Tumbleweed Weddings (22 page)

At exactly seven o’clock that evening, Lane followed Pastor Reilly from a side room to the front of the church auditorium. Derek and his brother, Ryan, plus two cousins whom Lane had just met yesterday, followed behind him.

The men stood at the front of the church, waiting. The strains of the organ played in the background, but Lane barely heard the music. The church was filled with hundreds of lit candles—the only light in the room—and an abundance of red and white roses surrounded the altar. A few stragglers were seated in the back row of the packed auditorium.

Lane looked over the congregation. There was Vern Snyder and his wife. The man was actually civil now, but Lane was still surprised he had come. It was probably one of those situations where the Snyders were friends of the Brandt family and had been for years. Weddings and funerals seemed to draw people together, especially in small towns.

Near the front, Lane spotted Lucille Penwell. She had awoken from her comatose state five days after the shooting and made a rapid recovery. While she was still in the hospital, Callie talked to her several times about her eternal destiny, and Miss Penwell accepted Christ as her Savior. God had totally changed that woman. Now she actually liked Lane.

Bruce MacKinnon sat a few rows behind Miss Penwell, and Lane couldn’t stop the rush of gratitude that flowed through him. In the last three months, Bruce had convinced the town council to give Lane and Callie ten acres of property on the outskirts of Fort Lob for the museum. They also voted—unanimously—to donate everything from the library’s third floor. Plans were on the drawing board for the building. Lane planned to supervise the construction, and he had already purchased a house in town on Little Deer Road for himself and his bride. They had spent the past three weeks buying furniture, and Callie had a blast decorating the house.

As far as telling the world that he was Herbert Dreyfuss, Lane finally confessed it in his newspaper column a month ago. He had given his e-mail address and had been flooded with thousands of letters supporting him. God had worked everything out for good.

Lane pulled his wandering thoughts back to his wedding and glanced down at the front row. Yvette Brandt, his future mother-in-law, sat by an empty space reserved for Jake. Callie’s grandmother, healed from her broken hip, sat beside Yvette. A host of relatives filled the first seven pews, and Lane was still trying to keep everyone straight.

Yvette caught his eye and gave a little wave. Lane smiled back. He finally belonged to a family.

The organ music changed, and Melissa, Callie’s oldest sister, started down the aisle. The audience turned in their pews, craning their necks to watch her. She wore a deep-red velvet dress with a white fur collar and carried a small bouquet of red and white roses.

Lane watched Melissa ascend the platform, then he turned to wait for Molly, her twin. He thought the twins looked just like their dad, Jake. Callie and Tonya looked more like their mom, and of course, Callie was the most beautiful of the sisters.

She’s the most beautiful woman in this church—no, in the world
.

Cheyenne walked down the aisle next, and she winked at Lane as she ascended the steps. He grinned, knowing that Cheyenne had wanted him to marry Callie from the beginning.

Tonya, the maid of honor, followed Cheyenne down the aisle. Then the music changed to “Here Comes the Bride.” Lane didn’t recognize any of the other music, but he knew that song. He could see Callie and her dad standing at the entrance of the auditorium. She looked beautiful in her white bridal gown, which Lane had helped her pick out. Even now he remembered how bored he was, waiting for Callie to pop out of the dressing room in yet another wedding gown. As far as he was concerned, she could have worn a gunnysack and she would be beautiful. But now he gazed at her, drinking in her beauty in yards of white satin with a shiny tiara nestled in her hair.

Callie’s eyes met his—those beautiful eyes, unshackled from her glasses. In a few minutes, she and her dad were at the front, and Jake was giving his daughter away—to him.

Lane drew a deep breath, hardly able to believe this was happening. He was getting married!

Callie stood beside Lane, pledging her life to him. Her flowers quivered a little, and she hoped she wouldn’t cry. She had dreamed of this day for years but didn’t think it would ever happen. She always figured she would end up like Miss Penwell, still single in her seventies, working in the library.

