Книга - The Boss’s Bride

The Boss's Bride
Brenda Minton


Leaving her cheating fiancé at the altar made Gracie Wilson famous in tiny Bygones, Kansas. Now the only things she can count on are her job at the Fixer-Upper Hardware store and the store’s handsome owner.Though Bygones’ runaway bride has boosted Patrick Fogerty’s business more than any sale could, his feelings for Gracie are more than professional. But with Gracie’s heart in pieces, he’s afraid to hurt her. Gracie must somehow find the courage to run toward the man of her dreams.







Talk Of The Town

Leaving her cheating fiancé at the altar made Gracie Wilson famous in tiny Bygones, Kansas. Now the only things she can count on are her job at the Fixer-Upper Hardware store and the store’s handsome owner. Though Bygones’s runaway bride has boosted Patrick Fogerty’s business more than any sale could, his feelings for Gracie are more than professional. But with Gracie’s heart in pieces, he’s afraid to hurt her. Gracie must somehow find the courage to run toward the man of her dreams.

The Heart of Main Street: They’re rebuilding the town one step—and heart—at a time.


“You okay over there?” Patrick’s strong, husky voice slipped through the cab of the truck.

“I’m tired but I’ll be okay.” But as Patrick pulled up to her house, her stomach tensed. Half a dozen cars were parked in the driveway—so much for sneaking home and talking to her dad first.

“Looks like company,” Patrick said, trying to sound cheery.

Gracie wished she could smile. “Looks like a lynching to me.”

She reached for the truck door, but hesitated. One last minute to catch her breath…or maybe one last chance to keep running.

“I’m with you, Gracie.” Patrick’s voice immediately stilled the knots in her stomach. It was odd, knowing that this man—her boss, practically a stranger—would be at her side, made Gracie feel more secure than she’d ever felt with her ex-fiancé.

Then, Patrick stepped out of the truck, and Gracie guessed she had to go, too. Time to stop running.

The Heart of Main Street: They’re rebuilding

the town one step—and heart—at a time.

Love in Bloom by Arlene James,

July 2013

The Bachelor Baker by Carolyne Aarsen,

August 2013

The Boss’s Bride by Brenda Minton,

September 2013

Storybook Romance by Lissa Manley,

October 2013

Tail of Two Hearts by Charlotte Carter,

November 2013

Cozy Christmas by Valerie Hansen,

December 2013


BRENDA MINTON

started creating stories to entertain herself during hour-long rides on the school bus. In high school she wrote romance novels to entertain her friends. The dream grew and so did her aspirations to become an author. She started with notebooks, handwritten manuscripts and characters that refused to go away until their stories were told. Eventually she put away the pen and paper and got down to business with the computer. The journey took a few years, with some encouragement and rejection along the way—as well as a lot of stubbornness on her part. In 2006 her dream to write for Love Inspired Books came true. Brenda lives in the rural Ozarks with her husband, three kids and an abundance of cats and dogs. She enjoys a chaotic life that she wouldn’t trade for anything—except, on occasion, a beach house in Texas. You can stop by and visit at her website, www.brendaminton.net (http://www.brendaminton.net).


The Boss’s Bride

Brenda Minton




www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


Delight thyself also in the Lord, and he shall

give thee the desires of thine heart.

—Psalms 37:4


In memory of my sweet friend Alice.

Friendships can be found in the most amazing ways at the most amazing times. I encourage you all

to take time for older citizens confined to

long-term care facilities. You’ll be blessed.


Contents

Prologue (#ua7cba619-364f-5c2a-bfaf-237fcddc6231)

Chapter One (#u505b7ee5-5643-52c1-b0f7-14656877cad4)

Chapter Two (#u7cd82bba-13df-5a68-84df-40f19127f3d1)

Chapter Three (#u3e227113-309d-5195-a257-f86eaddffdeb)

Chapter Four (#u62d557f1-5e79-5da1-b6fe-d4ff6a3722c1)

Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)


Prologue

Gracie Wilson stood in the center of a Sunday school classroom at the Bygones Community Church. Her friend Janie Lawson adjusted her veil and again wiped at tears.

“You look beautiful.”

“Do I?” Gracie glanced in the full-length mirror that hung on the door of the supply cabinet and suppressed a shudder. The dress was hideous and she hadn’t picked it.

“Of course you do. You look like a fairy princess.”

Gracie groaned. “Is this another height joke?”

Janie hugged her tight for one second. “Not at all. You look beautiful. And you look miserable. It’s your wedding day. You should be smiling.”

Gracie smiled, but she knew it was a poor attempt at best. The frown on Janie’s face confirmed it. She exhaled and looked again at her reflection in the mirror. Janie was right; a bride shouldn’t look sad.

“Gracie, what’s wrong?” Janie walked up behind her and peeked over her shoulder so that their reflections stared back at them.

“Nothing. I’m good.” She leaned her cheek against Janie’s hand on her shoulder. “Other than the fact that you’ve moved one hundred miles away and I never get to see you.”

What else could she say? Everyone in Bygones, Kansas, and probably for miles around, thought she’d landed the catch of the century. Trent Morgan was handsome, charming and came from money. She should be thrilled to be marrying him. Six months ago she had been thrilled. Five months ago she’d still been happy.

But then she’d started to notice little signs. She should have put the wedding on hold the moment she noticed those signs. She should have slowed down and not worried so much about what everyone else would think. And when she knew for certain, she should have put a stop to the entire thing. But she hadn’t. Because once the wedding wheels had been put in motion, she hadn’t known how to stop it all from happening.

It made her feel weak. And she’d never been a weak person.

“You’re not convincing me.” Janie smiled tenderly, a best-friend smile reflected from the mirror. Gracie turned to face her friend, the skirt of the dress pushing them apart.

“I’m just tired, Janie. I mean, it’s been a long three months of wedding planning, right?” Did she sound convincing?

“And Mrs. Morgan isn’t a dream of a woman to deal with.” Janie gave an exaggerated shudder to prove her point.

“Exactly.” Gracie twirled in the lace creation that had a skirt that made her look like a dinner bell or a Southern belle—she wasn’t sure which. “Do you care if I have a few minutes alone?”

“Of course not,” Janie gave her another hug. “But not too long. You dad is outside, and when I came in to check on you, the seats were filling up out there.”

“I won’t be long. I just need a minute to catch my breath.”

“Of course you do. And just think, after today you’ll be going to Hawaii and you’ll have a week on the beach to catch your breath. And then you’ll move to Manhattan and your new home.”

Gracie smiled and nodded her head, trying to pretend the idea excited her. A week in Hawaii. On the beach. With Trent.

Janie smiled back at her and then the door to the classroom closed. And for the first time in days, Gracie was alone. She looked around the room with the bright yellow walls and posters from the Sunday school curriculum. She stopped at the poster of David and Goliath. Her favorite. She’d love to have that kind of faith, the kind that knocked down giants.

She knew a few Davids. Ann Mars was a faith giant. And Miss Coraline Connolly. They both believed the town of Bygones could be saved. Not with stones and a slingshot but with new businesses and new people.

And of course those new businesses made her think of her boss at The Fixer-Upper. Patrick Fogerty, one of the most genuinely nice people she’d ever met.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Today was her wedding day. Instead of worrying, she had to remember back to when she met Trent and how love had felt then. Not how it felt now—sadly lacking because he’d not only pulled away, he’d betrayed her trust. A knock on the door interrupted her thoughts.

