Bushedwhacked Groom (19 page)

Chapter Seventeen

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Damned pantywaist of a preacher.

It was funny, Lucky thought, standing in church on
Sunday afternoon next to the treacherous Molly, but
ever since he’d arrived here, he’d relied increasingly on
his grandma’s old-fashioned sayings. He’d been used and abused three ways to sundown, tarred, feathered
and ridden to the church on a rail. Ever since his
grandparents’ deaths, just being in a church had
seemed a mockery to him; now this absurd wedding was the ultimate travesty, and he was caught like a
grouse in a trap.

That was about how ridiculous he felt wearing this
fussy old brown suit with the high silk cravat that seemed to be strangling him at the moment. All be
cause this little sissy of a preacher refused to stand up to Cole Reklaw’s shotgun.

Well, maybe he needed to amend that. As far as blame went, there was plenty to go around. He could
blame Molly for her stubbornness and treachery, her
pa for shamefully indulging her, even her brothers for
not having the courage to shoot him.

And what about himself? Maybe he was a coward,
too, but somewhere along the line he’d decided that
this little hellcat wasn’t worth dying for. Even if she
looked sexier than hell in that virginal white dress with
its high Victorian neckline, her hair styled in lovely
curls around her head and shoulders—and behind
that pristine, wispy veil, a smirk on that beautiful face of hers as she sealed his fate.

No, she wasn’t worth buying the ranch for. The par
son, on the other hand, had a duty to uphold right and
wrong, to protect this community from the vengeance
of a father’s shotgun. Instead he was performing a far
cical ritual, droning on about true love between a man
and a woman, when this union was about as far re
moved from true love as was an elephant from an ant.

He glanced over his shoulder at the small church
stuffed to the gills with rubbernecking townsfolk: In
the front row, Dumpling Reklaw waved at him while
juggling babies and Jessica offered a reassuring smile.
Billy Reklaw also grinned; but Lucky’s soon-to-be
father-in-law only glowered, as did the four Reklaw
sons. Lucky whipped back around just in time to re
peat a vow he had no wish to keep.

At his side he
could swear he heard Molly snickering, and his jaw clenched in anger. Hard to believe that only days earlier, his feelings had actually been softening toward her, that he had even felt guilty over his treatment of her. But that had been prior to this latest batch of indignities. Now his hands
itched to throttle her.

Better yet, he should give the vixen just what she de
served. Take her to bed, rip her clothes off and give
her much more than she had
ever
bargained for. Show
her just what could happen when she tempted the
wrong
man.

But wasn’t that what she really wanted? For him to
lose control again—and give her a baby in the pro
cess? He was damned no matter which way he turned!

***

At Lucky’s side, Molly was well aware of his glare. Ear
lier, when Mrs. Bledsoe had sung “0h, Promise Me,” he’d just about jumped out of his skin. Now she could
hear frustrated little sounds rising in his throat as he re
peated his vows. Clearly he was fit to be tied at having
to marry her. Well, too bad—she’d won. If he wanted to
be a sore loser, that was his problem.

But had she bitten off more than she could chew in
wedding this virile, hot-tempered cowboy? He did look
awfully handsome in that brown suit, the smell of his
pomade and shaving soap devilishly seductive, his thick
blond hair gleaming in the afternoon light, his magnifi
cent scowl and glinting blue eyes only increasing his
stormy sexiness. What would it be like having all that
male ferocity directed at her? And would he try to take
his due that night? She shuddered in both anticipation
and dread at the thought, remembering his brazen, all
too intimate kisses.

But, oh Lord, what if the opposite happened? What if
he spurned her? That would be just like him, too, she
realized with a sudden sinking feeling—especially now that she knew another woman’s betrayal had
started the chain of events that had brought him here.
Knowing how much she wanted a baby, he might hold off just to spite her.

Then she’d just have to find a way to change his
mind. Might even be fun, she thought with a certain
perverse relish.

