Almost a Hometown Bride

“Do you know who I am?”

“Yes.”

What else was she supposed to do?

“I need to make sure there’s not more bleeding.” She gingerly slid her fingers through his hair, searching for any injury that would make moving him dangerous. “You have a funny look on your face. Please tell me you can see okay?”

With the light off him, he had been watching her. His expression suggested that he thought her a figment of his imagination.

“Cain. Stop trying to scare me. Speak.”

Just as she was about to hold up two fingers and ask him how many he saw, he framed her face within his hands and drew her down for a kiss …

Dear Reader,

Welcome to Almost, Montana, population … not many. Prospects … challenging. It was the home of Cain Paxton, before he was sent to prison for a crime he didn’t commit, and it was the latest stopping point—the longest to date—for Merritt Miller, a young woman with a past that she was trying to forget.

The future looked uncertain for these two drifter-misfits who didn’t seem to belong anywhere, or to anyone. Creating a family of two, and filling their lives with people they chose and weren’t linked to by birth or law wasn’t something they did consciously, but the evolution of it proved a lifesaver for both of them.

I suppose I was drawn to the idea of Merritt and Cain due to having been a lifelong observer and supporter of survivors, people who take life’s blows, and refuse to be defeated. Showing that love waits, even for the loner and the lonely, was an especially satisfying experience.

I hope you enjoy Merritt’s and Cain’s journey. And, as always, thank you for being a reader.

With warmest wishes,

Helen R. Myers

HELEN R. MYER is a collector of two- and four-legged strays, and lives deep in the Piney Woods of East Texas. She cites cello music and bonsai gardening as favorite relaxation pastimes, and still edits in her sleep—an accident, learned while writing her first book. A bestselling author of diverse themes and focus, she is a three-time RITA® Award nominee, winning for Navarrone in 1993.

Almost A Hometown Bride

Helen R. Myers

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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Chapter One

“Lock up your women and check your ammunition supply, men. Cain Paxton is back in town!”

The sun had yet to crest the trees interspersed throughout Almost, Montana, but Merritt Miller had already heard variations of that warning at least four times since the first customer had shuffled into Alvie’s café shortly after 6:00 a.m. After the second alert, Merritt had gone to ask Alvie Crisp herself about the matter, as the sturdy woman worked.

“Who’s Cain Paxton?” Martha had asked.

Barely glancing up from her work, single-handedly preparing breakfast for a near capacity crowd, Alvie had replied, “Someone you better not give two seconds of thought to, Miller Moth.” Pausing, the salt-and-pepper-haired woman wiped perspiration from her broad forehead with the back of her left hand. Outside, it might be struggling to stay above twenty-eight, but it was always somewhere between toasty and roasting in the kitchen. “Just another mother’s heartbreak,” Alvie continued, “another father’s shame.”

Merritt had ignored the nickname Alvie had given her on the first day she’d begun working here, now over two years ago. It was milder than some she’d been called in her twenty-seven years. She knew she was a drab specimen of womanhood compared to the pampered daughters and wives who sometimes dined here when reluctantly staying in town to shop if weather or time didn’t allow them to get to Montana’s larger cities like Bozeman or Billings on either side of them, or the state capital, Helena, to their north. Her petite, thin frame had never turned heads, nor had her pale face earned studied admiration. Her one good feature—her dark brown hair—had to be constantly tied back by an elastic band because there was plenty of it. In these last three years of her “emancipation,” as she secretly dubbed it, she’d come to the conclusion that she was meant to sit alone on the grocery shelf of life. If her unspectacular looks weren’t reason enough, her semi-lameness made it official.

“I was just wondering what the fuss was all about,” Merritt said softly as she returned again to pick up the twin plates brimming with ham, eggs over easy, hash browns and biscuits with gravy for table three. The only Paxton she knew owned one of the biggest ranches in the area, and as far as she knew he was an aging widower and childless. “Usually all anyone wants to talk about is the price of beef, feed, cranky machinery or how your cooking has ‘hit the spot.’”

