The Cowboy & The Shotgun Bride (The Brides of Grazer's Corners #1)

by Jacqueline Diamond

  “At the scholarship luncheon, she brought a guy along, although I don’t think they were romantically involved,” Kate recalled. “They sang a duet from La Bohème.”

  “Do you remember his name?”

  “It sounded German,” she said. “Horst, I think. Horst Gewurst or Gewitt, or Wittstein, or... Wittgenstein, that was it.”

  She was amazed that she remembered. Now that she concentrated, she could even picture him, a slim fellow with a mop of black hair overpowering his face.

  They were approaching Highway 99. If anyone were on the lookout for them, this would be the place they’d get stopped.

  Kate scanned the area. A truck pulling a horse carrier lumbered along a crossroad. A blue sedan sat on the shoulder, but she couldn’t see who was inside. Might it be an undercover unit?

  As they passed, she looked straight down and saw a road map open on the driver’s lap. Just a traveler, checking his route.

  Mitch swung up a ramp onto the freeway. “Keep your eyes peeled for that van. I figure Tiny’s gang knows where Loretta went to school, too. They may not have any brains but Billy does, and he’s probably directing them by phone.”

  It frightened her to think of what Billy’s ruffians might do if they found Loretta before Mitch did. The young woman had radiated confidence at the luncheon, but she would be no match for a bunch of gunslingers.

  “I’ll go as far as Pasadena with you,” Kate said. “You might have a better chance of finding your cousin with me along.”

  Mitch gave her one of his unreadable glances. “I’m grateful. I hate to point it out, since I do need your help, but you sure are stirring up a mess of trouble for yourself.”

  “I don’t see it that way,” she answered. “These hoodlums shot up my town and wrecked my wedding. They’re also a threat to Loretta. I want them brought back to face charges.”

  He crooked her an admiring grin. “You are one tough hombre, Madam Principal.”

  “That’s what all the kids say.” She managed a smile in return.

  At the same time, her own words surprised Kate. Who was this woman who couldn’t wait to bring bad guys to justice and who relished the wind in her hair? Well, maybe just a slight draft through the side vent, but the point was that she felt in no hurry to return to Grazer’s Corners or to Moose.

  It struck her that she hadn’t had a real vacation since high school, one in which she didn’t have to answer to or be responsible for anybody. She’d always taken pride in her dedication, without considering that maybe she needed a break.

  On a honeymoon with Moose, she would have instinctively catered to his needs and tastes. Mitch was different. He didn’t belong to her, nor she to him.

  If he wanted to eat hamburgers every day, that didn’t mean she had to. If he annoyed her, she could tell him to chill out.

  For once in her life, Kate could simply be herself. It was a wonderful feeling.

  It would have been even more wonderful without the hunger pangs. “I hate to mention it, but what are we going to do for dinner?”

  “There’s a granola bar in the glove box,” Mitch said. “If you can hold out for a couple of hours, I’ll find us a place to camp near Fresno. Then we can cook something decent.”

  “Right.” Kate fished out the granola bar, split it in half and gave Mitch his share. It wasn’t much to eat, but in her years as a teacher and a principal, she had often skipped meals.

  She settled back, chewing the sticky bar slowly and hoping she hadn’t forgotten to pack her toothbrush. At least, thanks to Moose’s rustic idea of a honeymoon, she’d brought appropriate clothes for camping.

  It made sense to stop en route. The drive to Pasadena could take seven or eight hours, especially since they didn’t dare speed. And there was nothing to be gained by arriving in the middle of the night.

  The middle of the night. Just exactly what were the sleeping arrangements going to be in that tiny camper perched on the back of the pickup?

  Kate decided to worry about it when the time came.

  THE TOWN COUNCIL held an informal meeting around a chipped fake-marble table at the Good Eats Diner. Moose knew that secret sessions were illegal in Califomia, but since half the town had crowded in to join them, he didn’t see a problem.

  Razz Fiddle, his long hippie hair pulled back with a rubber band, wielded two carafes of coffee, both leaded. Even so, he was having a hard time keeping up with this bunch.

