was all dear old Ben Saunders’s fault. The high school history teacher had been the one to propose the mail-order bride reenactment. The Historical Society went wild for the idea—all except for Katie, who was lukewarm on the concept at best.
Since most of Katie’s fellow society members were well into their forties at least and the other two younger ones were already slated to play the legendary Thunder Bird and his mortal love, it was decided that Katie should play the bride.
She had tried to say no, but who listened? No one, that’s who. And now, here she was, alone in front of the cardboard train, a ludicrous spectacle for the Heritage Day beer drinkers to whistle and holler at.
Ben himself was supposed to be her groom. Unfortunately, the history teacher had awakened that morning with terrible stomach cramps. He’d been rushed to Thunder Canyon General for an emergency appendectomy. And then, when the sky darkened and the wind came up and the first snowflakes began to fall, pretty much everyone from the society except Emelda had decided to go home. They made the plans and now Katie stood on the stage alone, shaking with nerves and stuck with the follow-through.
Since her “groom” was in the hospital, she’d almost succeeded in canceling this ridiculous display. But then, a half hour ago, an out-of-towner named Justin Caldwell had agreed to step in and take Ben’s part. Caldwell was a business associate of Caleb Douglas—Caleb being a local mover and shaker who owned half the property for miles around and also happened to be a second father to Katie. Caleb had ribbed the stranger into playing the groom. The poor guy resisted at first, but when Caleb kept after him, he couldn’t refuse.
And speaking of Justin Caldwell…
Where was he?
Frantically, Katie scanned the noisy crowd for her impromptu pretend groom. Good gravy. In a moment, one of the drunken men down on the floor would be staggering up to take his place.
But no—there he was.
He stood off to the left, at the edge of the crowd, wearing the ill-fitting old-time garb—complete with silly red suspenders and clunky nineteenth-century-style boots—intended for the potbellied Ben Saunders. Katie met the stranger’s piercing blue eyes and a crazy little thrill shivered through her. Even in the ridiculous outfit, the guy still somehow managed to look absolutely gorgeous. She felt the grateful smile as it quivered across her mouth. If she had to make a fool of herself, at least it would be with the best-looking man in the hall. And beyond being handsome, there was the added attraction that he appeared to be sober.
“The groom!” someone shouted. “Where’s the damn groom?”
“Right here,” Justin Caldwell answered easily in a deep, firm voice. He took off his floppy felt hat and waved it high for all of them to see.
“Get up there and claim your bride!”
“Yeah, man. Don’t keep her waiting!”
Justin Caldwell obliged. He mounted the steps at the side of the stage and came toward Katie, his long strides purposeful and confident. When he reached her, he gallantly swept off the floppy hat a second time. Her overtaxed heart raced faster still.
And then, of all things, he reached for her hand. Before she could jerk it away, he brought it to his full-lipped mouth.
Katie stood stunned, staring into those gleaming blue eyes of his, every nerve in her body cracking and popping, as he placed a tender kiss on the back of her hand.
The crowd went wild.
“That’s the way you do it!”
“Oh, yeah!”
“Way to go!”
His lips were so warm—and his hand firm and dry. Her hand, she knew, was clammy and shaking. Gulping, Katie carefully pulled her fingers free.
Caleb’s business partner nodded and put his absurd hat back on. He looked so calm. As if he did this sort of thing every day. He leaned in closer, bringing with him the subtle scent of expensive aftershave. “Now, what?” he whispered in that velvety voice of his.
“Uh, well, I…” Katie gulped again. She just knew her face was flaming red.
“Kiss ‘er!” someone shouted. “Lay a big, smackin’ one right on ‘er!”
Everyone applauded the idea, causing Katie to silently vow that next year, under no circumstances, would there be free beer.
“Yeah,” someone else hollered. “A kiss!”
“A big, wet, juicy one! Grab ‘er and give it to ‘er!”
Justin Caldwell, bless him, did no such thing. He did lift a straight raven-black eyebrow. “The natives are becoming restless,” he said low. “We’d better do something…“
Do something. His soft words echoed in her frazzled mind. “The, uh, ceremony…”
He smiled then, as if mildly amused. “Of course.” He suggested, “And for that we would need…” He let his voice trail off, giving her an opportunity to fill in the blank.
She did. “The preacher.” Her throat locked up. She coughed to clear it. “Uh. Right.”
“Get on with it!” someone yelled.
“Yeah! Get a move on. Let’s see the rest of the show!”
Outside, a particularly hard gust of wind struck the high-up windows and made them rattle. Nobody seemed to notice. They kept laughing and clapping.
“So where is this preacher?” her “groom” inquired.
“Um, well…” Katie wildly scanned the crowd again. Where was Andy Rickenbautum? The balding, gray-haired retired accountant was supposed to step up and declare himself a circuit preacher and “marry” them, but Katie couldn’t see him among the crowd. Evidently, like most of the Historical Society members, he’d headed home.
Maybe Caleb, who’d gotten such a kick out of the whole thing, could help out and play Andy’s part…
But no. Caleb appeared to be gone, too. And Adele, his wife, who had taken in a teenaged Katie and raised her as her own, was nowhere to be seen, either. Now what?
At the Heritage Museum several blocks away, the society had set up a wedding “reception,” complete with finger food and beverages and an opportunity for folks to see up-close the artifacts of the life the mail-order bride and her groom would have lived. The idea was to lure everyone over there behind the “bride” and “groom,” in the museum’s prized refurbished buckboard carriage. They’d all enjoy the snacks, look around—hopefully make a donation—and then head on back to the hall for the potluck supper and dancing that would follow.
But without the fake wedding first, how could they hold a pretend reception?
A couple of the beer drinkers had figured that out. One of them yelled, “Hey! Where’s the preacher?”
“Yeah! We need the dang preacher to get this thing moving!”
What a disaster, Katie thought. It
