The Boss's Bride (The Heart of Main Street)

by Minton, Brenda

  “Yeah, well, we’re your family. We take care of each other.”

  “Right,” she whispered with a soft edge to her tone that took Patrick and maybe her brothers by surprise.

  Jason scratched his chin. “We do take care of you, Grace.”

  “I know you do.” She slid down from the truck, landing on her right foot. “But now I’m taking care of myself. You guys go back to the granary and I’ll let you know if I need anything.”

  Jason sighed and looked at Caleb, who shrugged. “Have you ever won an argument with her?”

  “Nope.” Jason moved back a step. “Patrick, she’s all yours.”

  Patrick wanted to argue with what those words implied. Gracie wasn’t his. She worked for him. She was a friend, one of the best he had in Bygones. But the brothers were walking away and he realized he might be taking the words a little too seriously.

  “Let’s get you inside.” He scooped her up again and carried her into the clinic.

  A little over an hour later, Gracie was sitting on the avocado-green sofa in her little house, her foot up on a pillow and Patrick Fogerty rummaging in her kitchen. She smiled as she closed her eyes and listened to him talk to himself about her kitchen and the lack of food.

  “Do you eat anything other than chicken-noodle soup and peanut butter?”

  “I do, sometimes.”

  “You do know how to cook, don’t you?” He walked into the living room and sat down, making the armchair look ridiculously small.

  Did she cook? She sighed and nodded. “Yes, I can cook. I choose not to. I’ve been cooking since I was…”

  His sympathetic smiled melted her words and she shrugged.

  “Since you were a kid.”

  “Ack, don’t get that sad look in your eyes. Patrick, I’m a whole person. I’m not a child or someone who needs to be taken care of.”

  “Of course you aren’t. You’ve been taking care of everyone else since you were a kid. So who took care of you?”

  “Everyone did, of course. You saw my brothers.”

  “I saw that they’re protective.” He raised a hand. “I’m sorry, they’re your brothers and I like them. I admit, though, I do feel a little threatened when they’re around, but I like them.”

  She laughed at that. “Welcome to the club. Men that my brothers frighten.”

  “I’m not afraid of them. What happened to the other guys?”

  “Most were too afraid to ask me out. Or to ask me out twice. What about you?”

  “Am I brave enough to ask you out?” His eyes widened and she enjoyed the hint of red creeping under the five-o’clock shadow covering his cheeks.

  “I just wondered. You didn’t cower and run.”

  “I thought about it, but my legs were too weak from fear.”

  She laughed again, picturing Patrick with knees shaking in fear. It didn’t match the man she knew. “No, sorry, I don’t think you were afraid.”

  “No, I wasn’t. But about cooking?”

  “I don’t plan on cooking real food for at least a month. I’ve cooked for my dad and brothers for more than a dozen years. For the next month I’m eating chicken soup and peanut-butter sandwiches.”

  He didn’t respond, just sat there looking at her as if she might be the most pitiful thing he’d ever seen. And she definitely wasn’t. She planned on enjoying soup and sandwiches.

  A knock on the door kept her from telling him. “Come in.”

  The door opened. Coraline stepped in first and then Ann Mars. Patrick unfolded his tall frame and stood. She looked from him to her two friends.

  “We came to check on you.” Ann stepped forward, her gray hair in its typical knot wobbling to one side. She straightened the skirt of her floral dress. “How are you, honey?”

  “I’m fine, Ann.” Gracie pointed to her wrapped foot. “It’s a bad sprain. A few days with my foot up and then I go back and they might put it in a brace or something.”

  “Land sakes.” Ann took the seat Patrick had been sitting in. “Have you had dinner?”

  “We were just discussing that.”

  “Were we really?” Coraline jumped into the conversation. “And what were we discussing?”

  Gracie avoided looking at Patrick. “It seems I don’t have food to cook. I thought I’d take a break from cooking.”

  Coraline sat at the end of the sofa, careful not to bump Gracie’s foot. “Well, I don’t blame you a bit. How about if Ann and I run over to The Everything and get the two of you something for dinner?”

  Patrick coughed a little. “I should go.”

  Gracie gave him a look, hoping he wouldn’t leave her to the two well-meaning ladies. He turned in time to see her look. She widened her eyes and he grinned.

  “See you tomorrow, Gracie?” He headed for the door.

  “Your paint. You left paint here.” It was the only thing she could think of.

  Both Ann and Coraline turned to look at her.

  “Did I leave paint here?” Now he looked to be almost on the verge of laughing at her.

  “I think you did.” She ducked her head and looked his way again.

  “I can get it tomorrow after church.”

  Coraline stood and motioned for Ann to join her. “We’ll run to The Everything and get burgers. Patrick, you load up the paint, and if there’s anything else Gracie needs, I bet you can help her out. We’ll be back shortly.”

  And they were gone.

  Gracie let out a deep breath. “You were going to ditch me.”

  “I thought you might prefer their company to mine.”

  “No, you thought it was funny to leave me to them. They would have been hovering, smothering me with attention…”

  He sat down on the coffee table and she wondered if it could hold him.

  “Don’t look at the table like you think I’m going to make it collapse.”

