The Maverick's Accidental Bride. Christine Rimmer
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sent him a glance of serene self-possession. “Just a guy I was dancing with a little while ago...” What she didn’t say was that she intended to be dancing with that cowboy again soon. Very soon. Will could get way too big-brotherly, and she didn’t need that. She lifted her paper cup for another sip—and Will snagged it right out of her hand. “Hey!” She brandished her bouquet at him. “Give me back my punch, Clifton. Or I won’t be responsible for what happens next.”
He smirked at her and sniffed the cup. “What’s in this, anyway?”
“Oh, please. It’s just punch.”
“Spiked?”
She puffed out her cheeks with a disgusted breath. “Hardly. Punch, I said. Fruit juice and mixers—and a small amount of sparkling wine—and don’t give me that look. I asked the bride so I know whereof I speak. It’s a public park, Will. No hard liquor allowed.”
Being Will, he just had to argue the point. “I’ve spotted a hip flask or two in the crowd.”
“Well, yeah. But on the down low. The punch is harmless, believe me. And if you’re so worried about a teeny bit of sparkling wine, try the kids’ punch table.” With a flourish, she pointed her bouquet at the table several feet away, where the children and teetotalers were served.
Will was watching her, his expression annoyingly suspicious. “You seem to be having a really good time, Jordyn Leigh—maybe too good a time.”
“There is no such thing as too good a time.” She scowled at him. “And do not call me Jordyn Leigh.”
“Why not? It’s your name.”
“Yeah, but when you say it, I feel like I’m eight years old. Wearing hand-me-down jeans and a wrinkled plaid shirt, with my hair in pigtails and my two front teeth missing.”
Looking right next door to wistful, Will shook his head. “I really liked that little girl.”
“Well, I’m not her. And I haven’t been for seventeen years.” Right then, that weird old guy, Homer Gilmore, hobbled by on the other side of the punch table. He gave Jordyn a great big snaggle-tooth grin. Homer was as sweet as he was strange, so she responded with a merry wave. “I’m all grown-up now,” she reminded Will.
“Yes, you are.” He toasted her with her own cup and then drank the rest, bold as brass.
She could almost get aggravated that he’d commandeered her punch. But no. Back at the church during the wedding, she’d been feeling a tad low to be a bridesmaid and not a bride for the umpteenth time. But it was a beautiful day, not a cloud in the wide Montana sky. And hadn’t she already shared a dance with a handsome cowboy? Who knew what good things might happen next? Her dark mood had vanished. Will was right. She was having a wonderful time. No way was she letting Will Clifton harsh her lovely mellow.
Instead, she grabbed a fresh flag-printed paper cup and poured herself another full one. When he held out the cup that used to be hers, she good-naturedly served him, as well.
They tapped cups and drank.
* * *
For Jordyn, the rest of that fateful afternoon flashed by in soft-focus snapshots.
She and Will hung out. And it was good. Better than good.
Up until that day, he’d always treated her like a youngster he needed to boss around. But from the first wedding-punch toast they’d shared that day, it was different.
Suddenly, they were equals. She had fun with him. A lot of fun. They ate barbecue and wedding cake together. They visited with his brothers, with the bride and groom, and with Jordyn’s Newcomers Club girlfriends, who were also her fellow bridesmaids.
They met a quirky married couple, Elbert and Carmen Lutello. Elbert, small and thin with dark-rimmed glasses, was the county clerk. Carmen, broad-shouldered, commanding and a head taller than her husband, was a district judge. Carmen and Elbert were so cute together, totally dewy-eyed over each other—and the wedding and love and romance in general. Jordyn adored them.
She and Will enjoyed more punch. They danced together. Several dances. Somehow, she never got around to another dance with the cowboy in the white hat. Truth to tell, she forgot all about that guy. It was just her and Will, together in a lovely, misty place. The park, the picnic reception, the music and laughter...all that got pleasantly hazy around the edges, became background to the magic happening between her and Will.
Will kissed her. Right there on the dance floor. Just tipped her chin up with a finger and settled that sexy mouth of his on hers. They swayed to the music and kissed on and on.
Sweet Lord, the man could kiss. He kissed like the prince in a fairy tale, the kind of kiss that could wake a girl up from a hundred years of sleep. It was something of a miracle, the way Will kissed her that day. At last. Just when she’d started to doubt that she would ever be on the receiving end of kisses like his.
And he told her she was beautiful.
Didn’t he?
It seemed he did. But she wasn’t sure...
Not completely, anyway. Because things got hazier and hazier as the afternoon turned to evening.
Once night fell, a few weird things happened. One of the Dalton sisters got thrown in jail for resisting arrest—after dancing in the newly dedicated park fountain.
At some point Jordyn and Will stood hand in hand in the parking lot between Rust Creek Park and Brooks’s Veterinary Clinic. They stared into the lambskin-lined trunk of Elbert Lutello’s pink 1957 convertible Cadillac Eldorado Biarritz. Elbert hauled out a leather briefcase and announced with great solemnity, “You never know when a legal order or some other official form might be needed. I am a public servant, and I like to be prepared...”
And then, in the blink of an eye, Jordyn and Will, still holding hands, were swept magically back to the park with all the party lights twinkling beneath the almost-full moon. People crowded around them, watching. Carmen Lutello stood before them, blessing them with a tender smile.
What happened next?
Jordyn wasn’t sure.
But the party went on. Will gave her more of those beautiful endless kisses; he fed them to her, each one delicious and perfect, filling her up with delight and satisfaction.
Actually, a lot of folks were kissing. You couldn’t walk beneath a tree without having to ease around an embracing couple. And why not? It was only natural for everyone to be feeling happy and affectionate at a wedding. High spirits ruled on this special, joyous, romantic night...
* * *
The next morning, in her bed at Strickland’s Boarding House, Jordyn woke to discover that an army of mean little men with pickaxes had taken up residence in her brain.
For several minutes, she lay very still with her eyes closed, waiting for her stomach to stop lurching and the little men with the axes to knock off attacking the inside of her skull. Finally, breathing slowly and evenly through her nose, she opened her eyes and stared at the ceiling.
The wrong ceiling...
Her pained grimace became a frown.
With great care, she turned her head toward the nightstand at her side. It was rustic, that nightstand, of what appeared to be reclaimed, beautifully worked old wood. It bore no resemblance to the simple pasteboard one she had at the boardinghouse. A clock stood on that nightstand—not her clock.
And wait a minute. How could it possibly be past noon?
Her stomach did a forward roll. She swallowed down a spurt of acid and carefully, torturously, rolled her head the other way.
Dear, sweet Mary and baby Jesus. Will.
She blinked, looked away—and looked back again.
He was still there, still sound asleep beside her, lying on his stomach with