“You almost ready, Gracie?” her dad called through the door.

“Almost.”

She opened the window, just to let in fresh air. She leaned out, breathing the hint of autumn, enjoying the breeze on her face. She looked across the grassy lawn and saw…

FREEDOM.

She shook her head at the word. That was the wrong word. A bride shouldn’t be thinking of freedom. She should be thinking of happy-ever-after with the man she loved. The word ached deep inside, mocking her. Love. It meant something, to love someone, to want to be with them forever. It meant loyalty.

She closed her eyes and thought back to that day one month ago when she’d meant to surprise Trent. She’d packed a lunch for them. She’d thought a picnic would be romantic. Instead she sat in her car watching him and then she’d eased out of the parking space, driving away as if she hadn’t seen anything. That moment had confirmed her suspicions.

It all added up. He had been seeing someone else while she’d been busy at home, planning their wedding. He had texted the other woman while they’d been sampling cakes at the Sweet Dreams Bakery. He’d called her while he and Gracie had dinner with his parents.

Gracie hadn’t known how to end a relationship just weeks short of the wedding.

But now she did.

Quiet as a mouse, she slid herself and the hoopskirt through the window. Once she stood on the grass outside the window, her heart began to pound. She thought about how wrong this was. She thought about all the money Mrs. Morgan had spent.

She thought of how things would have been different if her own mother had been alive and she’d had a woman to turn to, to talk to. If she didn’t feel so responsible for everyone else.

It hadn’t been her plan to sneak around the side of the church, to look out at the crowded parking lot. The limo was already decorated with cans, streamers and painted windows; two teenage boys were finishing up with cans of shaving cream. She hadn’t planned to slip away and then run as fast as she could down a side street.

But she did run.

And she felt freer than she had in months. She felt the breeze on her face, the coolness of the air, and knew she couldn’t marry Trent Morgan. But she didn’t know where to go or what to do now that she’d left her groom standing in the sanctuary of the church waiting for a bride who wouldn’t be walking down the aisle. She only knew that she couldn’t go through with this wedding.


Chapter One

The stockroom of The Fixer-Upper hardware store was dark, warm and strangely peaceful. Gracie sat on a stool, staring down at the white dress that hadn’t made it down the aisle. She shifted the skirt, all lace and silk, the type of creation she never would have picked on her own. The only things of her own choosing were her white cowboy boots with sequins and the crystal ribbon on the flowers.

She studied the bouquet Trent’s mother had picked, so different from the daisies Gracie had wanted. When Gracie had sneaked into The Fixer-Upper, she’d tossed the bouquet on a worktable. Even from several feet away, she could smell the sweetness of the flowers, a reminder that this had never really been her wedding. Even the yellow roses, which would have been okay, had been enhanced with a few exotic blooms. Mrs. Morgan had a thing for over-the-top.

From the church to the decorations, Trent’s mother had made all the decisions. Mrs. Morgan, wife of a prominent surgeon, had taken charge. After all, as Mrs. Morgan liked to point out, Gracie didn’t have a mother of her own to take care of these things. And because Gracie’s father’s granary was struggling, like every other business in Bygones, Kansas, the Morgan family had been footing the bill for their only son to marry Gracie Wilson.

Gracie smiled as she leaned back against the wall and closed her eyes. She’d finally made a decision of her own. She’d made the decision to bail on the whole dreadful affair.

It seemed as if everyone was counting on this marriage. It had definitely been a big help to the Bygones economy, thanks to the Morgans. My dad. Thinking of him, she felt guilty. He’d been happy, thinking she would never have to work hard again. She was marrying up, he’d said. She’d be set for life, her brother Evan had added.

She’d never agreed with her dad about marrying up. Her dad and her five brothers were the cream of the crop. Very few men could compete with those men of hers. Trent Morgan might have money but he was far from marrying “up” for Gracie. He’d proven more than once that he wasn’t the man she wanted to share her dreams or her life with.

She drew in a deep breath and she didn’t cry. As difficult as tomorrow would be for her, for her family, today she could breathe. She had made the right decision. She’d made the decision she’d been afraid to make weeks ago when she first caught him cheating. She’d made the decision she should have made months ago when first she realized something was wrong.

She’d started the relationship with Trent thinking it would be perfect. But they’d been two different people. She knew how to rely on her faith. He used his faith as a disguise.

She had tried to do the right thing for everyone. But she hadn’t done the right thing for herself.

She only hoped she still had a job here at The Fixer-Upper hardware store. She hoped her boss, Patrick

Fogerty, hadn’t replaced her. She would definitely need the money, because she had a feeling Mrs. Morgan would want to be reimbursed for the wedding that hadn’t happened.

Her dad couldn’t afford the expense.

Somehow she’d make this right. She would get her life back. Tomorrow she’d admit to Miss Coraline Connolly, retired principal of the Bygones school system, that she’d been right. She and Ann Mars, owner of the This ’N’ That, had both questioned her in the past few days, telling her she didn’t look as happy as a bride-to-be ought to.

Outside The Fixer-Upper she could hear cars. People were probably looking for her. She guessed her dad would have gone home to search in all of her old hiding places. No one would think to check for her in the hardware store, a business that had been in town for only two months, with an owner few people really knew.

They’d like him once they got to know him, she thought, once they realized he wasn’t just a city person looking for a fresh start. He was a decent man who really wanted to be a part of a community. She thought that about all the new business owners in Bygones. From the coffee shop to the bakery, they had made the town better. They were giving her hometown hope. The folks in Bygones needed hope.

She needed hope. She closed her eyes and prayed, something she should have been doing more of. She should have paid attention to her nagging doubts about this marriage. She should have listened to God. Instead she’d listened to everyone else, to all the people telling her how great it would be to marry a man like Trent.

Gracie swiped a hand across her eyes. A tear or two slipped down her cheeks, not for the marriage that wouldn’t be, but for her dad, her family and her community. She thought about her mom and how things would have been different if Eva Wilson had lived.

The door chime dinged on the wall across from her. Someone had opened the front door of the hardware store. She scooted to the edge of the stool and glanced at the back door, her only way to escape. But running out the back door would set off an alarm, and the overworked, understaffed local police didn’t need more drama. They were probably busy looking for her.

She reached for a three-foot length of rebar and held it tight in her hand, just in case the person coming in thought they could rip the place off, since everyone in town was otherwise occupied. There had been some vandalism lately. As quiet as Bygones used to be, a break-in wouldn’t be so surprising in this economy. The door to the storeroom opened. She held the rebar close, took a deep breath and waited.

Patrick Fogerty stepped into the room, all six feet four inches of him. He looked around and then spotted her. Gracie shrugged as she watched her boss take a few steps into the room, his ruggedly handsome face masked in shadows, his dark hair a little messy from the wind.

For the first time she really wanted to cry. It was a strange mixture of relief, sadness, guilt and anger that wrapped itself up inside of her like tangled string, none of it really making any sense. Tears sprang to her eyes and she blinked them away. Patrick offered her a sympathetic smile and that was when the tears really began to flow.



Gracie Wilson stared up at Patrick, her wide, dark eyes filling with tears. He watched her for a long minute, surprised to see her sitting in the stockroom of his store. When she hadn’t walked down the aisle, everyone had been surprised. Everyone, that is, except Ann Mars. He’d been sitting next to her in the church, and for whatever reason, she hadn’t seemed all that shocked. She’d told him that it was because she was in her eighties and she knew a thing or two about life.

