Page 18 of Brian and Cora (The Bachelors of Three Bend Lake #2)

B rian and Buck Skold sat propped up in Seth Flanigan’s wagon, resting on a thick bed of blanket-covered straw.

Their geldings were tied to the back corners, and from time to time, when Brian glanced to check, Marshal gave him a look and head shake that said this whole rigmarole was beneath his horsely dignity.

Dr. Angus had insisted his two patients take some laudanum for the journey and, in spite of all Brian’s protestations that he didn’t want a foggy head, refused to back down, saying he wouldn’t authorize the trip to town and from there to their homes unless they took the pain medication.

Buck had given in first, and after a grunt of frustration, so had Brian.

At first, the ride hadn’t been so bad. But then one hour passed. And the next. The interminable drive was made longer by Seth keeping his team to the pace of an earthworm, so as to avoid the worst of the ruts.

The closer they came to town and the effects of the medicine wore off, the more Brian’s leg ached.

Sometimes, he had to hold in a groan or moan or gasp when the wagon wheels hit a rut and the jolt spiked pain across his wound.

Any outward indication of discomfort would have the wretched doctor, riding next to the wagon and casting frequent assessing glances their way, forcing more laudanum down his throat.

Even when his wound wasn’t stabbing him, the denim of his trousers rubbed against the heavy bandage around his thigh. He’d spent the last week wearing one of Seth Flanigan’s borrowed nightshirts, and he’d mulishly refused to travel to town unless dressed in his own clothing.

With a shake of his head and a look that told Brian he’d pay the price for his stubbornness, Dr. Angus had allowed him his way.

He suspected, from the way Buck sometimes clenched his hands, that he had similar struggles. The man wasn’t quite as stubborn as Brian, but then again, he didn’t need to be, seeming content to let Brian take the contrary lead and then fall into place behind him.

Just a few more hours until home. I can endure that much.

Before the corner where the road turned onto the main street of town, Hank and Elsie waited along with Constance Taylor.

Beside them stood a group he didn’t know until a “whoop” from Buck told him they must be from the Thompson ranch—Samantha and Wyatt Thompson, their six children, and Buck’s fellow cowboys.

He’d certainly heard enough about the ranch’s inhabitants from Buck during their recovery.

“Whoa.” Seth stopped the wagon.

Seemingly all talking at once, the Thompson bunch swarmed to Buck’s side of the wagon.

Dr. Angus pulled up his horse, Zeus, swung down from the saddle, thrust the reins into Brian’s hand, and held out his arms to his fiancée.

With a cry of joy, Constance picked up her skirts and ran to him, throwing herself into his embrace. She started to cry.

“Now, now, Hen.” Dr. Angus gently patted her back. “Dinnae fash yerself. I’m fine, Mo ghràdh. I promise.” He held her tight.

She raised her tearstained face, and they kissed.

Brian knew from Hank’s acquaintance with the man that the doctor tended to be a kind, although reserved, Scot. So, to see him melt into public demonstrativeness made a lump form in his throat.

Uncomfortable with the feeling, he swallowed and made himself mentally step back to catalogue the scene, wishing he could pull out the notebook and pencil, safely tucked in the saddlebags in the foot of the wagon bed.

Elsie left Hank’s side to rush over to Brian. She went on tiptoe to lean over the side of the wagon and bussed a kiss on his cheek. “You have no idea how good it is to see you! We’ve worried and prayed and prayed and worried!”

Years had passed since anyone outside of Hank, Torin, and Jewel had cared about him, and the hard shell around his heart softened a bit. “I’m fine,” he told her with a genuine smile. “Thank you for caring.”

Hank walked over to join her, clasping a hand on Brian’s shoulder and squeezing, before studying him with solemn eyes.

“I’m fine,” Brian repeated, this time a little more testily to hide any hint of the tenderness in his chest.

“Better than when last I saw you. Same bad temper, though.” Hank winked, took back Zeus’s reins, and held out his hand to Elsie.

She grasped Hank’s hand, looking up at him with an expression of adoration on her face.

He smiled tenderly down at her.

Their exchange gave Brian a pinch of envy, which he quickly repressed. He’d tried love once before, learned his lesson, and wasn’t about to take the risk again.

Dr. Angus loosened his embrace of Constance enough to glance over at his two patients. Apparently satisfied, he nodded for Seth to go ahead and reached out a hand for Zeus’s reins. He crooked his arm for Constance, and the two set out, the horse trailing them.

A safe distance behind, Hank walked hand-in-hand with Elsie, bouncing along beside him.