  “It did creak.”

  “So did you when I said I was leaving. I’m not leaving, but you have to know that people are talking, saying you didn’t go through with the wedding because there is something between us.”

  “I know.” She closed her eyes. Her ankle throbbed, her back felt pretty bruised, and her heart was definitely shaken.

  “Let me get you a glass of water and the pain meds.”

  She nodded but kept her eyes closed. She heard him stand, felt the brush of air as he moved away. But then he stopped and his hand touched her head, his fingers brushing her hair. She opened her eyes and he smiled.

  “That felt good.”

  His fingers brushed through her hair again. She shivered at the touch, tender but something else, something she couldn’t define. Her breath caught and she thought he might kiss her again. She’d thought a lot about his kiss, more than she should. When he walked away, she breathed a sigh of relief and disappointment.

  “Will you sleep on the sofa tonight? I can bring you a blanket?” he called out from the kitchen.

  “No, I’m good.” She turned to watch him in the kitchen. His back was to her as he stood at the sink, washing the few dishes she hadn’t done that morning. “Patrick, don’t.”

  He looked over his shoulder but went back to the dishes. “Is there a reason you can’t let me help you?”

  “You’ve been stuck with me all day.”

  “That isn’t a horrible thing, Gracie.”

  “It feels horrible. And I really don’t want to put you in an awkward situation, having to defend yourself or our friendship.”

  He put a plate on the towel next to the sink and dried his hands before turning. Her heart froze and then hurried to catch up with its natural rhythm.

  “Are you telling me to go?”

  She nodded. “Yes. If you don’t the whole town will have us paire
d up and married off.”

  “That would be bad.” He gave her a long look as he crossed the room with a glass and her prescription. “You’re right. I’ll go.”

  “Thank you for today.”

  “You’re welcome. And I’ll stop by tomorrow to check on you.”

  “You don’t have to.”

  “I want to, Gracie.”

  She nodded and he stepped close. When he leaned down she waited, but then he dropped a chaste kiss on her head and backed away.

  “Good night, Gracie.” He winked and headed for the door.

  After he left she sank down into her pillow, pulling the afghan off the back of the couch to cover her face. What she felt for Patrick didn’t make sense. Nothing really made sense. Her mind was saying to keep her distance; she’d just left a very complicated relationship.

  Her heart was saying that Patrick Fogerty was someone too wonderful to miss out on.

  Chapter Eleven

  Patrick was heading out of church Sunday afternoon when Josh caught up with him. “Hey, how’s Gracie?”

  The two walked down the steps and headed for the parking lot. “I haven’t talked to her today.”

  “Coraline said she has a bad sprain.” Josh pulled car keys out of his pocket.

  “Yes. I thought I’d…” Patrick stopped. He thought he’d not start rumors.

  Josh waited but Patrick didn’t want to fill in the blanks. He wasn’t sure he had the right answer anyway.

  “So how do you like life in Bygones?” Josh moved the conversation in a new direction. “Do you think you’ll stay when your two years are up?”

  “I can’t imagine going back to the city. You?”

  “I’m not sure I’m cut out for small-town life.” Josh tossed his keys in the air, caught them and then glanced past Patrick. Patrick turned and watched as several local ladies headed for one car.

  “A lot can change in two years.” Patrick opened his truck door. “I’m going to head over to Mrs. Duncan’s and see if I can get her house cleaned so we can start painting Tuesday. I feel bad for not getting more done yesterday.”

  “You had a good reason for leaving. Listen, I’m supposed to meet someone for lunch, but I’ll join you over there in a bit. I’ll bring my ladder. We’ll keep Whitney Leigh away from the paint.”

  “I hope we can get through these projects without any more injuries or catastrophes.”

  “So do I.” Josh glanced at his watch. “Okay, got to run. I’ll see you over there in an hour.”

  Patrick ran by his place to change into work clothes and grab a sandwich and then he headed for Mrs. Duncan’s. When he got there, he found a yard full of people, and the house had already been washed down. He got out of his truck and walked toward a few people having a picnic.

  Standing shepherd over the group, as was his place, was Pastor Garman from the Community Church. He turned and waved, then brushed a hand over his nearly bald head. His smile was big and, as always, contagious.

  Lily Farnsworth, owner of the Love in Bloom flower shop, was with the group and her fiancé, Tate Bronson. Patrick knew that time was precious to the couple, who would be getting married in less than three weeks. Their presence really struck him. The community was behind this project.

  He kind of thought that this showed how much the town was starting to support the whole idea of reinventing Bygones. There had been times in the past few months when he had wondered, but seeing this group gathered together, it hit home that people were starting to see the vision for what they were doing.

  They weren’t trying to change the town. They were trying to preserve it for future generations.

  He walked toward the group. Tate Bronson stood and held out a hand to Patrick. “Surprise.”

  Patrick took the offered hand. “A great surprise.”

  “We’re talking about the block party and how to help Gracie, because it sounds like she won’t be doing the running she’s been doing.”

  “No, she won’t. But I don’t think this will slow her down or stop her from getting the event organized.” He accepted a soda that Mrs. Garman handed him.