She repeated a vow, grinned at the parson and
caught Lucky looking daggers at her again. When the end came and the beaming parson gushed, “You may kiss the bride,” Lucky turned and just barely brushed
his lips against her own, then quickly swung away.

***

The last thing Lucky needed was a full-blown social
following the wedding. But that was definitely what he
got. Out in the pavilion behind the church, tables were
laden with food, succulent fare ranging from fried chicken to barbecued ribs to ham, sweet potatoes and
potato salad. A small table in the center of the area held a white, homemade wedding cake. Off to one
side, three fiddlers sawed away at “The Blue-tail Fly” as
several couples square-danced.

Lucky and Molly stood next to Cole and Jessica in an informal reception line as townsfolk trooped by,
congratulating them. Lucky soon grew weary of being
slapped across the shoulders by the men as they
joshed him with, “Quite a pretty little gal you got there,” and “Finest filly in five counties.”

Oh, to be five counties away from here, and a hun
dred years!

Once the line tapered off, Cole strode over to speak
with the musicians while Lucky stood with arms
akimbo, ignoring his bride. As Cole returned, the fid
dlers started up a slow waltz of “I Love You Truly.”

Oh,
puh-leeeze,
Lucky thought. The song hit him as the ultimate insult, making this occasion even more of
a charade than it already was.

But his torture was not about to end, as everyone in
the congregation turned to regard the bride and
groom with hushed anticipation. Lucky noted that
even Molly was eyeing him expectantly.

Lucky stood as immovable as stone.

Cole strode back over to him and spoke with low
menace. “Ask your wife to dance, son.”

Lucky hissed back, “You gonna force me to do
that
at gunpoint, too, sir?”

Even as Cole muttered a blasphemy, Grandma, wearing a ridiculous-looking purple silk dress and a
large feathered hat, rustled up to regard Lucky with
her fierce scowl. “Well, sonny? You gonna dance with
my granddaughter, or am I gonna roast your bacon?”

Waving a hand in frustration, Lucky turned to Molly. “You care to dance?”

“Why, I’d be honored,” she replied, simpering.

Clenching his jaw, Lucky led her out into the clear
ing, pulled her close and began to dance to the lilting
waltz. A cheer rose from the gathering, and Molly preened and waved her wedding ring. Lucky could have skinned
her alive. On top of everything else, she looked way
too pretty, with her curls dancing about her face and
her cheeks and lips so temptingly rosy, and she
smelled like—well, like honeysuckle, and talcum and woman.

As if sensing his thoughts, she glanced up at him
slyly. “Well, we’re hitched now, eh, Handsome?”

“Yeah.”

“You ever gonna smile again, precious?”

He grunted. “Not likely.”

She snuggled closer, causing him to recoil as the
tantalizing contours of her breasts brushed against his
chest. “Well, you’d better smile right now or I’m gonna
kick you in the shin.”

He pulled back and glared. “And maybe I’m gonna turn you over my knee in front of all these folks and
teach you some manners.”

She hooted. “While my pa’s watching, you’re gonna
wallop me?”

“I am your husband now. Even he must respect that.”

She dimpled unabashedly. “So you’re finally ac
knowledging it. You’re my husband.”

Lucky mumbled something unintelligible.

“So, are you gonna smile or am I gonna kick you?”
She gave him a sharp nudge with her slipper.

Lucky growled. “Just wait till I get you alone. I’ll
make you pay for this.”

She only chuckled, saucily tipping her face toward
his. “Oh, darlin’, I’m counting on it. Now smile for the
nice people.”

Lucky flashed the crowd a frozen smile, and a new
cheer went up.

Chapter Eighteen

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“We should have shot old Handsome while we had the
chance,” grumbled Matt.

“Yeah, now Molly’s flat beat us to the draw, and she’ll
be having that baby by Christmas,” added Zach.

Off to one side, Cory stood with his brothers, the
four watching the bride and groom waltz to “I Love You
Truly.” Watching his sister kick Lucky, and the latter
flash the throng a stiff smile, he had to chuckle. “I
wouldn’t worry too much about those two having a
baby any time soon. I’ve never seen a more unwilling
groom.”