Miss Mars, instead of being worried, had seemed relieved. He’d thought he heard a few sighs of relief throughout the sanctuary of Bygones Community Church.

“Are you going to hit me with that rebar?” he asked, because he didn’t know what else to say. Damsels in distress were not typically his cup of tea.

What else could he say to the woman he’d known for only a couple of months? She’d been recommended by Ann Mars, his worthy representative and guide to all things Bygones. Ann had promised him an employee who would be on time, work hard and know how to fix anything as well as bring in customers. She’d picked the right person.

Gracie Wilson could handle tools, she could handle customers, and she even seemed to know how to handle him. She’d kept him from giving up on this venture. After all, he was a city boy, born and raised. Moving to Bygones, starting a new business in a town that was struggling financially, that took faith. When his seemed to be in short supply, she loaned him hers the way neighbors loaned a cup of sugar in Bygones, Kansas.

He’d made a commitment. A business of his own in trade for a commitment to stay for two years and make it work. There were several new businesses in Bygones. They were painted, remodeled and hopefully a cure for a town that didn’t want to lose everything.

“I was prepared for a burglar,” she whispered as tears trickled down her cheeks.

He stood there for a long minute, unsure of what to do next. Call the police? Call Ann Mars, his Save Our Streets sponsor?

She shifted on the stool. “Say something.”

“Gracie,” he cleared his throat, “I guess I’m surprised to see you here.”

She looked up, smiling a little as she brushed tears from her cheeks. She looked tinier than ever in the white creation of a dress, her dark hair pulled back with rhinestone clips and strings of pearls.

“I think there are probably a lot of people surprised,” she said, brushing away her tears.

“Yes, surprised and worried. They’re searching for you.” He focused on the rebar she still had a death grip on. “Other than the ones who decided to take advantage of the reception.”

“It should be a good party.”

“What happened?”

“I couldn’t marry him.” She laughed and then sobbed. “I’m going to be in big trouble.”

“Seems to me the trouble would have been marrying him if you had doubts.”

She nodded but didn’t speak. The tears were streaming down her cheeks again, and he wondered if her doubts were real or if she just had cold feet and needed a few minutes to get her thoughts together.

“Can I help?”

She shook her head. “No. I mean, there’s really nothing anyone can do. I just can’t marry him.”

“Are you sure?” He cleared his throat, not at all sure what else to say in a situation such as this. He’d never had little sisters. He’d dated but never been married.

He’d learned one thing about women: sometimes they walked when things looked difficult. At least, that was what had happened to him.

He didn’t think Gracie was the type to skip out on someone just because it got a little difficult.

Sitting on the stool, she looked smaller than her barely five feet, especially in the billowy white dress that didn’t seem to suit her style. Not that he was a guy who paid much attention to style. But even he could recognize when a woman needed someone, though.

He pushed aside misgivings and reached to hug her. First he took the rebar from her hand and set it on the worktable. She leaned into his shoulder and he wrapped his arms around her, keeping his face out of the protruding objects that decorated her hair. Avoiding the light scent of her fragrance took more effort. It matched the softness of her skin and the sweet way she leaned against him.

For a guy who didn’t notice much, unless it had to do with home remodeling or electrical problems, he noticed a lot in those few minutes holding Gracie.

“I can’t marry him,” she finally whispered against his shoulder and then she backed out of his embrace. “But I’m going to have to face this.”

“Yes, I guess you will.” He reached for a roll of paper towels on the shelf and pulled off a few sheets for her to wipe her eyes. “I don’t have a handkerchief.”

She smiled through her tears and then laughed. “Wouldn’t that be chivalrous if you did? Maybe a little too cliché?”

“I guess that’s a good reason to never offer a woman a handkerchief. What guy wants to be cliché?”

“You could never be cliché.” She smiled as she said it, dabbing her eyes with paper towels that were less than soft. “My dad is going to be embarrassed. Mrs. Morgan will be furious. I wonder if there’s a bus out of this town tonight.”

“I don’t think a bus comes anywhere near Bygones. And if you caught a bus, who would work for me?”

“You haven’t replaced me?”

“Of course not. And if you’re up to it, I’ll need you here Monday morning. Remember, you had that great idea to have the block party in a few weeks. I can’t do that without you.”

“You could.”

“Yeah, but people trust you. They aren’t always trusting of the city guy who has moved in and wants their business.”

“They’ll learn that you can be trusted.”

“Thanks, Gracie.” He reached for her hand and helped her down from the stool. “I like the boots.”

“Thank you. I picked them out.” She twirled in the dress that looked like white lace gone crazy. “I did not pick this. I think it makes me look like a bad version of Cinderella at the ball.”

“It isn’t that bad.”

She wrinkled her nose at him. “It is that bad. You’re just being nice.”

“Okay, I’m being nice. I am a nice guy. Haven’t you heard?”

She smiled up at him. She was more than a foot shorter than him, with a pixie face and dark eyes that could tease or flash with humor. Sometimes those eyes flashed fire if something got her riled up. She was twenty-four, ten years younger than his thirty-four years. She sometimes seemed younger, but more often seemed a decade older.

He knew she’d gone through a lot. She’d lost her mom fourteen years ago. Miss Coraline had given him tidbits and told him to take care of her girl, because

Gracie acted strong but she needed to be able to let other people be strong for her. He’d gotten a lot of advice from Coraline Connolly since he’d moved to Bygones.

“You are a nice guy, Patrick.” Gracie sighed and reached back for the veil that hung from a hook on the wall. “And my name is going to be mud. I’m glad I have one friend left.”

“Want me to drive you home?”

She nodded. “Please. Unless of course you’re willing to help me run away from Bygones. Far away.”

“Sorry, I’m here for at least two years and I’d like for you to be here, too. If you stay, you know I’ll have your back. I’ll be here for you.”

“Thank you. And I’m going to help you find a wife. You need a wife. A good country woman that can cook biscuits and gravy.”

“The person who just ran from her own wedding wants to arrange one for me?”

“I guess you have a point. I don’t think I’m the poster child for encouraging someone to take the walk down the aisle.”

He grinned at that. “No, probably not.”

“Can you get me out of here without everyone seeing me?”

“In that dress?”

She looked down. “I guess not.”

“I have sweatpants and a T-shirt you could change into. They’ll be a little big, but not as obvious.”

“And then I can leave the dress here. Mrs. Morgan will want to return it if she can.”

“Or maybe you’ll change your mind?”

“About the dress or Trent? I don’t think I’ll be taking either of them down the aisle.”

He didn’t know what to say to that. He’d known her all of two months and he didn’t think he should be the one standing here having this conversation. There were people in town who had known her all her life. The same people who had shared stories with him of a rough-and-rowdy little girl turned woman. A woman who seemed to know her mind and be able to handle almost any situation.

Sometimes when Patrick looked at her, he saw seven shades of vulnerable in her dark eyes and a whole lot of sadness. He thought maybe the only other person who saw that look was Miss Coraline. The retired principal seemed to see a lot in everyone. He guessed it probably had made her very good at her job.

He shook himself from those thoughts and gave Gracie an easy smile. “I’ll get the clothes and you can change in the restroom.”

“Thank you, Patrick.” She had that soft look in her eyes, the one that said she might cry again if he said the wrong thing or got too close.

