The Cowboy's Make Believe Bride (Wyoming Matchmaker Book 2) Read online

  “Ma,” Fort said sadly.

  “The Lutheran minister from Bison's Prairie is coming tomorrow at noon to do the deed,” Mrs. Williams said. “I'm in charge of the cake.” She clasped her hands in delight.

  “No,” Cori said, softly at first, then again louder. The generosity of the town was amazing and heartbreaking. Never was there a place filled with people she loved more, and all this time she worried about her father hurting them when she was about to do more damage.

  But she would not go forward with any more lies. That was no way to live, and she certainly wasn’t about to marry a man who had never asked her.

  “Come on, give them some champagne and let’s get to the eating,” someone in the crowd called, probably Mr. Phillips.

  “No,” Cori yelled. “We aren't getting married.”

  A hush fell over the crowd. Fort squeezed her arm. She jerked it free and stepped forward, tears flowing like mad down her face.

  “Why? Because you aren't ready? None of us are, honey. You just have to jump in,” said the cashier from the quickie-mart.

  Cori choked back a sob. “We aren't getting married because we aren't engaged. Never have been.”

  “I'm confused,” Cricket said.

  Cori wiped away the tears using her palm. She blew out a slow breath, hoping to steady herself, but failed. She shot Fort a look that hopefully conveyed her deep regret for what she was about to do. “I was—” She almost said hired but changed her mind. “I came here to help Fort win the election. It was a ruse.” She held up her hand. “But before you think poorly of Fort, know this. He loves this town. He just didn't know how to show it. He loves each and every one of you, and if you find yourself doubting that, think back to the last week. You all wouldn't give him a fair shake because he keeps to himself. But he's shy. He's private.” She turned to him. “I'm sorry,” she said. “I had to tell them.”

  He stood tall, hands in his pockets, and nodded.

  She faced the group. “There is something you should know about me. My dad is a cattle rustler. He's also a con man and is serving time in a Texas State Prison for crimes much like the ones that happened here and have been happening to good folks like you throughout the county. The man who set one of the fires works for my dad.”

  A few people gasped, and a murmur began to ripple through the group.

  “Any chance your dad's an alien?” Mr. Phillips asked.

  Cori gave a wobbly smile. “I wish. Unfortunately no. Just a bad man. I'm sorry.” She said. “From the very bottom of my heart, I apologize to each and every one of you. My intention was to help a good man get into office.” She clasped her hands over her heart. “I love this town, and I'm sorry for any pain I might have caused each of you. Truly.” She sniffed, turned on her heel, and ran.

  27

  He went to run after her, but his stepfather caught him by the arm and stopped him. “Wait a sec, you need to do some explaining first.” He pushed him to the crowd.

  Fort looked at the faces of the people he was hoping would elect him sheriff. Confusion was easy to read on some, as was anger on others, but both his mom and Mrs. Z looked puzzled, and he didn't know what that meat.

  “I'm sorry,” he said. “All that time I spent in the Navy, whenever someone would mention home, I'd think of here. As a kid, I looked forward to coming here. Heck, even fighting with Deke was something that made me feel as if I belonged. I never felt that way in Texas.”

  “So why make up a girlfriend?” Mr. Phillips asked. “I knew there was something fishy about this.”

  “Of course, you did,” Mrs. Williams said sarcastically.

  “When I first got here, all I wanted to do was enjoy the quiet. Afghanistan was loud. And there was never time to be alone. Here. That's all I wanted. To belong and to have some peace and quiet.”

  “Except we kept trying to set you up,” Mrs. Z said.

  Fort nodded. “I didn't want to hurt anyone's feelings. I was in no place for a relationship.”

  “You could have said that,” someone in the back said. Sounded like Sally.

  “I think I did once. No one was really listening. Y'all think everyone should be married. Everyone should have kids. But that might not be for some folks. I didn't think it was for me.” Fort tried to picture his life before Cori, but all he kept seeing was her. “Then this sheriff thing came up, and everyone was saying I should do it. I wanted to do it, but it seemed I'd have more luck getting kicked in the head by a horse than winning the special election if I wasn't headed toward wedded bliss.”

