Small Town Romance Collection: Four Complete Romances & A New Novella

by Brown, Carolyn

  Her green eyes were open at five A.M. just like always, and Cassie hopped out of the luxurious bed, ready for her favorite time of the day. She slipped into the faded jeans she'd worn the day she'd escaped Cecil Gorman, pulled on a pair of white socks, and opened the closet to find a T-shirt. There was a wonderful array of clothing. Alicia had brought something almost every day that week, always with a similar explanation: the item was too small or she didn't wear it any more.

  Somehow a brand-new, gorgeous green jacket and matching short, straight skirt had showed up in the closet on Saturday. When Cassie had asked Maria about it, she'd said the gypsy fairies must have put in there in the night. Evidently the gypsy fairies had known how good Cassie would look in it when she went to church with the family the next day. Cassie figured gypsy fairies probably had slightly graying dark hair and wonderfully warm brown eyes, but she accepted the suit with good grace.

  Cassie straightened her bed and bounded down the stairs in her socks to help Maria fix breakfast. The holidays were over, and a comfortable household routine had been reestablished. She'd lived in the house for a week, and already she felt that her time there would be too short.

  The day would come when she would have to sever her relationship with the Wellmans, as well as Ted, and she wasn't looking forward to it.

  There would be sweet memories, but the separation was going to be painful. Cassie already cared too deeply for this family to want to leave them, ever. Ted—well, she wasn't so sure about Ted . . .

  Maria stood at the counter with her back to Cassie, already preparing breakfast, and Cassie sneaked up and startled her with a quick kiss.

  "Oh! Good morning, Cassie." She stirred biscuit dough in a large crockery bowl. "Never seen anyone wake up so full of energy and with such a beautiful smile. You're a ray of sunshine even before the sun comes up," she added.

  Maria was as comfortably dressed as Cassie, in loose-fitting jeans, a white cotton shirt, and a white bibbed apron tied around her waist. Her hair was tied back with a bright red ribbon.

  "Thank you." Cassie beamed. She took a stack of plates to the table. "How many this morning?"

  "Brock's not here. He left about an hour ago to deliver a baby at the hospital. Ash and Maggie will be here soon. Liz and Rich aren't coming out in the cold this morning. So that makes seven of us at the table." Maria dumped the dough onto a floured board, kneaded it a few times, and began pinching off perfectly uniform biscuits. She put them on a baking sheet one by one and slid it into the preheated oven.

  Cassie opened the silver flatware chest on top of the sideboard and counted out forks, knives, and spoons. She pulled out a drawer and took out the placemats Maria liked to use for breakfast. The mats were sunshine yellow linen with big appliquéd sunflowers. Maria told her that first day that breakfast was the time to set the mood for the whole day—yellow linen would brighten the table, good food would satisfy the appetite, and loving family would make the heart smile.

  "Why do Ash and Maggie drive over here for breakfast?" she asked. "They must have to get up awfully early."

  "Maggie can't cook," Maria laughed.

  "Really?"

  "No." Maria's expression grew serious. "Maggie's a fine cook. It wasn't until the accident that they started to eat with us. It was to help all of us get through the days at first. We needed to be together. The accident happened a long time ago, but we still prefer to eat together as often as we can."

  Cassie paused. Something had happened to this family—or to Ted—and it must have been something dreadful, judging by the change in Maria's tone of voice.

  "What accident? What happened?" Cassie put the knives on the right side of the plates and started distributing spoons to each place setting.

  Maria kept working but didn't answer. She had never had to tell the story before, but at least Ted wasn't up yet. No one dared to mention the accident in Ted's presence for fear it would send him over an invisible, frightening line. It had just seemed best never to mention it again. After all, it had been seven years ago . . .

  Maria composed herself, trying to think of the best way to answer Cassie's question. This lovely young girl had seen enough trouble in her life—and yet, if she cared for Ted, the accident that had scarred him was something she would have to understand. Maria knew that her son had never talked about it to anyone.

