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Besides, she had much bigger problems than a little embarrassment. No matter what her father said, Kylie knew that he’d been counting on Vincent’s grandfather to buy out his share of the ranch in which they’d invested together. If only her dad hadn’t followed Samuel’s advice and put up Jones Feed & Supply as collateral for the loan. If only he hadn’t bought into the ranch with Samuel in the first place. If only Vincent could have been trustworthy. If only …
Sunday morning dawned bright and beautiful. The doves nesting in the bigtooth maple outside her open bedroom window cooed and gurgled in the cool morning air.
Kylie rolled onto her back, shoving away the covers on her bed, but she did not immediately rise. Zach Clayton’s words from the night before had played through her head incessantly.
No woman in her right mind would get involved with Vincent.
Sadly, Zach Clayton had that right. Kylie could admit now that she hadn’t been in her right mind when she’d agreed to marry Vincent.
Desperation had driven her to consider his proposal, but she had been wrong to accept. She didn’t love him. She barely even liked him, but somehow she had convinced herself that she should marry him. Idiot that she was, she had believed that he cared for her and that he would, at the very least, be a faithful husband. Thankfully she had realized the truth before saying her vows.
Still, she had been a ninny to let it get that far. Oh, she’d told herself that she could change him, but in truth she’d gotten so carried away by her hopes for her family and her delight in planning the wedding that she’d almost forgotten that the price for those things would be a lifetime of marriage to Vincent.
She considered pulling the covers over her head and pretending that yesterday hadn’t happened, but that would serve no purpose, and it might even make things worse. It would be best to show up at the church where she’d intended to be married with her head held high. Besides, her soul craved the healing balm of worship.
At least she need not fear running into Vincent there. Her ex had made it clear that he had little use for “organized religion.” Actually, it would have been much more likely that he’d have appeared at the diner last night, but she hadn’t considered that at the time. Thank goodness he’d apparently had something else to keep him busy last night. Or someone.
The door to the hallway opened, and her little sister bounced into the room. A cheerleader and distance runner, the energetic seventeen-year-old had a disposition as sunny as her long, yellow-gold hair. Kylie’s own plain brown was crinkly curly, but Mariette’s curls were as bouncy as Mariette herself. With eyes like jade instead of moss, Mariette outshone Kylie in every way, and Kylie couldn’t have been more proud of her. Having graduated as valedictorian of her class, Mariette had landed a scholarship to a small college in New Mexico where she expected to run track, but Kylie knew the scholarship wouldn’t cover everything. They’d all have to pull together to keep her sister in school.
“Oh, you’re awake already,” Mariette said. She dropped down onto the bed with one long, slender leg folded beneath her. “You look tired. Didn’t you sleep well?”
Kylie sighed and shook her head. “I feel so stupid. I had convinced myself that Vincent was God’s will for me, for all of us. I couldn’t have been more wrong.”
Mariette patted her hand. “It’s okay, sis. Mom says maybe we can sell the dress. Technically, it was never used, you know. I mean, nobody got married in it.”
Kylie laughed. “That’s true. I wore it for maybe an hour.” Finding the dress and planning the wedding had been the most enjoyable part of her engagement, and she knew any number of Internet sites where she could “remarket” the dress and decorations. Kylie had become something of an expert when it came to finding wedding bargains online.
Mariette popped up off the bed. “Mom’s making a huuuge breakfast, so find an appetite. Okay?”
Kylie nodded, smiling. Usually they all fended for themselves. Lynette Jones worked side-by-side with her husband at the Feed & Supply, so no one expected her to run a short order kitchen at home. However, whenever anything threatened the family, whenever anyone needed support, she broke out the pots and pans. Grateful for a loving family, Kylie found, to her surprise, that she actually had an appetite this morning.
She went to the table twenty minutes later in her bathrobe, freshly showered, her wet hair streaming down her back.
“I’m glad not to have to face holidays with that slimy old man,” she declared, meaning Samuel.
A smaller, leaner version of her own daughters, Lynette seemed trim and fit next to her husband’s larger, rounder form. While his kinky blond hair thinned into nonexistence, her long, wavy locks had silvered to the point where the original golden brown had all but disappeared.
“Now, now, sugar pie,” Gene said mildly, dipping his pancake into heated syrup. “You know what the lawyer said.”
“Just because there’s no proof,” she retorted, “doesn’t mean Samuel Clayton didn’t cheat us. I don’t care what he says—he had to know those assay reports were incorrect. He just wanted someone else to help him pay for his ranch.” She exhaled sharply. “Now he’s running cattle, and we’re making payments on land we can’t afford to use and no one wants to mine. At least we don’t have to call him family.”
