Page 15 of Head Room (Caught Dead in Wyoming #15)

Shadow gave me a dirty look as I closed the front door with him inside — not a dirty look for leaving him, since we both knew the Undlins would have him back over there before I was off the block, but because my leaving without waiting for Tom to come to the door meant Shadow didn’t get to say hello to him.

“Sorry, bud. I’m keeping him all to myself for these few minutes.”

We would pick up Tamantha next from the library, where she was attending a program, and then go for dinner at Hamburger Heaven. It was the best we could do for together time.

Tom usually worked sunrise to sunset on the Circle B, including these long days of June. With the wedding rolling toward us, he was adding in dawn and dusk hours. Both to leave the least amount to be done and to pre-pay favors.

Neighbors and friends would fill in the daily tasks for our multi-day wedding gathering, plus a few days after for our mini-honeymoon. The real thing would wait until the lull between taking cattle to market and calving season.

Tamantha’s dance card stayed packed all the time, even before her involvement with my mom and the wedding.

She was going to play an unusual double role in the wedding.

We’d asked her if she’d rather be Tom’s best man or my maid of honor.

She said both.

We looked at each other and decided in that moment to make it work.

We asked Mike and Diana to join the wedding party and were touched by how touched they were.

My assigned wedding tasks took the form of a lengthy checklist with boldfaced deadlines. Most involved preparing myself, my clothing, and my house to look our best.

I slid into the passenger seat of Tom’s truck and leaned across to kiss him. “Hi.”

He cooperated with the kiss, but we kept it short. Didn’t want to delay the Undlins getting Shadow while they waited for us to leave.

As Tom backed the truck out of the drive, he said, “Hear you got something going.”

He didn’t mean wedding plans.

Should have guessed word would have reached him already. “Let me guess. You know Colonel Crawford.”

“Never met him. Know Sergeant Frank Jardos.”

That caught my attention on a few levels. “Know, not knew?”

“Don’t read anything into that more than not wanting to let a good man go too soon.”

I considered that for a beat. “Tom, what do you know about the vets Frank Jardos helped, the ones living off the grid?”

“Know they’re not hurting anybody. Rarely see them. Never a problem. Respect the land, don’t bother the livestock, stick to the hunting laws.”

“Are they on your land?”

“Our land,” he said with a slight smile.

We’d agreed months ago that the ranch and highway construction business would remain in his name and go to Tamantha if something happened to him, with me as guardian if needed.

My house and investments would remain in my name and go to him or Tamantha, depending on if and when something happened to me.

James Longbaugh, a lawyer in town and Tom’s friend, drew up the papers for us, so that was all set.

But short of those unwanted eventualities, the houses, the ranch, the life would be ours.

“They were for a while. Wouldn’t have bothered me if they wanted to stay. But they’re looking for a patch of land to be theirs permanent.”

In the pause that followed, I saw his slight grimace, a habitual combination of acceptance and acknowledgment that things could’ve been easier if not for . . . People, mostly. Nature, sometimes.

He said, “If Mrs. Parens had inherited Teague’s place instead of the museum—”

That was a long story he and I both knew well. Russell Teague and Mrs. P had set up a sort of tontine for two.

Initially, she would have inherited his Wyoming holdings, including a ranch north of the Circle B which held a jumble of Old West buildings Teague snatched up from wherever he could.

But they haggled and events played out so that those holdings went to the museum and into curator Clara Atwood’s control.

“—probably could’ve worked it right off to sell them the back section, leaving plenty of area to sort out the buildings. But Clara is not rushing to make it happen.”

“Is Frank Jardos involved in the negotiations?”

“Don’t know about that. James is. Not representing either side, trying to get it done.”

“But Clara’s slowing the process — with cause? Is there something about the deal that legitimately bothers her? How’re they going to pay for this land?”

He pulled into the library parking lot. We were a few minutes early.

“Don’t know the ins and outs, but what I’ve gathered is they’re each putting up an equal stake for a down payment, then working out a payment schedule.

So that’s not a fence for her to jump. From what I hear, she likes the idea of the regular payments — a steady income stream that won’t change with seasons or down years. ”

He parked off to the side, where Tamantha could spot the familiar truck, but not competing with vehicles clustered close to the entrance.

“Suspect it’s mostly an occupational hazard for Clara. When she gets her hands on things for the museum, she doesn’t want to let them go.”

“Like artifacts,” I said heavily.

“Why do you say it like that?”

“I was thinking today that I’m a fossil, an artifact from an earlier time.”

“Don’t look like a fossil to me.”

“These young reporters shoot their own video, edit standing on their heads, add graphics themselves, and upload the finished package in no time. I have to rely on Diana to shoot and somebody usually helps me with graphics. I suppose I could upload it in a pinch, the same way I could land an airplane if I was the only passenger and the pilot passed out.”

He watched me silently.

“I feel old sometimes. Not most of the time,” I hurried to add. “But all this wedding stuff should be for young women, especially those who’re in it for the party.”

“You’re not in it for the party?” One side of his mouth quirked up.

“No. Mind you, I don’t mind the friends and family coming. That’ll be fun.” I straightened my spine to look at him directly for the next part. “I’m in it for the marriage.”

His brown eyes warmed in a way that melted me from the inside out.

“Works for me,” he said, just before he kissed me. A lot.

During an interlude, he added, “Remember, you’re the right age for me.”

I tipped my head, considering that, then echoed his words. “Works for me.”

And we kissed more.

Until a rap on the passenger window nearly sent my head through the roof, which had the effect of simultaneously separating us and whipping my head around.

Emmaline Parens. Known by some of us as Mrs. P.

Former teacher and principal for most of Cottonwood County. No, change that — not former teacher. She continued to teach. With me as a student.

She was short enough that she practically had to look up to see through the truck’s passenger window. She’d have still had a fine view.

Glad it wasn’t Tamantha, was my first thought.

She’d seen us kiss . . . but not like this.

Didn’t take but another second to know Mrs. P wasn’t a big improvement when it came to catching us necking in the library parking lot.

Tom must have politely hit the button to lower the passenger window. I sure didn’t. With its protection gone, I spurted out words.

“Just who I was hoping to see, Mrs. Parens. I have questions I hope you can help me with. Not tonight, because we’re going to dinner, but another day. When it’s convenient for you. And a place that’s convenient for you, if that’s convenient.”

Tom went with a simple, “Hello, Mrs. Parens.”

“Hello, Thomas.” She nodded sedately to him, then focused on me. “If you contact me, I am confident we can find a mutually agreeable time and place to converse concerning your current topic of interest, Elizabeth.”

Beyond her, I spotted our rescue — Tamantha running toward us.

“Did you know Wyoming has an official dinosaur?”

She called her question out as she approached, then continued from inside the back seat of the cab.

“It’s called Triceratops because it has three horns. It also has what they call a bony frill, like those people wore in really old paintings, like a petticoat around someone’s neck.”

Saved by a dinosaur wearing a neck petticoat.