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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.”
