The Boss's Bride. Brenda Minton

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      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.

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