Alvie grunted as she turned another batch of thick-sliced bacon. “Helps to be the only joint in town. After you deliver those plates and refresh everyone’s coffee mugs, come on back here. I want to talk to you about the latest weather report I heard on the radio.”

“Is the storm coming in early? From the looks of the skies, it sure seems like it will be a strong one.” Merritt didn’t know how the woman discerned anything with the thing turned so low. All she was hearing over the conversations flowing in from the dining room was static.

“That it is, and it’s going to be worse than they thought. Now move, child.”

Merritt went with a slight smile rather than hurt feelings. She was well used to Alvie’s frank, no-nonsense approach to things and that was also reflected in her appearance. Her employer’s clean-scrubbed face was as bare of makeup as her own. Alvie’s hair was shorter, but still pulled back into a tight bun. As always in cold weather, she wore a white chef’s apron over overalls and a man’s plaid flannel shirt. Today’s was mud-brown, like her hiking boots. No frills for the woman who had buried two husbands and a daughter; she said what she meant and meant what she said. But her heart was gold. Merritt could vouch for that. Alvie had been the one to give her a job and a place to stay when she’d first arrived here with barely enough money left in her wallet to pay for a night’s stay in a cheap motel—if there’d been such a thing in Almost.

On the way up front, Merritt grabbed a full pot of the aromatic coffee from the machine’s secondary hot plate, then delivered the two platters to ranchers who never paused in their intense conversation. They were regulars and knew that unlike the other waitress, feisty and flirty Nikki Franks, she didn’t crave small talk with them, let alone anyone to flirt with. She topped off their mugs, then continued around her half of the café to see who else needed another dose of caffeine before braving the day’s weather.

After returning to the kitchen, Merritt watched Alvie remove the bacon and add a slab of sirloin for one of Nikki’s hungrier customers. Then she started on two orders of scrambled eggs. As she often did, Merritt picked up the ladle in the nearby bowl and stirred the pancake batter to keep it from settling.

“So how much snow do they expect?”

“Maybe a foot before you head home tonight. Twice that before we open in the morning.”

Since Merritt had spent her whole life where snow was common, and this wasn’t her first winter in Montana, she wasn’t immediately intimidated. Besides, Thanksgiving was just around the corner. It might not say “winter” on the calendar, but frigid weather had definitely dipped below the forty-ninth parallel from Canada. “Okay. Guess I better arrange to come in earlier tomorrow.” As a rule, she arrived minutes before the doors opened at six o’clock.

That earned her a critical look from Alvie. “I want you to be kind to your body and spend the night upstairs on my couch.”

Alvie had many good qualities, but coddling didn’t seem to be in her DNA any more than hugging was. Nevertheless, Merritt had been the recipient and witness of enough kindnesses by the two-time widow to know she had a soft side that appeared when she wanted it to. Apparently, this was one of those moments.

“You know I have to see to matters at the house. The barn cats will be craving some warm milk, especially tonight, and the stove needs tending to keep the pipes and Wanda and Willy’s tank from freezing.”

Wanda and Willy were her goldfish, the only pets she allowed herself to have, except for the stray cats that had been homesteading the barn on and off since it was built decades ago for Alvie’s grandmother, who’d been a bride at the time. The house still belonged to Alvie, a one-bedroom wood-frame dwelling on several acres of land. It had stood empty for some time because it was more convenient at Alvie’s age to live upstairs in the apartment over the café. Alvie had let Merritt stay there as part of her salary the minute she learned Merritt could bake.

“And what if Leroy can’t get the truck started in the morning and come get you?”

It wouldn’t be the first or last time, Merritt thought wryly. Alvie’s live-in boyfriend handled the counter traffic at the café and seemed genuinely sweet on Alvie, but he was pretty useless as a mechanic or with most handyman chores. “Don’t worry. I’ll walk as I usually do.”

