His Montana Bride. Brenda Minton

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       Chapter Four

      They shared a picnic on the banks of the lake, horses tied nearby and the border collie, Jake, nosing in the brown grass of early October. Nearby, a stream trickled, the water emptying into the lake. There had been a good rain a few days ago, which had set the nearly dry source of water into action once again. He told her that come spring, when the snows melted, it would be more of a rush rather than a trickle of water.

      Katie had listened, watching as Marci wandered away to walk along the lake, playing with the dog as she went.

      “So, you don’t ride or fish. What do you do for fun in Missoula?” Cord asked as he leaned back on the blanket, a careful eye on Marci.

      What did she do in Missoula? Katie shrugged one shoulder as she searched for an answer because in the last year she’d changed a lot. She no longer partied. She no longer cared about the dating scene. She doubted he wanted those answers. He was being polite, not really wanting insight into her life. “I work.”

      One corner of his mouth kicked up. “Of course you do. What else? Do you date? Do you play bridge?”

      She laughed at that. “People still play bridge?”

      “I have no idea. It was just the first thing that came to mind.”

      “Bridge came to mind? I’m not sure what that says about you. Do you know how to play bridge?”

      “Not a clue,” he confessed, his cheeks turning a little pink under his deep tan. “I know that we’re trying to rebuild a bridge and hoping this wedding brings enough business to town to aid in that goal. I take it that’s the wrong kind of bridge?”

      “Yes, the wrong bridge.”

      “So,” he prodded again.

      “I work. I spend time with friends.” Most of whom were getting married or moving away. That left fewer friends. She did have a collection of never-to-be-worn-again bridesmaid’s dresses hanging in her closet.

      “Family?”

      “Nothing like yours.”

      “Is Gwen your only sibling?”

      She glanced at him, a sideways glance, taking in his handsome profile half shaded by the black cowboy hat he had donned after church. “Yes, she is.”

      He had been leaning back on one elbow. He sat up, watching her. She chose to look toward the lake because it was easier to focus on water that shimmered and sparkled than to face his piercing blue eyes, softened as they were by dark lashes. On the bank of the lake Marci picked up a rock and skipped it across the glassy water.

      “You’re close, you and Gwen?” Cord pushed.

      “We’re close.” Enough. They were close enough.

      “Your parents?”

      She looked away from Marci back to the man sitting next to her. “Are they close?”

      He grinned and her insides melted a little. “Sure, okay, we’ll go with that.”

      “They’ve been married for thirty-three years and they wouldn’t not be married. But I’m not sure if they like each other.”

      She sometimes wondered if they liked her. And she wasn’t a melodramatic person, just a realist. She didn’t fit. When she looked at family pictures she was the odd one out. Gwen, beautiful, petite, dark brown hair and a brain that never forgot a fact. Carla, her mother, was a dentist. James, her father, was a lawyer. Katie’s red hair came from her great-grandmother. She’d once heard her mother say that she’d wanted Katie to have black hair, like her husband’s.

      “My parents were high school sweethearts,” Cord said with a shrug. “I don’t know how they stay in love but they do.”

      “They are proof that some marriages work.”

      “Yes, I guess they are. They’ve been a great example to us. We’ve seen them work out their disagreements, go through hard times and still hold on to each other.”

      Katie wondered, but she didn’t comment. What she’d СКАЧАТЬ