Page 6 of May I Kiss the Bride

IF SOMEONE HAD TOLD REY last week that looking at a woman could take a man’s breath away, he would have laughed and said those were words of a fanciful poet.

Not that Rey was an expert in poetry, but he heard the way men talked about women.

He also knew the way men fought over women.

And he remembered what it felt like to love a woman with your whole being so that you’d do anything for her.

Even if it took mortgaging the ranch to send away for some fancy city doctor, only to have the miracle cure fail.

He also knew that his heart, which had been doing just fine—healing slowly and being content with his life as sheriff, dad to one little girl, and keeping law and order in Mayfair—had suddenly been jolted. Yet there was no lightning coming through the bakery roof that he knew of.

But that’s what felt like had happened when he turned his gaze upon Beth Cannon’s niece.

Who happened to be the woman from the train.

Miss Viola Delany herself. Risen from the train-car floor and restored to her senses.

Changed from her prim white blouse of ruffles.

Now she wore a sky-blue dress and light pink apron, dusted with flour.

Gone was her smart hat angled over her gray eyes.

The stormy Pacific was clear in her gaze now, her face framed by wisps of blonde hair that had escaped the bun tied at the nape of her neck.

Her dark brows and dark lashes were just as he remembered them though. Nothing had changed there. But her cheeks were flushed pink, likely with the heat of the ovens and certainly had nothing to do with seeing him—a jaded cowboy who’d been through a thing or two in life.

It was probably a good thing that Viola Delany spoke first, because for the first time in his life, Rey had no words. Maybe the proverbial cat had really stolen his tongue and buried it beneath a mound of hay in the farthest reaches of a barn somewhere.

“Sheriff Rey.” Viola’s cool gray eyes skated over his person as if she could see the outline of his tighter-than-a-lasso bandaging. “You have recovered. The whole town has been praying for you.”

Rey’s throat bobbed. Now, why didn’t this woman seem surprised to see him? And how did she know what the whole town was doing? This was his town. Wait … He’d told her where he was from, and she hadn’t returned the favor, which meant she’d known all along they’d run into each other.

He took off his hat. First, because he felt like he was standing in front of a blacksmith’s kiln, and second, because it gave him another moment to collect his thoughts. But he reached up too fast for his hat—clean forgetting about his healing wound—and hissed out a wince.

“Sheriff, you should sit down,” Beth said at the same time Viola’s softer voice added, “You don’t look so good, sir.”

Oh no. Don’t faint now. You’re the sheriff here. To protect and defend. Not to wilt and be coddled. These thoughts ran through his mind faster than the imaginary lightning that had struck him earlier, but thankfully, someone had the foresight to scoot a chair behind him and sit his rear down.

Rey didn’t faint after all.

“You all right, Sheriff?” Had Thatcher’s voice always been that loud?

Where’d he come from anyway? Sure enough, the man was leaning over him, his breath stinking of whisky. They were going to have a serious talk later.

“I’m fine,” Rey mustered, but his thoughts were spinning faster than a dust devil, and his throat felt like he’d swallowed his grandpa’s pipe smoke.

“Take him back to the nook under the stairs. There’s a bed there.”

Beth Cannon had spoken. Her voice was an octave too high, but that wasn’t as irritating as the several pair of hands forcing him to his feet, supporting him, and propelling him through the bakery, past the hotter-than-Hades ovens, and into a closet.

Well, it wasn’t a closet, but close enough.

He heard other voices. Women. Men. All fussing over him.

“I’m fine,” he repeated, but no one paid him attention.

Voices rose and fell, blended together, until blessedly, mercifully, there was only one.

Viola.

“Try this, Sheriff Rey.” Her voice was soft, still prim, yes, but he really didn’t mind that.

He dragged his eyes open. The light was dimmer in the nook under the stairs. And he was on a small bed that would better fit his daughter than his own six-foot-something frame. But he wasn’t in a position, or of the mind, to point that out right now.

Viola sat next to him, perched on a small slice of mattress, which meant that her hip was nestled against his hip. Well. He’d process that later.

Right now, she held out what looked like a cool glass of something, and his throat was practically screaming for it.

He reached for the glass and their fingers brushed. Her hand was warm and soft—just as a woman’s should be—so there was no surprise there. If he could command his pulse to calm down, he would have, but his pulse wasn’t listening.

He drained the cool glass of lemonade, then handed the empty glass back to Viola. “Thank you, ma’am.”

“You don’t need to be so formal with me, Sheriff. Ma’am is for someone who is older than you or a stranger.” She tilted her head. “You almost fainted.”

“No … I was just hot. The bakery is an inferno.”

The edges of her mouth lifted, and the gray of her eyes lightened. He didn’t think he fully appreciated her smile on the train. Now he was making amends.

“Bakeries are generally warm, and it’s summer in Wyoming.”

“Both of those facts are true.” His heart did a double thump when her smile grew. “You seem to work fine in the heat. Rolling out pie dough and putting up with gawking men.”

