The Bride Wore Starlight (21 page)

He left.

She didn't feel a shred of relief.

A
LEC TOSSED HIS
briefcase across the driver's seat of his truck to the passenger side and climbed behind the wheel, giving the door to the Breswell Trucking building a visual check. Locked and secured. He scanned the yard one last time for anything unusual, saw nothing but the small fleet of four trucks that weren't currently out on runs, and started the pickup. He'd stayed as long as he could justify. He had to go home.

He'd have blown it off and gone into Jackson for distraction if Rowan hadn't been waiting for him. Sitting in his stark, recently moved-into living room alone with his dog, the television, and a can of soup for company had lost its appeal over the past two days. Since the weekend's two disastrous days—dealing with Vince's grinding push to have him rejoin the rodeo topped off by effing it up with Joely—he didn't want to sit anywhere he'd have time and space to think.

He could take Rowan with him and go to that warehouse pet emporium in Jackson where dogs could accompany their owners into the store. It might be entertaining, or at least distracting, to watch people give wide berth to his monstrous pet. They could stop for fast food—Rowan liked a greasy burger as much as the next human.

By the time she was greeting him in her usual indecorous way, he'd decided to follow his plan. He was a big boy who'd survived happily without rodeo or Joely Crockett for the past three-plus years. He didn't need to sit on his sorry ass and contemplate navel lint just because he'd had a bad weekend.

“How about we go for a ride?” he said as he opened the door to the back. Rowan hesitated and looked up, backing away from the deck. She knew the word “ride.” “No, you go out first. I'll check e-mail and then we'll leave.”

She slipped out the door, and he closed it behind her. She eyed him balefully for a moment and then clumped down the steps like a sullen child. Alec made his way to the bedroom, unbuttoning his shirt as he went. He didn't have a fancy job where he needed ties or coats. In fact most of his coworkers were ex-truckers who preferred plaid cotton or logo-fronted hoodies. His wardrobe choice was generally casual dress slacks and button-down shirts with the occasional polo thrown in. He made it a point to avoid anything that hinted of western yokes, horse motifs, or cowboy culture. No boots, no ostentatious buckles. Definitely no cowboy hat. He still loved jeans and boots, but he wasn't going to advertise it at Breswell. The less often they remembered him as Alec Morrissey, the rodeo champion, the better.

He'd been there just shy of two months, and they were already taking him seriously. He'd moved from being a simple dispatcher for the medium-sized transport company to working with the schedulers. He was efficient and kept his mouth shut, and they all forgot, most of the time, he was anything but a nobody working his way up. The persona he was developing there helped him forget, too. He didn't honestly want to stay in the low-level job for long. There wasn't exactly potential for riches even if he rose to the top in a few years, but it was honest work. It paid a salary good enough to live on and kept him far away from the Jackson rodeo scene. Assuming he could keep Vince's annoying ideas from infiltrating his life, the job would serve him well until he decided what he wanted to do when he grew up. He wasn't in a hurry.

His shirt went into an old green laundry basket that served as a hamper. He'd worn the shirt twice, he could wash it. He unzipped his pants, pulled them down, and sat on the edge of the mattress in his boxers. With a sigh he eased his own leg out of the prosthetic socket and let the artificial limb slide to the floor. He pulled the pants all the way off and tossed them after the shirt. He rubbed the stump of his leg absently, glad for the relief from the pressure, and tried to decide if he wanted to go to town in shorts and play the wounded vet game, or just be normal as he usually was. It was warm today—he'd imagined the cooler shorts—but then the image of Joely standing beside him, seeing him bare-chested in his cotton boxers from Target sitting on the edge of his bed with half a leg sticking out like an appendage from his knee, gripped him.

For the first time in a very long while—years perhaps—his leg embarrassed him. He had no reason to think she'd react badly to seeing the empty space between the stump and the floor, but he suddenly didn't want to find out. Not that there was any chance of it happening; he just couldn't stand the thought of not being whole in front of her.