  “Not at all.” Pastor Garman jumped into the conversation. “If I know Gracie, this will make her all the more determined to prove she can be down but still get everything done.”

  “Which is why we all want to help her,” Mrs. Garman added as she stood next to her husband.

  Patrick nodded but the question rolling through his mind was, why did they all feel the need to tell him? And then he got it, because he wasn’t always slow to get things. Gracie had tried to warn him that word was spreading fast, linking the two of them as a couple.

  He should put a stop to it. But how would he look jumping into this crowd and telling them he wasn’t dating Gracie Wilson? They were not, at all, a couple. He knew how it would sound. It would sound like a man putting up too much of a protest. Or a man who wasn’t interested in a woman who appeared to be a favorite daughter of this small community. Either way, he would look bad.

  “Where do we start?” Pastor Garman tossed a paper plate into the trash bag someone had opened.

  “It looks like we’re ready to start painting. I hadn’t expected to get to it before Tuesday. But with all of this help, we’ll get more than this house and the Parker house done by the end of the month.” Patrick used that as a way out of a tricky conversation. He had Pastor Garman to thank.

  The perfect plan fell apart because, within minutes of starting to paint, he had company. Gracie hobbled toward him, maneuvering crutches on the uneven lawn and looking less than happy with her situation.

  “Gracie, you’re supposed to be at home resting.”

  She glared at him. “I’m not really sure when you became my boss.”

  He cleared his throat and smiled. “I am your boss. And don’t even think about sounding five and saying I’m not the boss of you.”

  She didn’t look like someone who wanted to smile, but she did smile. “Well, you’re not.”

  “No, I’m not.” He looked past her, at the crowd of people, many of them working hard at pretending they weren’t watching Patrick and Gracie. Several continued to rake leaves but cast an occasional glance his way. Another group stopped to talk.

  “Worried about what they’re saying?” Gracie smiled up at him. She took the brush from his hand, leaned on one crutch and started painting.

  “Not at all.” He turned his back to the crowd. “But I am worried that you’re overdoing it.”

  She glanced his way and smiled. With even strokes she swiped paint down the length of the trim. Of course she did a good job—she was Gracie. He wondered if there was anything she couldn’t do. He asked her and she laughed.

  “I’m not much of a cook.” She dipped the brush into paint again. “I mean, I can cook, but I don’t enjoy it.”

  What did he say now? He watched her paint, a tiny woman with more determination that any ten women that he knew. He should make her go home, or at least sit down.

  Instead he backed off and let her paint. He hadn’t been friends with Gracie long, but he knew her well enough to guess she wouldn’t want him to play big brother. He walked away, searching for another paintbrush. He found one and headed back to Gracie.

  A truck pulled into the already crowded driveway. Gracie’s dad got out of the truck and headed their way, a tight frown on his face. Next to him Gracie whispered, “Uh-oh.”

  “I just want it known that I am in no way responsible.” Patrick kept painting but he smiled. Gracie laughed just a little.

  “Gracie.” Her dad’s voice boomed. Patrick had met Mr. Wilson a few times and knew him to be kind but gruff. He was a big man who seemed even bigger because of that loud voice.

  “Dad.” Gracie swiped more paint onto the trim.

  “I w
ent over to check on you but…”

  “But I’m here painting.”

  Her dad cleared his throat and Patrick took the hint. “I’m going to go see if I can help with the plastic they’re putting on the windows.”

  “Chicken,” Gracie called out as he walked away.

  Yes, he was a chicken. He didn’t want to be the person responsible for taking care of Gracie. Not that Gracie wanted to be taken care of. He thought she could handle almost any situation, and she could definitely handle her dad.

  He glanced back and he rethought that opinion of her. She looked small standing next to her dad. Bits and pieces of conversation floated his way. She appeared to be trying to convince her dad she was fine and she really could take care of herself.

  Maybe he would find it easier to believe her if he hadn’t been the one to find her the day of her wedding. The day she’d been sitting in the stockroom of his store, alone. Why hadn’t she gone to someone, to a friend or a relative? Why had she gone to the store, by herself?

  While he stood there trying to decide what to do next, Pastor Garman, tall, thin and always dressed for Sunday services, walked over to grab a drink out of a tub full of bottled water and cans of soda. He opened his bottle of water and reached for a couple of

  chocolate-chip cookies.

  “Good crowd.” Pastor Garman smiled at the people working, most of them members of his church. “Gracie is a tough young lady. I guess with all of those brothers she has to be.”

  “I suppose she does.” Patrick let his gaze settle on the woman leaning on one crutch as she painted. Her dad had picked up the spare brush and was helping her. The two of them knew how to talk to each other.

  He’d never had that with his own dad.

  Pastor Garman had walked away, leaving him alone, watching Gracie. He realized what he’d been doing and reached for a couple of cookies, still distracted, still thinking about that moment when he’d found her sitting in back of The Fixer-Upper.

  She’d been worried about how everything would affect her dad.

  He headed across the lawn in the direction of the father and daughter. Gracie glanced his way as her dad told her to go home and put her foot up. She shook her head and painted another section of window frame.