Annette Broadrick - The Groom, I Presume?

“We just got to talking,” she replied, her voice sounding hoarse in her ears, “and didn’t notice the time.”

They were in the kitchen and Maribeth opened the refrigerator as though looking for something to eat.

“Well, it’s a good thing Bobby’s not the jealous type. Otherwise he might have something to say about his fiancée disappearing for hours with his best friend.” When Maribeth continued to stare sightlessly into the refrigerator, Megan added, “I saved you a plate. It’s on the bottom shelf.”

“Thanks.” Maribeth’s reply was muffled.

“Are you getting a cold? You sound funny.” Megan took the plate out of Maribeth’s hands and looked at her. “And your face is all blotchy. Have you been crying?”

“For Pete’s sake, Megan. I’m twenty-six years old. I don’t need you mothering me any longer. Would you give it a rest?”

Megan blinked in surprise. Maribeth knew she was acting out of character, but she wasn’t ready to discuss the news she’d received with anyone at the moment. For that matter, she couldn’t imagine a time when she’d be ready to tell the family that Bobby Metcalf had cared so little for her that he had blithely run off and married somebody else days before their wedding.

She watched Megan put the plate of food in the microwave and set the timer. The silence in the kitchen became oppressive to her.

“I’m sorry I snapped at you,” Maribeth finally said, sitting down at the table and gently rubbing her swollen eyelids. “My eyes have been watering. I guess I could be getting a cold.”

Megan poured a glass of iced tea and set it down in front of her. “At the risk of sounding too motherly once again, I’d suggest that you take a hot bath after dinner and get to bed early. You certainly don’t want to be coughing and sneezing on Saturday.”

The microwave pinged and Maribeth jumped up to get there first. “Good idea. I think I’ll do that,” she muttered, carrying her plate and silverware to the table.

“Do you want me to stay with you while you eat?”

Maribeth knew that her sister was just trying to be polite. Normally Maribeth would have enjoyed her company. But not now. Now, all she wanted was to be left alone.

“That’s okay, sis. But thanks for the offer.” She kept her eyes on her food.

Once Megan left the kitchen Maribeth tried her best to eat. She knew she couldn’t choke down much of it, but Megan’s attitude was just a small sample of what she could expect, magnified a few dozen times, if she told her family what had happened. She could almost visualize what would happen. Megan would immediately get on the phone to Mollie. Then her sisters would tell their husbands. She wouldn’t put it past Travis and Deke to round up a posse of angry friends and neighbors and go after Bobby with the intention of lynching him.

Even the children would get into the act in their own way—trying to comfort her with pats and special little gifts.

How could she possibly deal with all of that? Chris was right. She needed to get away from here. Maybe she would leave for a while. She could go anywhere. She’d been faithfully saving the money Travis paid her, knowing she’d need money once she and Bobby were married. She could take the money and go to Houston, or maybe San Antonio… or Dallas.

Of course, she could go to Dallas without actually living with Chris. At least he would be there close by. She could find an apartment, maybe find a job somewhere. She could—

Just who was she fooling? She’d never been on her own in her life! She’d always had friends and family around her, looking after her, caring for her, babying her.

The truth was that she’d been spoiled by everyone. She barely remembered her parents. What stood out in her memory from that awful time was how upset Megan and Mollie had been. It was only later that she understood that the three of them could have been split up and put into foster homes.

None of those memories seemed real to her now. She’d grown up with Mollie taking care of the house and meals and Megan working the ranch.

What, exactly, had she contributed to the group?

A big fat zero.

She’d blithely played with her friends, tagged along behind Bobby and Chris, worked with her 4-H projects and planned her future around Bobby Metcalf.

It was almost as if Bobby’s actions had forced her to stop and take a cold, hard look at herself.

She didn’t like what she saw.

By the time Megan and Mollie had reached her age, they were wives and mothers, running households, being responsible.

She was still playing with her animals and getting paid for it.

Maribeth looked down at her plate and realized that she’d eaten every bite of food on it. So much for all the agonized suffering she was doing. It certainly hadn’t affected her appetite.

What she was doing was sitting there feeling sorry for herself, feeling picked on because she had a sister who was concerned about her, knowing how the family would rally around her if she told them the truth.

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