My Baby, My Bride

“Well, Holt’s different,” Pansy Trifle explained. “You know he is. Not like yourself at all. Not so manly,” she said, sucking up and trying to flatter his ego.

Ha. He had no ego. Liberty Wentworth had taken care of his ego six months ago when she’d left him at the altar, her little feet in high-heeled white shoes running as fast as they could away from him, her veil flying behind her like a banner ribbon of surrender to freedom.

“All right, ladies,” he said, gently moving Pansy to one side. “Let’s see what you’re up to this time.”

Immediately after he’d parted the women, he wished he hadn’t felt such an urge to play his manly role of plot-buster. Because there in the center of the sheltering circle of her friends was Liberty Wentworth, the blond bombshell who had detonated his heart, still possessing the face of an angel and wearing the white wedding gown of his never-ending fantasies. Nightmares, really. His heart began an uncomfortable pounding as she stared up into his eyes. If life were fair, he’d whip out his handcuffs right now and snap them on her fragile wrists so she’d be completely at his mercy.

Unfortunately, as much as the thought of Liberty in sexual bondage was a highly desirable situation, the ladies would beat him to death with parasols, tea trays and opinions. He had only one course of action left to him, one source of honor for his masculine pride.

He turned on his boot heel and walked out the door, surrendering to the sanctity of Ladies Only Day and hiding the sudden pain in his chest. Liberty was clearly planning on marrying another man, in the dress she’d worn to their non-wedding, no less. The woman was a serial marital tornado, he decided, putting himself in a better mood by pitying the next poor sap who was going to get his heart squashed by her now.

He despised Ladies Only Day with a passion.

Five minutes later, Duke was safely corralled inside his office at the jailhouse. It was dark and quiet, and that was good. He needed a moment or two to regroup, and to curse privately.

“Howdy, Sheriff.”

Duke put his hand up, warding off the greeting from the jail cell’s erstwhile occupant. “Not now, Mr. Parsons.” Duke sat heavily in the worn leather chair he’d inherited from the previous occupant of the sheriff’s position, Mrs. Gaines. Mr. Parsons’s silky-haired golden retriever, Jimbo, came to lay his head on the corner of Duke’s desk, giving him a soulful, sympathetic gaze. Actually, the damn dog was Duke’s, and actually, her name was Molly. But about the time Liberty decided to jilt him, Molly had also jilted him, leaving him for the warm, frequent, measured stroking Mr. Parsons offered her. Since Mr. Parsons had once owned a dog named Jimbo, whom he’d adored, Molly had undergone a psychic personality transformation—or a theoretical sex change—and become Jimbo. The rest was history. Duke stared at his meekly sympathetic dog, who was really a traitor in gorgeous fur come back to taunt him. Much like Liberty. Traitor. “All females are traitors,” he stated flatly to Mr. Parsons.

“Not necessarily,” Mr. Parsons replied. He’d finished making his bed and was picking up a broom to sweep out his cell. The cell door was open because Mr. Parsons was a volunteer occupant. He kept his cell cleaner than most folks kept their homes, so Duke had quit arguing with him about the fact that eventually he’d have to give up the cell for some vagrant or deserving troublemaker. Mr. Parsons had also deemed himself Duke’s secretary, so the man was of some use, even if his messages were indecipherable more often than not. “Mrs. Parsons was no traitor, though I often suspected she spied on me for the KGB.”

Duke rubbed his forehead under his hatband. “Liberty is a spy,” he said, jumping on the conspiracy theory because he was tired and annoyed. And heartbroken. “She’s a spy for the TSG.”

“Tulips Saloon girls?”

“Tulips Saloon Gang. Believe me, they are a gang.”

“Women tend to run as a pack,” Mr. Parsons observed. “And that’s where the fun is usually to be found. I’d run with their gang if they’d let me.”

Duke leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. Molly-Jimbo’s head moved from his desk to his leg, and she gave an empathetic tweet of shared misery, which he appreciated so much that he put his hand down to enjoy the feeling of her silky ear between his fingers. “Just like Liberty’s hair,” he murmured.

“Pardon?” Mr. Parsons said.

Duke ignored him. Truth was, the old man was mostly quiet, and he had Duke’s dog, and Duke figured that was as practical a reason as any to let good company hang around. Mainly, he didn’t want to be completely alone with his thoughts, which always returned in ragged fashion to Liberty Wentworth.

LIBERTY ADJUSTED the flowing folds of her wedding gown and told her racing heart to quiet itself after Duke’s departure. “Duke only got half the surprise.”

Helen and Pansy fluttered around her. “A man doesn’t need to be overwhelmed with information,” Pansy said. “I think the sheriff took in all he could handle for the moment.”