He backed away, made sorry excuses and headed for the exit.

He’d come to Bygones because his family business had closed down after a big-box store full of discount lumber and building supplies moved into their suburban Detroit neighborhood, the neighborhood that had supported them for years.

Bygones was his future, his dream. It seemed literally the answer to his prayers: a small-town hardware store, close neighbors, a place to start over.

He hadn’t realized moving to a small town meant getting tangled up in the lives of the people who lived there. He hadn’t realized they would pull him in and make him such a part of their families and community.

More than anything, he hadn’t planned on someone like Gracie Wilson storming into his life.


Chapter Two

Gracie sat in the passenger seat of Patrick’s Ford truck. Her dress was hanging at the store, covered in plastic. She had donned gigantic-size sweatpants and a T-shirt that hung to her knees. She’d used a stapler to narrow the waist of the pants and she’d tied a knot in the tail of the shirt to shorten it.

As they drove through the now darkened streets of Bygones, it was hard for her to recognize this as the town she’d grown up in. The brick of the stores downtown, one whole section of buildings, had been painted a creamy color. Awnings of various colors brightened the exteriors. There was a coffee shop—who would have thought they’d have one of those in a small farming community?—a bakery, a flower shop, a bookstore and a pet shop. In Bygones? There were days that she drove to work, parked her truck and wondered if she was in the wrong town.

The streets had been repaired, there were new streetlights, and the park had been cleaned and spruced up. It was window dressing, just like the marriage she’d almost had. Could pretty stores and some remodeling actually save a town that was dying? Young people were moving to cities to find jobs, people were losing farms and houses, tax revenue was down, and the school and police station were in danger of closing.

The biggest hit to the town had been the closing of Randall Manufacturing. A lot of her friends had moved when the factory closed.

“Do you really not know who did this, Patrick?”

He glanced her way, looking pretty confused. “The wedding?”

“No, the town, the businesses. Who put up the money for Save Our Streets?”

“Not a clue.”

She didn’t continue the conversation. She was too tired for the words. Someone, no one knew who but everyone speculated, had started this renovation project, bringing in new businesses and new people. Someone thought they could save Bygones. And as happy as some people were, others weren’t so happy with change and an influx of new citizens.

She closed her eyes and let the town and the gloomy thoughts slip behind her.

“You okay over there?” Patrick’s strong, husky voice slipped through the cab of the truck and she nodded.

“I’m good. I’m tired but I’m good.” She opened her eyes and looked at the strong profile of her boss. He glanced her way briefly.

Friends had teased her about working for the hottest hardware-store owner in the state, as they liked to call him. They all found random reasons to come into the store. The women in the town were going to keep The Fixer-Upper in business the way the young people would keep the coffee shop going.

“I could use you full-time at the store.” His attention was back on the road.

“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 the back door in the alley behind the store.

When he opened the door, it was Miss Coraline, retired principal of the Bygones school system and determined optimist. He’d never met a woman so determined. And she had with her that tiny dynamo of a woman Ann Mars, owner of the This ’N’ That shop. Ann, an active woman in her mid-eighties, had been assigned to be his host and helper when he moved to town.

The two women were both faithful Christians, and both loved their town, but they were as different as night and day. Miss Coraline, with her short gray hair and dress suits, always seemed in charge. Ann Mars coiled her long white hair on top of her head, smelled like sugar cookies and could sweet-talk a snake out of its skin. She was genuinely nice and made a person want to do things for her. Coraline was dignified. Ann was less than five feet tall and slightly stooped.

“Welcome, ladies. To what do I owe this pleasure?”

Miss Coraline spoke first, which seemed to be how she was wired. “As if you don’t know, Patrick Fogerty. We’re here to help with crowd control.”

He looked at the two women and tried to remain serious. But he smiled; he couldn’t help it. He was picturing the tiny Ann Mars holding back the crowd waiting outside his store. A good wind would blow her over and that crowd could trample her.

“I’m not sure why I would need crowd control. Isn’t it just your average Monday in Bygones?”

Ann Mars wagged her finger at him. “Do not play with us, young man. You saw that crowd out there, and it isn’t your…”

She turned a little pink and Miss Coraline cleared her throat. “What she means to say is that as handsome as you are, that crowd isn’t here to buy drills or nails. They’re here to see if Gracie shows up for work.”

“I’m sure she’ll be here.” He reached for his store apron, dark green with deep pockets for tools and other items he might need.

“She’s going to need you,” Coraline Connolly said with a lift of her chin. He hadn’t known her long but that look seemed to mean she meant business.

“I think she has plenty of people.” The back door eased open and he smiled at his two friends. “And here she is.”

Miss Coraline pulled the door open and Gracie stepped into the room, her face a little pink and her short dark hair a windblown halo around her face.

“Oh, Miss Coraline, Miss Mars, I didn’t expect you.”

Ann Mars didn’t say a word; she grabbed Gracie in a tight hug and held her until the moment became pretty uncomfortable. Patrick glanced at his watch. It was nearly time to open. He looked at the complicated group of females standing in front of him and he wondered why he had ever thought small-town life would be simpler.



“There’s a crowd out front,” Gracie said after she’d wiggled free from the arms of Ann Mars.

“Yes, there is, and I guess we know why they’re here.” Ann pursed her lips and snorted.

“To buy hardware supplies?” Gracie dropped her purse on the table where she’d left her flowers two nights ago. The flowers were now wilted, a symbol of the wedding that hadn’t been. She picked them up and started to dump them in the trash but first she removed the ribbon.

A symbol of her own stubbornness. She’d had to fight for that ribbon, so she might as well keep it.

“Are you okay?” Patrick stood next to her, his words quiet in his husky voice.

“I’m good. A little nervous. But I can’t hide forever.”

“Gracie, you’re going to have to face this.” Coraline edged close and gave the flowers a disgusted look. “What a mess. But you did the right thing. I don’t know why you did it, and that’s your business, but I never felt good about you marrying that young man.”

Gracie kissed Miss Coraline’s cheek. “Thank you. I guess I didn’t, either.”

“So now we face the fallout. Together.” Coraline linked her arm with Gracie’s. “You have us. And you have Patrick. And someday you’ll meet the man of your dreams and have a wonderful life.”

“I think I’ll take a break from romance,” Gracie murmured, unable to look up for fear of seeing Patrick.

“Are you okay?” Ann slipped close. “You look flushed.”

“I’m good. I just need to get back to work and get past this.”

Patrick glanced at his watch. “Time to open up.”

“And face the music,” Coraline said with a bright smile.

“I don’t think we want to talk about music,” Ann Mars whispered to her friend. “It might make her think of the wedding.”

Gracie smiled as she followed Patrick into the main part of the store. When she saw the crowd at the doors, she faltered. She had expected people to be curious. She hadn’t expected a mob.

“This is more than I expected. From the street it looked like a few people, not a crowd.”

“They’ve been out there for an hour.” Patrick paused, looking from her to the door and back to her. Gracie wanted to sink into the floor. “You could take today off.”

She shook her head. “No, I’m staying. If I don’t face it today, I’ll have to face it tomorrow or the next day.”

Eventually she’d also have to face Trent and his parents. They’d called yesterday, but her dad had been firm, telling them they could wait a few days and then informing them that this big wedding had been their idea, not his and not Gracie’s, so the expense was theirs.