  "Ted told me that you once said if you are going to understand today, then you must know yesterday. So I will begin with yesterday," Maria finally said, just when Cassie thought she was going to completely ignore her question.

  She watched Maria take the golden-brown biscuits out of the oven and set them aside to cool on top of the stove to keep them warm, and then crack eggs into a cast iron skillet sizzling with melted butter.

  The ordinary morning task of preparing breakfast was a comforting ritual that Maria knew would help her get through the extraordinary task of telling Cassie what had happened to Ted—and their family—on that terrible day.

  "You know, Cassie, that Liz is my oldest child. Two years after she was born I had the twins. John and Ted," Maria began.

  "Ted has a twin brother?" Cassie wasn't sure she'd heard right.

  "Yes," Maria answered, then corrected herself. "He had a twin. He and John were so close we often wondered if it took both of them to make one son. They took their first steps on the same day, they said the same first words on the same day. They laughed together, and when one of them got hurt they both cried. When they were older, they worked for their father and saved their money until they could buy shotguns to go deer hunting. They were only fourteen. The night before their first hunt they couldn't even sleep, they were so excited." She paused. "John and Ted got up before daylight and went out to the woods. Cassie, this was seven years ago—" her voice broke, "But to Ted, it is still as if it happened yesterday."

  Maria took a deep breath and sat down in a kitchen chair to continue her story.

  "John had climbed a tree to look around for deer and Ted had gone a little farther into the woods. Ted heard a shot and went back . . . to find his brother. John's shotgun had fired accidentally when he'd lowered it to the ground and it killed him instantly." She paused, fighting back tears. "Ted carried his body home and went right back out the door. Bob followed him, in shock, but Ted didn't even know his father was there.

  "Ted beat those two guns around the tree until they were useless, and then he screamed at the tree until there was no voice left in him. When he came home he didn't say a word and he didn't cry. One half of him was gone forever and only half of Ted lived on."

  "Oh, my God . . ." Cassie's voice quivered.

  Maria wiped her tears with a corner of her apron. "Cassie, a mother is never prepared to lose a child. We know that we will someday lose our parents and we are able to grieve for them when they are gone. But to lose a child is unnatural, and the grief is unnatural, so it never goes away. But Ted's grief is twice as bad, because his other self—his twin—is not there anymore. It is only since he brought you home that there is some life in him. We are grateful, Cassie," she said quietly. "But we never talk of this around Ted and you must never—" She stopped, as Ted came through the dining room door. Cassie wondered if he had been listening from the other room.

  "Where's Uncle Brock?" Ted asked. "He always beats me to the breakfast table."

  "Gone to the hospital to deliver a baby," Maria said, in as normal a voice as she could manage. "Go shake Alicia out of bed. I hear Ash and Maggie in the driveway now. And holler at your Poppa. He's probably still reading the paper in our bedroom."

  "Okay," Ted said. He poked his head back around the doorjamb to talk to Cassie. "I guess you'll need a ride to Brock's office this morning. I have to go to the lumberyard at eight-thirty. I can take you."

  "Sure. Thanks."

  Alicia wandered in sleepily ten minutes after everyone else had begun eating. She was a beauty and if she'd been a foot taller she probably could have been a model. But she was just under five feet tall. Lo
ng black hair flowed down her back and her eyes were so brown they were almost black. Her skin had a permanent tan and her delicate face had dark eyebrows, long lashes, and a full mouth. In her first year at college, she'd already acquired more suitors than she knew what to do with.

  "Mornin'," she mumbled. "Where's Uncle Brock?"

  "Out at the cabbage patch finding a baby," Ted said between bites of biscuit.

  "Oh, then you need a ride." Alicia nodded toward Cassie and reached for a biscuit herself.

  "I'm going to the lumberyard so I'll drive her in," Ted said quickly, and Alicia winked at Cassie.

  Ted wolfed his food, trying not to look at his—wife. He was sort of getting a little more used to that idea. Cassie looked incredibly pretty today. Was it his imagination, or had she already filled out some? Momma's home cooking could put curves on any girl.

