Stroke of Fortune (17 page)

Maybe, he thought, the only thing a man could do for the ones that were gone was to live the life he had left fully and well.

F
lynt Carson went after his woman the next day. He hardly slept the night before. He tossed and turned, fighting the urge to go to her sooner.

But he figured he'd done enough chasing after her in darkness.

It was time he declared himself in the bright light of day.

He had a big doubt inside him, gnawing away like a mean rat—that she wouldn't take him back, wouldn't give him one more chance.

The truth was, he couldn't blame her if she turned him down. He'd put her through hell and she deserved better than the likes of him. If she sent him packing, he'd live through it.

Somehow.

But he wouldn't lose her for lack of trying.

He went to Alva's house first. He waited on her sagging front porch, his heart pounding hard and his palms wet, for someone to answer his knock.

Finally Alva pulled the door back. She looked at him through narrowed eyes. “She's not here.”

Flynt rarely wore a hat, except when he worked the
ranch alongside his brother, but he wore a straw Resistol that day. He knew he needed to have his hat in his hands. “Please, Mrs. Lavender.” He turned the hat by the brim as he spoke. Every nerve he had was singing, calling Josie's name. “I know I'm not good enough for your daughter, but I love her. And you could say I have seen the light.”

“What happened to your face, Flynt Carson?”

Yeah, all right. He was a mess. Cuts on his neck and his jaw from rolling in broken glass, a black eye and a goose egg at the high point of his right cheek. “I ran into a door.”

Alva smiled then. “Maybe a couple of doors.”

“That's right, ma'am. Maybe even three or four. I've got to pay more attention to where I'm going, and that is a fact.”

Alva peered at him closely, as if making sure of something. And then she said, “Try the Mission Creek Café.”

 

When Flynt walked into the Mission Creek Café, Josie was serving toast and tea to Mavis, Anna and TildyLee, three sweet little ladies who came in every Tuesday at ten.

They liked having Josie wait on them because she always took time with them. And she never ran out of patience when they got their orders confused, which, somehow, they always did.

“No, now, Anna, that English muffin, I believe, is mine. You had a blueberry muffin, didn't you?”

“TildyLee, I did not. That English muffin is mine. You had wheat toast. And the sourdough goes to Mavis.”

Mavis let out a little chirp of outrage. “No, it does not. I didn't have sourdough. I don't even
like
sourdough.”

“Well, then, why did you order it?”

“I
didn't
order it.”

“Mavis Letha Enderberry, you know that you did.”

Josie stood by the table, holding all three orders, letting the ladies get the arguing out of their systems. Eventually she'd serve whatever they still wanted—and go back for replacements of whatever wouldn't do. She had a feeling the sourdough was out of there. And maybe even the wheat toast. The only sure thing right then was that both TildyLee and Anna wanted the muffin.

She was vaguely aware that the door to the street opened. She heard the bell warning them a new customer had entered.

And then she heard nothing.

A kind of stillness.

It was as if everyone in the café—well, except for the three ladies arguing over their muffins and toast—had turned to stare at whoever had just come in.

Ellie Switzer said, “Oh, my!”

And Margie Dodd whistled. “Well, what have we here?”

Josie turned to see what was so interesting—and almost dropped the plates she had in her hands.

“Careful, dear,” cautioned TildyLee.

“Whoopsy,” chirped Mavis with a girlish giggle.

Flynt!

Her foolish heart seemed to shout his name.

He looked just awful. All cut up and bruised. He'd been in a fight somewhere, that much was certain. He was headed right for her and she didn't know what to do.

Run to his arms? Run away as fast as her feet would carry her? Stand her ground and find out just what he was doing here?

She ended up standing her ground, but more out of shock than any kind of real choice.

“Josie,” he said when he reached her and stood looking down at her. He said it as if the whole world was held in her name.

She gulped. “What?” She made herself glare at him. “What do you want, Flynt Carson?”

“You,” he said softly. He had a hat—he never wore a hat. But today, he had a hat. And it was in his hands.

She gulped again.

Margie appeared at her elbow. “Better let me have those plates.” Margie took the two orders of toast and the muffin and she turned and set them on the edge
of the table where the three ladies—all very quiet now—sat. “Work it out,” she said in a tone of cool command.

“Well, all right,” said Mavis. “I will eat that sourdough.”

Flynt said, “One more chance, Josie. Give me one more chance. You won't regret it. I swear that you won't.”

She stared up at him, loving him so much, it was a throbbing ache inside her, knowing she was a goner, wondering why it was her destiny to be such a total fool for this man.

Then he got down on one knee. He caught her hand. And he kissed it.

Even Margie sighed when he did that.

“I love you, Josie Lavender. You are the woman for me. I have been blind and I have been dead wrong. And I've hurt you, bad. I know I have. I don't deserve the love of a woman like you. But damn it, just try me again. Marry me. Marry me now. Right away. As soon as we can get ourselves a license. Let's make the life we're meant to make, you and me side by side.”