  A few people laughed.

  “How do you feel now?” His mom stepped forward. “Are you okay with letting Cori go? Are you more than happy to go back to the way things were and give up the election?”

  Fort gave it some thought. He had no regrets. Not for bringing her here, breaking the rules, or her confessions. All said and done, the last month and half had been amazing. Fire withstanding. He'd felt alive and energetic. So letting her leave was not an option. He knew that was unacceptable. He didn't need to be sheriff to be accepted; he needed to be himself.

  She held up her hand and walked to him. “Before you answer, let me tell you a few things from a mother's perspective. You've had to be an adult long before you should have. I'm partly to blame for that for leaving you with your father. But you were never a child who wanted for anything. Don't get me wrong, you needed a lot, but you never felt like you deserved anything. If we went fishing and you caught the biggest one, you would throw it back or give it away. Like you didn't deserve it. Same with hunting. When I bought you clothes to take back to Texas, you'd leave them behind.” She cupped his face in her hands. “If I could undo the past, I would. I'd make different decisions. But let me say this. Running for sheriff was the first thing I saw you reach for. And when you looked at Cori, it was the first time I saw you want something for yourself.”

  “We all saw it,” Mrs. Z said.

  “Yeah, duh,” Cricket added.

  Truth was, he'd been lonely, and the occasional time he spent with a woman he'd pick up out of town never left him wanting more, only satiated a need. But Cori, well, she left him looking forward to every day. Yeah, he could see now how he'd shuttered himself off, and now that he had a taste of what life could be like, hell, he wanted to eat at that buffet.

  He ducked his head in happy defeat and quickly ran through his options before saying, “I'll admit that I was stuck in a rut that I called a routine, and if you all want, I'll withdraw from the election. We can go back to the table and see if there are candidates who might be better for the town. But if you'll have me, I'd like to be your sheriff.” He looked at Mrs. Z. “I'd like to buy your half of the land the cabin sat on if you don't mind.”

  She laughed. “Son, I gave it to you.”

  “I know you did and I appreciate that but—”

  “But nothing. It's yours. If you’d like to buy the rest of my land, I'm willing to sell to you first. I'm thinking I'd like to cash in my goods and do other things besides cows. Maybe cruises instead.”

  Bitsy Tinsdale cooed. “I'd love to take a cruise.”

  Fort was awed by her offer. The day he'd seen the deed, he'd known then he wanted his own ranch. “I appreciate that Mrs. Z. Let's sit down and see if we can't work something out.”

  His mom squealed with delight and rushed him, then threw her arms around him in a tight hug.

  “Wait, there's one problem,” Mrs. Z said. “Cori's name is also on that deed.” She raised one brow and quirked her lips as if holding back a laugh.

  Fort smiled. “I thought you said that wouldn’t be a problem?” He detangled himself from his mom. “Now, if you all don't mind, I gotta girl I need to chase and win back.” He waited for anyone to grumble, but all he heard were cheers.

  He spun to where his truck was parked and found it missing. “Well, hell. She took my truck.” He tossed back his head and laughed.

  “Here,” Deke said and tossed him his keys. “Take mine.”


  Fort caught them and was once again hit with an overwhelming awe of how much had changed. How everything was better, except for his gone girl.

  He hadn't been held behind long enough, but she'd managed to flee town remarkably fast. From the trail of clues she left, he pieced together what she did. She'd taken his truck, drove to the ranch where she collected her stuff, her camera and the majority of her clothes. Left behind were odd bits like a sock tucked between the cushion, her toothbrush in the bathroom, and her perfume in the air. She'd then caught the next train out of Elk's Pass, providing a factual text to tell him where his truck was, leaving the ring behind in the cup holder. She hadn't responded to any of his responding texts or calls. But he didn't need to talk to her to know where she was going. He made a quick call to Sabrina, threw a bag of clothes in his truck, and thanked Deke for the lift to retrieve his vehicle. Pointing his truck south, he pressed the pedal to the metal.