  At eight-fifteen he called up the stairs to tell her he was ready when she was. Cassie quickly ran a comb through her curls and clamped a big white barrette at the nape of her neck. Butterflies the size of buzzards were having a party in her stomach. Both Alicia and Maria had hinted that Ted had changed since she'd been around.

  But why?

  Cassie's arrival had been a complication he'd never anticipated. But then he could've dropped her off in Oklahoma City and not ever brought her home, if he truly hadn't wanted to be involved with her. Ash could've arranged the annulment even if she hadn't stayed with them. But the more Cassie thought about what had happened, the more she realized that Ted's affectionate family had drawn Cassie into their affectionate circle before she'd had a chance to think.

  It was clear enough from what his mother had told her that the Wellmans were close—and they had drawn even closer together to help Ted and each other through the trauma of John's accidental death. They were just warmhearted folks who naturally looked out for each other—and for other people, too. Cassie would bet anything that when she'd told Ted she wasn't just a stray puppy he could bring home, she had hit on a hidden tenderness that he had vowed never to feel again.

  Cassie had a hunch that this closeknit clan might even have protected him too much. Unable to express his grief, unable even to talk about it, Ted seemed to have shut down all his feelings.

  Losing the person who was closest to him—his twin brother—had made him seem only half alive, as his mother had said.

  Out of kindness and love, his family had respected his feelings and left him alone, locked in his grief. But life went on. It had to. Accepting its challenges and hurts wasn't easy, as Cassie knew all too well.

  How or why Ted had ever decided to take a chance on her and say anything as risky as the simple words, "I do," was utterly beyond her comprehension.

  Cassie supposed Ted wouldn't pull a stunt like that for just anybody. But why her? She'd have to figure that out for herself. She sighed. Ted didn't seem inclined to talk about it. Or anything else . . .

  He called up the stairs again, somewhat testily, to ask if she was ready yet, and Cassie finished fussing with her hair. He certainly was every bit as impatient as a real husband, she thought, amused.

  "Coming!" she called back and left the room.

  When she descended the staircase, he was waiting for her, with a big smile on his face for some reason. Which was a beginning. No telling where they might end up.

  Cassie had no idea of how good she looked to him, and how much her presence in the house brightened his mornings. But Ted knew. Even if he didn't always want to show it.

  Chapter Five

  Ted heard the clock chime once. Then, an hour later, he heard it chime again. He was no closer to coming to grips with his feelings than he had been four hours earlier when he'd first laced his hands behind his head on the pillow and began thinking. The ceiling had become a big screen television set for his imagination.

  There was Cassie in those faded jeans and white socks, carrying a big platter of ham and biscuits to the breakfast table. There she was when he took her to Brock's office, in her white uniform with her curls neatly pulled back in a barrette, but one red curl was always struggling to escape. And there she was in that green suit that showed off her beautiful legs.

  Cassie fit into his family as if she'd been specially groomed for the part, and she was starting to fit into his heart more than he wanted anyone to fit there ever again.

  He mentally changed stations on his imaginary television set, and suddenly there was his twin John, laughing at him for losing the race when they got off the school bus. Then the two of them had chicken pox and were miserable . . . and then there was John, lifeless, under the tree where Ted had found him. Ted wept as he remembered the day of his brother's death, and the hurt deep in his heart tightened its cold grip.

  No, he'd been right when he'd decided not to love anyone, not even his family, ever again . . .

  The image of Cassie came back to him, as she'd looked when she'd come flying out of the clothing store and slid across the front seat of his truck to kiss him. Damn that sassy little Texas spitfire for making him yell, making him smile, and for making him think about things like love again.

  Not that she really treated him differently from the other members of the family, maybe not even as warmly.

  He supposed he deserved as much. He'd been careful not to give her any special treatment. Not after the way she'd set him up, and then gotten his family all involved. Whose side were they on, anyway? Not his, Ted was positive about that.

  He'd have to look out for himself and keep his distance if he wanted to keep his sanity. Other than that one kiss she'd planted on him outside the clothing store, they hadn't touched each other, and Ted intended to keep it that way.