Her dad hadn’t asked a lot of questions about why she’d left the church the way she had. He’d never been comfortable with father-daughter talks and had counted on ladies in town to take those discussions off his hands.

She swallowed past the lump that settled in her throat as Patrick turned the dead bolt and opened the door. The crowd poured into the store, more interested in her than the great sale on power drills.

Those drills were a really great buy.

A young woman approached Gracie, elbowing people out of her way as she moved through the crowd towing two young children behind her. Gracie didn’t know her but the brunette smiled as if they’d been friends forever.

“Can I help you?” Gracie cleared her throat to get the words out.

“Yes, you can. I need to know how to fix a window that lets in cold air. I need help.”

A window? Gracie hadn’t expected that. She breathed a sigh of relief and led the woman to the section of the store with sealants, window plastic and other do-it-yourself items.

“Here we go. Is it just one window?”

The woman looked around, glaring at customers who tried to get close enough to listen. “More than one. And I have to do this job myself. With two kids and a husband who decided he might as well be single, I’m on my own. Good for you, Gracie Wilson, for running before the wedding.”

“Oh, I…” She didn’t know what to say.

“It’s better to walk away from a wedding than walk away from a marriage.”

“I see, well, yes.” Heat crawled up her cheeks. “Let’s see. Do you want the plastic? It’s easy to put it up. A few tacks, a hair dryer and you’ll save yourself a lot of money this winter.”

“I think that’s perfect. Do you think I can put it up myself?”

“I put it up every winter on our old farmhouse.”

“That’s great.” The young woman gave her a hug and then hurried away with plastic and two children.

Gracie started to turn but a woman grabbed her arm and gave her a big hug. Gracie squirmed away and saw that it was a friend she’d gone to school with.

“Gracie, I don’t know what happened, but we’re behind you.”

Gracie opened her mouth, but she couldn’t explain. It was private and it still hurt too much to think about. She wasn’t a hero. She wasn’t suddenly wild and crazy, breezing through life without thinking.

“Is it because your boss is such a hunk?” Lacey Clark asked. Lacey ran a day care but she’d lost half her clients when Randall Manufacturing closed.

She wondered if Mr. Randall hadn’t realized that closing his business would hurt more than just his own employees. The closing of Randall Manufacturing had affected the entire town. But some things couldn’t be helped, and Gracie knew that the economy had played a role in Mr. Randall’s decision.

Gracie coughed and searched quickly to make sure Patrick hadn’t heard Lacey’s question. “No, of course not. Listen, Lacey, I’m really busy. Can I help you with something?”

“Oh, yes, of course. I have these old cabinets that I want to spruce up.”

“We have a textured spray paint that works great. Let me show you what I mean.”

Lacey followed her to the paint section. “Can you show me how to use it? I can paint my nails, but anything more than that and I’m at a loss.”

“Sure, I’ll get plywood and show you how it works.”

“You’re a lifesaver, Gracie. And really, if I was you, I’d be head over heels in love with that Patrick Fogerty. If I had half a chance, I’d ask him over for dinner.”

“Since you’re single, Lacey, maybe you should invite him to the church social next week. He’s a great guy. I can introduce you.”

She looked around for her boss and saw him heading for the back room. If she didn’t know better, she would call it running. Surely he hadn’t heard her weak attempt to fix him up with Lacey?

Patrick was a great guy and he deserved to marry someone nice, settle down in Bygones and raise a few kids. As for Gracie, she was done with everything white. It would be a long time before she decided to try romance again.


Chapter Three

At five-thirty, Patrick locked the door and switched the sign to Closed. He turned to watch Gracie straighten shelves that had been ransacked by curious customers who had done a lot of business in the store that day. His best day yet.

Thanks to Gracie, the Bygones Runaway Bride. That was what he’d heard people calling her and he’d overheard Whitney, the local reporter, discussing the headline for Thursday’s paper. He needed to tell Gracie that she would soon be front-page news. He just didn’t know how to bring it up.

If today had been bad for her, Thursday would be a nightmare.

She turned, saw him watching her and smiled. He found it a lot easier to smile back than he’d imagined. He’d been surprised by several things today. First and foremost, her lack of tears over the marriage that wasn’t. Shouldn’t she be crying? Wouldn’t she be second-guessing herself?

He’d heard the ‘‘cold feet’’ theory floated by several people. Some said the wedding would take place in a month or so, after she had time to think about it.

“Hey, I’ve been thinking about something today.” She turned from the cans of spray paint and wiped her hands on the apron that came to her knees because it was meant for a person a lot bigger than she was.

“What’s that?”

“Workshops for women.” Gracie looked around, as if she was still thinking up the plan.

“Workshops for women? What is that?”

“What you should do. What we could do to draw in customers. I don’t know, I guess I’ve always had to do things for myself and I thought that all women—well, maybe not all, but most women—could figure things out for themselves. Today I learned that a lot of them don’t have a clue. They can’t even paint a cabinet with spray paint. One of them bought a precut bookshelf off the internet and she didn’t know how to put it together or if she even had the tools.”

“What are you getting at, Gracie?” Patrick slipped the apron off his neck and rolled up the sleeves he’d kept down and buttoned at his wrists during the workday.

“We could do workshops.” She gave him a look that said the name was self-explanatory. “For women. We can teach them how to build a bookshelf, make their homes more secure or more energy efficient. And in the process, we could bring in business.”

He looked around the little store that was his future, his dream, and then back to the woman who had maybe come up with an idea that would keep his future in the black. Lately he’d been taking on more handyman jobs just to keep things going. He’d also been considering going online with the store and with the rocking chairs he’d been building. Her idea would be one more thing to help make his store profitable.

“I like it, and I think you’re definitely my new assistant manager.”

She laughed and he was taken by surprise that her laughter made him smile. “You realize I’m your only employee, right?”

“I do realize that, but today you did the work of three people.”

“And I managed, through one little wedding scandal, to bring in dozens of customers you hadn’t expected.”

“I hate to say it, but yes, you did.”

Pink crawled up her neck into her cheeks. “I heard more personal stories today than I ever thought I’d hear. I never planned on being anyone’s hero or the person everyone shared their tales of heartbreak with.”

“I’m sure you didn’t. And did you plan on trying to fix me up with half the single women in Bygones?” More pink. He laughed because it served her right. “I overheard you tell at least a dozen women that I’m single and the nicest guy you know and they should maybe ask me to the social, or the singles meeting, or even out for a cup of coffee.”

“Oops. Well, you are single and nice, and if you’re going to stay in Bygones, you should go out once in a while, not work all of the time.”

“Thank you for thinking of me, Gracie, but I’ll be fine. I can cook, do my own laundry and even put a bookcase together.”

“I’m sure you can.”

“Let’s grab some coffee. We could both use a break.”

“I should go home.” She pulled the cell phone out of her pocket and glanced at the time. “I need to cook dinner, and my little brother has a load of laundry that he can’t wash on his own.”

“I think they’ll be fine without you for a little while. Who would have done those things for them if…”

He sighed and wished he’d kept his thoughts to himself. He didn’t need to get this involved. What Gracie did for her family was none of his concern.

“If I’d gotten married?” She folded up her apron but held it in her hands, staring at it rather than looking at him.

“I imagine your little brother can do a load of laundry.”

“I’ve been taking care of them for years, you know. I mean, I’ll be twenty-five in October, and for almost fifteen years I’ve been cooking, doing their laundry, mending their clothes and stopping their fights. It’s hard to let go.”