  The drive to Texas took two days, and when he arrived, he was beat and in no shape to confront Cori so he crashed at Sabrina's where she handed him a small card with the poem No Man is an Island printed on it. They'd had a good laugh.

  The next morning, he drove the forty-five minutes to Brewster. Cruising the main street, he was saddened by what had become of the town. Or maybe, for the first time, he was seeing Brewster in its true state. A handful of stores were closed up, boards on their windows. The vibe was nothing like Wolf Creek, where every season volunteers revamped the square flowers. It was hard for him to look at Brewster objectively. He'd worked so hard here, trying to keep their small herd going, fighting against Charlie Walters and his own father. There was no town center, no place for people to congregate for pleasure, only the church and the courthouse where the town meetings were held.

  Trouble with Brewster was that oil was found on some of the land. Instantly, landowners became wealthy while their neighbor stayed status quo. Or worse, struggled. He'd often wondered what life would have been like had his dad learned there was oil on their land before losing it to Walters. Truth was, Fort was happy he hadn't. When he thought about life in Brewster, he didn’t like it. There weren't happy memories for him here, but maybe there would have been if they had money. He doubted it, though. Worst thing to happen to a gambler is to suddenly strick it rich.

  Fort parked by the diner near Main Street. The air quality was thick with dust, he was hot and sticky, and when he stepped into the small greasy spoon, the thick aroma of lard made him stop short. A handful of people were in the diner, only a few talking.

  “Sit wherever,” a flat voice called from the back. He scanned the place. It's gray tones and cheap laminate tops with burn marks spoke of the mentality of the town. He stepped back outside. No thanks. The place hadn't changed since he was a kid. He hadn't liked it back then and even less now.

  Most of Brewster's businesses had shifted over near the supercenter. A chain restaurant, bank, drive-thru ice cream shop, and a quickie oil change store had become the new main street. Charlie Walters was responsible for bringing in the superstore, and this is what Fort held against him the most. With the promise of improving the town, Charlie had instead taken away the small community that needed each other and replaced it with quick access. Yeah, superstores were in tons of small towns that managed to retain their charm and community, but Brewster had been different. Fort wasn't sure why, just that it was. He was glad that he had two goals. Grab Cori and get out of town sooner rather than later.

  With the directions Sabrina gave him, he drove to her apartment, a square building of four floors, three apartments per floor. Cori's was on the second. The blue paint was peeling off the side, and underneath was a dingy white. Cement stairs jutted out from the center of the building, casting a dark shadow across the first three floors. He was depressed parking near it. He only hoped the inside was better.

  He was about to get out when he saw Cori come out of her apartment and jog down the stairs to her car. The three days he'd been without her suddenly felt longer. Lonelier. He thought of all the things he wanted to tell her. About what the folks had said after she ran off. About the ideas he had for moving forward. She was adorable in her short skirt, boots, and her oversize shirt falling off her shoulder, her large glasses showing her the world but somehow missing what was right in front of her.

  When she pushed the glasses up, Fort chuckled.

  Cori drove a beat-up convertible. He'd put money on the old car living up to the name “rag top.” He stayed three car lengths behind her as she zipped through traffic. When she pulled into the parking lot of the superstore, he made sure to obscure his truck behind others. He watched her sit in her car, staring at the large gray building, chewing her nail.

  Now was as good as any to let her know he was in town, but his instincts told him something was about to go down, and he was too curious to stop it.

  She threw her hands up in the air, likely talking to herself, then got out of the car. She kicked the door closed as she spun away. Head up, shoulders back, she marched toward the double automatic doors.

  He had to see this go down. Fort jumped from the truck and followed, making sure to stay out of the reflection of mirrors and doors. All those times in the sandbox had paid off after all.