  Ted reached over and picked up a quarter, a dime, a nickel, and a penny from the nightstand beside his bed. He smiled in the darkness and held the cool change next to his cheek. "Pay your bill and keep the change," she'd said. Well, forty-one cents was the change.

  It occurred to him belatedly that Cassie had bought enough in the way of uniforms to let him know she planned on working for his Uncle Brock for a while.

  Which promised to make life interesting—if not peaceful. Ted remembered the electricity between them when he'd kissed her on their wedding day and the jolt he'd felt when she'd kissed him in front of the store. Ted wondered . . . had she felt the same way?

  He should get out more, he thought. Date somebody else, he told himself without thinking. Ted smiled ironically. He couldn't date. He was a married man, and the whole town knew it.

  Ted considered the possibility that, deep down inside, he had actually wanted to marry Cassie. There was such a thing as love at first sight, he thought. Maybe sometimes the people who fell in love that way didn't even know it.

  The clock chimed again, three times. His late grand-daddy had told him once that everyone should just slow down, take life easy, and quit running in circles. Well, the first two recommendations weren't too difficult to follow . . . but controlling his mind to keep it from running in circles and coming back to Cassie all the time . . . now, that might be next to impossible to accomplish.

  Ted reconsidered her kisses. He had kissed more than his share of girls, but until Cassie had blazed into his life, he'd felt as if he was simply doing what was expected of him. She made him feel almost—hungry for more.

  His stomach rumbled, reminding him that it had been an eternity since supper. At least that was one hunger he could satisfy now. He remembered seeing a double-layer chocolate cake in the kitchen, and his mouth began watering with thoughts of cake and a tall glass of icy cold milk. Eating was as good a way as any not to think about her.

  Ted flipped on a light and scrounged around in a drawer for some sweatpants. He went noiselessly downstairs, in socks and sweats, but barechested.

  Cassie tossed and turned in her sleep, dreaming that she was running, running, and going nowhere. Her feet were like lead and adrenaline was racing through her veins. That awful sheriff was chasing her, gaining ground, and she kept running i
n slow motion. If he caught her, he would take her back to Cecil and she knew she could never get away.

  Returning from the kitchen, Ted heard a soft moan when he started past her bedroom door. Before he took another step, she cried out in her sleep, begging and sobbing.

  "Help me . . . please . . ."

  He pushed the door open quickly, half-expecting to find an intruder in the room. She was fighting the covers and seemed to be trying to run, even though she was flat on her back. Her face glistened with tears and her hair was limp with sweat. She had to be having one hell of a nightmare.

  "Cassie?" he whispered. He sat down on the edge of the bed and shook her gently.

  "Don't hurt me," she whimpered, trying to pull the covers over her head.

  "Cassie, wake up."

  "Help me . . ." she sobbed.

  He gathered her in his arms and sat on the edge of the bed while he rocked her back and forth as if she were a tiny baby. "Wake up, Cassie. Honey, it's only a dream . . ." He rubbed her back and whispered into her hair.

  "Ted?" She woke up a little, wondering just what he was doing in her room. Her nightmare was still vivid enough for her to instinctively turn to his comforting warmth. She snuggled down into the dark, soft hair on his chest, without it seeming wrong at all.

  "You had a bad dream . . . you cried out," he explained in a whisper, hoping she wouldn't hear the double-time his heart was doing. Holding her so close felt incredibly good . . . like nothing he had ever felt before. She warmed his body—and his lonely soul.

  "It was horrible," she sobbed again. "I was running and running and I couldn't get anywhere. Couldn't move . . ."

  "Just a bad dream," Ted murmured and pushed her damp hair back from her forehead. He didn't mean to kiss her, but one second he was looking at her tear-streaked face and the next he was tasting the salt on her lips.

  She responded eagerly, with a drowsy hunger of her own. The shelter of his strong arms relaxed her, and his gentle kiss seemed to banish her frightening dream of pursuit and capture.