Kylie had long known her mother’s feelings toward Vincent’s grandfather, but Samuel had not forced her father to take out that loan, after all. It did seem odd, though, that after seeking a partner for the venture, he’d come up with the cash to purchase cattle on his own. Meanwhile, Kylie’s parents struggled with onerous loan payments. When it had become obvious that no mining company was interested in going after the smattering of silver on the place, Kylie had left college and come home to help. Together, she and her parents had caught up the payments and kept them current, but doing so left very little to spare. One bad month at Jones Feed & Supply and they’d be lost.
But, Kylie thought guiltily, if the business went to the bank, her father would have to move the family back to Denver to find work, and she would leave Clayton behind once and for all. Maybe she could finish school then and find a way to open that bridal shop in Denver that she’d always wanted.
“I thought Vincent was okay,” her sister admitted, “but I’m glad you didn’t marry him. He doesn’t deserve you.”
Kylie felt tears well up in her eyes. How selfish of her to think of her own desires and ambitions when her sister’s remained at risk and her parents’ business teetered on the brink of disaster!
“You wouldn’t be at all prejudiced, of course,” she managed, finishing up her breakfast.
“I certainly would,” Mariette admitted with a cheeky grin.
Laughing despite herself, Kylie pushed back from the table and went to dress.
Almost an hour later, the entire family piled into the battered white, dualie pickup truck for the almost two-mile ride into town. Gene and Lynette had bought the small acreage and picturesque log house on Waxwing Road—along with the business in town—from Edison Wilmont and his wife, who had retired to Durango to be near their daughter. It was a beautiful place built only a decade or so ago after the original frame house had burned.
Kylie had been content here throughout high school, but when she’d gone to Denver for college, she hadn’t intended to return to Clayton except for visits. She’d planned a career in business, but only when she’d interned at one of the city’s largest bridal shops had she found her calling. She loved putting together weddings and had quickly made up her mind that she wanted her own business as a wedding planner.
For the good of her family, she’d tried to put that dream aside when she’d agreed to marry Vincent, but now it came roaring back to life. Sadly, she didn’t see that dream coming true anytime soon, but maybe things would be different once Mariette finished college. Until then, Kylie was well and truly trapped in Clayton, Colorado.
But it wouldn’t always be that way, she promised herself, and she would never again compromise her dream. Doing so had been a grave mistake.
With that silent vow, she turned her thoughts elsewhere and immediately found herself wondering if Deputy Sheriff Zach Clayton would be in church today. Or did he, like the other Clayton men of her acquaintance, believe that he did not “need” to attend worship?
Knowing what he must think of her, she almost hoped that he would not be there. The day promised to be challenging enough. However, she hated to think that he was no different from Vincent. That would be sad, indeed. Sad and, in a way she didn’t want to examine too closely, very disappointing.
Chapter Three
He had to hand it to her, Zach thought, watching Kylie Jones join the congregation in singing a patriotic hymn. Despite her shadowed eyes and less than animated expression, the girl seemed determined to stand her ground openly. Deep down, Zach admired her for that. Unfortunately, that hadn’t kept him from making a ham-handed statement that had obviously offended her last night. And who could blame her?
He noted that her family seemed very supportive. That included the golden-haired teenager who hovered protectively at Kylie’s side. Given the resemblance, Zach assumed the blonde to be Kylie’s younger sister. Obviously, the girls took after their mother.
Like nearly everyone else in the building, Kylie had dressed in keeping with the Independence Day observance, but Zach couldn’t help wondering if she’d chosen white deliberately. Of course, yesterday’s ivory satin confection could not truly be compared with today’s white denim skirt and sleeveless knit top emblazoned on one shoulder with a red star trailing a sparkly blue trail. Still, it reminded him of his first sight of her, a dream in satin flying across the corner of the greensward. He particularly remembered the way the hip-length veil had floated behind her as she’d run toward him.
He marveled at the length of her vibrant hair. Caught back with a wide, red, knit band at the crown of her head, the crinkly ends hung all the way to her narrow waist. His fingers itched to touch that hair, to test its texture and weight. It looked like a soft, misty, light-golden-brown cloud.
Realizing that he was not paying attention to the service, Zach shifted his gaze to the hymnal in his hand, following along as the others sang. Because his singing sounded like a bullfrog in full throat, he never joined in, but he’d found that not singing actually heightened his appreciation of the music and allowed him to concentrate more on the words. When he could keep himself from staring at a pretty girl displaying almost heroic bravery.
He managed to confine his gaze to a path between his Bible and the pulpit as the pastor delivered the sermon. Quite a sermon it turned out to be, too, referencing both the twelfth chapter of Mark, where Jesus was asked about paying taxes, and the Gospel of John, Chapter two, which described Jesus driving the money changers from the temple. The pastor managed to tie both together into a coherent argument for patriotic duty superseded only by righteous zeal.