With a sigh of exasperation, Alvie pointed at her with her stainless spatula. “You fighting blizzard-strength winds when there’s not so much as a truck tread to follow to ease your way is an invitation for trouble, especially at that hour. Besides, you already spend more hours on your feet than any doctor would say is sensible. If you went to a doctor, which you won’t.”

Merritt prepared two more baskets of biscuits and bran muffins rather than wasting her breath. The walk was barely a mile, and doctors cost more money than she could afford. She already knew what she needed for her damaged hip from the one time she did need to get medical input, and she definitely couldn’t afford that. Why go again?

“Walking has helped me build up my strength,” she said when Alvie finally finished. “And when have I ever not pulled my weight around here?”

“You work harder than Nikki or Leroy combined,” Alvie acknowledged. “That’s another reason I need you to be reasonable.”

She had dough rising at the cottage for this afternoon’s baking, too. Merritt’s mind was made up. She was going home. Thankfully, the cowbell on the café’s door sounded and saved her having to further explain. After taking one of the baskets and accepting the omelet she’d been waiting on, Merritt headed up front again.

She grew aware of the changed atmosphere even before she rounded the lunch counter. Silence loomed throughout the large room. Then she noticed that almost everyone was staring at the newcomer standing just inside the entryway. He was an imposing figure as he fought the wind to pull the door closed behind his frame, big-boned with plenty of muscle to reinforce that. He succeeded with that wrestling match, then scanned the room with a combination of wariness and the same resentment some were radiating toward him. One look at his Native American coloring and stern features immediately had a number of diners shifting around to return to their meals. The rest took their time, but conversation remained a whisper of what it had been.

The stranger wasn’t basketball-player statuesque, but he had to be at least six feet, which was intimidating to a woman who had to stretch to make five-three. There was something about the man’s bearing that made Merritt think of the mountains she liked to look at from her kitchen window at the cottage as she washed dishes. His denim jacket was too light for this weather, and it and his jeans were a half size too small. No wonder Nikki was staring open-mouthed from the far corner of the room. Usually, the flame-haired Energizer Bunny pounced on any and every male who walked through the front door if they weren’t regulars with an established preferred seating choice. She even dressed to entice; today she was wearing a skintight green sweater and jeans that left little to the imagination. But this man was no one to trifle with. Although she hadn’t yet heard his name spoken, Merritt realized she had to be looking at Cain Paxton.

When his gaze fell on an open seat at the counter, the man sitting beside it shifted his hat onto it. Ashamed at one of Leroy’s regulars, Merritt quickly set her customer’s plate before him and went to correct the situation.

“Sit anywhere.”

The breathless quality of her voice told her that she was as rattled as everyone else. When his dark gaze zeroed in on her, she wondered if that was what being hit with a Taser was like.

“It appears some of your customers object to that,” he said.

Swallowing, she tore her gaze from his and glanced around in desperation, ultimately focusing on the table beyond the far end of the counter in the corner of the café. It rarely got used and would probably be a tight fit for him, yet she still found herself saying, “Will that do, sir?” She maneuvered to pluck a menu from the counter, then awkwardly shifted between tables to lead him to the corner.

“Perfect,” he told her.

Not surprisingly, he chose the chair against the wall that would allow him to face the door, but he could only manage to get one leg under the table. The other he stretched beside it and half out into the aisle. His thigh was larger than both of hers combined—and she supposed so was his boot size.

Her throat dry, Merritt all but rasped, “Coffee? Juice?”

“Just coffee. Black.”

“I’ll be right back.”

What happened next was ridiculous, since Merritt knew perfectly well where that long leg was; nevertheless, as she turned away, like a bird fooled by its reflection in glass, she managed to walk right into it and trip. With no chance to protect herself, she fully expected to hit the floor face-first. Then, to her amazement, a strong hand slowed her fall. A heartbeat later, another completely averted catastrophe.

“Sorry, sorry,” she mumbled. Wholly mortified, as soon as he eased his grip she hobbled away without daring a look back at him.

