Yellow Rose Bride. Lori Copeland

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      Sinking into the oversize leather wingback chair, he stretched his legs out in front of him, balancing the glass on his thigh.

      “Nice party last night.”

      Laying a stack of papers aside, Adam reached for the grain report he’d been reading earlier.

      “Yes, Alma knows how to throw a party.”

      “Mmm-hmm,” P.K. mused. “Don’t know what we’d do without Alma. Fine woman. Beth have a good time?”

      “Seemed to.”

      “Now there’s a woman you can be proud of, son. Beth’s an excellent choice for a wife. Comes from good stock. None finer than Leighton and Gillian Baylor. You’ll be starting a family right away?”

      Adam shook his head, negative.

      “Have you discussed kids?” P.K. asked. “You’re not getting any younger.”

      Adam focused on the grain report. “What’s age got to do with it? I know many a man that’s fathered a child late in life.”

      “Oh, I don’t know. Two young people in love—I’d have thought the subject might have come up. Thought maybe new ways had changed the idea of not discussing it until after the marriage, but apparently it hasn’t.” P.K. sipped his tonic. “You want children, don’t you? None of us is getting any younger, you know—”

      “Actually, Dad, I haven’t thought about it.” Children were the last thing on his mind. He had to get through the wedding first.

      “I wouldn’t put it off too long,” P.K. said. “Time passes quickly.”

      “I know, Dad. You want grandchildren.”

      “I do, and I’m not apologizing for it. Should have a houseful by now.”

      Adam quieted his irritation. What was this talk of love and grandkids? P.K. Baldwin didn’t have a sentimental bone in his body. He tossed the grain report onto the desk. “I guess we’re pretending this isn’t an arranged marriage. If Beth didn’t bring a dowry of five hundred acres of prime land you wouldn’t be so eager to have her become a Baldwin.”

      P.K. lifted his glass, staring at the murky liquid. “That’s a little cold, isn’t it?”

      “But true.” Adam’s tone hardened. “The town’s abuzz with the Baylors’ daughter marrying into the family.”

      “She’ll make you a good wife.”

      “And the Baylors’ land doesn’t hurt a thing. That right?” P.K.’s features remained as bland as Alma’s bread pudding. “Son. It’s only land, and we have all we need. I’m thinking of your future happiness.”

      Alma bustled in, bearing a tray with cups and a silver pot of fresh coffee. The Hispanic woman was more than a housekeeper—she was a vital part of the Baldwin family. She had single-handedly raised Andrew, Pat and Joey after Ceilia Baldwin’s death when Adam was ten.

      “I thought you gentlemen might enjoy coffee.”

      “None for me, thanks,” P.K. said as Alma set the tray on the corner of the desk.

      “Then you would like one of the nice cinnamon rolls I just took out of the oven, sí?”

      Adam smiled. “Just coffee, Alma.”

      She bent to pat his lean cheek. “You should eat. You will need all your strength to make many niños for your father, no?” Picking up the silver pot, she smiled at P.K. “Señor Baldwin?”

      P.K. toasted her with his glass. “I’m drinking my pain tonic.”

      She sent a cautious look at him before shuffling out on slippered feet.

      When the door closed behind her, P.K. pushed himself up and stepped to the window. Tugging the curtain aside, he focused on the rain rolling off the roof of the hacienda and splashing onto the rock veranda.

      Adam bent over another report, but he didn’t see it. He heard the rain drumming on the roof, but his mind had returned to that hot summer day seven years earlier.

      “Adam, this is crazy!” Vonnie giggled as they raced through the small grove of trees, hand in hand. The orange sky was in the midst of another spectacular sunset.

      Flinging his arms wide, Adam let out a joyous whoop, causing her to break into laughter. She tried to clamp her hand over his mouth, but their feet tangled and they toppled to the ground, laughing. Between short, raspy breaths, they hugged each other so tightly he thought their ribs would crack.

      He could hardly believe it! He’d convinced Vonnie to marry him!

      Sitting up, he looked deeply into her eyes. “I love you, Vonnie Taylor.”

      He could see in her eyes that she believed him, to the very depths of her soul.

      “You know we’re going to be in trouble when they find out.”

      “Trouble” wouldn’t cover it. His father would horse-whip him. “They can tie me to the stake and burn me alive,” he vowed. “We’re going to do it.”

      “But how do we even know the judge will travel this road—”

      His hand covered her mouth, stifling her protests.

      “I overheard the men talking at the feed store, yesterday,” he whispered. “They said a judge from Lubbock was coming through here today. All we have to do is watch for him, Vonnie. He’ll ride through here.”

      “But it’s late…”

      “Come on.” He pulled her to her feet.

      It was nearly dark when a dust-covered Jenny Lind buggy, with patched roof and floral curtains for privacy, rolled down the road. Vonnie and Adam studied it and the lanky driver from the shadows.

      “Do you think it’s him?”

      “It’s got to be.”

      The tall, thin man in the dusty black frock coat and stovepipe hat gingerly stepped down from the buggy and gathered some pieces of wood. In a few minutes he had a campfire going and a skillet on the fire, into which he forked thick slices of bacon.

      Adam and Vonnie approached the campsite. “Judge?”

      Startled, the man frowned up at them.

      “What do you want?”

      Drawing a deep breath, Adam cleared his throat. “Sorry to interrupt your supper, sir, but me and my lady here…we want to get married.”

      Straightening, the man studied a trembling Vonnie. “Married?”

      “Yes, sir.”

      Adam was holding her hand so tightly she protested with a soft whimper.

      The old man’s СКАЧАТЬ