  “I can’t believe you haven’t called the FBI!” Maynard Grazer was roaring. “My daughter’s getting married in that church next Saturday. What if somebody kidnaps her?”

  Moose spread his hands appeasingly. “I’m telling you, Kate went of her own free will. She wants to crack this case. You know her. Once she gets an idea in her head, she runs with it.”

  “I could send a bulletin,” Jeanie Jeffrey offered from the sidelines. “I’ve always wanted to send out an APB.”

  “I appreciate your concern, but it’s not necessary.” Moose tried not to let the others see him squirm. If Jeanie or anybody else jumped the gun, Kate would never believe it hadn’t been his idea.

  Small towns like this didn’t produce many women worthy of Moose Harmon. If he lost her, where was he going to find another one?

  “I’m in agreement with Moose.” To his surprise, the comment came from Randall Latrobe, Jordan Grazer’s fiancé. The young banker was suave, successful and a little too pretty for Moose’s taste. He was also not known for disagreeing with his future father-in-law. “Maynard, I believe there may be one aspect you haven’t considered.”

  “And what would that be?” demanded the town’s patriarch.

  “Bad publicity. Call the FBI and we could bring the big-city media down on top of us.”

  “So?” said Ned Grand, who alternated turns on the town council with his brother Moe. “The bakery could use the business.”

  “Shoot-outs in the town square? Even in the church?” Randall’s voice never wavered from its almost hypnotic evenness. “Just imagine what that image could do to real estate prices.”

  Maynard grunted a reluctant concession. Moose felt some of the tension ease from his gut.

  “What I can’t believe,” spoke up Charity Arden, who was perched atop the comer of Jeanie’s table, “is that you people aren’t more worried about Kate.”

  Now that Maynard had backed off, reassuring words came easily to Moose. “I have the utmost respect for her judgment. If my woman feels this is the best way to handle the situation, I think we ought to let her do it.”

  “Your woman?” repeated Charity in disbelief.

  “The woman I love,” boomed Moose, who liked the sound of the phrase.

  Maynard Grazer tapped his fingers irritably on the table. “I must admit, Kate Bingham is a capable female. That’s why I supported her for school principal, and voted for her for sheriff. Didn’t the rest of you?”

  Around the room, heads nodded.

  “Then let’s let her do her job,” said Randall with a satisfied smile.

  “Well,” said a dry voice. “I suppose she can handle the situation, but can she handle him?”

  Everyone’s gaze fixed on Agatha Flintstone, who sat with the council members. “What do you mean?” asked Moose.

  “How could anyone not notice?” sighed the crusty lady, fluffing her beehive hairdo. “That man swept her into his arms like a knight from the Middle Ages. All he lacked was the armor, and in a pinch we can dispense with that.”

  “Oh, spare us,” grumbled Moose.

  “Mark my words,” said Agatha, “sooner or later she’s going to ask herself if you measure up. Do you, Mr. Mayor?”

  Maynard waved aside her comments impatiently. “I think we’d best keep out of Moose’s private business, Agatha. Randall’s raised a good point, and I agree we should all sit tight and trust in Kate’s judgment.”

  “Typical,” muttered Charity as she jumped off the table and marched out the door.

  People began wandering away afte
r that, somewhat to Moose’s disappointment. Council meetings didn’t often draw this kind of attendance.

  He was the last of the officials to leave. From a booth where he hadn’t noticed her, Betsy Muller came to join him.

  Moose hoped she wasn’t going to ask for a raise. Betsy did a good job selling makeup but a little too much of the stock ended up on her face.

  “Moose?” she said in her quavery voice. “Wow, you were amazing.”

  “I was?” He frowned. “In what way?”

  “The way you...dominated everybody.” She stared up at him with pale eyes rimmed in Cleopatra black. “I think it’s just awful, Kate going off and leaving you on your wedding day. And wedding night.”

  A man couldn’t miss the hint, especially since, as people had observed to Moose over the years, Betsy had an awful crush on him.

  “Well, thanks,” he said. “But she’ll be back soon. Maybe tomorrow.”

