Page 10 of A Week To Wed
She nods, “Oh yeah. He’s been a grumpy sort ever since the … incident.”
How do I play this? I don’t want to make her feel like she’s speaking out of school, but I want more info. “Yes,” I say with a conspiratorial tone. “The incident. That really changed him, didn’t it?”
Trudy looks at me with an odd expression, then goes back to scanning my Fruit Loops. Without looking me in the eye, she sighs and shakes her head. “That young man was never satisfied with his lot in life. Always drinking and getting into tussles since the age of 15. Made a lot of enemies as a young’n. The incident was over ten years ago, and he still walks around like everyone hates him. The truth is, he’s more than made up for what he did. He tips our bag boys when he doesn’t have to. When the food pantry is empty, Lincoln is the first to come in here and get whatever they need. He’s good people. I’m glad he has you to tell him that.”
By the time Trudy is finished, I feel a sting in my eyes. Are we talking about the same person?”Trudy, is there someone in town who does printing?”
She smiles as she scans my cans of chili. “You mean for wedding invitations?”
I nod. “Yes, except I don’t have time for anything intricate. I’m relying on e-vites and flyers around town.”
Her smile is wide. “I know exactly who can help you.”
* * *
About an hour later, I emerge from the pharmacy — one of the only other businesses open today, with a stack of two hundred cards. The nice man with a name tag reading “George” had kind things to say about Lincoln. While he helped me use the photo lab’s computer to print invitations, he told me about how Lincoln had come into the pharmacy at least once a week over the past two years while Lincoln’s dad was sick.
“He always left money in the children’s charity fundraiser jar,” George said. “And is first in line for the blood drives.”
This information warms my heart.
While there, I hand over one of the invitations to George. “My info is on the card. Text or email if you can come, and let me know if you’ll have a plus one.”
He looked surprised. “Are you sure?”
“Of course, I’m sure,” I chuckle. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
He doesn’t answer that question but simply says, “This is real nice of you. I’m so glad our Lincoln finally got himself a good woman.”
That sent me out the door with tears in my eyes.
Why would Lincoln say he has no family or friends? Everyone in town loves him.
Crossing the street from the pharmacy, I circle back to the supermarket to drop off a stack of invites before crossing again to hit the diner. The diner manager, Jenny, agrees right away to keep a stack of invites behind the counter to pass out to locals.
I’m having an exhilarating and pretty emotional day for such a sleepy little town.
When I leave the diner, there’s only one more open place to visit. And I know Lincoln isn’t going to like it.
Willie’s looks packed for Sunday supper. It’s the perfect time to go in and introduce myself and spread the word.
Back at the ranch, I’m so wound up from my day of meeting people that I have to burn off some energy by exploring the grounds.
I am delighted to let myself into the massive red barn with its scents of hay, straw, leather, and horses. A million childhood memories flood my mind, and I couldn’t stop smiling if someone paid me.
All the stalls are empty except one at the end. Of course, Lincoln, Ray, and the ranch hands are using the other five to tend the herd. The sixth one, alone in his stable, is a gentle, old boy. He pokes his brown head out of his stall, and I approach from the side to let him get a good look at me.
“Hi, boy. What a handsome devil you are,” I say softly, reaching up to pet him firmly along his neck. “There’s some riding gear in here somewhere. Would you like to go out sometime with me?”
He neighs gently and nudges closer, and I give him some scratches behind his ears. “You’re sweet. I’ll bring you a treat later, okay?”
That night, I’m excited to have supper alone with Lincoln again. Harley has left to spend Sunday with his kids in Missoula, and Ray? Let’s just say I saw Ray at the bar in the middle of the afternoon, and he was definitely having a good time. He’d also agreed to help the bartender pass out wedding invites, but I leave that detail out of our dinner conversation.
I ask Lincoln all about the horses when we sit down to eat, relieved we have something other than the wedding to talk about.
“That one’s Solomon. I retired him from tending the herd this year. Can’t bear to see him go yet.”
“He’s a sweet one. I think he likes me.”