“Oh,” she said, twin tears forming, escaping, sliding down her cheeks. “Oh, why am I such a sucker for you, Flynt Carson?”

He put his hat against his chest. “Was that a yes?”

She bit her lip to stop the flood of tears that threatened to come pouring out. And she nodded.

He stood and swept her up in his big arms and carried her out of there.

No one said a word until the door swung shut behind them.

Then Ellie burst into tears.

Gus turned to her and shouted, “Get to work! I don't pay you for blubberin'.”

Margie Dodd asked the three ladies, “Is everybody happy?”

TildyLee replied with a sigh of pure delight, “Oh, yes. We are just fine. And isn't love grand?”

F
lynt had meant what he said. He wanted them married immediately. But Grace insisted that they must have a proper wedding and a huge reception.

Both the groom and his mother got what they were after. Flynt pulled a few strings and lined up the club's ballroom for that Saturday afternoon. Grace, Ford, Cara and Fiona started making calls. Josie was hustled right over to Mission Creek Creations to get herself a wedding dress. Flowers were ordered, a band hired, the menu planned, all in record time. Grace was in her element. She even made time to help Alva pick out a lovely sky-blue ensemble to wear as mother of the bride. And Josie made sure her friends at the café and up in Hurst were invited.

Saturday at one in the afternoon, Josie and Flynt said their vows at First Church, with Reverend Williams presiding. The ceremony itself was small—just the immediate family.

But the party after, in the vast upstairs ballroom at the Lone Star Country Club, was an event to remember. It seemed to Josie that everyone in the county showed up.

To kick off the festivities, Josie stepped out on the dance floor with Flynt for the first dance. It was just the two of them, gliding across the floor under the glittering crystal chandeliers.

Flynt bent close and whispered, “What are you thinking, Mrs. Carson?”

She whispered back, “That maybe I'm not so naive, after all.”

Flynt laughed and kissed her and all the guests applauded and Josie blushed. For a moment there, she'd actually forgotten that she and Flynt weren't alone.

They stayed on that floor until the band took its first break. Then they sat for a while with Ford and Grace and Alva. Eventually Josie excused herself for a visit to the special powder room reserved just for the bride.

It was a lovely little space, with a wide, well-lighted mirror and a dressing table. Josie used the stall and was washing her hands in the marble sink when the door opened.

She gasped. “Rose.” She dried her hands quickly and rushed to her secret friend. The two women embraced.

Rose whispered, “I heard you and Flynt were getting married. Wainwrights aren't welcome, of course, but I couldn't resist sneaking in to wish you…everything. Love and happiness. Lots of laughter. Joy. All the wonderful things you so richly deserve.”

“Oh, I'm so glad that you did.” Josie took her friend by the shoulders and held her away enough that their eyes could meet. She didn't like what she saw. “Rose, are you all right?”

“Fine, really. Just a little tired.” She looked away, then back. “I broke it off with Matt.”

Josie just ached for her. “Don't give up. I know it will work out. Hey, it worked out for me, didn't it?”

Rose forced a smile. “One more hug. A big one, for luck.”

They embraced once more, and then Rose slipped out.

Josie sank to the cushioned chair at the dressing table, shaking her head and cursing that stupid, decades-old feud. Then she put on fresh lipstick and went back out to join her bridegroom.

Three hours later, she stood at the top of the wide staircase that led down to the clubhouse lobby, her groom at her side, her bouquet of lilies and roses in her hand. Below on the lobby floor, all the single women looked up at her, their dreams in their eyes.

Josie gazed down over the sea of hopeful faces and spotted a certain one on the edge of the crowd. She lifted a brow in question and got a quick nod in response.

Raising her bouquet, she sent it soaring out. Down below, all the single ladies held up eager hands to catch it. But it sailed right past them and dropped into
the waiting arms of the slim, black-haired woman at the edge of the crowd.

“My God,” someone cried. “Did you see that? That was Rose Wainwright.”

The name spread through the crowd. “Rose Wainwright.”

“Rose Wainwright. Did you see her?”

“Rose Wainwright has caught the Carson bride's bouquet.”

“Over there. She was over there.”

But the slender, dark-haired woman had already slipped away.

Flynt whispered into Josie's ear, “Tell me that didn't happen.”

“Well, I can't tell you that.” She turned and put her hands on his broad chest. “Because it did.”

He frowned down at her. “Was that Rose Wainwright?”

“Maybe.”

“Is that all you're going to say?”

“'Fraid so, for right now.” She twined her arms around his neck.

“What?” he muttered darkly.

“I'm kind of hoping you'll kiss me.”

Slowly he smiled. “Josie Carson, that's a request I can't refuse.”

And then, oh so tenderly, he lowered his mouth to hers.