  The young woman nibbled on a strand of dyed-platinum hair, then pushed it away with her tongue. “If you were my fellow, I wouldn’t leave you for a minute.”

  To Moose’s surprise, her words felt like balm on his injured pride. “Really?”

  “I wouldn’t risk letting some other woman get close to you.” She took a step toward him, absent-mindedly pushing a bra strap into place beneath her almost-sheer blouse. At this angle, Moose noticed that Betsy’s figure was more filled out than he’d realized, or maybe she was just moving in a particularly alluring way tonight.

  Tonight. His wedding night. And after all these years of waiting, he would be going home alone. It didn’t seem fair.

  “You ought to be careful,” he said. “A fellow might, er, misinterpret your sympathy.”

  “No, he wouldn’t,” said Betsy.

  Moose knew he should tell this young woman to clear off, but the words got stuck in his throat. “Uh...” was all that came out.

  She was practically pressed against him now, those ultrathick lashes fluttering like eager butterflies. “Hey, honey bear. Can I call you that? I’ve always thought of you as a honey bear.”

  “You can call him anything you like,” said Razz Fiddle in a voice so flat it bordered on irony. “But you and your honey bear need to hibernate somewhere else. The café is closed.”

  With a start. Moose realized how this must look. His wedding had been interrupted and his bride stolen, and now the head of his cosmetics department was applying herself to him in a public place. It was not the sort of behavior a town like Grazer’s Corner’s expected from its mayor.

  “Time for you to go home, Betsy.” He caught her by the shoulders and steered her out the door. “And me, too. Alone.”

  “But Moose,” she started to protest, then caught his quelling look. “I mean, uh, Mr. Harmon. Couldn’t we talk about this someplace private?”

  “I’ll see you at work on Monday,” he said, and headed for his car without looking back.

  Kate had better return soon, he reflected grimly. She had just better.

  A FEW MILES from Fresno, Mitch located the rough-and-ready campground he was seeking, the kind with no hookups, no overnight fees, few other campers and no nosy rangers.

  He halted the pickup on a rutted dirt turnout in a woebegone clump of trees. Most of the other campsites stood vacant, although he glimpsed the metallic gleam of a trailer some distance away.

  Through the windshield, Kate regarded the splintered picnic table assessingly. “I suppose we could do something with that,” she said. “Do you have one of those indestructible tablecloths, the kind you could rig as a ship’s sail in a pinch?”

  “Why?” he asked. “You expecting a flood?”

  She flicked some lint off her tailored black jacket. “Just making it clear that I’m not looking for linen and lace, thank you.”

  “I’ve got one somewhere.” Mitch opened his door. “Eating out isn’t a bad idea. You may not have noticed, but there’s nowhere to recharge, so we do need to conserve electricity.”

  “I’ll cancel the midnight film festival on the VCR, then,” Kate returned, and thumped to earth on her side of the truck.

  When she came around to meet him in back, Mitch was startled to notice how small she was. Not that he hadn’t had ample time to take Kate’s measure before, but she just didn’t have a short personality.

  In fact, she reminded him in some ways of one of his professors at law school. The woman had always stayed several steps ahead of even her quickest-witted student, and let everyone know it. He knew some men didn’t like being bested by a woman, but Mitch enjoyed a good battle of wits.

  The only problem in Kate’s case lay in the fact that he had a clear sensual recollection of the enticing curves that lay beneath that businesslike jacket. As a result, their verbal fencing felt like a prelude to physical intimacy.

  But he could see from her expression that she wasn’t flirting with him. He stepped aside and let her climb the two steps into the camper’s interior.

  As always, the scent of his hand-crafted cedar cabinets wafted out. “There’s a switch to your right,” he called.

  Inside, a bulb clicked on. “This is impressive.” Kate’s voice floated back. “It’s completely equipped. And bigger than it looks.”

  “The bathroom’s small.” Mitch stayed outside, knowing how tight the quarters were. Especially for two people who shouldn’t touch each other.

  “Yes, but it’s got a bathroom, which is what counts.” From the sound of it, she might have been evaluating a new portable classroom for her school. “And everything’s spotless. Even the stove.” There was a pause. “I see where you sleep, on top of the cab. That’s the only bed?”

