The Sheriff's Runaway Bride. Arlene James

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      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 СКАЧАТЬ