  28

  A handful of people were coming in or going out, and Cori didn’t know any of them. Which was good. She didn't want to get sidetracked from her task. It had taken two days of staking out the joint, while trying to hide, to make her plan. She was exhausted from the sheer covertness of it. To give her strength, she would scroll through the many texts Fort had sent or listen to his voicemail. Her favorite was the one where he said, “Dammit, Cori. Pick up the phone.” Then would growl in frustration before hanging up. In one message alone, she knew he wasn’t mad, and therein lied hope. So she stayed focus on what she needed to accomplish here before she could tackle the problem of making Fort fall for her.

  She made her way to the grocery section of the store and circled the aisles. Feeling much like a stalker, she grabbed a cart and began throwing the items from her mental grocery list into the cart.

  She made another round and considered the milk she'd put in. It was getting warm from all her laps around the food section. Darn it all, she did not have all day for these people to show up. She debated putting the milk back, hopefully remembering to grab it again when she was done, but worried about the ethics of doing so. She didn't want to be that person, too. The one that walked around with a ton of perishable and then left them in the tampon aisle. Or worse, put them back where they belonged so the now spoiled food could make someone sick. She'd read somewhere that she had four hours before anything was considered “spoiled.” If that was true, then she was safe returning the milk. This did not apply to her mood, though. It was going south fast. She needed her targets to show up already!

  Cori talked herself down from the ledge of panic. The thing about growing up in Brewster and having spent the last 10 years trying to make it up to the town, she was really knowledgeable about the local's habits, and her stakeout over the past two days confirmed she knew the routines of people. It would be unlike Mrs. McAdams if she did not show up for her weekly milk, eggs, and bread. The milk truck came yesterday, the egg and bread guy today. Mrs. McAdams liked her stuff fresh. If she could get these deliverymen to bring it to her house, she'd totally do that. Mr. Miller was no different, only his prey was the beer man. He always came in for a six-pack. Cori made another round and found Mrs. McAdams in the bread aisle, her hand on a pack of sliders buns. Cori backed out of the aisle and peeked down the lane to the beer. Mr. Miller was coming around the corner, six-pack in hand.

  She took a deep breath, then pushed the cart toward Mrs. McAdams, a pageant smile plastered on her face.

  Mrs. McAdams glanced at her then back at the buns, clearly not registering who she was. But then she jerked her attention back to Cori. “What are you doing here?” Mrs. McAdams asked. “I thought when you left, you granted us a gift. Are
you back to torture us some more?”

  Cori smiled and faced the rack of bread. While pretending to study the bagels, she cut her eyes to the side to look for Mr. Miller so often she was getting dizzy.

  Please let him walk by, she prayed. Time crawled.

  “I'm talking to you,” Mrs. McAdams said.

  Finally, Mr. Miller came shuffling by and Cori called out his name. He jumped, startled, and gave her a puzzled look. She waved for him to come down the aisle.

  “Did you need something for me, Cori?” he asked and shifted the six-pack to the other hand.

  “Actually,” Cori said while turning so she could see Mrs. McAdams and address her. “Did you know that Mr. Miller has a zero-turn lawnmower?”

  Mrs. McAdams narrowed her eyes. Her already thin mouth was pressed tightly together. “So? Like I care. What's that have to do with anything that concerns me? That's your problem, Corinne Walters, you are in everyone else's business.”

  “I mention it because ever since Mr. Miller had to move to the trailer, he's had little opportunity to use his zero-turn. Mr. Miller sure loves that mower. Don't you?” She smiled widely at Mr. Miller.

  “Sure do. Named her Peg. Used to date a woman named Peg who was fiery. The mower reminds me of her. Sure do miss using it. Miss it. Miss it. Can't bring myself to sell it.”

  Mrs. McAdams rested her hands on her lower back. “Again, I ask what this has to do with me? Why I should care?”

  Cori pointed to Mrs. McAdams position. “That's why I think you should care. Your back bothers you. It's never been right since you had that accident twenty years ago. Has it? And with your son gone a lot, you have to do more work around the house.”

  “And that's your business, how?” Mrs. McAdams asked, though some of the bluster was gone from her bite.

  “I was thinking,” Cori said, “maybe Mr. Miller could come over and mow your yard every week. It would really help with your back.”