“Yeah, but what’s he gonna do once they’re sharing
a bed together, legally bound as husband and wife?”
demanded Vance. “What nature intended for him,
that’s what.”

“He’ll have a bun in the oven in no time,” added
Zach with a sneer.

“You know, I find that a really crude comment,”
scolded Cory with a red face, “and furthermore, I don’t
think it’s any of our business.”

“The hell it ain’t!” exclaimed Matt. “It’s us who
shoulda gotten hitched up to our women today, only
old man Trumble won’t let us within shouting distance of ‘em. Problem is, there’s way too many bachelors in
these parts and not nearly enough pretty women.” He
jerked a thumb toward the pavilion, where Ezra Trum
ble and his four lovely blond daughters sat in an awk
ward row. “How many young men has that codger
beaten away so far today?”

“At least six that I’ve counted,” fretted Zach.

“Uh-oh,” put in Vance, gesturing toward the crowd. “There go them low-down Hicks cousins, trying to beat
us to the punch!”

All four scowled tensely as the line of five tall, skinny
young men with straw-blond hair and overalls ap
proached Mr. Trumble. “Don’t worry, they’ll get their comeuppance,” Matt reassured his brothers. “Them
Hickses are the ones that would have gone to the
hoosegow last week, if it weren’t for the sheriff lusting
after Bart and Winky’s ma.” He sneered toward a
middle-aged couple off to the side—a plump woman
in a garish red dress and outlandish dyed ostrich
feather hat and a potbellied man with a handlebar
mustache, wearing a ten-gallon hat and a silver star.
“Just look at old Sheriff Hackett preening away like a
peacock over Dulcie Hicks.”

“Yep, it’s plumb disgusting,” agreed Zach. “Oh, lookie
there, boys.”

Cory watched anxiously with the others as the
troupe of Hicks cousins arrived before the Trumble
daughters. As Jeeter Hicks grinned broadly and ex
tended his hand toward Sally Trumble, old man Trumble sprang up and began shouting at all five men, even
bashing Linus and Merle with his hearing horn.

“Whew!” exclaimed Matt with a grimace. “That
geezer has some temper on ‘im.”

“He’s just a stickler for manners,” put in Cory.

“Yeah, sure,” mocked Vance. “You know, I despise the
Hicks boys as much as the rest of you, but what exactly
did them fellas do wrong?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Cory asked, rolling his eyes.

“Obvious how?” Matt shot back.

“Well, Jeeter asked Sally to dance rather than asking
her pa,” Cory explained.

“What?” exclaimed Matt. “You think I’m dancing with
that son of a bitch?”

“No, no, you need to ask his
permission
if you want
to dance with one of his girls.” Cory laughed.

“Oh,” Matt muttered.

“Look, if you fellas want to try again, why don’t you
just let me do the talking?” Cory suggested.

“Sure; why not?” agreed Zach. “You’re the only sissy in this family with any manners.”

Forgoing an urge to admonish Zach, Cory directed, “
Then all of you remove your hats and follow me.”

“Yeah, straight to the funeral parlor, we will,” groused
Matt.

But the three others dutifully doffed their hats and
trooped along behind Cory as he approached Mr.
Trumble. As the oldster greeted them with a look sour enough to curdle milk, Cory bravely smiled; the three
older girls tittered back, while Ida May shyly waved. He
noted that all four women looked pretty as flowers in their best gowns of various pastel shades.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Trumble. Lovely weather, isn’t
it?”

“‘Spect I seen worse,” Trumble muttered back.
“What’s on your mind, sonny?”

“Well, actually, my brothers and I were wondering if
we might have the honor of dancing with your daugh
ters—with your permission, of course.”

New giggles burst forth from the girls, and Trumble
harrumphed. “Oh, you were? Hoping to dance with
‘em? Rather fresh of you, I must say.”

“I apologize for our rudeness when we came to call,”
Cory continued patiently, “but seein’s how this is our
sister’s wedding, we were hoping you might show
some mercy on us.”

