Do Not Forsake Me(18)

Katie turned around. “Don’t look.” A moment later, she turned back around. “It fits just fine.” She handed back the ring, and Lloyd put it back in his pocket.

“Wear the dress you’re wearing now. I like you in pink. You look perfect just the way you are.” He ran his hands into her thick auburn tresses. “And I like your hair down like this. I want you to look just like this when we wed.”

Katie smiled lovingly. “All right. But you have to promise not to cut your hair. I like it long.”

Their gazes held again in excitement, anticipation, hope.

“Then I won’t cut it.” He kissed her again. “I’ll be good to you, Katie. I’ll support you and love you the best I can. I know this seems kind of like a marriage of convenience right now, but I wouldn’t take you for my own if I didn’t think we’ll grow deeper in love every day.” The pain of losing Beth stabbed at him again, but he truly did want to love again, wanted a woman in his bed and his heart. He fought feelings of guilt for knowing he didn’t love this lovely woman the same as he’d loved Beth, but maybe that was natural. The fact remained that he couldn’t stand the thought of any other man having her. A girl as pretty and kind as Katie Donavan Lamont wouldn’t last long without other men trying to woo her and take her for a wife. He’d go crazy knowing some other man had her in his bed while he was still struggling to move on with his life.

He’d make this legal and make her his own, the sooner the better. The rest would surely come in time.

“Marry me tomorrow, Katie. We’ll go into town. We can get there before church lets out. We’ll corner the preacher and have him marry us.”

“Tomorrow?”

“Sure! I’m not taking the chance that you’ll change your mind. Tell me you’ll marry me tomorrow.”

She wrapped her arms around his neck, and they kissed again. “I will,” she answered when he finally left her lips. “I’ll marry you tomorrow.”

Lloyd kissed her again, devouring her mouth eagerly. She was sweet and willing. Their love would surely grow.





Six


The morning came alive clear and bright, and warmer than normal for May in Oklahoma. Birds sang, and Jeff Trubridge watched what seemed like half the town heading for church, some coming into town from outlying ranches and settlements. They came by horseback, in buggies and farm wagons, and some just walked from homes closer in. He saw Brian and Evie Stewart leading two little boys by the hand. He knew the younger boy, maybe three, was the doctor’s son. The older boy, perhaps five or six, had to be Lloyd Harkner’s kid.

Then he saw them—Jake and Randy. Jake wore his guns. Surely he didn’t intend to wear them into church! Probably not, because he also was not wearing a suit. He wore denim pants and a dark blue bib shirt with no vest and, from what Jeff could see, not even his badge. His hair looked shorter, cut to just above his shoulders. When the younger grandson with Evie and Brian turned and spotted his grandparents, he smiled and ran back to Jake.

“Gampa!” The kid reached up and Jake lifted him onto his shoulders.

“You’re getting almost too big for this, Little Jake,” he told the boy. “Grandpa is getting too many aches and pains to lift such a big boy.”

After what Grandpa did yesterday? Jeff found that hard to believe, but surely the man did have aches and pains. One of the questions he wanted to ask was how many times Harkner had been shot.

The older boy also noticed his grandparents and ran back to Jake, hugging him around the hips in spite of the guns he wore.

“Careful! Careful!” Jake told him, gently pulling him away and tousling his hair. He lifted the smaller boy from his shoulders and knelt in front of the older boy. “How’s my youngest deputy?”

The boy hugged Jake around the neck. “Where’s my dad, Grampa?” he asked.

Jake hugged him in return, patting his back. “He’ll be along sometime today, I expect.”

“Is he hurt?”

“No, your daddy is just fine. I promise.”

Randy scolded Jake for messing up the boy’s hair. “Honestly, Jake, Stevie’s hair is unruly enough. Evie probably spent ten minutes just getting it to stay in one place.” She stopped and smoothed the boy’s thick, dark hair as best she could.

“A kid his age shouldn’t worry about his hair,” Jake answered. He rose and deliberately messed it up with a wicked grin. The boy giggled and ducked away from his grandmother when she tried to fix his hair again.

“Jake Harkner, just for that, you won’t get any of my bread for dinner later.”