He stood and hopped the four feet to his walk-in closet, using a strategically placed dresser and chair as guides along the way. He grabbed his dynamic walking foot and jammed it on. Then he picked his most comfortable jeans off the floor where they lived when not on his body or in the wash. A few moments later, he was dressed, his work shoes had been swapped for running shoes, and his embarrassment had turned to anger.

Who was this girl that she made him change his routine mentally and physically just to get away from the memory of her slender curves, her bright smile, and her snappy comebacks? People met other people all the time. They went in and out of each other's lives, and nobody was the worse for the experience. Joely was changing something he didn't want her to change. She'd started out as a good deed, but she'd turned into a living, breathing, smart and insightful person. She'd dug beneath his façade. She'd exposed the little lies he'd told himself about being healed, even while she was healing herself. He didn't like that part. He wanted to be glad that he'd given her a taste of what was to come and let her go. Instead she was working her way into his life whether either of them wanted it or not.

Rowan stood by the patio door, her tail wagging her entire body. When Alec slid the door open, the dog jumped in and trotted straight to the garage door. He shook his head.

“You scare me,” he said. “You aren't supposed to understand and process human speech. And I never even said anything about a hamburger.”

Rowan yipped and looked pleadingly over her shoulder.

“Still have to make a quick check of e-mail,” Alec said. “Come get your treat.”

He settled Rowan temporarily with her bone and went to the computer. He went through the junk mail that showed up every day and scrolled down a screen before he saw the message from Vince. His finger froze over the name but only for a moment. He clicked and read.

“Here are mock-ups of two new flyers. If you approve the pictures I'll send them to the printer tomorrow. Ghost Pepper's first rodeo will be July fourth—that's just over three weeks. C'mon, man, put it on your calendar. Even if you're just sitting in the bleachers, you know you should be there. Your lady will be. I talked to one of her sisters about Paradise Ranch being a sponsor for the event that night. She was excited and agreed, and she promised to bring a big group from the ranch to watch. I asked her please to try and get the former Miss Wyoming to come. Yes, jackass, I did my homework on you and on her. Let me know about the flyers. P.S.—I lied. This is all about the bet and the hat.”

Alec bolted to his feet, running his hand roughly through his hair. Damn. Damn. Damn it. The man was shameless. He dared to mention the hat after everything Alec had warned? And the scumbag had invited Joely to participate? That was below the belt.

After a minute the frustration abated. It didn't matter anymore, he reminded himself. Joely was not his lady. There'd never been anything between them, and she could certainly do as she liked. Still, he blew out a hard breath, trying to ignore the battalion of wings beating through his chest at the memories of the girl who didn't matter.

He sat back down and clicked on one of the attachments. He had to admit the flyer was eye-catching. Colorful lettering at the top spelled out Jackson Hole Rodeo. The background picture showed the beautiful low mountains surrounding the rodeo grounds. In the middle was his picture—Ghost Pepper fully airborne, his back arched beneath his saddle and his body twisted in two directions—that insane move Alec had studied to no avail until his eyes had practically melted out of his head. Alec himself was stretched straight up, heels at the horse's neck, one arm raised in perfect position. The second flyer's picture showed Ghost Pepper head-on, and Alec was the airborne one, his legs and arms splayed on his way to eating dirt.

“Spice up your summer nights. Treat yourself to Ghost Pepper's return at the Jackson Hole Rodeo,” read the first sign.

“Ghost Pepper—the hottest of the hot broncs: back for the summer at Jackson Hole Rodeo,” said the other.

Alec studied them, distracting himself from his anger. After a few more minutes he hit reply and typed quickly.

“The pictures are fine. Make the headlines punchier—they're too windy like a girl wrote them. Use something like, ‘He's back. And nobody can handle a Ghost Pepper.' Or ‘Ghost Pepper returns . . . still so hot, cowboys eat dirt to cool down.' Not coming to the rodeo. Don't bring up the damn hat again.”