  “The table folds away and the couch opens,” he said. “But it’s warm enough that I think I’ll sleep outside tonight.”

  He heard the click of a latch and knew she must be checking the cabinets. “Plenty of food,” she observed. “How does spaghetti sound?”

  “Is any part of your family Italian?” asked Mitch.

  “Not that I know of.”

  “I’m sorry, but you’re not allowed near the pasta pot,” he declared.

  A pair of slightly dusty pumps appeared on the steps. Two trim pants legs, hiked slightly to reveal slender ankles, descended until Kate plunked herself down the last drop to the ground.

  In the twilight, her blue eyes challenged him. “You can cook if you like,” she returned, “but my mother taught me how to make spaghetti and no one’s ever complained.”

  Mitch supposed he shouldn’t be so picky, but he’d spent too much of his life eating overcooked pasta, in restaurants and sometimes private homes. “Do you know the meaning of the phrase al dente?”

  “Why don’t you just get in there and demonstrate it, like a real man?” she teased. “And hand down my tote bag while you’re at it.”

  The woman was certainly not shy about giving orders. Mitch was beginning to see why Moose had left Kate in the middle of the street to fend for herself.

  Then he remembered the way the groom had nearly bowled over the minister en route to his escape, and was finally forced to take the elderly man with him. Maybe the lady had developed her crusty manners in self-defense.

  Besides, Mitch was too hungry to think straight. He handed down the tote, a tablecloth and dinnerware, then ran cold water into the pasta pot. He was glad he’d refilled the camper’s tank that morning.

  Dinner was nothing to brag about, just canned corn and pasta with sauce from a jar, but Mitch was surprised at how good it smelled as he carried the pots down to the table. He was also surprised at how much he looked forward to sharing the meal, after spending so many nights alone.

  Having set the table, Kate sat on one of the benches reading a magazine by flashlight. She had put on a pair of glasses that made her eyes look even larger than usual.

  “What are you reading?” Mitch said as he dished out the spaghetti.

  “An educational journal.”

  She’d packed a professional publication to
take on her honeymoon?

  “I try to keep up,” Kate continued, tucking the periodical into her bag. “There never seems to be enough time.”

  Never enough time. The phrase echoed through Mitch’s mind.

  There had never been enough time for him, either, he realized. At thirty-five, he felt as if his adult life had whizzed past. Intent on regaining the ranch, he hadn’t even given a thought to finding a wife or starting a family the way most men did.

  Maybe that was why he felt so unreasonably glad to have her company at the table. Men, he supposed, had nesting instincts, too.

  Kate tucked a napkin into her collar bib-style and tackled the spaghetti. After neatly downing the first bite, she said, “So this is what they mean by al dente. It’s just barely done. Not gummy at all.”

  “My grandmother had very high standards. So do I.”

  “The sauce is good,” Kate acknowledged. “Bottled?”

  He gave a short nod. “Doctored with a little garlic powder and a dash of basil. Some oregano. Maybe a pinch of parsley.”

  “ ’Fess up,” she said. “There’s sherry in here.”

  He chuckled. “You’re stealing my family secrets.”

  “If we’d planned ahead, we could have brought fresh herbs from my garden,” Kate mused.

  “Green thumb?”

  “I mostly stick plants in the ground and let them fend for themselves, but they do okay.” She finished her corn and set down her fork. “Now,” she stated, “we need a plan for tomorrow.”

  Wasn’t this carrying organization to extremes? “Basically, I thought we’d drive to Pasadena and see if we can locate this Wittgenstein character,” Mitch said.

  “And tell him what?” Kate pressed. “That you’re a notorious murderer who would like to force your cousin to testify on your behalf? That should impress him.”

  He hated to admit it, but she had a point. “What would you suggest?”

  “First of all, it’s possible we’ll actually run into Loretta,” she replied. “Do you think she’d talk to you?”

  He kept getting an image of Loretta when she was ten years old, a freckled kid with curly hair who’d followed him around the ranch all summer. “She used to look up to me. But I guess that ended when I lost the High C.”