much he had missed Callie until this moment. A deep contentment settled over him just hearing her voice.

  He placed his arm above her car door and peered inside. “Hi.” Why should he eat that tasteless frozen dinner when he could have a hot steak with company? “Hey, if you’re not doing anything right now, how about eating with me at the Cattlemen’s Diner?” He pointed down the street toward the restaurant.

  “Sure! Let me park the car.”

  He held up his book. “I’ll run this up to my apartment. Meet you here in a few minutes.”

  Callie glanced around the crowded diner, knowing every person in this place. If only she and Lane could have gone to Lusk for dinner. But she was so happy he asked her to eat with him that she’d just have to make the best of it.

  They settled across from each other in a booth by the front window. It wasn’t the best place for a quiet romantic dinner—in fact, it was in the middle of everything. In the booth across the aisle, a baby was crying. The old jukebox in the corner was playing “The Candy Man,” competing with the sounds of clashing dinnerware and loud conversation. Two waitresses swished back and forth from table to table, taking and fulfilling orders.

  Sara Stine, Ralph Little’s teenage granddaughter, brought Lane’s and Callie’s drinks to the table, took their order, and left.

  “I hate eating alone in a restaurant.” Lane sipped his iced tea. “And I’m really getting tired of frozen dinners, so I’m glad you agreed to eat with me.”

  Feeling like a flirt, Callie peered over her glasses at him. “Are those the only reasons?”

  He laughed. “I might have another reason.”

  He gazed at her eyes, and Callie gazed back. A feeling of peace settled over her. Thank You, Lord. In that moment, she knew that marrying Lane was God’s will for her. She didn’t know if he was still bitter at God, or if he was really Herbert Dreyfuss’s agent, or how long it would take for them to get together, but she knew without a doubt that she wanted to share his life someday.

  When their food arrived, Lane stared down at his plate for a moment before looking up at her.

  Callie adjusted her glasses. “Would you like me to say grace?” She realized—too late—that she had embarrassed him at Ray’s
.

  He half smiled. “Sure, that would be fine.”

  Twenty-five minutes later, after the family with the crying baby had left, they had a few moments of quiet as they ate their dessert—a brownie sundae for Lane and New York cheesecake for Callie.

  Vern Snyder and his wife, Blanche, settled into the booth across the aisle.

  Oh great! Callie looked out the window, hoping Vern and Blanche wouldn’t notice them. But of course they had good eyesight. In fact, Blanche had small dark eyes that darted around like a bird’s, seeming to take in everything at once. And she was one of the worst gossips in Fort Lob. She would strain to hear every tidbit of conversation between Callie and Lane.

  Callie took the last bite of cheesecake and looked up. “Ready to go, Lane?”

  “Already?” He looked puzzled. “I thought it would be nice to sit here with a cup of coffee and talk for a while.”

  “Well …” That would be nice if Blanche Snyder wasn’t sitting three feet away. “I really should get home—”

  “Hey, Hutchins!” Vern turned in his booth toward Lane. “Where have you been the past few weeks?”

  His voice was loud, and Callie noticed that Vern wasn’t wearing his hearing aid.

  Lane paused before smiling. “Oh, hi!” He reached out and shook Vern’s hand. “Mr. Snyder, isn’t it? Good to see you.”

  Now Vern looked surprised. “Uh, you, too. But you haven’t been around. Was wondering what happened to you.”

  “I had to go out of town for a couple weeks on some business, but I’m back now.” Lane grinned. “A person can’t stay away from Fort Lob for long. This small-town atmosphere just gets in your blood.”

  “Huh!” Vern grunted, his glance bouncing to Callie before it settled back on Lane. “So, Hutchins …” He folded his arms. “How did your business survive while you were out of town? I hear you’re an insurance agent, but you don’t seem to have any customers.”

  Blanche nodded. “How can you sell insurance when you don’t have an office in town? No one has ever seen your office or gotten a business card from you.”

  Lane frowned. “But I don’t sell insurance. I’m not—”

  “Then why did you say you did?” Blanche’s voice rose. “Did you lie to our people?”

  “No, certainly not.” Lane held up both hands as if to fend her off. “I never said I sold insurance.”

  “That’s what Eloise Riddell told me, and she heard it from Iva Hockett who heard it from Lucille Penwell, and you know Lucille don’t talk idle.”

  “I told Miss Penwell I was an agent. That’s all I said. I never mentioned one thing about insurance.”

  “Then what kind of agent? What was this business that took you away?” Her voice got louder with each sentence. “Fort Lob is a very small town, young man. You just can’t go gallivanting around the country without telling folks why you’re leaving. We want to know what you do for a living.”

  By this time, several people from nearby tables were listening in on the conversation.

  Lane’s mouth dropped open. “Well, I—”

  “Wouldn’t be surprising if you was some kind of crook.” Vern squinted at Lane. “A man who don’t hold a job in Fort Lob looks mighty suspicious. You have to get your money from somewhere. I bet you’re an agent with the black market, selling stolen jewels under the table or some such thing.”

  “Vern!” Callie banged her fist on the table. “How can you say that? You and Blanche are smearing Lane’s reputation in front of all these people with your gossip.”

  “Gossip!” Blanche lifted her chin. “I have never gossiped in my life.”

  Callie wanted to roll her eyes, but she didn’t since Sara, the waitress, came by the table to fill up her water glass. The pitcher shook, and a little water spilled as Sara poured it. The teenager gave a furtive glance at the Snyders before she left.