He knew all about letting go. The words reminded him of the day he’d watched all the stock from the Fogerty Hardware store being loaded into a truck and shipped to a large store in a nearby community. He’d signed the building over to the new owner and he’d let go of a family business that he’d invested his life in. The same business his father had died in.

Until that day, he hadn’t seen that he’d been heading down the same path as his father. The path of long hours, at least.

“Let’s have that coffee.” She looked up from the apron she was still holding. “And maybe something to eat. I’m starving. My boss is a nice guy, but I barely had time for lunch today.”

“That would be your fault. You’re the one that left the groom at the altar and caused all this notoriety for yourself.”

“True, very true, but you’re the guy all the women in town are mooning over.”

“I’m starting to think they need more single men in Bygones.” He opened the door to the stockroom and watched as she gathered her purse and the lunch she hadn’t eaten. “I have leftover chili if you’re hungry.”

“Chili that I didn’t cook? That sounds great.”

Great. He had offered. She had accepted. He led her outside and up the back steps to his apartment.



Gracie walked up the steps and through the door into the apartment over the hardware store. Her mouth dropped, seriously dropped. Patrick Fogerty was a genius. She knew how to repair a wall, build a porch and fix a roof, but what he’d done with that decades-old apartment was amazing.

“It’s beautiful.” She had seen it before he started working on it. It was a typical apartment from a building that had seen its heyday in the 1920s or earlier. The rooms had been small, the floors covered with teal carpet, and the plaster walls had been cracked and chipped.

Patrick stood back, pride evident on his ruggedly handsome face as she wandered through what had become a loft-style apartment. The rooms had been opened up, wood floors put down. The windows were open and a breeze blew in. The kitchen had sleek

European-style cabinets in deep mahogany, and the lights were bar lights that focused on different areas of the open living room and kitchen area.

“I’m impressed. How did you come up with all this in Bygones?”

“I made a trip to Manhattan, Kansas, obviously, not New York. Or several trips. I found surplus cabinets and flooring for a great price. Since I do the labor myself, it didn’t cost much.”

“You could forget the hardware store and do this for a living.”

“I enjoy the hardware store.”

Gracie wandered into the kitchen and thought she’d love to cook in a kitchen like this one, with new appliances and sleek, modern fixtures. The kitchen at the farm hadn’t been updated in years. The cookstove had to be lit with a match each time she used it. She had installed a new faucet and kept the oven working.

“Coffee?” Patrick pushed a button on the single-serve coffeemaker.

“Please.” She wandered back to the living room. “I’ve lived on the farm my whole life and thought I’d always live on a farm until I met…” She sighed and turned to face Patrick, “Trent. We were going to live in Manhattan.”

“I see.”

He handed her a cup of coffee, and she took it and sat at the bar that separated the kitchen from the dining area and living room.

“I don’t think I’d make a good lawyer’s wife. It’s too much pressure.”

“I think you’d be fine.”

She smiled at that and at the tone of his voice that said he was uncomfortable with the conversation. She understood. Two days ago she’d been engaged. Now she was sitting in Patrick’s apartment discussing what would have been.

“I’m always fine, Patrick. It’s how I’m wired. I deal with life and move on.”

He sat down next to her, a steaming cup of coffee in front of him. “It isn’t always that easy.”

“No, I guess it isn’t. But it makes people more comfortable if they think you’re fine. If you smile when they ask how you are and tell them you’re great, it makes them happy.” She lifted the cup and took a sip because she was saying too much and no one really wanted to hear it. And she was too embarrassed to tell the whole truth.

She hadn’t been good enough for Trent Morgan. No matter how she dressed up, fixed her hair and did all of the other girl stuff that Trent seemed to think was important, it hadn’t been enough. He’d always been trying to change her, to make her fit the mold of who he wanted her to be.

She held the coffee cup in her hand and thought about how much she wanted to tell someone other than her dad what Trent had done to her, that he’d tried to change her, that he’d cheated on her. He hadn’t loved her enough.

Someday she wanted to be loved enough.

“How about that chili?” Patrick left the seat next to her and she smiled as he opened the fridge door to pull out a bowl.

“I could make something if you don’t want leftovers.”

“I thought we’d agreed that you don’t always have to take care of everyone?”

She started to nod but her phone rang. She pulled it out of her pocket and groaned. “Yes, that’s what we agreed, but I have to take this.” She answered. “What is it, Evan?”

Her younger brother responded, “Shouldn’t you be home by now?”

“I should, but I’m still in town. What do you need?”

“There’s nothing for supper and you said you’d throw my laundry in for me. I have to go to Oklahoma tomorrow.”

“You can do laundry. I taught you how, remember? And there’s a casserole in the freezer. Preheat the oven to four hundred degrees and bake it for an hour.”

“Seriously? Where are you? Everyone is saying you flipped out Saturday. I’m starting to think they’re right.”

“Maybe I have. And maybe it’s time you learned to take care of yourself.” She wanted to tell him that if he’d bothered showing up for the wedding he wouldn’t have to get secondhand information.

He hung up on her and she didn’t know what to do. The microwave dinged and Patrick pulled a bowl out and set it in front of her.

“See, that wasn’t so hard, now, was it?” He reached into a cabinet and handed her a package of crackers.

“It wasn’t easy.” She took the crackers and the spoon he handed her. “He really can’t take care of himself.”

“I’m sure he can, if he has to.”

“Maybe.” Gracie crunched a few crackers into her chili and leaned in to inhale the lovely aroma. “Do you have family, Patrick?”

“I have an older brother in California. My dad passed away several years ago. My mom remarried and lives in Georgia.”

“I see.” She watched as he moved around the kitchen, a confident man, terribly handsome. She focused, for some reason, on the sleeves of his plaid shirt that he’d rolled up to reveal strong, deeply tanned forearms.

He sat down next to her and she refocused on the bowl of chili.

“My family has a tendency to do their own thing,” he said, handing her a package of shredded cheese.

“Mine like to be very involved in each other’s lives.”

“Isn’t that part of being in a small town?”

She shrugged. “I guess. I don’t know because it’s all I’ve ever known. And taking care of my family is all I’ve ever known.”

His hand settled on hers. “Eat your chili before you go rushing off to rescue your brother.”

She closed her eyes and tried to find a reason why his command, the softness of his voice, would make her want to cry. Maybe it had to do with exhaustion catching up with her? The past six months of planning the wedding had felt like being tied to a race car and dragged around the track with no way to escape.

“It will get better,” his voice continued, smooth and reassuring.

Gracie looked up at him, studying the handsome face, brown eyes the color of coffee with just enough cream. She blinked a few times to clear her thoughts. She somehow convinced herself it was that exhaustion thing again.

“Yes, it’ll get better. But I should go.”

“Of course.” He started to say something but a knock on the door interrupted.

“And you have company.”

“I wasn’t expecting company.”

“Another perk to living in a small town. Always expect company and usually when you least expect it.” She finished the last bite of chili and carried the bowl to the sink.

Patrick watched her for a brief second and then he answered the repeated knock on the door. Gracie grabbed her purse and keys. When she walked around the corner, Patrick was standing in the doorway. Willa Douglas, single and pretty, stood on the landing with a casserole dish in her hands. Her eyes widened when she saw Gracie.

Gracie smiled at Willa and then at Patrick. “See you tomorrow, boss.”