But God had other plans.

As Callie gazed into Lane’s eyes, she knew God’s purpose for her life was right here by his side. She repeated the wedding vows, meaning every word, amazed how God had orchestrated everything to bring them together. They had met at the library, and it seemed all that happened in the past four months revolved around that old mansion and their mutual love of books.

Now Lane would be a celebrated author in his own right, and she would be able, finally, to realize her dream of having a bookstore, plus a museum for the town of Fort Lob.

She wiped a tear from her eye as Pastor Reilly pronounced them man and wife. Lane pulled her into his arms and kissed her, and that kiss held the promise of a lifetime.

The pastor cleared his throat. “I now introduce to you Mr. and Mrs. Lane Hutchins.”

The refrain of “The Wedding March” burst from the organ, and applause erupted from the audience as Callie and Lane walked down the aisle.

Alone in the lobby, Callie threw her arms around his neck. “I can’t believe we’re married!”

“This is just the beginning, Callie.” His arms tightened around her. “I expect to cherish you my whole life.”

She breathed a happy sigh. “God is so good.”

“Yes, He is.” Lane leaned back to look her in the eye. “Far better than I deserve. But it’s like that verse in Philippians says—’It is God which worketh in you both to will and to do of his good pleasure.’ ”

As Callie laid her head against his shoulder, she glanced out the glass door of the church. Snow drifted down outside against the streetlight, and she felt God’s peace fill her.

Lord, You gave me a love of books. Thank You for also giving me the love of my life
.

This book is dedicated to my Savior, Jesus Christ, who called me to write according to His own purpose.
Also in memory of Arlene Reimel (1921–2009).
Thanks for your prayers, Mom. I miss you.

A
ggie is going to kill me.”

Tonya pushed down on the accelerator, driving her little red Hyundai as fast as she dared on snowy Main Street. Despite her best effort, she was going to be late for work—again.

It didn’t matter that the Beauty Spot probably had zero customers on this cold Friday morning. Aggie was a stickler for promptness. So Tonya had promised to leave the house much earlier than she did yesterday.

But yesterday it wasn’t snowing.

Tonya’s tires slipped on a patch of ice, and she let up on the gas pedal. Why didn’t Fort Lob clear the streets? They had plow trucks, and this was December in Wyoming for goodness’ sake. Main Street was reduced to two sets of snowy tire tracks.

As she passed the buildings in town, the snowfall tapered off. Jim Wilkins stood outside Wilkins Grocery in his green apron, shoveling snow off the sidewalk. He waved at her. She sped past the Cattlemen’s Diner and then the Trailblazer Café. Both restaurants were booming with business on this winter morning.

Horace Frankenberg, bundled in an overcoat, black gloves, and heavy boots, stood at the curb, waiting to cross the street. A blue toboggan hat covered his thinning hair. As Tonya’s Hyundai approached, it looked like he would attempt the fifty-yard dash right in front of her car.

“No, Horace!” She’d never be able to stop in time.

As if he heard her, Horace took a step back and waited. She waved as she sped past. That little wave would cost her on Sunday. The fifty-year-old resident bachelor of Fort Lob would corner her at church and give her a lecture about safe driving habits.

Passing
The Scout
newspaper office, she accelerated toward Elk Road. A few revolutions of her tires slipped in rebellion, but she pressed on. The clock on the dashboard signaled two minutes to nine. She was going to make it!

A blue light flashed in her eyes, and she glanced in the rearview mirror.

“Oh no!”

A Wyoming highway patrol car, lights flashing, drove behind her. With a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach, Tonya turned right onto Bighorn Avenue and stopped, letting the engine idle. The state trooper pulled up behind her.

Tonya expelled a breath. Now she’d be late for sure. She glanced at her reflection in the rearview mirror and fluffed her hair. Her gaze roved her face, noting the perfect eyebrows she had tweezed an hour ago, the twilight shadow that shimmered on her lids and brought out the blue in her dark eyes, and the midnight mascara that separated her eyelashes perfectly. The state trooper would probably be an old married guy, but even married men gave her face a second glance.

