Kristine Rolofson - The Husband Show

“Well, now,” Les’s grandfather drawled. “I’m impressed with your education. Where’d you go to school?”

“I used to attend Lady Bishop Pettigrew’s,” the little blonde girl replied. “But I was recently expelled.”

“Why?” Jerry interrupted, stepping into the small group. He couldn’t help himself. This angelic-looking child didn’t seem at all like a troublemaker. But maybe Lady Pettigrew’s had a stricter code of conduct than the schools in Montana.

“I have severe psychological issues.”

“Don’t we all?” Jerry said into the following silence. He held a hand out to what looked like the girl’s stunned father. “Jerry Thompson, mayor,” he said. “Since we haven’t met, I assume you’re a friend of the groom?”

“Not exactly,” the other man said, flashing a quick smile. “I’m Jake Hove, and this is my daughter, Winter.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet both of you.” Jerry shook hands with them. The man seemed friendly enough, though he kept scanning the crowd as if he was looking for someone. Winter didn’t seem severely disturbed. Jerry thought she seemed like a nice enough kid. She didn’t have any obvious piercings or tattoos. She was expensively dressed, in designer jeans and a hoodie. Growing up in Los Angeles had taught him to recognize high-end clothing. “Did you say Hove? Any relation to—”

“Sam,” Jake said. “My brother. We’re not attending the reception,” he added quickly, glancing at the girl. “We’re in town and I wanted to see—”

“We waited outside during the wedding,” Winter broke in. “We didn’t wish to be rude.”

“The bride and groom wouldn’t have cared or even noticed,” Mr. Parcell said. “The whole town was invited. Of course, they know everyone in town, so it was only right.”

Winter nodded. “We saw the poster at the bar.”

“We weren’t in the bar,” Jake quickly assured them.

“I was,” Winter said. “I needed to make use of the facilities.”

The old man frowned. “What?”

“She talks like that sometimes,” Jake told him.

Jerry wondered if severe psychological issues manifested as speaking with a British accent. Maybe the child had different personalities, like Sybil in that movie he’d seen when he was a kid. Jerry shuddered.

Jake scanned the crowd. “Is Sam here?”

“He’ll be up at the main house with Lucia getting the food ready,” Jerry said. “She and Marie Swallow are organizing the potluck in the tent.”

“I’ll check there. Thanks.”

“It’s the big white Victorian,” Jerry added. “You passed it when you walked in, and of course, you’ll have seen the reception tent. It’s almost as big as the barn.”

“Thanks.” Jake put his hand on Winter’s shoulder. “We’ll head over there.”

“How long are you going to be in town?”

“I’m not sure. We’re on our way home. To Nashville.”

“That’s quite a drive,” Jerry said, glancing toward the child again. “I hope you’ll enjoy your stay in Willing. We have a lot of things going on in town right now, with the television show about to air.”

“Television show?” Now that caught the girl’s interest.

Jerry nodded. “Oh, yeah. We’re about to become famous. Your uncle can tell you all about it. He was at most of the filming.”

“But I thought he makes documentaries,” Winter said. “In South America.” She turned to her father. “You didn’t tell me he filmed a show here.”

“I didn’t know,” her father said. “We didn’t talk very long and—”

“Oh, this wasn’t one of Sam’s fishing films. This had nothing to do with him. Ours was a reality show,” Jerry explained. “We took twenty-four of our most eligible men here in town and created a dating show.”

“Willing to Wed?” Jake grinned.

“Yes! You’ve heard of it?” The money spent on publicity was paying off already.

“A woman at your local bar told us about it.”

“Tall? Silver hair? Attitude?”

Jake grinned. “Yes.”

“Watch out,” he warned. “That’s Aurora Jones. She can emasculate you with one look. The woman makes my life miserable.”

“You’re, uh, involved?”

“No! There isn’t a man in town who would take her on.” He looked around the room, half expecting Aurora would pop out from behind a flower-covered post and badger him about her building permit again. “We have a professional relationship.”

“I thought she was nice.” Winter glared at him as if he’d just said Cinderella was an evil witch who stepped on mice and punched princes.

“I suppose she can be,” he offered. “When she wants to.”

Les’s grandfather leaned forward. “Did you see the grizzly bear inside the Dahl?”

Winter nodded. “It was a grizzly bear?”

The old man nodded. “Owen MacGregor’s grandfather shot that bear and had it mounted for the Dahl. There are some people around here who think a grizzly would be easier to get along with than Aurora Jones.”

“I beg your pardon,” Winter said. “But I must disagree.”

“So does my wife,” the old man declared. “She says she’s clever with a needle.”

“What does that mean, ‘clever with a needle’?”

“Quilting,” he explained. “The women around here spend hours cutting up fabric and sewing it back together.”

“I think we’ll go find my brother now,” Jake said, urging the child toward the door.

“Watch out. Aurora’s probably gone back to the kitchen with the rest of them.”

“The kitchen?” Mike Peterson, standing nearby, chuckled. “I hope she didn’t cook anything.”

“She didn’t,” Les assured him. “She donated the champagne instead.”

“Well, good,” Jerry muttered. “We won’t need the Red Cross tomorrow.”

* * *

ALL HE’D WANTED to do was find his brother. That’s all. He had Sam’s phone number. He had his address. Who would have thought an entire town would be closed for business on an April Sunday afternoon?

Now he was at a stranger’s wedding, on a ranch, in the middle of nowhere. He’d met the mayor and some of the locals and seen for himself the historic MacGregor Ranch. But he wanted to see Sam. Ten years was a long time. Ten years was pretty stupid.

“Brigadoon, that’s what this is,” his daughter said, following him out of the barn and into the sunshine. “Have you ever seen that movie?”

“No.” He started along a gravel path toward the main house, easily sixty yards away. A large addition jutted out from the back of the house, where a door was propped open.

“That’s where we are,” she said, hurrying to keep up. “In a land that time forgot.”

“You’re mixing up your movies. I saw The Land That Time Forgot.” Women kept disappearing into that opened door, which meant that’s where the food was.

“No, Brigadoon is when two people end up in a town where it’s two or three hundred years—well, a long time—ago, only it’s not. It’s modern day, but they’re not, you know, modern.” She looked back at the barn. “Do you think they’ll square-dance?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You’ve never heard of square dancing?”

“I’ve heard of square dancing,” he said, taking a deep breath as they approached the open door. Two laughing older women carrying casseroles stepped out. Jake said a silent prayer for patience. He was nervous, he realized. And that realization sent another stab of nerves into his belly. Guilt, fear and excitement warred for space in his chest. Jake didn’t often feel nervous, and he sure as heck didn’t like the feeling.

His life had changed beyond recognition recently, and he wasn’t sure he liked it all that much.