The semisecluded location of the table had protected her from most diners’ view; however, Merritt felt the concerned inspection of those who had witnessed it, and her cheeks burned with embarrassment. She thought some were thinking, Serves you right, for not refusing him service. But Alvie hadn’t given any such order. Second-in-command Leroy had kept his back to the room the whole time—although she could see him watching in the mirrored backsplash. So what choice had she had but to do her job? She had no reason to treat him the way everyone else was.

Willing herself to calm down, she put the mug and coffeepot on a tray, along with a napkin, silverware and a basket of the muffins and biscuits, and carried it back, accepting that she couldn’t get a filled mug to his table without sloshing half of it onto the floor. Upon reaching his table, she set the potbellied ceramic before him and poured with an inane amount of care.

“You hurt yourself,” Cain said, observing her and not the painstaking service.

“No, I’m fine,” she said reluctantly as he made the observation.

“You’re limping.”

“That’s old news,” she said, frowning as she set the pot on the tray and dug her pad out of her apron pocket. “Do you need another minute to decide on what you’d like?” It didn’t look like he’d touched the menu.

“Steak … bacon … hash browns … three eggs, sunny-side up, biscuits and gravy … and a side order of pancakes.”

It would take her most of a week to eat all that, but Merritt wrote it all down, then set the basket in the middle of the table. “These are warm muffins and biscuits. I’ll bring you a bowl of gravy right away so you can nibble while you wait on the rest.”

She did her best to walk quickly and normally, fully aware that he would be watching her, but that was a joke. She’d been struggling even when she’d stepped off that Greyhound bus for the last time in three years.

Once she got to the kitchen, she clipped the ticket on the carousel before the older woman’s face. “He’s here.”

Alvie looked at the ticket and her unpainted, wrinkled mouth twisted into something closer to acceptance than pleasure or amusement. “Yeah, he is. Cain always did like his breakfasts.”

“Has he been away long?”

“Served most of a three-year sentence.”

“He’s been in prison?”

“Could have been worse. Some say he intended to kill the guy who was beaten.”

Merritt had noted his hands just as she had the rest of him. She had to fight a shudder at the idea of being on the receiving end of their wrath. “But if he didn’t actually do that, why did he get convicted?”

“Because the victim filed charges. Listen, Miller Moth, there was a hit-and-run. The guy killed was Cain’s uncle. Someone figured, who would worry about one less drunk Indian? Cain got enough information to conclude who did it and he went after him. The problem was the driver was also the foreman at the Paxton Ranch.”

“How terrible.” But Merritt was confused. “Wait a minute—Cain’s Native American and his name is Paxton, too?”

“Yeah,” Alvie said with a heavy dose of sarcasm. “Small world, isn’t it? Cain’s father was Sanford Paxton’s only son. Cain’s mother was full-blooded Sioux. But as far as Sanford was concerned, that salad dressing never got concocted, understood? Now go take care of the rest of your customers before they change their minds about tipping you.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

First, though, she brought Cain the promised gravy and a saucer to pour it on the biscuits. Then she refilled coffee cups again, ending with his.

“Need another basket?” she asked when she realized he’d devoured everything.

“That’s tempting, but I’ll wait for the rest of my meal. Alvie’s stuff is better than I remembered.”

“I appreciate that. I do the baking now.”

At the end of the counter, she signaled Leroy to hand over a plastic tub to save her having to walk around. Once he did that, she pocketed her tips and cleared off two emptied tables. She and Nikki bussed their own tables and helped load the washer if Leroy was backed up at the counter. The only good thing about the extra work was that they didn’t have to split their tips with busboys.

By the time she finished, Alvie was calling, “Order, Merritt!”

She balanced the basin on her good hip and tried to ignore the ache in her right one. Her injury provided its own weather report. She would need an extra-strength pain reliever to get any sleep tonight.