As Gracie hurried down the stairs, she told herself that what she felt wasn’t disappointment or even jealousy. She’d had enough of men in her life. She definitely wasn’t the type of person to have a rebound relationship just days after ending an engagement.

Patrick Fogerty was a decent man. Maybe even a friend. She liked that idea. He could be her friend. Friendship was easy and uncomplicated. A friend wouldn’t break her heart.


Chapter Four

Early Wednesday morning, Patrick walked down the sidewalk with a steaming cup of coffee from the Cozy Cup Café. He’d been the first customer, and he and Josh Smith had talked shop. Josh needed some repairs to a door that someone had tried to open during the night. Patrick had questions about his store computer. Everything these days was computerized, even the cash register. For a guy that liked to hit a few buttons, have a drawer pop open and be done with it, it was hard to adjust.

The two of them had also talked about the upcoming block party that the store owners were organizing with Gracie’s help. They would have door prizes and other programs to draw in business. But lately the biggest draw was one Gracie Wilson. The Bygones Runaway Bride, as she’d been renamed, was bringing in more business than anyone could have expected.

Who knew that people would be that curious about a woman standing up a man at the altar?

He paused as he crossed Bronson Avenue. Of course, there was no traffic at this early hour. In the distance he heard trucks at the Wilsons’ granary and he could see a car or two coming up Main Street, probably to get something at the Sweet Dreams Bakery. He had considered stopping in but he needed to get down to his store and do some last-minute stocking before he opened the doors.

As he continued down the sidewalk, past the freshly painted brick buildings that the town seemed to be having a hard time accepting, he thought about the conversation he and Josh had just had about the benefactor of the town, the person responsible for funding the face-lift of the downtown area and the money for the new businesses.

The speculation had turned to Robert Randall, owner of the recently closed Randall Manufacturing. Maybe the old guy had felt guilty for what he’d done to the town, closing the plant and all. That had been Patrick’s thought lately.

Patrick sipped the best cup of coffee he’d had in a long time and slowed to look in the store windows. He passed his shop and looked in the window of the Fluff & Stuff pet store. He’d been thinking lately that it would be nice to have a dog. He hadn’t had a pet since his teen years. He’d just been too busy for anything other than himself.

His family hadn’t been pet people, anyway. They’d traveled. They’d worked. His parents had ignored each other.

Behind him he heard a shrill voice calling, “Yoo-hoo, Patrick.”

He turned and smiled at Ann Mars as she crossed the road, her long white hair stacked on her head in a knot that seemed to continuously slip to one side. She was a tiny thing, and he always had a strange urge to pick her up and set her on something so he wouldn’t have to lean to talk to her. He smiled at the thought. She was a dynamo and would probably swat his hands if he tried anything like that.

“Miss Mars, good morning.”

“Hello to you, too, Patrick, and don’t call me Miss Mars. My goodness, you are a tall drink of water.” She craned her neck to look up at him.

“I am?” He took a sip of his coffee and waited.

“I thought I’d check with you to see how our Gracie is doing.”

Our Gracie? He cleared his throat and started to object, but he didn’t. He was learning to be small town, and he knew that if he tried to deny Gracie, he’d be in serious trouble. She might have left Trent Morgan at the altar, but to these sweet ladies, both Ann Mars and Co­raline Connolly, Gracie seemed to be the victim. They probably knew more about the situation than he did.

“She seems to be surviving the uproar, Ann.”

“That’s because she survives, Patrick. She’s survived everything.” She hooked her arm through his. “Walk with me.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“She’s survived losing her mother. She has survived that rowdy bunch of men in her home. She’s cooked, cleaned and taken care of everything since she was just a little girl. She’s going to handle this situation, too. She’s going to do what she always does. She’s going to hold her chin up and take care of everyone. And she isn’t going to let on that she’s hurting at all.”

“I see.” He pulled the store key from his pocket as they made their way back up the street to his store. His store. He admired the light-colored brick, the windows painted simply with The Fixer-Upper and the green awning over the wide glass-and-wood door. He turned his attention back to the tiny woman at his side, smiling down at her. “She has good friends. I know you and Miss Coraline will help her through this.”

“And so we will. But you’re going to have to keep an eye on her while she’s here. People are circling like buzzards after roadkill, and if that Morgan woman hasn’t showed up, she will.”

“I’ll do my best.”

He unlocked the door, and Ann Mars stared up at him, her mouth twisted and her eyes scrunched nearly closed. “Patrick Fogerty, you’re a gentleman and I’m counting on you.”

He thought that this was the place in the conversation where someone would hand him a manila envelope and tell him his assignment, should he wish to accept it, was inside. But Gracie Wilson wasn’t his assignment. He had a business that needed his attention. He had a new life here in Bygones, and it was already complicated enough without the SOS committee becoming the Save Gracie Foundation.

He doubted very seriously that Gracie Wilson wanted him as a bodyguard. He’d been around town long enough to know she had five overprotective brothers who took their duties seriously. She­d complained in the past that they could be a little overwhelming at times.

“Ann, I’m not convinced that Gracie and Trent won’t work things out. Maybe the wedding will still take place.”

“Why in the world would you think that?”

“Because people get cold feet.”

Ann pursed her lips again, a sure sign that he wasn’t saying what she wanted to hear. “Gracie doesn’t run from anything.”

He pushed the door open. “I should get in here and get things ready to start the day.”

“And I need to get back up the street to my place,” Ann Mars replied.

“I’ll see you later.”

He watched as she marched away, her arms swinging as she hurried off toward This ’N’ That. For a woman in her eighties, she had a lot of energy. He smiled, shook his head and stepped inside the hardware store.

As he walked through the store, he stopped to flip on lights. He turned on the cash register and checked to make sure the coffeepot had started brewing. A car honked outside. He turned and watched as a dog walked slowly across the street and then down the sidewalk. The animal, a medium-size brown mutt with wiry hair, had been around for a few days. He thought maybe someone had dumped it in hopes the Fluff & Stuff pet store would take the animal in.

He liked dogs as much as anyone, but the mixed breed with wiry brown hair and floppy ears seemed to think the best place to hang out was the front door of The Fixer-Upper. Since it had started hanging around Bygones, he would often find it curled up on the sidewalk in front of his store.

The front door opened and the bell chimed to announce a customer. He glanced at his watch and started to tell the woman entering the store that he wasn’t open yet. But she didn’t look like a woman he wanted to argue with. Her short hair was perfectly cut. Her suit, a skirt, jacket and blouse, looked expensive. And she looked angry.

“Where is she?” The woman marched down the aisle between the saws and drills, her mouth a tight line of disapproval.

“I’m sorry?” He reached for the dark green work apron he wore in the store.

“Gracie Wilson. Where is she?”

And then it hit him. Mrs. Morgan. Lovely woman. He wondered why the dog hadn’t barked. A good dog would have barked a warning.

“She isn’t here yet.”

“When do you expect her?”

He glanced at his watch and caught the groan before it slipped out. “Soon.”

“Then I’ll wait.”

He caught sight of an old farm truck and he knew that Gracie would soon walk through the back door. The dog out front seemed to be waiting for her. It stood, wagging a wiry brush of a tail. That confirmed his suspicions that the dog might be getting fed here at the store.

“Maybe if you come back later it would be better.” He took the woman by the arm, nearly choking on the cloud of perfume that clung to the air around her.

“I need to speak to Miss Wilson because there is the small matter of what she owes me.”