Trumble pursed his mouth stubbornly. “Well, I suppose it is something of an occasion.”

“So, may we dance with them, sir?” Cory asked
hopefully.

Trumble ruminated, then broke into a rare, sly smile.
“Well, I might just agree, especially if your grandma will promenade with me.” He jerked a thumb toward
Eula, who stood conversing with Jessica and Cole.
“Mighty handsome Eula’s looking today.”

All four Reklaw boys blanched. “Well, sir, Grandma
can’t dance with you right now,” Cory hastily lied. “She’s
been ailing all winter.”

“Oh, yeah? Don’t look like she’s missed no meals to
me. What’s her malady?”

Cory struggled to remember terms from his ma’s
medical dictionary. “Er—she’s been suffering from
dropsy and phlebitis.”

“You don’t say,” Trumble scowled at Eula. “Sounds
serious.”

“Yeah. But I know she’ll be right pleased to hear you
expressed your concern,” Cory quickly added.

As the fiddlers launched into a new square dance, Trumble scowled a moment, then waved a hand at
Cory. “Ah, go ahead and dance with my girls. Maybe I’ll
go pay my respects to your grandma whilst you do.”

Watching his brothers grimace in horror, Cory
evenly replied, “Yes, sir, why don’t you do that?”

Trumble shook a finger at all four men. “But none of
them scandalous waltzes, you hear? And keep a
proper distance from my girls or I’m boxing all of your
ears.”

“Yes, sir,” chanted the boys in unison.

One by one, the brothers stepped forward to offer
their arms—Zach to Sally, Vance to Nelly, Matt to Bon
nie. As the three older girls giggled and gushed and
went off with Cory’s brothers, he extended his hand to
Ida May, and was pleased when she rose with an eager smile. She was the shortest of the four, slightly plump,
pert and blue-eyed, with a darling upturned nose; she
looked especially vibrant today in her enticing blue
eyelet gown.

As Cory led her out to join the others, she confided,
“Thanks so much for rescuing us, Mr. Reklaw.”

“Please, call me Cory,” he returned gallantly. “And
may I call you Miss Ida May?”

She dimpled. “Just ‘Ida May’ is fine.”

As he led her into the square dance, he murmured,
“Well, Ida May, did you enjoy the Henry James novel I
recommended at the library?”

Her eyes lit with animation. “Oh, yes. I found I really
identified with Daisy Miller, as well as Mr. James’s hero
ine Isabel Archer in
The Portrait of a Lady.”

“Yes, James does portray fascinating female charac
ters,” Cory concurred. “Both women had such spirit
and wanted to make independent choices, but were
ultimately destroyed by the conventions of society—and by the constraints of domineering men.”

Biting her lip, Ida May glanced awkwardly at her fa
ther. “Yes, I sympathized with them.”

While guessing her meaning at once, Cory hesitated a moment before asking. “I do hope you realize not all
men are tyrants?”

She regarded him with luminous eyes. “Yes, and
thank heaven for that, Mr. Reklaw.”

Cory knew he was blushing at her obvious compli
ment, but he didn’t care. “Actually, Ida May, I’ve been
meaning to apologize to you for the courting debacle
last week. I also regret that your father can be—well,
rather difficult at times.”

“Now there’s an understatement,” she replied ironi
cally. “I’m so sorry he slammed the door in your faces and knocked your poor brother down the steps.”

“So you girls really were watching from the upstairs window?” Cory teased.

“Oh, yes. Truth to tell, you and your brothers are the
first gentlemen who have ever had the nerve to come
calling directly at the house—and now that you’ve met
the ‘welcoming committee,’ I’m sure you can under
stand why,” she finished ruefully.

“
I do, but don’t blame your father entirely. The four
of us didn’t exactly put our best feet forward, just show
ing up there, uninvited. Actually, the whole scheme
was my brothers’ idea—not that I wouldn’t have liked to come along under, well, better circumstances.”

Ida May glanced off at the other three couples,
laughing and dancing nearby. “Your older brothers are
a bit on the rash side, aren’t they?”

