The Boss's Bride. Brenda Minton
“I could use full-time. I’m going to have to pay back the Morgans, and my dad could really use my help.”
“That’s a lot to take on, Gracie.”
“I know.” She tried to think of a time in her life when she wasn’t thinking about how to fix things.
She’d learned early how to cook, how to do laundry, repair jeans and shirts for her brothers, and keep them from fighting. She’d learned how to make her dad smile. Jacob Wilson was a good man. He’d done his best after Gracie’s mom passed away. They’d all done their best.
She sighed and closed her eyes again.
“If I could I’d give you a raise. Maybe soon.”
“Thank you.” She looked out the window at passing farmland. There were fields of sunflowers ready for harvest, soybeans, corn and wheat. Her dad ran the granary that took in the seed and the grain, holding it in storage for farmers and selling the surplus.
Business had been bad. A few farmers had lost their land to foreclosure, meaning the loss of business for her dad. And the summer had been dry, burning up some crops before they could be harvested. Irrigation had saved the larger farms.
“You know, I’m not sure where you live.”
She looked his way again. “Sorry. It’s a half mile farther. There’s a mailbox that looks like a barn. It’s on the right.”
“Gotcha.”
She wasn’t looking forward to going home. The closer they got, the more her stomach tightened into knots. Patrick flipped on his turn signal and headed up the half-mile-long driveway to the farmhouse that had been in her family for over a hundred years. The place looked lonely, sitting in the middle of fields of corn. There were two big trees in the yard and behind the house were a silo and a few outbuildings, plus the old barn that she used to love to play in.
She took in a deep breath as she looked at the house, lights burning in various windows. A half-dozen cars were parked in the driveway. So much for sneaking home and talking to her dad
“This doesn’t look good,” she murmured as the truck stopped.
“Looks like company.”
She wished she could smile, but she couldn’t. “Looks like a lynching to me.”
“I can go in with you.”
She smiled because he already had the keys out of the ignition. She often teased him because he was the only guy in Bygones who always removed his keys and locked his truck doors. She called him a city boy, but he wasn’t really. He fit Bygones. It was as if he’d always been here.
“Okay, let’s get this over with. But I won’t blame you if you want to leave.” She reached for the truck door, but hesitated before pushing it open. One last minute to catch her breath.
“I’m with you, Gracie.” He stepped out of the truck and she guessed she had to go, too.
The only good thing about this moment, other than Patrick at her side, was that the Morgans didn’t appear to be here. She couldn’t exactly be relieved, but that knowledge did help her to take an easy breath as she and Patrick walked up to the two-story farmhouse.
They were almost to the porch when another car pulled up and parked. Gracie turned and groaned as the driver stepped out. Whitney Leigh, ace reporter. Or as ace as a reporter for the Bygones Gazette could be. And Gracie’s wedding, once the biggest social event of the year, was now the biggest scandal of the decade.
The screen door of the farmhouse squeaked open. Gracie turned to face her older brother Max. He stepped onto the porch, his girlfriend, Lizzy, close on his heels.
“About time you showed yourself. Dad’s still in town looking for you.”
“I’ll call him.” Gracie glanced at her brother and then at Whitney, almost on them now, her blond hair pulled back in a tight ponytail and her glasses settled on her pretty nose.
Gracie had always liked Whitney, just not right now.
“Gracie, can we talk?” Whitney smiled at Patrick, a quick smile, not the kind most women gave him.
“I’d rather not, Whitney.”
“But I have a lot of questions and people in town are going to want to know.”
“Know what, Whitney?” Max stepped closer to Gracie’s side and suddenly her brothers were there. Caleb, who was Max’s twin, Jason and Daniel. But not Evan. He hadn’t even planned on attending her wedding.
Gracie’s eyes stung with unshed tears because Evan had been right. For a year he’d told her something was off with Trent Morgan.
Patrick stepped away. She knew he intended to leave. She had family. He was just her boss.
Of course she didn’t need him there with her.
Whitney moved in a little closer, her eyes darting from Wilson to Wilson, and she wasn’t intimidated. “I think most people are going to ask you if you plan on going through with the wedding. Did you just have a case of cold feet?”
“I’m not going to marry Trent Morgan.”
Whitney nodded and then looked at Patrick, a smile appearing on her pretty face. Gracie groaned at that look, but before she could respond, Whitney had another question.
“Is there any reason for running from your own wedding, Gracie? Have you met someone else?”
It was on Gracie’s mind to tell the whole truth but she couldn’t. What good would it do to drag Trent Morgan through the mud? It would only serve one purpose—to make her feel better.
“I haven’t met anyone else, Whitney. You know me better than that. And I’m not going to share the reason I left. Could we please stop this? I’m not news. This is Bygones, not Hollywood, and my wedding isn’t a big deal.”
“It’s the lack of a wedding that makes this news, Gracie.”
“Only for a week. Only until someone’s house gets vandalized or someone TPs the school.”
Whitney smiled sympathetically and touched her arm. “I hope for your sake that’s the truth.”
“Thank you. And now I have to talk to my family.”
Max handed her his cell phone. “It’s Dad.”
She held the phone for a minute because she didn’t know what she would say to her dad, other than to assure him she was okay. Patrick moved away from her.
“I’ll see you Monday?” he said as he stepped down off the porch.
“Of course. And thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
Gracie watched Patrick walk to his truck. She would see him Monday at work. And it would be as if this wedding never happened. But then, she guessed the wedding didn’t happen.
The last thing Patrick expected on Monday morning was the line of people on the sidewalk waiting to get into his store. He glanced out, watching as more cars parked on the crowded street. A few people held coffee cups from the Cozy Cup Café and more than one carried bags from the Sweet Dreams Bakery.
He hated to say it, but the Bygones Runaway Bride had done more for the Bygones economy than just about every other project the town had come up with. He wouldn’t allow himself to think that it was another ploy by the good citizens, meant to bring business to the failing community.
Miss Coraline Connolly had had some crazy ideas, but that would be going too far.
Someone pounded on the back door of the building. He glanced at his watch. Still twenty minutes before he opened at nine o’clock. He gave the crowd one last look, shook his head in amazement and headed for the stockroom. He guessed Gracie had seen the crowd and had opted to enter through