The various people from the Thompson ranch flowed around the other side of the wagon.

The plan was for them to stop at Dr. Cameron’s office for a final check of their wounds before Buck would travel on to the Thompsons’ ranch and Brian to Three Bend Lake.

As they reached the corner for the turn into town, everyone moved farther from the wagon to allow Seth to draw ahead and navigate.

The chatter of his friends, as well as that of the Thompson party, kept Brian from realizing anything unusual was happening until he heard happy shouts and an uproar of voices. What the…?

With a clear view down Main Street, he sucked in a sharp breath. Once again, Seth drew in the horses, probably just as stunned as Brian. Sweetwater Springs looked like a parade on the Fourth of July. Seemed as if everyone for miles around came to line each side of the roadway.

“Well, I’ll be a naked monkey,” Buck said with a moon-faced grin. “Are they here for us?”

“Naked monkey is right,” Brian drawled in astonishment.

Hank, backtracking with Elsie to stand by Brian, caught the exchange. He chuckled. “You two are the whole dang circus.”

Brian groaned from a different kind of pain this time.

Seth flicked the reins, and the wagon ambled along the street.

People yelled out greetings, best wishes, and their thanks. Men waved their hats and women fluttered handkerchiefs. A few were even crying. The townsfolk threw flowers before them into the street and tossed bouquets into the wagon.

There weren’t a lot of blooms to be had this time of year. But Brian recognized marigolds and chrysanthemums, often surrounded by colorful autumn leaves. The spicy-sweet scent wafted around them.

Thank goodness, palm trees don’t grow in Montana, or they’d be laying down palm branches like with Jesus riding the donkey into Jerusalem.

As much as Brian wanted to sink down into the straw, pull the blanket over his head, and hide, he couldn’t help feeling some part of his curmudgeonly heart be moved by the expressions of both joy and relief.

Next to him, Buck lapped up the attention like a starving dog given a bowl of milk. He smiled and waved his good arm, playing to the crowd, saying, “Thank you, darling,” to any female from a young girl to a tottering old lady who called out, smiled through their tears, or blew him kisses.

During their convalescence at the Flannigan homestead, he and Buck once observed an intimate moment between Seth and Trudy—more of loving energy between them, how their bodies inclined toward each other, a look in their eyes—than any outwardly physical gesture.

“I want that.” Buck’s tone had held longing. “Not just a wife, but one I will tenderly adore until my bones are too old and brittle to hug her without breaking her in half and my arms falling off.”

“What a romantic image,” he’d growled in response.

Truth be told, Brian had wanted that too, once. But betrayal made him ice over those wishes, turning the longing as brittle as the bones Buck described. He didn’t say anything to Buck, though, not wanting to discourage the man. Seth and Trudy proved such love and trust was possible.

But not for me. Brian pulled his attention back to the present.

Boys ran alongside the wagon, pelting them with questions. Between flirting with the womenfolk, since Brian wasn’t inclined to do more than grunt “no” or “yes,” Buck gave quick answers of actual words.

Not part of the parade, K.C. Granger perched on Big Red, observing the spectacle, a hint of amusement softening her normally cool expression. Next to her, the blacksmith and her frequent deputy, Chogan Redwolf, watched from atop his Appaloosa. Between them, Walter McCurdy sat on a pony.

She leaned down with her forearm across the horn of her saddle, a wry grin crossing her face.

He’d bet his next book advance that she was grateful not to be part of the circus parade.

But even she hadn’t quite escaped floral attention.

A wreath was draped around the gelding’s neck and his mane and tail braided with colorful ribbons.

Brian wondered what the sheriff said when she discovered her bedecked horse. Probably not something repeatable in polite company.

The sheriff nodded at Brian and Buck, giving them a quick salute.

Brian sat up straighter, ignoring the pain in his leg. Earning the respect of the sheriff, a lawwoman to the bone, meant more than any medal of honor.

A girl ran up to the sheriff, handing her a bouquet of marigolds.

To his surprise, the sheriff’s expression softened, and she smiled at the child, taking the flowers. Then she leaned and gestured toward Walter, obviously introducing them.

Brian gaped. He’d never seen the lawwoman looking so relaxed and friendly.

Buck, apparently, also noticed the sheriff talking to the girl. “That’s Kayleigh Gentry, the goose girl.”

After waving at an admirer, Buck leaned back with a wince. “Sheriff Granger saved Kaylee, when she ran away from home to keep her goose from becoming Christmas dinner.”

“Heard something about that.”