Her dark lashes lowered, and her hands curled around the empty glass. “I don’t mind the heat. It doesn’t make me faint. Not like seeing a man covered in blood.”

Her cheeks were definitely pink, as was that mouth of hers.

“I’m sorry if I startled you.”

Viola’s gaze lifted again, her gray eyes steady. “When? In the bakery just now, or on the train?”

He had to think about that for a moment. “Both?”

Another smile stole across her pretty features, and he knew that a moment or two longer of this smiling back and forth might lead to something that he’d definitely regret later.

“Apology accepted, sir.”

“Rey.”

She blinked. “Rey.”

“That’s better.” He winked, and he had no idea how in high heaven he thought he could wink at her.

Too late to take it back now. “Now, if you don’t mind, I need to make sure all those men out there are on their way outside with their purchases.

Don’t need the womenfolk harassed. This here is a business establishment. ”

Viola Delany’s hand pressed against his chest. If he wasn’t well and stuck before, now he truly was. “You’re not moving an inch until the doctor comes and looks you over.”

This was a voice he hadn’t heard before. A commanding voice with plenty of authority. A voice that maybe a mother would use on a child, or a woman would use on a husband.

“I didn’t know you had a bossy side, Viola.”

Her brows lifted a fraction. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Rey.”

Was it possible to stare at a woman too long? What would the poets have to say about that?

“Now, let me see that bandage of yours,” Viola continued in her bossy voice. “Unless you have a hunchback on the side of your torso, it seems you have enough bandaging to outfit the Red Cross for a month. You only got shot once, right?”

Rey grinned. “Right.”

“And the scar on the side of your face? Is that from another fight with train robbers?”

He touched the scar on his face. “Nothing so impressive. Fell off a horse.”

“Ah.” When Viola took it upon herself to unbutton his shirt, he wasn’t sure if perhaps he had fainted and was now dreaming a dream he probably shouldn’t be dreaming.

Yet this was no dream, although it might be a slice of heaven. Her warm, delicate fingers worked deftly, only brushing against his skin once or twice.

“Ah.” Viola’s gray eyes gave nothing away, unless he counted the purse of her lips. “Just as I thought. No wonder you almost fainted. Who bandaged you up?”

“Doc Smithson.”

“Whoever Smithson is, there’s no need to be a zealot about medical care and bring a man close to fainting.” She began to pick at the edge of the bandaging tape. “I think he’s rearranged your ribs in the process.”

Rey sucked in a breath as Viola peeled off one edge of the bandaging. It was both painful and relieving. The tightness loosened but left behind the burn of sore skin atop of deep bruising.

“Sorry, I’ll be quick,” Viola murmured.

He sucked in another breath and focused on her face, her hair, her eyelashes. Anything but the pain of the bandage tape being ripped off his skin. “Tell me,” he rasped. “Where’d you learn to administer medical care? You don’t seem to care for blood.”

Her gaze flicked to his, then back to her task. “Volunteered at the Red Cross a few times. Never treated a real patient though. Mostly cut bandage strips and rolled them up.”

She tugged a particularly tight section, and he winced, then locked down his jaw to keep from groaning.

“There.” She wadded up the discarded bandaging and set it aside. “Now, let’s take a look.”

He didn’t know what he expected, but it wasn’t her prodding the area around his stitches. Her touch was light, though, and although there was a bit of an ache, he didn’t mind her soft fingers on his skin.

“The swelling is down,” Viola pronounced. “And the bruising is changing color. All good signs.” Her eyes lifted to his face. “You’ll live, Sheriff Rey.”

He shouldn’t laugh because truthfully, it hurt, but he laughed anyway. “You did a lot more than cut bandage strips and roll them up. Are you a secret nurse-in-training? You fainted when I walked into the train car, yet you have no qualms now?”

When her cheeks bloomed pink, he knew he’d struck a chord somewhere, but he wasn’t sure what it was.

“I guess I’m not in shock over your potential death anymore.” She moved her hands to her lap as if something on his torso had burned her. “Besides, my father would never let me become a nurse. I’ve just read a few books about medicine and medical care, that’s all.”

Her words might be nonchalant, modest, even, but Rey sensed that behind this woman’s prim demeanor was a dream of something beyond what her life was in San Francisco.

“What would your father think if you were professionally trained?”

Viola lifted a hand and tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear.

“That’s not possible for a woman like me.

My parents will find me a husband, one who’s properly rich.

I’ll have two children, a boy and a girl.

The boy will go into law or banking. The girl will be beautiful and marry another rich man.

And when I’m in my rocking chair, tapping away my final days, wanting to be a nurse will seem like a faded dream of a girl I once knew. ”

Rey gazed at her for a long moment, and she gazed right back.

“Well, if you want my opinion, Viola Delany, you can have the husband and two children, plus follow your dream. It’s 1905, ma’am.”