The front door opened again. Patrick didn’t know if he should breathe a sigh of relief or pray for mercy. A hardware store, at least the one he’d grown up in, was a man’s world. He knew about building things, fixing things. He didn’t know about small-town politics, drama and what appeared to be women on the warpath.

Coraline Connolly marched down the aisle, her nose in the air and her pace brisk. She wasn’t a big woman, but she walked with the authority of a woman who had been a school principal and knew how to handle problems.

“Mrs. Morgan, my goodness, imagine seeing you here.” Coraline smiled a frozen smile that Patrick was pretty glad he wasn’t the recipient of.

“Coraline, this has nothing to do with you.”

Coraline moved Patrick aside. “Oh, I know that. I just thought the two of us could take a little walk. We have some fund-raisers coming up in town and I’d love to be able to put your family name on the list of benefactors.”

“I need to speak to Gracie.” Mrs. Morgan pulled her arm from Coraline’s grasp.

“I’m sure you do, but I have other appointments and you are so great at organizing events. I’ll buy you a cup of coffee,” Coraline offered. “I’m sure Gracie will be here by the time we’re finished.”

Mrs. Morgan glanced around the store and finally sighed, giving in to Coraline. Patrick watched as the mother of Trent Morgan was escorted from the store.



“Is it safe?” Gracie walked through the door, peeking around the store for any sign of the woman who, had things been different, would have been her mother-in-law.

Patrick walked to the front of the store and looked out the window. “For now.”

“Good.” She slipped her work apron over her head. “I’m going to have to face her eventually.”

“Probably.”

Gracie tied her apron and reached for a coffee cup. “I’m sorry this is becoming your problem. It shouldn’t be. I’ll talk to her. I need to give the dress back, and maybe that will start the road to making things better.”

Giving the dress back would be a step toward making this real. She obviously couldn’t explain that to her boss; the man seemed pretty uncomfortable with the conversation.

“Are you sure you don’t want to think about this before giving the dress back?”

The coffee overflowed on her hand. She pulled back, reaching quickly for a napkin to wipe her scalded hand and then the drops of brown on the floor. She glanced up at Patrick as she straightened to throw the napkin away.

“I’m positive I don’t want that dress or a chance to think.”

He shrugged and let it go, handing her a wet wipe for her hand rather than commenting further.

“I stopped at the Gazette and put the ad in for the Workshops for Women.” She shifted topics because she was tired of the current subject. Trent. It was time to move on. The workshops would be a great way to bring in customers. And it gave them something to talk about other than the wedding.

“That’s good, thank you.” He glanced at his watch and groaned. “Will you be okay here for an hour or so? I got a call last night from a woman who needs a light installed.”

“Did you?” She smiled because even though she was done with romance, that didn’t mean everyone should be. At her church’s ladies’ meeting last night she’d told Annabelle to give Patrick a call, because he had to be the greatest catch in Bygones.

“I did.” He had started toward the front door but he turned. “Why is it you don’t seem surprised?”

She thought about avoiding answering. Instead she smiled her best innocent smile and told the truth. “Because last night a friend mentioned needing a light installed and I told her you do great work.”

“Thanks, I think.”

Gracie ignored the growing lump in her throat because in the shadows she saw something on his face, a sadness, or loss. It had to be her imagination. And maybe the way her heart shook a little was her imagination, too.

“Would it help if I said she’s pretty and very sweet?”

“Not really.” He cleared his throat. “Gracie, I’m really not looking for someone.”

“No one ever is. Sometimes the right person happens into our lives when we’re least expecting it.”

“Happens. As in, they come along unexpectedly, not because everyone in town is helping it to happen.”

She laughed a little and felt the lump dissolve because his smile had reappeared. “Isn’t it great living in a small town?”

He flipped on the open sign and headed back in her direction. She felt that tightness in her throat again. He was tall and broad-shouldered, his dark hair always looking a little messy. Last night one of the ladies at the church meeting asked why Gracie wanted to push such a handsome man off on someone else. Gracie had to admit she didn’t have a clue. Self-preservation maybe?

“Oh, I also submitted information about the block party on Main Street. Coraline said it would be great for the school to put together fund-raisers, maybe baked goods, candles, that type of stuff.”

“Changing the subject?” He pulled off his apron and tossed it on the counter.

The door chimed. Saved by the bell. She exhaled and grinned up at her boss. “Not at all, just filling you in on everything.”

“Do you have a list I should know about? Ad for workshops. Check. Article about block party. Check. Get Patrick married off. Check.”

“Something like that. I can give you a full list later.”

“Thanks, I’d appreciate that.” He grinned and pulled keys out of his pocket. “Does she have the light fixture or do I need to take one?”

“She has it.” She grabbed a piece of paper off the counter and wrote out the address. “Here you go.”

“I’m not sure if I’m going to thank you for this.”

“You will.”

He left and Gracie turned her attention to the customer at the front of the store. She smiled at Mr. Fibley, once the pharmacist in town. Now that the drugstore had closed, he spent his days at the bookstore and sometimes visiting Ann Mars at This ’N’ That. He was a dapper little man with a sweet smile.

“Mr. Fibley, what can I help you with?”

He looked around the store. “I haven’t been in here yet and I really thought I ought to come check it out.”

“Oh, I see.” Gracie shoved her hands into the loose pockets of the apron and waited.

“I thought I might need lightbulbs. Do you carry lightbulbs?”

“We do. What kind do you need?”

“Oh, those expensive energy savers, I suppose. My niece told me they last forever.”

“They do last awhile.” She took him by the arm and they walked through the store to the aisle with bulbs and other home items.

“Are you doing okay, Gracie?” he asked, leaning in to whisper when they reached the lightbulbs.

Gracie smiled and nodded, but she couldn’t answer because his kindness caused an immediate tightness in her throat and a sudden sting of tears behind her eyes.

He patted her arm. “I know that people are being hard on you, but you’ll get through this. I’ve watched you grow up and you’ve always been a fighter.”

“Thank you, Mr. Fibley.”

“There, those are the lightbulbs.” He laughed a little as he reached for two boxes. “And you thought I just came in here to stick my nose in your business. You know, people ought to be shopping local. Prices might be a little higher, but with the price of gas, it doesn’t make sense to drive to the city for things we can get right here.”

“I agree, Mr. Fibley. Hopefully, we can convince people that we’re right.”

They walked back to the register and Gracie rang up the lightbulbs. Mr. Fibley took the paper bag and gave her another sweet smile.

“You’ll be just fine, Gracie Wilson.”

“Thank you, sir.”

He winked and then he left, taking slow steps, examining the store as he went. At the door he stopped to admire bird feeders, and then, with a wave back at her, he walked out the door.

A few minutes later she heard the rumble of a motorcycle. She walked to the front of the store and peeked out. The dog she’d been feeding for the past few days looked up from his place on the doormat and wagged his tail. She’d brought a food and water bowl today and she’d fed him at the back door. He seemed nice enough and didn’t even bother to get up when people walked past. Maybe he should have a name if he was going to stick around? She’d have to think about that.

She opened the door and reached to pet his wiry head. He licked her hand and then lost interest. A few parking spaces down from the store, she spotted her brother Evan getting off his bike. He hooked the helmet over the handlebar and raked a hand through his unruly dark hair. Sunglasses hid the black eye he’d gotten the previous day when a bull tossed him and then slammed a horn into his cheek.





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