“Amen to that.”

Her gaze lingered on her sister Sally, who was toss
ing her blond curls as she made a turn with Zach. “Ac
tually I think my sisters may suit them well. They’re all
a great deal more high-spirited than I am.”

He chuckled. “I’ve noted at the library that their
tastes run to dime novels—tales of Billy the Kid and
the Dempsey Gang—just like my sister Molly.”

She lifted a delicate eyebrow. “They’re certainly fond
of American folklore.”

“Tactfully put.” Clearing his throat, he added, “Given
your sisters’ penchant toward independence, and your
father’s, well . . .”

“Please, you may speak freely, Mr. Reklaw,” she en
couraged.

He regarded her with concern. “Well, I was just go
ing to say that your father’s strictness must really wear on your sisters at times—and on you, too, of course.”

“Oh, you have no idea,” she confided. “Though it’s
definitely harder on the elder three. Sometimes they
talk back to Father, and . . .”

Cory tensed. “Excuse my frankness, Miss Ida May, but I must know—does your father ever hurt you girls, or beat you?”

She chewed her lower lip again.
“
Pa sees that—well,
we all remember our places.”

Cory was becoming quite anxious. “Please, if he’s
ever tried to harm you, you must let me know.”

She shook her head miserably. “I’m sorry, Mr.
Reklaw, but that’s really all I’m free to say. Besides, we
girls do all right as long as we stick to our duties—you
know, chores and church, mainly chores. I just wish
my sisters wouldn’t complain so much about how we
never get to have any fun. And that Pa wouldn’t make
us . . .” She started to say more, then glanced toward
her father again and clamped her mouth shut.

“Yes?” Cory prompted with a scowl.

She quickly shook her head. “Never mind. I’m running on way too much as it is. Can’t we simply enjoy
this occasion?”

At once Cory felt contrite, and knew it would be
best not to pursue his questions now. “Yes, of course.
I’m sorry for prying—”

“I realize you’re only concerned, Mr. Reklaw.”

“Nonetheless, my sincere apologies. And we’ll have
lots of fun tonight—that is, if you’ll just start calling me
Cory.”

She beamed. “Cory, it will be my pleasure.”

For a few moments they stomped about to “
Turkey
in the Straw,” laughing and cheering with the others.
Then Cory tensed as he caught sight of the Hicks
cousins trying to cut in on his brothers. He was watch
ing Matt shove Linus away when he felt a tap on his
own shoulder.

He turned to see Winky looming in his face, looking
rather freakish with his prominent eye twitch. “What do
you want?”

“To dance with the lady, there,” Winky sneered back.
“Don’t you Reklaw boys go thinking you can have all
the goodies to yourselves. ‘Sides, any woman who
would hoedown with you no-accounts should be ea
ger to parlay with one of us Hicks boys.” He flashed a
tobacco-stained smile at Ida May.

As she gasped, Cory fired back, “You get out of our
faces, you piece of white trash, before you give Miss
Ida May the vapors with your tobacco-breath and
cheap talk.”

“Cheap talk! I’ll have you know I got better manners than you.” Again he grinned at Ida May, but it came
across as creepy because of his twitch. “May I have this
dance, ma’am?”

Before she could answer, Dumpling Reklaw
stormed up in a rustle of voluminous gold silk skirts.
“Winky Hicks, you quit pestering my nephew and his
girl.”

“His gal?” Winky jeered back. “Hell, she ain’t his
woman, and who are you to tell me what to do,
Dumpling Reklaw?”

Dumpling sucked in an outraged breath. “I’m your
third cousin once removed as well as your elder, and
I’ve been burning in shame over you miserable Hicks
boys all my life. You’d all be rotting in the hoosegow
now were it not for your shameless Jezebel ma cozying
up to the sheriff.” Dumpling jerked her thumb toward
the fawning couple, who were sashaying about nearby.
“
In fact, I think I’ll go have a word with that scandalous
hussy about the way she lets you boys run wild.”