Bride Of Dreams

“Anything diet is fine with me,” she replied.

Cooper purchased drinks and they walked around until they found an empty table with two chairs. Caroline sat down so that she could see the room from her position.

“Everyone is so friendly here,” she commented. “Not that they aren’t friendly where I came from,” she added hastily. “It’s just that it’s different here. People are genuinely interested in hearing how you are.”

“They’ll also be more than willing to tell you how they are,” Cooper said. “There’s nothing like listening to Mrs. Morgan talk about her gallbladder surgery. In great detail, no less.”

“And I bet you can count on them in any kind of emergency.”

“Lightning struck a barn last summer. Started up a fire and the barn was gone in no time. Three days later enough men were over there to rebuild the barn and enough women came along to make sure we were fed,” he said. “I can’t imagine any secrets rolling around in Tyler for too long before they’re revealed.”

Caroline’s smile felt frozen on her lips. “Yes, I guess it wouldn’t be easy to keep them here.” She toyed with her straw, rolling it around in the glass. When she looked up, she noticed several elderly women sitting together. There was nothing remarkable about them that should have caught her attention, except they all seemed to be watching her. If she wasn’t mistaken, she’d swear their whispered conversation was also about her. She knew her skirt wasn’t too short or her upper body too bare, so that couldn’t be it.

She returned her attention to Cooper. “Do I have something on my face?” she asked in a low voice.

He looked startled by her question. “No, why?”

“Because right now I feel like a bug under a microscope. There’s a table across from us where some older ladies are sitting, and they’re watching us,” she whispered.

Cooper shifted in his chair as if he was making himself more comfortable, but so he could also see who Caroline was talking about. He muttered a curse when he saw them. “Have you heard of the Tyler Quilting Circle?” he asked.

She nodded. “Of course. The ladies at Worthington House who get together a couple times a week to work on quilts. They recently donated one for a raffle for the children’s library.”

“That’s the one. When you’re talking about people who are genuinely interested in you, you’re really talking about them. They can get information the FBI wouldn’t have a prayer of finding out,” he replied. He wasn’t about to tell her about the legend of the Quilting Circle’s quilts. He wasn’t the only man who believed telling the legend could make it true. For him.