He hit send before he could rethink his reply, and then he shut down the computer before crazy Vince could respond. The man was probably sitting there waiting for Alec's message.

“Let's go,” he called to Rowan. “Ride in the car?”

She jumped to her feet and raced back to the garage door. “Let me grab my sweatshirt in case we stay out past dark,” he said and went to the bedroom. He grabbed a zippered gray Wisconsin Badgers hoodie off the shelf in his closet, and his eyes drifted to the square, white box pushed as far back onto one top shelf as he'd been able to get it.

Anger swelled up against grief, and his throat closed with pain. He lifted his arms to reach for the box, but he stopped himself with effort.

No. He hadn't looked in the box in nearly four years. He wasn't going to do it now. Damn Vince for dragging all the memories and feelings back into play. The hat stayed where it was. If he were a stronger person he'd get rid of it, but the mere idea of such a thing was ludicrous. He wasn't a stronger person.

He pushed back the pictures of Buzz and his cocky, hell-raising grin taking everybody in and inviting each one to love him—which they inevitably had. “Keep this safe,” he'd said of the hat. “It could be yours. You take that horse to eight seconds, and I'll take over the black hat when I get back.”

Alec didn't want the hat. But it wasn't going back to being the object of a bar bet made over ill-advised tequila shots either. Vince could shove tequila bets up where the sun didn't shine until his ass got drunk. He wasn't getting possession of Buzz's ghost.

“It's your fault,” Alec said aloud, his voice shaking. He hadn't talked to his cousin's ghost in years either. “You had to fall in love with the army life, you freak. If you'd come home with me, come back to the life you were supposed to love, I wouldn't give a flying shit about Vince Newton, I'd still have my leg, and I'd probably have won another championship on the back of the frickin' horse. So, yeah, I blame you.”

He'd made the same speech to Buzz many times in the past. He knew his ghostly cousin was haunting the corner of some bar somewhere, laughing uproariously, and telling all his ghost drinking buddies that
his
cousin was hilarious.

“I'm serious this time,” Alec said, still angry and feeling like an imbecile for talking to a half-empty closet.

He shut off the closet light, left the room, and grabbed Rowan's leash off the old table by the front door. All the way into the city, Rowan grinned out her opened window while the wind whipped her ears back and flapped her doggy lips so her teeth were bared to passing cars. By the time they reached the pet store, Alec's anger, if not every bit of fresh sadness, had dissipated and he knew he'd made the right decision to leave home.

Rowan did her job well, padding regally beside him down the aisles as he picked up a large bag of her dog food, two boxes of the bones she loved, and an expensive bag of meatier treats for special occasions. Two women oohed over her—true dog lovers. But two gave her obvious wide berths, their eyes reflecting the uncertainty that such an enormous animal could actually be safe. And when they turned down the toy aisle so Rowan could browse, a small girl of about ten actually let out a scream. It was all evilly satisfying.

It was after the child calmed down that a medium-sized beagle rounded the corner of the aisle, trailing a leash but no owner.

“Oscar! Oscar, you naughty boy, you come right back here.”

The voice was vaguely familiar, but he couldn't place it until Oscar stopped stock still in front of Rowan and began to bay as if he'd found a moose or treed a mountain lion. His owner slipped in behind him and scooped him into her arms. “I'm so sorry,” she said and looked up. Then she laughed, a smile of pure delight spreading across a wide, lush mouth. The girl who'd tried to murder Joely all those twenty years ago. He held in a smile of his own.

“Why, Alec Morrissey! I think I'm about to have a fan girl moment right here. Between you and that gorgeous dog, a couple of fantasies just came true.”

“That's nice of you, Heidi wasn't it?”

He wouldn't have thought her mouth could stretch any wider, but it did. “You remembered! I'm honored. And, actually, this is serendipity. I've had a question for you for weeks and haven't known how to find you.”

“I guess it's our lucky day.” He smiled as he lied.

