The Boss's Bride (The Heart of Main Street) Page 2

  Gracie Wilson stared up at Patrick, her wide, dark eyes filling with tears. He watched her for a long minute, surprised to see her sitting in the stockroom of his store. When she hadn’t walked down the aisle, everyone had been surprised. Everyone, that is, except Ann Mars. He’d been sitting next to her in the church, and for whatever reason, she hadn’t seemed all that shocked. She’d told him that it was because she was in her eighties and she knew a thing or two about life.

  Miss Mars, instead of being worried, had seemed relieved. He’d thought he heard a few sighs of relief throughout the sanctuary of Bygones Community Church.

  “Are you going to hit me with that rebar?” he asked, because he didn’t know what else to say. Damsels in distress were not typically his cup of tea.

  What else could he say to the woman he’d known for only a couple of months? She’d been recommended by Ann Mars, his worthy representative and guide to all things Bygones. Ann had promised him an employee who would be on time, work hard and know how to fix anything as well as bring in customers. She’d picked the right person.

  Gracie Wilson could handle tools, she could handle customers, and she even seemed to know how to handle him. She’d kept him from giving up on this venture. After all, he was a city boy, born and raised. Moving to Bygones, starting a new business in a town that was struggling financially, that took faith. When his seemed to be in short supply, she loaned him hers the way neighbors loaned a cup of sugar in Bygones, Kansas.

  He’d made a commitment. A business of his own in trade for a commitment to stay for two years and make it work. There were several new businesses in Bygones. They were painted, remodeled and hopefully a cure for a town that didn’t want to lose everything.

  “I was prepared for a burglar,” she whispered as tears trickled down her cheeks.

  He stood there for a long minute, unsure of what to do next. Call the police? Call Ann Mars, his Save Our Streets sponsor?

  She shifted on the stool. “Say something.”

  “Gracie,” he cleared his throat, “I guess I’m surprised to see you here.”

  She looked up, smiling a little as she brushed tears from her cheeks. She looked tinier than ever in the white creation of a dress, her dark hair pulled back with rhinestone clips and strings of pearls.

  “I think there are probably a lot of people surprised,” she said, brushing away her tears.

  “Yes, surprised and worried. They’re searching for you.” He focused on the rebar she still had a death grip on. “Other than the ones who decided to take advantage of the reception.”

  “It should be a good party.”

  “What happened?”

  “I couldn’t marry him.” She laughed and then sobbed. “I’m going to be in big trouble.”

  “Seems to me the trouble would have been marrying him if you had doubts.”

  She nodded but didn’t speak. The tears were streaming down her cheeks again, and he wondered if her doubts were real or if she just had cold feet and needed a few minutes to get her thoughts together.

  “Can I help?”

  She shook her head. “No. I mean, there’s really nothing anyone can do. I just can’t marry him.”

  “Are you sure?” He cleared his throat, not at all sure what else to say in a situation such as this. He’d never had little sisters. He’d dated but never been married.

  He’d learned one thing about women: sometimes they walked when things looked difficult. At least, that was what had happened to him.

  He didn’t think Gracie was the type to skip out on someone just because it got a little difficult.

  Sitting on the stool, she looked smaller than her barely five feet, especially in the billowy white dress that didn’t seem to suit her style. Not that he was a guy who paid much attention to style. But even he could recognize when a woman needed someone, though.

  He pushed aside misgivings and reached to hug her. First he took the rebar from her hand and set it on the worktable. She leaned into his shoulder and he wrapped his arms around her, keeping his face out of the protruding objects that decorated her hair. Avoiding the light scent of her fragrance took more effort. It matched the softness of her skin and the sweet way she leaned against him.

  For a guy who didn’t notice much, unless it had to do with home remodeling or electrical problems, he noticed a lot in those few minutes holding Gracie.

  “I can’t marry him,” she finally whispered against his shoulder and then she backed out of his embrace. “But I’m going to have to face this.”

  “Yes, I guess you will.” He reached for a roll of paper towels on the shelf and pulled off a few sheets for her to wipe her eyes. “I don’t have a handkerchief.”

  She smiled through her tears and then laughed. “Wouldn’t that be chivalrous if you did? Maybe a little too cliché?”

  “I guess that’s a good reason to never offer a woman a handkerchief. What guy wants to be cliché?”