Hopefully she could use her beauty to full advantage and get out of a speeding ticket.

Behind her the patrol car’s door opened. Tonya grabbed her purse and rummaged inside for her driver’s license. When a tap sounded on the tinted window, she pushed the button to roll it down. A dark-green uniform came into view, and she looked up into the homely face of Murray Twichell.

“Murray!” She swiveled left to face him. “Please don’t give me a ticket! I’m already late for work, and Aggie threatened to dock my pay if I was late one more day.”

He raised reddish-brown eyebrows. “Maybe you should get up earlier, Tonya.”

Her face grew warm. “I got up early! But it was really snowing this morning, in case you didn’t notice, and it slowed me down. It’s seven miles from our ranch into town, and the road was barely plowed.”

Murray leaned over, folding his arms on the edge of her window and effectively blocking the cold air that tried to swirl in. “You were going forty-eight in a thirty-five zone. On a sunny day, that would be breaking the law. On slippery, snowy roads, that’s downright dangerous.”

Clamping her lips shut, Tonya stared at Murray. She had always thought his blue eyes, surrounded by those reddish-brown eyelashes, were much too close together, and his nose was too big for his face. Her sister, Callie, said Murray looked like a leprechaun, but Tonya thought he looked more like a weasel.

“Furthermore,” he continued, “you almost hit Horace Frankenberg.”

“I did not! You should give him a ticket for jaywalking.”

Murray shook his head. “I’ve watched you speed down Main Street for the past two weeks. I decided this morning would be the last day.” He paused. “I need your driver’s license, registration, and proof of insurance.”

She glared at him. “Are you saying this ticket was premeditated? Kind of like premeditated murder?”

He grinned. She had never noticed how white and straight his teeth were before now. “Premeditated? You could say that.” His smile faded. “Main Street is a state highway, so it’s part of my duty to watch this road. Yesterday, in good weather, you must have been doing at least fifty-five. But I wasn’t near my patrol car, so I couldn’t chase you down.” Murray shook his head. “That kind of speed could land you in court.”

Yesterday she was going closer to sixty, and if it hadn’t been snowing today …
Thank You, Lord, for the snow!
But she couldn’t afford a ticket; it would increase her insurance payment.

Leaning toward him, she placed her hand on his arm, hoping Murray would notice her perfectly manicured dusty rose fingernails. “Must you give me a ticket? I’ve learned my lesson.” She fluttered her eyelashes, trying to look pathetic and beautiful at the same time. Knowing the power of a woman’s eyelashes, she was confident her charm would persuade even Murray to relent.

His gaze roamed her face a second before he straightened, pulling his arm away from her grasp. “Stop trying to act so innocent, Tonya. In the eyes of the law, you’re guilty, and you’ve been guilty for several days. I really should give you ten speeding tickets, but I guess one will have to do.”

The eyelashes didn’t work! That man didn’t have a romantic bone in his body. “Okay, let’s make a deal.”

Murray’s eyebrows scrunched up. “This isn’t a game show.”

She spread out her hands. “If I promise to drive within the speed limit, will you let me go? And I do promise. Sincerely, I do.” She glanced up at him and tried the eyelashes one more time. “Come on, Murray, you’ve known me since I was born.”

He folded his arms. “I was only three years old when you were born, and neither one of us was driving a car back then, as I recall. Now hand over your license.”

With a sigh she complied.

He took it. “You can get your registration and insurance while I process this.” He walked back to his patrol car, where the lights were still flashing, announcing to the entire town that she had broken the law.

Tonya hit the window button to push it up and turned the heater’s fan to full blast. She wished she could blast Murray with a barrage of words. This ticket was another incident in the long list of terrible things he had done to her during her twenty-three years of life.

Well, maybe that list wasn’t so long, but it had to be at least the third bad thing. She wasn’t going to forgive him either.