J
OELY MET
T
IM
in Wolf Paw Pass's small town park after a solitary dinner of Kraft Mac and Cheese and a ballpark-type hot dog. She was finding the brainless world of processed dinners to be all the gourmet cooking she could deal with since the weekend, even though her restaurant-owning sisters would have been horrified.

She'd swallowed her pride and rolled herself the four blocks from her apartment in her wheelchair. She'd worn raw, sore spots into her armpits by using her crutches exclusively for the past week. She could navigate the sidewalks more quickly in the chair, and she supposed it wouldn't hurt for Tim to imagine her as slightly helpless. She needed all the sympathy she could get from the man, and there wasn't an overabundance of it spilling from his Gucci-lovin' heart.

She could see he already waited for her when she propelled her chair along the walkway beside the gazebo in the very center of the park and made for the long, low open-sided pavilion that had stood along the park's west side for as long as Joely could remember. She wasn't late, but Tim was early as always. She tamped down her irritation. She'd asked him to meet here because it was anonymous and far more private than the close-set tables at Dottie's or the few booths at Ina's.

To her surprise, he smiled as she drew closer, stood up, and actually met her before she reached him. He scooted behind her and took the chair handles in order to push. Shock robbed her of any ability to protest, and she let him push her to the end of a heavy, wooden picnic table. A brown-and-white-striped bag from the bakery at the other end of town sat on the top.

“Thanks for finally meeting me,” he said. “I do need to leave tomorrow despite what I said. I think we'd both like to finish this business.”

Business.
That's what their time together had been reduced to. She didn't feel any grief, just a slow, sad burn.

“I would,” she said. “So I have a request, and then I'll sign.” She pulled the thick envelope of papers out of an oversized purse wedged between her and the side of the chair.

He nodded and opened the bag on the table.

“Have dessert,” he said. “A peace offering. And before you make your request, let me make you
my
offer.”

“You have an offer?”

He drew a giant, chocolate-covered bismark from the bag along with a napkin and handed it to her. Despite her gourmet meal of orange-sauced macaroni, Joely's mouth watered, and her attitude toward the man beside her nearly softened.

“Oh my gosh,” she said.

“Your favorite as I recall.”

Suspicion crept into her charitable mood. “What do you want?”

He had the grace to laugh self-deprecatingly. “I haven't been very nice lately, have I?”

“What's the saying? I'm not even going to dignify that with a reply. Don't start being nice now. I don't like scary movies.”

He shook his head, a smile still playing on his lips. “I'm nervous about the baby, a wedding, all of that. I haven't been myself. I'm sorry.”

Oh, sweetheart
, she thought.
You don't know yourself very well then. This week has been a crash course in classic Tim Foster.
She took a bite of the pastry, and a soft, sweet burst of vanilla cream danced across her tongue. She closed her eyes and almost groaned. Let him say whatever he wanted.

“I know you've tried every legal avenue in your power to get back at me,” he said. “I suppose I understand that. And I know you're struggling right now with all the medical costs. I'm glad I could help you with those.”

“That's big of you,” she said, licking cream from her finger. “Since I did nothing to add value to the marriage or the home and wasn't really entitled to VA health care—which we all help pay for with our taxes. Rightfully so, I might add.”

He sighed as if preparing to explain life to an argumentative child. “Don't make this so difficult, Jo. I'm trying to tell you that I know things are tough right now. It's not looking like the insurance companies are going to settle anytime soon.”

She paused over another bite of the bismark. “How do you know that?”

“Honey, I'm your husband. All I had to do was ask.”

She set the pastry down with deliberate care. “You are not my husband. Not in any way that counts. You're living with another woman, you got her pregnant while legally married to me, you've invited me off your insurance even though until the judge signs this decree I'm legally entitled, and it's my coverage, too. So, if I ever hear that you've looked into my personal affairs again, I'll—”

“Hold on now,” he said and held up a hand. “I'm sorry. I hear what you're saying. I only went to find out the status of your claim, so I could make a reasonable offer. I didn't find out anything that personal.”

