Rags To Riches: A Desire To Serve. Janice Maynard
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The frosted window on the door of the county clerk’s office welcomed walk-ins, but the bored counter attendant showed little interest in their application. He cracked a jaw-popping yawn when the prospective bride and groom filled out the application. Five minutes and thirty-five dollars later, they entered the chambers of Judge Victor Honeywell. His clerk, at least, seemed to feel some sense of the occasion.
The beaming, well-endowed matron hurried around her desk to shake their hands. “I can’t remember the last time we got to perform a spur-of-the-moment wedding. Brides today seem to take a year just to decide on their gown.”
Unlike Grace, who had slithered out of her cutoffs and into the white linen sundress she’d picked up on sale a few weeks ago.
Blake, on the other hand, had come prepared for every eventuality, a wedding included. While she’d packed, he’d retrieved a suit bag from the Lincoln. Dark worsted wool now molded his wide shoulders. An Italian silk tie that probably cost more than Grace had earned in a week was tied in a neat Windsor. The clerk’s admiring gaze lingered on both shoulders and tie for noticeable moments before she turned to the bride.
“These just came for you.”
She ducked behind a side counter and popped up again with a cellophane-wrapped cascade of white roses. Silver lace and sprays of white baby’s breath framed the bouquet. A two-inch-wide strip of blue was looped into a floppy bow around the stems.
“The ribbon—such as it is—is the belt from my raincoat,” she said, her eyes twinkling. “You know, something borrowed, something blue.”
A lump blocked Grace’s throat. She had to push air past it as she folded back the cellophane and traced a finger over the petals. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. And this is for you.” Still beaming, the clerk pinned a white rose to Blake’s lapel. “There! Now I’ll take you to Judge Honeywell.”
She ushered them into a set of chambers groaning with oak panels and red damask drapes. The flags of the United States and the state of Texas flanked a desk the size of a soccer field. A set of steer horns stretched across an eight-foot swath of wall behind the desk.
“It’s Ms. Templeton and Mr. Dalton, Your Honor.”
The man ensconced on what Grace could only term a leather throne jumped up. His black robe flapped as he rounded his desk, displaying a pair of hand-tooled cowboy boots. He was at least six-three or four and as whiskery as he was tall. When he thrust out a thorny palm, Blake had to tilt back to keep from getting stabbed by the exaggerated point of his stiff-as-a-spear handlebar mustache.
“Well, damn! So you’re Big Jake Dalton’s boy.”
“One of them,” Blake replied with a smile.
“He ever tell you ’bout the time the two of us busted up a saloon down to Nogales?”
“No, he didn’t.”
“Good. Some tales are best left untold.” Honeywell shifted his squinty gaze to Grace. “I’d warn you against marrying up with any son of Big Jake if they didn’t have the prettiest, smartest female in all fifty states for their mama.” His nose twitched above the bushy mustache. “Speaking of Delilah, is she comin’ to witness the ceremony?”
“No, but my brother is.”
That was the first Grace had heard of it! She glanced at him in surprise while he confirmed the startling news.
“Alex should be here any moment. He was on final approach when we left the condo. In fact…”
He cocked his head. Grace followed suit and picked up the sound of footsteps in the tiled hallway. A moment later the judge’s clerk reappeared with another couple in tow. The tall, tawny-haired male who entered the chambers was a mirror image of Blake. The copper-haired female with him elicited a joyous cry from Grace.
“Julie!”
She took an instinctive step toward the woman she’d grown so close to during her sojourn in Oklahoma. Guilt brought her to a dead stop. Grace hadn’t lied to Julie or the Daltons, but she hadn’t told the truth, either. Alex and his new wife had to be feeling the same anger Blake had when he’d first discovered her deception.
It wasn’t anger she saw in her friend’s distinctive green-brown eyes, however, but regret and exasperation.
“Grace, you idiot!” Brushing past Blake, Julie folded Grace into a fierce hug, roses and all. “You didn’t need to go through what you did alone. You could have told me. I would’ve kept your secret.”
Limp with relief, Grace gulped back a near sob. “The secret isn’t mine to tell.”
Her gaze slid to Blake’s brother. Alex didn’t appear quite as forgiving as his bride. She didn’t blame him. She’d watched him interact with Molly these past months, knew he loved the baby every bit as much as Blake did. It had to hurt to transition so abruptly from possible father to uncle. Grace could offer only a soft apology.
“I’m sorry, Alex. I didn’t know which of you was Molly’s father. Honestly. Not until I’d been in Oklahoma City for a while, and by then you and Julie were, ah, working a separate set of issues.”
The hard set to his jaw relaxed a fraction. “That’s one way to describe the hell this stubborn woman put me through.”
He stood for a moment, studying Grace’s face. She braced herself, but his next words didn’t carry either the condemnation or the sting she expected.
“Everyone, me included, will tell you that my brother is the better man. But once he sets his mind to something, he can be as ruthless as I am and as hardheaded as our mother. Blake’s convinced us this marriage is what he wants. Is it what you want?”
Her fingers tightened on the stem of the roses. Their white velvet scent drifted upward as she turned to her groom. Blake stood tall and seemingly at ease, but his blue eyes were locked on hers.
“Yes,” she said after only a minuscule hesitation. “I’m sure.”
Was that satisfaction or relief or a brief flash of panic that rippled across his face? Grace was still trying to decide when the judge boomed out instructions.
“All right, folks. Y’all gather round so we can get these two hitched.”
Blake held out a hand. Grace laid her palm in his, hoping he couldn’t hear the violent thump of her heart against her ribs. As they faced the judge, she reminded herself she was doing this for Molly.
Mostly.
It was actually happening. It was for real. Grace had to fight the urge to pinch herself as Blake slid a band of channel-cut diamonds onto her ring finger. Dazed, she heard the judge’s prompt.
“With this ring…”
Her groom followed the cues in a deep, sure voice. “With this ring…”
“I thee wed.”
“I thee wed.”
The diamonds caught the light from the overhead lighting. Brilliant, multicolored sparks danced and dazzled. Grace couldn’t begin to guess how many carats banded her finger. Four? Five? And she couldn’t reciprocate with so much as a plain gold band.
“By the authority vested in me by the state of Texas,” Judge Honeywell intoned, “I now pronounce you husband and wife.”
He waited a beat before issuing another prompt. “Go ahead, Dalton. Kiss your bride.”
For the second time that afternoon, Blake slipped an arm around her waist. Grace’s pulse skittered. A shiver raced down her spine. Apprehension? Anticipation?
She knew which even before he bent toward her. Her whole body quivered in expectation.