Having met the man just twice, once a few years earlier at his mom’s funeral and again recently at his grandfather’s, Zach knew Reverend West only slightly. The pastor had some interesting ideas and seemed a vibrant presence in the little church, which had become, in many ways, the hub of the town. Brooke had told him that the reverend, rather than the mayor, had even spearheaded the community-wide picnic on the green. Otherwise, she’d said, the Independence Day tradition would have died. Some city head Pauley had turned out to be if the pastor of the church had been required to step in and plan a community event.
At the end of the service, Zach made it to the door well ahead of Kylie and her family simply because he’d been sitting closer to the back of the sanctuary. Reverend West, a tall, bulky man in his forties with the build of a football player, warm brown eyes and thick, caramel-colored hair, gave Zach’s hand a hearty shake and welcomed him to town in his capacity as the deputy sheriff.
“It’s good there was no lapse in assignment,” he said. “Clayton’s no worse than any other small town, I suppose, but I think many are comforted to know that we didn’t have to wait months for a replacement deputy.”
“Guess it’s God’s timing, as my mother would say,” Zach replied with a smile.
“Yes, Marion would say that,” the pastor, whose first name was John, agreed.
Zach stepped to one side, and they chatted a few moments more between other handshakes and greetings until Zach moved farther away.
“Glad to have seen you here today,” the pastor told him, turning to give a frail, elderly woman his attention.
She looked rather like old Mrs. Rader, only even smaller and more wizened. She seemed distressed. The pastor bent low to listen to what she had to say. Zach hovered at a polite distance, his senses alerted to trouble, while Brooke and Gabe visited and laughed with friends at the bottom of the steps.
Zach first realized that Kylie had slipped past the traffic jam in the doorway when she appeared at his elbow and muttered what sounded like, “It’s her granddaughter.”
Copying Reverend West, Zach bent his head to her in an attempt to provide some privacy. “I beg your pardon?”
“Mrs. Rader.”
“Ah. I thought that was her.”
“She’s concerned about her granddaughter. Seems Sherilyn didn’t come home last night.”
“I see.” He glanced at the elderly woman. “Maybe I should introduce myself.”
Kylie shrugged. “If you’re going to search for Sherilyn, start at Vincent’s.”
“Vincent’s?”
“She was in the car with him yesterday.” Turning to gaze out over the parking lot, Kylie nodded. “Right over there.”
“She’s the one you caught him with,” Zach surmised quietly.
“Yep.” Kylie moved toward the steps, and he ambled up beside her.
“Miss Jones.”
“Hm?” Kylie asked.
“About what I said last night … I didn’t mean that as an insult. I spoke without thinking.”
She glanced at him, nodded and dropped her chin. “I know.”
“I didn’t mean to imply that you aren’t … Weren’t …”
“In my right mind,” she supplied helpfully, stepping down.
“It’s just that I spent my entire childhood around Vincent,” he said, keeping up with her, “and I’ve seen some things beneath his charming exterior that …” He broke off, realizing with some puzzlement that he had said more than he normally would have. Feeling oddly exposed, he pulled his sunshades from his coat pocket and slid them on.
She sent a look up at him from beneath the thick sweep of her lashes. “You were right,” she said quietly. “I was foolish and desperate.”
Uncertain what to say to that, he simply stared at her until she stepped down onto the ground and walked toward his sister’s party. Zach followed, automatically reconnoitering the area, noting who got into which car and who stood and gabbed with whom. Brooke and Gabe now chatted with a thin redhead and a little girl, maybe nine or ten years of age, wearing pink eyeglasses. As Kylie approached, the woman and child turned to greet her. The woman looked older than he’d first assumed her to be and seemed conspicuously frail. The child resembled a blond, blue-eyed doll.
“Do you know the Perrys?” Kylie asked. Zach shook his head as Brooke made the introductions.
“This is Darlene and her daughter, Macy.”
“Hello.”
“My brother, Zach.”
“Oh, you’re the new deputy sheriff,” Darlene said. “Nice to meet you.”
“Likewise.”
The girl shaded her eyes with a hand and looked up at him shyly. “You’re tall.”
“Mmm-hmm, and you’re pretty.”
She gave him a tiny smile and then ducked her head bashfully. Suddenly recognition hit him square in the chest. He looked at his sister then at Gabe and Kylie, but obviously none of them saw it. They wouldn’t, of course. How could they know that Macy Perry, with that long blond hair, bright blue eyes and single dimple in her left cheek, looked exactly like Brooke at the same age? Or did his mind play tricks on him? Maybe being at home again had colored his perceptions, but his cop sense told him otherwise.
