Page 6 of May I Kiss the Bride
“That bandage isn’t going anywhere,” Rey said in a dry tone. “Even if I was a bull rider, I think it would stay in place.”
Doc’s hand came down on Rey’s shoulder, and he hid a wince. Things were bruised on his body that had never been bruised before. The shoot-out with the train robbers had thankfully been short and effective. Rey had yet to hear if any of the five robbers had been fatally wounded. He knew he’d gotten a good shot at three of them.
The riders had sped away before Rey could get a good look. Besides, there was only so much time he wanted to spend on the roof of a speeding train. He knew he’d been shot, but the pain didn’t kick in until he was trying to climb down the car and land on the platform in one piece. He’d ordered the open-mouthed engineer to speed up the train again.
Then Rey had been intent on heading back to the lounge car and seeking out a doctor when he’d opened the first compartment door to find Viola. On the ground.
Panic had nearly gutted him. Had she been shot by a stray bullet? It seemed impossible, yet … why had she been on the ground? But before he could demand more answers, she’d gone whiter than a sheet blowing in the summer wind and fainted.
After that, he couldn’t exactly account for events. Someone—likely the conductor because of the name “Mr. Christensen” repeated over and over—came into the train car. And that’s when Rey had passed out. From lack of blood, it seemed.
When Rey had next opened his eyes, he was splayed out on a surgeon’s table in Cheyenne, and Ms. Delany was nowhere to be seen.
He wondered what had happened to her. No one seemed to know. Not the train station master he’d gone and questioned after he could walk more than a couple of feet. Not the ladies at the women’s auxiliary who knew everything that went on in Cheyenne. And not Mr. Baxter, who owned the most reputable hotel in town.
So, today, with hope gone of finding out if Ms. Delany had recovered from her own malaise, he was headed back to Mayfair. They were missing a sheriff, after all.
Because the doc had ordered him not to ride a horse for another week, Rey hired a driver to take him back home in a carriage. As he settled onto the bench, he was finally able to clear his mind and think about things that didn’t have to do with shoot-outs, stitches, or the mysterious Ms. Delany. She could be in another state for all he knew. She’d never said what her final destination was.
From all accounts, she’d been traveling alone. What did that mean?
Rey shoved those questions away—questions he’d never get answered. He redirected his thoughts to his small ranch and horses and whether Barb and Jeb were doing all right acting as caretakers in his absence. He could at least report back to his daughter about how her favorite horse, Sky, was doing when Rey returned to San Francisco in a couple of weeks.
He relaxed into the seat and enjoyed the small reprieve. He was sure to get an earful from Deputy Thatcher when he showed up at the office. Thatcher was never quiet on any matters, big or small.
“Whoa,” the driver of the carriage said, tugging on the horse’s reins to slow down the animal.
Rey stuck his head out of the carriage window to see that up ahead, there was a crowd on the boardwalk that ran along Mayfair’s Main Street. Other carts and riders had slowed down, and now there seemed to be traffic. In the tiny town of Mayfair.
“What’s going on up there?” Rey asked the driver.
“Don’t rightly know.” The driver pushed his hat back a few inches and mopped his brow with a seen-better-days handkerchief. “The line of people is going to the bakery.”
“Must be a two-for-one special?” Rey said, mostly to himself. He’d get out and walk if the carriage was going to be this slow. But his place was a half mile out on the other side of town, and the morning was only getting hotter.
As it was, the carriage practically crawled past the bakery, and Rey peered at the crowd. Interesting that those in line were all men. In this town, the women did the shopping while their fellas worked the ranches. But then again, most women did their own baking. So maybe that’s why the men were filling up the line.
“Hello, Sheriff!” a voice called out.
Rey tipped his hat to Mr. Brunson.
“You’re back already?” another voice called.
“How are you, Gerald?” Rey said to a hooked-nose man.
Other men in line turned and greeted Rey. He knew them all by name, as a matter-of-fact.
“Looks like y’all have a sweet tooth today?” Rey said to a young man named Wallace.
Wallace laughed, displaying his impressive buckteeth. “Sure do, Sheriff.”
The carriage continued on, and Rey had a feeling in his gut that he was missing a vital bit of information. He ran through the men in the line—they were all single—so that made more sense. None of them had wives to bake for them. Must be one whoppin’ pastry sale.
The line extended to the next corner, and Rey’s eyes about popped out when he saw Thatcher wielding his pistol, confronting a man in a dingy white cowboy hat.
“Hold up,” Rey called to the driver. “I’ll be getting out here. Can you drop off my things at my house? I’ll spot you a few more dollars.”
The driver tugged on the reins, and soon the carriage pulled to a stop. The men in line watched with interest as Rey climbed out, adjusted his hat, and rested his hand on his holster.