“He asked for it,” Helen said crossly. “If a man walks through those doors on our special day, then he’s asking to get an education in women’s ways.”

The other ten or so women in the room nodded. One handed Liberty a tissue; another went and loaded up a plate of cookies that had been brought over from the neighboring town of Union Junction by Valentine Jefferson. She was the owner of the bakery there, and had given them the idea to start a Ladies Only Day. Her Men’s Only Day in Union Junction—a celebration of males, masculinity and fatherhood—had been a big success and had done much to boost the morale of the town.

It had seemed like such a good idea at the time, Liberty thought to herself. A day just for women, where they could bond with each other and share their most personal triumphs and disappointments.

She had come here today just for this brand of womanly comfort. “I’m sorry,” Liberty said. “I’ve put all of you in a bad spot now.”

“Nonsense,” Pansy said, her posture stout and determined. “As far as Sheriff Duke is concerned, we are always in a bad spot. We like it that way!”

Liberty smiled at her friend’s pluck.

“That’s right,” Helen agreed. “We’re determined to go out of this world raising hell, and Duke makes such an excellent foil for our objectives.”

That announcement seemed to center the group because the ladies stopped hovering and fluttering. They sat and reached for teacups and sweets. Liberty felt like neither eating nor drinking.

Of course, that had something to do with being pregnant with Duke’s child, the other half of the shock he would eventually endure. Dread filled her.

“Do you need a toddy, dear?” Pansy asked. “A good, sweet lemonade?”

Since it was a hot September in Texas, lemonade would normally be a refreshing treat. But not today—not since Duke had discovered she’d returned. Since seeing his handsome face, Liberty felt her stomach wouldn’t accept a thing.

“Maybe I should talk to him,” she said.

Valentine looked at her. “There is a time for talking, especially with someone as stubborn as Duke. I married a stubborn man and truthfully, catching Crockett was the hard part. After that, it’s been a lot of fun.” She smiled with encouragement.

Even with the support of all these wonderful ladies, Liberty felt her courage begin to drain out of her. “I really didn’t have catching Duke on my mind, since I technically returned him to the wild on our wedding day.”

“There is that,” Helen said. She sat down, shifting her black glasses on her nose and peering at Liberty. “It’s amazing how that wedding dress still fits you, as far along as you are.” Frowning, she touched the delicate lace. “I’m not certain the waist can be let out, dear, once you start gaining…once baby starts growing more. We’re pushing it at seven months, and I do believe it’s now or never for your lovely gown.”

An awkward silence fell over the room. Liberty stood. “This is my problem, and I’ve made everyone feel that it’s theirs. I’m going to walk down to the jail and talk to Duke.”

“You should change first, dear,” Pansy observed mildly. “Duke would probably be more receptive to you when you aren’t wearing white.”

“She didn’t mean that the way it sounded, Libby,” Helen hurried to say, but Liberty shook her head.

“It’s all right.” Hugging Pansy to melt the expression of dismay on her elderly friend’s face, she said, “I’ll wear black. That ought to suit his mood since he clearly thinks I’m the evil witch of Tulips.”

“Black is sexy,” Valentine noted.

“Yes, but I don’t think he’s in the mood to see me as sexy. To him, I’m the villainess of this play,” Liberty said, “and I can’t blame him. Unzip me, if you don’t mind, Helen.”

“Such a pretty gown,” Helen murmured.

Liberty could feel the woman’s fingers tremble at the delicate shell buttons and zipper at the back. “It’s just that Duke’s so strong,” she said to the room at large, as all the women watched the fantasy wedding gown coming undone with sad, wistful eyes. “He’s very opinionated. I got scared,” she said, trying to apologize, or at least explain her actions to the women who cared so much about her. She could feel their heartbreak and their concern. Of course, she’d had no idea she was pregnant at the time. Would she still have jilted Duke?

“Strong is good,” one of the younger women murmured. “I like a strong man.”

“Mmm. John Wayne,” someone else said.

“But a man can be too opinionated,” Valentine said, and Liberty felt better.

“Depends on where and how he decides to express his opinions,” someone commented, drawing a few giggles, though not from Liberty, Pansy, Helen or Valentine.

The heavy doors of the Tulips Saloon crashed open. All the ladies gasped, not the least because of the fabulous stained-glass design of hot pink and red tulips that adorned the door, but mainly from the shock of being startled from their conversation—again.

“Liberty!” Duke’s voice could have drowned out a cannon’s boom. She whirled to look at him, holding her hands to the sweetheart neckline of the dress so it wouldn’t fall from her shoulders.

She raised her chin, not about to answer him meekly. “You snarled?”