After setting the basin on the long stainless steel counter, Merritt picked up the long platter that they usually used for dinners, now heaping with what Cain Paxton had ordered, plus the cake plate stacked with three pancakes. Once again picking up the coffeepot, she delivered Cain Paxton’s breakfast and refilled his mug.

“If there’s nothing else, I’ll be back to top off your coffee in a few minutes.”

“That’ll be fine.”

Since he didn’t bother looking up from the meal that he was already in the process of devouring, she placed his ticket on the corner of the table and returned to her other customers. She didn’t mind his reticence. She had to force herself to make polite conversation. Half the people who came in treated her as though she was part of the fixtures. Nikki was the one who got—and frankly invited—attention. She can have it, Merritt mused, thinking of some of their less palatable clientele.

The crowd started thinning out shortly after that. Almost everyone cast speculative looks toward Cain on their way out. Merritt wondered how many of them knew about his past. Probably everyone. Revenge was never right or wise, but it sounded like Cain had been pushed to an impossible limit, given his added parentage dilemma. Merritt supposed people were thinking a convict was a convict and the taint was eternal.

Before Merritt could bring the coffeepot back to the corner table, Cain rose and carried his plates and mug to the end of the lunch counter. Startled, Merritt rushed forward to take them from him.

“That’s my job,” she told him.

“You look like you could use the break.”

He spoke matter-of-factly and his gaze barely brushed over her, making her feel less significant than she already did in her discount-store, beige pullover and jeans. “I’m fine,” she said with a touch too much pride. “I work the dinner shift, too. I can do my job.”

“Excuse me for trying to help.” He slid a twenty-dollar bill across the counter. “Tell Alvie she hasn’t lost her touch.”

As he headed for the door, Merritt recovered enough to protest, “Your change, sir.”

“Keep it,” he said without looking back.

Merritt stared, stuck between the embarrassment of knowing that he’d overtipped her out of pity and confusion over why someone fresh out of prison would be so generous when he could ill afford to be?

Leroy plucked the ticket and twenty from her and made change. Of medium height and sinewy build, his steel-gray hair matched his full mustache and beard and framed a sardonic face with shrewd eyes and a down-turned mouth. Unlike her, he had an opinion on everything and didn’t wait to be asked for it.

“You be careful, honey,” he said, handing her the tip money.

“Me? What did I do?”

“You got his attention. That’s enough.”

That was the silliest thing he’d said in a good while. “He’s blaming himself for my limp when I clumsily tripped over his leg. I tried to explain.”

“Didn’t see that. But what I do know is that you’re female, and he tipped you nice. Cain’s always been a magnet to women. Just one of nature’s mysteries. Maybe Alvie told you that he’s been locked up for a good while, too?”

“But he’s hardly blind,” Nikki said, bringing her own ticket and cash for him to handle. She cast Merritt a saccharine, deal-with-it smile.

Ignoring her, Merritt untied her apron and went in back, thinking about Cain’s parentage. For a small town like Almost with a population of barely five thousand, that was a good deal of scandal and intrigue. The outcome seemed unjust, too.

Alvie was beginning to prep for the lunch crowd. The restaurant business remained a fascination to Merritt, but there was no denying that it was a physically demanding way to make a living.

“If you don’t mind, I’m heading to the house to get things ready for the weather,” she told her boss.

“Take the truck. I heard most of what you said to Leroy just now.”

“I tripped—I didn’t fall. I’m fine.” Merritt appreciated Alvie’s concern, but there was such a thing as overkill. “And remember that I don’t have a license.” She’d never bothered transferring her New Jersey license because she hadn’t known how long she would be staying. She continued to resist because she could walk to wherever she needed to go, or catch a ride with Alvie or Leroy, which let her save money, and now her old New Jersey license had expired.

“No one is going to stop you—unless you run over the chief of police himself. They’re sure not going to bother you in deteriorated weather conditions—or give you a ticket for coming to work. They know where you belong.” Alvie shook her head. “I don’t see why after all this time you won’t get a driver’s license.”