Free A Bride for Dry Creek by Janet Tronstad Page A

“Actually, I can’t marry you.”
    â€œNonsense. Of course you can. I’ve thought about it, too, you know. Granted, we don’t have some fairy-tale romance, but a woman your age doesn’t expect that. We have more important reasons to get married. Stability. Companionship. There’s no good reason for either of us to stay single.”
    â€œThere’s him.” Francis pointed at Flint. The air inside the barn had cooled until it had an icy edge to it, and someone had dimmed the lights for slow dancing. A song of love betrayed was filling the barn with a quiet sadness, and more than one couple moved closer together.
    â€œHim?” Sam looked at Flint like he suspectedhim of being part of a police lineup. “What’s the FBI got to do with anything?”
    â€œIt’s not the FBI. It’s him. He’s my husband,” Francis whispered.
    â€œYou’re joking.” Sam looked at Flint again and then dismissed him. “You don’t even know him.”
    â€œI used to know him. We were married twenty years ago.”
    â€œOh, well, then,” The man visibly relaxed. “He’s your ex-husband.”
    Flint didn’t like the direction the conversation was taking. “If Francis doesn’t want to marry you, she shouldn’t. And there’s no reason she should ever settle for companionship.”
    â€œIf you’re her ex, you have no say in this at all.” Sam looked Flint over like he had been pulled out of that police lineup and pronounced guilty. “Besides, I’m sure she’s realized by now that I’m the kind of husband that she should have. Solid. Steady. A man like you is okay for a woman when she’s young— What we don’t do when we’re young.” The man gave a bark of a laugh. “Why, I was in a protest march myself once— But that was then and surely by now Francis knows your kind doesn’t hold up too well over the years.”
    â€œMy kind? What do you know about my kind?” Flint forced the words out over his clenched teeth.
    â€œI know you left her,” Sam said calmly. The brown-suited man looked smug and confident. Heglanced at Francis indulgently. “I know Francis and she’d stick by her word. So I know it’s you who left.”
    â€œShe was young. And scared. And me— I must have seemed like some wild guy back then. I can’t blame her for having second thoughts.” Flint gave a ragged laugh. “I would have left me if I’d had a choice. I was mad at the world for letting my parents die. Mad at school. Mad at friends. Mad at God. The only good thing about me was Francis. I can’t blame her for leaving me.”
    â€œBut I didn’t,” Francis said softly. “I didn’t leave.”
    Flint snorted. “That’s not what the sheriff said.”
    â€œI wasn’t the one who had you arrested.” Francis said the words carefully. She felt like she was walking some very important, invisible line. She tried to take a deep breath, but failed. “It was my father.”
    â€œBut the sheriff said—”
    â€œMy father may have lied to him.” Francis was almost whispering. They seemed to burn their way up through her throat. “I waited for you to come back that day.”
    Flint heard the words and stared at Francis. He shook his head like he was clearing his ears. What was she saying?
    â€œBut—” Flint took one more stab at understanding. He could see in her eyes that she was tellinghim the truth. “But there were papers—divorce papers—”
    â€œHad I signed them?”
    Flint shook his head slowly. “I thought you’d sign them when they were given to you.”
    Flint still remembered the pain of seeing those papers. At first, he’d refused to sign them, pushing them away when the sheriff brought them to his cell. But on the third day, he’d decided to give in.