  Poor girl. “Well, Lane isn’t a crook.” Callie folded her arms. “And he certainly doesn’t work for the black market, so—”

  “Then what kind of agent are you, Hutchins?” Vern glared at Lane. “Speak up, boy! Don’t make Callie defend you.”

  Lane raised his hands in exasperation. “I don’t know why I have to defend myself. I’m a law-abiding citizen.”

  Vern jabbed his finger at Lane’s face. “We just want to know where you come from. You gave that speech about the library, and you said you’ve lived in a lot of places and the Dorsey-Smythe is one of the best libraries in the country.”

  Lane nodded. “It is.”

  “Then how come you know so much about all these libraries? How come you’ve lived in so many places? Only men running from the law move from place to place like that.”

  “Mr. Snyder, I’ve done nothing illegal—”

  “You’re lying! How do we know we can trust you?”

  “Vern!” Callie jumped up. “This is ridiculous. What Lane does is none of your business. You men on the town council think you can rule everyone’s life. You have too much power, just like Herbert Dreyfuss said in his column. Stick with your own business and quit bothering Lane.”

  “Well!” Blanche turned her face away from Callie. “You certainly are high-and-mighty, Miss Brandt. I might speak with your father about this.”

  “That’s fine with me.” Callie knew she had nothing to fear there. She motioned to Lane. “Let’s go.”

  He followed her to the cash register.

  Sara had their bill ready. She fumbled with the money Lane gave her but smiled when he handed her a ten-dollar tip.

  Silently Callie and Lane left the diner. In the twilight, a warm wind whispered about them as they walked down the street to her car.

  Lane opened the driver-side door for her, but she didn’t get in. Instead she turned to him. “Lane, I’m so sorry. I don’t know what got into Vern. I’ve never seen him act so mean.”

  “It wasn’t your fault.”

  “Well, it makes me mad that he embarrassed you in front of all those people.”

  Lane shrugged and opened his mouth to speak just as Jamie Spencer rumbled by in his Mustang. The car backfired twice, making Callie jump.

  She grimaced. “I wish Jamie would fix that old car of his.”

  “He probably likes it that way.” Lane glanced at her. “Speaking of old things, could you do me a favor, Callie?”

  Anything. “What is it?”

  “I’d like to look at those documents again—you know, the ones on the third floor of the library.” He paused. “Could you let me up there for a few hours?”

  She winced as she shook her head. “Not right now. Miss Penwell is working. Unfortunately someone told her you saw some of those old letters. I don’t know who it was, but Miss Penwell was really upset.”

  He cringed as he moved a step closer to her. “Do you mean to tell me I got you in trouble again?”

  “That’s okay.” She looked up at Lane’s handsome face, wishing they could go someplace where no one knew them. Even right here on the street, people were probably watching their every move. She sighed. “I managed to smooth things over, but Miss Penwell is very regimented. If anything different happens, she gets all bent out of shape.” An idea popped into her mind. “But you know what? You wouldn’t have to look at those documents on the third floor. You can look at them in one of the conference rooms.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “But how would I get the box?”

  “I’ll get it for you.” She climbed into the driver’s seat. “Hop in. I’ll give you a lift to the library.”

  At eight o’clock, Lane sat alone at a conference table, reading a town document from 1936. He had entered the library through the front door and walked upstairs past the circulation desk. Miss Penwell did not return his greeting. In the meantime, Callie entered through the back door, somehow procured a box of old letters for him, and left the library without Miss Penwell discovering her. Lane felt uneasy about deceiving the old librarian, but he couldn’t get the documents out of his mind. When he was finished, Cal
lie had told him to stow the box on top of a cabinet behind two displayed books. She would return it to the third floor in the morning.

  Now, unable to concentrate, he sat back with a sigh. He kept thinking about the animosity in Vern Snyder’s eyes. Why did that man think Lane was such a threat to Fort Lob? It couldn’t be just because of the library. That didn’t make sense.

  Well, no matter. Lane would do his best to live for two more months in this town—for Callie’s sake.

  He folded the document and took out a letter. It was dated April 8, 1899, and was written by James Thomas Lob himself.

  Lane gave a soft whistle. This was just the type of thing he wanted to put in Callie’s museum. He was determined to get that organization going for her. It would be privately funded—by his money. And if Fort Lob—meaning the town council—didn’t want to donate all that stuff on the library’s third floor to Callie, Lane would offer to buy it all, no matter how much they asked.

  As he began reading, the door opened. He looked up.

  Miss Penwell, wearing a bright green dress with large white polka dots, stood framed in the doorway. “Please keep this door open.”

  “Uh, yes, ma’am.” He smiled, hoping she would go away.

  She didn’t return his smile. Instead she took a step into the room, her glance taking in the opened box on the table and the letter in his hand. She folded her arms over her gaunt polka-dotted frame.

  “Where did you get that box?”

  Chapter 14

  The next morning, Callie decided to go to work early—really early. It was only six thirty. Last night, after she had managed to sneak the box of old documents to Lane without Miss Penwell’s knowledge, he asked if she had thought anymore about his museum idea. Callie had to admit that she hadn’t; in fact, it was the furthest thing from her mind. But his question piqued her interest. Was that why he wanted to look at those old documents?

  Before she opened the library at ten this morning, she would spend a few hours upstairs, seeing what was suitable. Even though a museum still seemed like an impossible dream, it wouldn’t hurt to organize the paraphernalia up there.