“Just spit it out, Tim, so I can present my case, and we can be done.”

“Fine. I'm not hard-hearted. I understand that I have money, and things are tight for you at the moment. I'd like to offer you a stipend for spousal support.”

She stared in surprise. This was what she'd come for. “Oh?” she asked.

“Yes. Five hundred dollars a month for the next year. No strings attached except that you sign an agreement that it's a gift, it won't be used for anything but living expenses, and you won't ask for more at the end of the year. That's all just so it doesn't need to be put into legalese on the divorce papers, and I can use it on my taxes.”

The evening light fogged to an angry red in front of her eyes, and with dizzying disbelief she tried to think of a response that wouldn't get her into trouble. Something Alec had said two days before roared through her brain. “Overcoming his dickwaddedness will send a much stronger signal than tying yourself to him financially.”

She'd ignored him, but in a way Alec was right. If she agreed to this “stipend,” Tim wouldn't see it as payment for wrongdoing. She'd be tied to an ex-husband for another year in a deal that made her nothing but his charity case. And he could brag about how charitable he was being—out of the goodness of his heart?

Without a word she picked up the envelope containing the divorce papers. She drew out the stack, flipped to the last page and dug briefly in her bag for a pen. With a quick, fluid hand she signed.

“What you just said to me was almost a bigger insult than having the affair.” She flipped the sheaf of papers that now contained her declaration of independence back in order, folded them carefully, and placed them in the envelope. Before she slid it across the table she fixed him with a steady gaze he couldn't dodge. “You offered to pay me off so you wouldn't ever have to admit you did anything wrong. I'm not even sure what that would have made me—something not very admirable.

“Well, you can have what you want, and you don't have to pay me a cent. I want no ties to you or your new family, and good luck to you. But I want you to remember something. You and I know what really happened. You know exactly what you did to me, to us, and you know it was cowardly and, despite what you tried to claim, very hard-hearted. Tell people whatever you want now. That I was a terrible wife, that I made your life miserable, couldn't satisfy you, whatever. And you can tell them that in the end I lost my looks and could no longer remotely satisfy your need for arm candy.”

“Joely, for crying out loud—”

She shushed him—something she usually considered the height of rudeness. There wasn't a lot of satisfaction in it, but his shock and slight confusion gave her enough for the moment.

“You don't get the last word this time. That's the only stipulation I'm putting on this signature.” She finally placed the envelope in front of him.

“Jo, I'm—”

“No. There's absolutely nothing for you to say. Not sorry, not good-bye, not thank you. Nothing. Your chance to say anything ended when you left me lying in a hospital bed. Alone. You have two choices right now. Sit here until I'm gone and then get on a plane. Or get up and walk in that direction”—she pointed away from Mountain Street—“and take a slightly longer route to your plane.”

She pushed away from the table and oriented her chair to leave. “Oh, and I expect those papers to be filed tomorrow.”

She pushed away, looking inside herself for emotion—sadness, relief, anger, lightness, anything would have been fine. She was only numb. Fully expecting Tim to ignore her order and speak, she prepared her verbal shutdowns, but the final insult was his absolute silence. When she'd nearly reached the edge of the park, she took a quick glance over her shoulder. He was gone.

T
HE MAIN STREET
was surprisingly busy for a Tuesday evening at eight o'clock. Most businesses were closed with the exception of the eating establishments and the main souvenir shop, Wanda's Wolf Paw Gifts. Wolf Paw Pass was a minor tourist destination. People came for the tiny Museum of Ranching at the edge of town, the good food at Dottie's, and now the Basecamp Grill, with its local craft beer, Wolfheart, that was gaining astounding regional popularity. But even for a pretty evening, with the sun starting to bathe the mountains in purple, the town seemed unusually bustling.