  “You could never be cliché.” She smiled as she said it, dabbing her eyes with paper towels that were less than soft. “My dad is going to be embarrassed. Mrs. Morgan will be furious. I wonder if there’s a bus out of this town tonight.”

  “I don’t think a bus comes anywhere near Bygones. And if you caught a bus, who would work for me?”

  “You haven’t replaced me?”

  “Of course not. And if you’re up to it, I’ll need you here Monday morning. Remember, you had that great idea to have the block party in a few weeks. I can’t do that without you.”

  “You could.”

  “Yeah, but people trust you. They aren’t always trusting of the city guy who has moved in and wants their business.”

  “They’ll learn that you can be trusted.”

  “Thanks, Gracie.” He reached for her hand and helped her down from the stool. “I like the boots.”

  “Thank you. I picked them out.” She twirled in the dress that looked like white lace gone crazy. “I did not pick this. I think it makes me look like a bad version of Cinderella at the ball.”

  “It isn’t that bad.”

  She wrinkled her nose at him. “It is that bad. You’re just being nice.”

  “Okay, I’m being nice. I am a nice guy. Haven’t you heard?”

  She smiled up at him. She was more than a foot shorter than him, with a pixie face and dark eyes that could tease or flash with humor. Sometimes those eyes flashed fire if something got her riled up. She was twenty-four, ten years younger than his thirty-four years. She sometimes seemed younger, but more often seemed a decade older.

  He knew she’d gone through a lot. She’d lost her mom fourteen years ago. Miss Coraline had given him tidbits and told him to take care of her girl, because

  Gracie acted strong but she needed to be able to let other people be strong for her. He’d gotten a lot of advice from Coraline Connolly since he’d moved to Bygones.

  “You are a nice guy, Patrick.” Gracie sighed and reached back for the veil that hung from a hook on the wall. “And my name is going to be mud. I’m glad I have one friend left.”

  “Want me to drive you home?”

  She nodded. “Please. Unless of course you’re willing to help me run away from Bygones. Far away.”

  “Sorry, I’m here for at least two years and I’d like for you to be here, too. If you stay, you know I’ll have your back. I’ll be here for you.”

  “Thank you. And I’m going to help you find a wife. You need a wife. A good country woman that can cook biscuits and gravy.”

  “The person who just ran from her own wedding wants to arrange one for me?”

  “I guess you have a point. I don’t think I’m the poster child for encouraging someone to take the walk down the aisle.”

  He grinned at that. “No, probably not.”

  “Can you get
me out of here without everyone seeing me?”

  “In that dress?”

  She looked down. “I guess not.”

  “I have sweatpants and a T-shirt you could change into. They’ll be a little big, but not as obvious.”

  “And then I can leave the dress here. Mrs. Morgan will want to return it if she can.”

  “Or maybe you’ll change your mind?”

  “About the dress or Trent? I don’t think I’ll be taking either of them down the aisle.”

  He didn’t know what to say to that. He’d known her all of two months and he didn’t think he should be the one standing here having this conversation. There were people in town who had known her all her life. The same people who had shared stories with him of a rough-and-rowdy little girl turned woman. A woman who seemed to know her mind and be able to handle almost any situation.

  Sometimes when Patrick looked at her, he saw seven shades of vulnerable in her dark eyes and a whole lot of sadness. He thought maybe the only other person who saw that look was Miss Coraline. The retired principal seemed to see a lot in everyone. He guessed it probably had made her very good at her job.

  He shook himself from those thoughts and gave Gracie an easy smile. “I’ll get the clothes and you can change in the restroom.”

  “Thank you, Patrick.” She had that soft look in her eyes, the one that said she might cry again if he said the wrong thing or got too close.

  He backed away, made sorry excuses and headed for the exit.

  He’d come to Bygones because his family business had closed down after a big-box store full of discount lumber and building supplies moved into their suburban Detroit neighborhood, the neighborhood that had supported them for years.

  Bygones was his future, his dream. It seemed literally the answer to his prayers: a small-town hardware store, close neighbors, a place to start over.

  He hadn’t realized moving to a small town meant getting tangled up in the lives of the people who lived there. He hadn’t realized they would pull him in and make him such a part of their families and community.

  More than anything, he hadn’t planned on someone like Gracie Wilson storming into his life.

  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 ea
sy 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.