The Boss's Bride. Brenda Minton
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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