She stopped beside one lodgepole pine leg of the hand-hewn sign welcoming people to Founder's Park. Maneuvering to the outside of the pole where she was half-obscured by ornamental shrubbery, she let herself wilt into the chair seat and watch the glut of people. Slowly she surfaced from her detachment and let the shock of what she'd just done start to fill her. Should she be crying? Laughing? How was a person supposed to feel after a divorce? Why would she feel anything different from what she'd been feeling for a year? What stupidity had she shown turning down five hundred dollars a month? And then, without warning, the euphoria started to bubble up inside her. She'd done it. She'd freed herself—her signature had sealed the future. She'd given the man everything he wanted and let him off scot-free, and yet? Everything inside her felt like she'd won. The better person had rolled away with the last word and all the dignity. Even if she was the only one who knew that—it was enough.

She lifted her eyes, and the bottom dropped out of her newfound optimism, draining the joy as quickly as it had filled her. Directly across the street, beneath Ina's pretty, striped awning, Alec stood six inches from Heidi Bisset, his bicep bulging nicely beneath the tips of her moving fingers, their long elegance clear even from Joely's distance.

Pain rose from behind her heart, and her throat filled with suffocating down fluff, as if someone had stuffed socks or pillows—or a pair of buns-high Daisy Dukes—in her mouth to asphyxiate her. A half gasp, half cry escaped through the stuffing, and Joely covered her mouth. Alec tossed back his head and laughed. Laughed! Ridiculous tears beaded in Joely's eyes. She couldn't hear words, but Heidi clearly cajoled him, switching from stroking his muscle to wrapping it with those fingers and tugging him toward Ina's door. For one second Joely held out hope as Alec put up one hand in protest. But it was short-lived. He laughed again, and followed her skimpy-shorted, cowboy-booted figure toward the door.

She had no reason to be upset. None. She'd told Alec to go take a hike.

But, please, Lord, not with Heidi Bisset.

“Your mouth is open and your eyes are shining. You must know the woman with your gentleman friend across the way. I'm guessing you might even be unhappy about it.”

Joely turned toward the voice that rumbled deep and quietly almost in her ear, refined, slightly accented. Mayberry, now without his coat or hat but with the same brown, cuffed trousers and the addition of a blue, Mr. Rogers-style zip-front cardigan, stood beneath the park sign. She could see the gray ponytail fully now, surprisingly thick with a slight wave. It hung to the base of his neck, a peculiar contrast to the stodgy sweater.

“Mr. Mayberry!”

“Miss Crockett, I apologize for intruding, but you seem upset.”

She had no idea how to respond. She didn't know this man from a potential serial killer, and it dawned on her that she'd never followed up with her grandmother on the contents of his note. How could she have forgotten? Yet his eyes were kindly and his concern sincere.

“I'm fine. It's been a long day, and I'm trying to decide if I want to brave the foot traffic with my bulky chair.”

“And you're seeing things that upset you.” He lifted his head toward the ice cream shop across the street, where Alec's broad shoulders and tapered waistline were just disappearing through the door.

“Really, I don't think it's—”

“Any of my business. You're quite right. But you were with him the last time we met as I recall. I thought perhaps, this is a tryst that shouldn't have been for public consumption.”

She wanted to laugh at the man's proper speech and cry at his observation. He was more than an enigma and certainly far less than an appropriate confidant, but the urge to unload about the vague cruelties of the male gender was strong. She definitely wished she hadn't publicly consumed the . . . tryst. Those seconds of happy relief just before she'd seen Alec and Heidi were already a faded memory.

“Alec and I are just new acquaintances,” she said and was surprised by the stab of sadness the admission caused.

“Really?” He smiled.

“I met him at my sisters' wedding less than three weeks ago. So yes, really.”

“Sometimes, things happen very quickly.”

“Well, not in this case, so I think you've read the situation wrong.”

He bent slightly forward and rested one wrinkled hand on the back handle of her chair. “Good people are usually very bad liars.”

“Mr. Mayberry, you don't know me. I think this is slightly . . . inappropriate.”

“No need for the ‘mister.' It's just Mayberry.”