Talk turned to the Independence Day picnic. Kylie said something about having to serve food, but Zach listened with just half an ear while trying not to stare at Macy Perry. It wasn’t unusual for two unrelated people to look alike, of course, but in a town filled with Claytons, such resemblance did not seem random. Who, he wondered, glancing around at the thinning crowd, was Macy Perry’s father?
Shoving the flimsy, disposable aluminum pan back into Kylie’s hands, Jerome shook his head. “That’s perfectly good meat. Serve it.”
“It’s all fat!” Kylie protested.
Unlike Gerald, his happy-go-lucky, roly-poly brother, Jerome was tall, rail thin and as cheap as chewing gum. Both were excellent cooks. Neither, however, could make beef fat palatable.
Erin Fields, the owner of the Cowboy Café and their boss, breezed by, her long, copper-red ponytail flashing out behind her. Snatching the pan from Kylie’s hands, she carried it away, saying, “You’re just cooking the meat, Jerome, not paying for it. We’ll make this pan an Independence Day treat for the local dogs.” With that, she hurried toward the serving tables being set up on the green.
Jerome rolled his eyes disapprovingly and turned back to the enormous wheeled grill. Built into a trailer frame, it had been towed to the edge of the street in front of the diner for easy access. The huge chunks of beef, donated by one of the local ranchers, had been smoking on the grill since six o’clock the previous evening, making dogs howl all over town. Erin and her employees had volunteered to serve it.
Kylie moved to the steel worktable that had been moved out of the kitchen and set up beneath a bright blue canopy tent. Humming, Gerald busily sliced smoked meat with an enormous knife and mechanical precision, piling the slices into a series of disposable pans. Kylie covered one with tin foil and carried it across the street toward the serving tables. Ahead of her, Vincent sauntered by with Sherilyn Rader on his arm.
They’d been burning up the edge of the green nearest the diner all afternoon, strolling back and forth, over and over again. Apparently, Vincent found it necessary to flaunt his girlfriend in public to save face. At first, Kylie hadn’t recognized Sherilyn because the silly thing had dyed her streaky chestnut hair an unnatural black. Despite studiously refusing to acknowledge the pair’s existence, Kylie couldn’t help noticing that Sherilyn wore next to nothing. Her outfit seemed to consist of flip-flops, a white sports bra and denim short shorts. She made Kylie feel positively overdressed in her usual work clothes: athletic shoes, jeans and a T-shirt, red in honor of the holiday. She’d wisely added a white visor, which meant that she could avoid looking at Vincent by just dipping her head slightly.
The next couple hours passed in a flurry of activity as Kylie and her coworkers laded the tables and served hundreds of pounds of mouth-watering, slow-cooked beef, which the diners carried back to their picnic spots and augmented with their side dishes of choice. Many of them actually carried the meat home with them and ate it there, several of them admitting that they’d be back to watch the fireworks being readied over at the football field. Zach came through near the end of the line, smiling behind his sunshades and carrying two large disposable platters.
He lifted the one on his right and said, “For me, Brooke, Gabe and A.J.” Shoving forward the platter atop his left palm, he explained, “This one’s for Arabella and her crew.”
Arabella Michaels was another Clayton cousin. The divorced mother of triplets baked for the diner, and everyone greatly appreciated her offerings. Kylie started piling on the meat.
“Is Jasmine with Arabella?”
“Yep.”
In addition to her own three kids, Arabella had taken in a teen abandoned by her drunk of a father. Jasmine Turner, who had recently become engaged to marry Cade Clayton, a first cousin to Vincent. Neither side of the family seemed thrilled by that relationship, but wherever Jasmine could be found, Cade would likely be, so Kylie kept piling on the meat until Zach chuckled and moved the first platter out of her reach.
“Enjoying yourself?” she asked idly, filling the second platter while she eyed his dark green uniform shirt, which he wore today with blue jeans and boots.
“Sure. How about you?”
“Too busy. I’ll enjoy myself after the meat’s all gone.”
“Pity,” he said.
“Aw, I don’t mind.” She could’ve let him go then but found that she didn’t really want to. Despite what he’d said on Saturday night, she liked this gorgeous man. Not only had he been in church on Sunday, he’d apologized for his remark and then he’d stood around worrying about poor old Mrs. Rader. Besides, something about his smile made her smile, so she asked, “Are you working, too?”
He dipped his chin in a nod. “I am.”
“Wasn’t sure. I mean, you’re wearing the shirt but not the rest of the uniform, and you’re not carrying your gun.”
Leaning forward, he confessed, “Frankly, I’m not keen on the uniform. Too many years in plain clothes, I guess.” He looked at her over the rim of his shades, his dark-blue eyes gleaming, and quietly added, “As for the gun, it’s a law that a peace officer has to go armed in public at all times. Just because you don’t see a firearm, darlin’, doesn’t mean I’m not packing one.”
