17

The Feedbag Café was crowded, noisy conversation clashing with the sounds of silverware and dishes. Seated at a table by the window, Brett had spent the last hour and a half perusing his notes.

Sometimes the biggest and most important clues were the ones most easily missed or overlooked. Criminals sometimes made stupid or careless mistakes—mistakes that often escaped notice at first. Then suddenly something came to light. A clue. A lead. A sudden realization.

That’s how it was with the Ghost Riders. Their holdups all seemed to have been done at random. No one could guess when or where they would strike next. Brett had searched for a pattern; there was always a pattern. People, even those outside the law, were creatures of habit.

Then suddenly, the one thing he’d missed dawned on him. The one thing they’d all missed was that all four holdups in and around Haywire had occurred on a Thursday. The pattern didn’t hold true for the robberies throughout the rest of the county, only those taking place in Haywire.

Maybe it was only a coincidence, but somehow he doubted it. There had to be a reason why the Ghost Riders struck on that particular day of the week and no other.

He checked his watch. It was now one thirty in the afternoon. He had been sitting at the table since nearly noon.

“More coffee?” Mrs. Buffalo asked, filling his cup before he had a chance to reply.

“Much obliged,” he said.

She studied him a moment before moving away. A portly woman with frost-white hair, she nonetheless moved like someone half her age. No doubt she was curious why he had occupied a prime window table for so long.

From where he sat, he had a full view of the boot and shoemaker shop directly across the street and two doors from the candy shop. The store’s owner, Shoe-Fly Jones, was the sixth person listed on the peppermint list. His real name was Samuel Jones.

The next person on the list owned the tinker shop next door to Jones’s place. Adjacent to that was the bakery. All three proprietors had purchased peppermint candy in the last couple of weeks and matched the description of the Ghost Riders. All three men appeared to be upright citizens, and not one seemed to live beyond his means. “Pillars of the community,” Reverend Johnson had said when Brett questioned him.

Crossing off their names, Brett zeroed in on the next person listed, former mayor Bellwether. According to local gossip, the mayor hadn’t taken kindly to losing the last election. Would that have been reason enough to turn to a life of crime?

Brett was still considering the question when Foster joined him. Without waiting for an invitation, he pulled out a chair and sat.

Brett groaned inwardly. He was in no mood to deal with the man, but with a town this size, it was impossible to hide from him. Accepting his fate, Brett folded the list and tucked it into his vest pocket.

“Now what’s the problem?” With Foster, there was always a problem.

Foster rested his arms on the table and leaned forward, looking solemn as a judge. “I’m thinking it’s time,” he said.

“Time?”

“You know. To ask Kate to marry me. The dance worked like a charm. Connie told me that Kate now knows I’m a changed man.”

Brett wasn’t so sure about that, but he kept his thoughts to himself. Lord knew he’d worked hard enough coaching Foster on etiquette and the fine art of courtship, so maybe there had been some positive changes. Maybe he had impressed Kate. It’s what Brett had hoped for. Wanted. Bringing the two of them together was the least he could do after playing havoc with their lives and stopping their wedding. He just wished the thought didn’t make him feel like someone had plunged a knife in his heart.

“Have you got a plan?”

Foster sat back. “A plan?”

Brett blew out his breath. Here we go again. “You can’t just walk up to a woman and ask her to marry you.”

Foster frowned in puzzlement. “Why not? It worked last time.” He gave his head an emphatic nod. “Walked right up to her in the general store and proposed in front of the pickle barrel.” He pulled the ring from his pocket and held it up to the window for Brett to see. The solitaire diamond sparkled in the sun. “It fell in the barrel, and we had to dive for it. We both ended up smelling like vinegar, but it did the trick. She said yes. I told her she didn’t have to cry, and she said she wasn’t crying. The vinegar made her eyes water.”

Brett stared at him incredulous. “You’re lucky she didn’t pickle you.”

Foster looked offended. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Brett leaned forward and lowered his voice. “The whole point of our plan so far has been to convince her that you’re a changed man. That means putting more thought into the proposal. Make it something she’ll remember for the rest of her days. Do you really want your children to know that their father proposed to their mother in front of a pickle barrel?”

“I-I never thought about it that way.” Foster scratched his temple. “If you were gonna propose, how would you do it?”

“Me?” Brett cleared his throat. “Well, I would take her out for a nice meal. Maybe at the hotel.”

Definitely the hotel. And he’d ask for a cozy corner table for two. He would reach for her hand and gaze into her eyes. With the soft candlelight bringing out the red-gold highlights of her hair, he would focus on her lips—a prelude to the kisses he intended to plant there…

“And then what?” Foster asked, interrupting Brett’s thoughts.

Jolted back to reality, Brett reached for his drinking glass. Gulping down a mouthful of water, he tried to recall his purpose in bringing Kate and Foster together. “T-then…I would take her on a hayride—”

“Can’t do that,” Foster said. “Hay makes me sneeze.”

“Oh, right.” Brett set his glass down and tried to think. “Okay, then I would take her on a long walk beneath the full moon.” The thought brought back memories of how Kate’s sweet lips had looked the night he’d driven her home from the dance. The way the nighttime sky had coaxed out the fiery highlights of her hair. “Maybe by the river.”

Oh no, not the river. Mustn’t think of the river. The river never failed to bring back memories he’d sooner forget. Like how she’d felt in his arms. The way her wet clothes had clung to her gentle curves. Her head on his chest…

“And then I would kiss her,” he said quickly. “Kiss her until dawn.” Kiss her like she’d never been kissed before. He would run his heated lips over her smooth, creamy skin and kiss her until they were both dizzy with need. “And then as the sun began to rise, I’d fall on my knees and propose.”

Shaken by the thoughts…the memories…the heaviness in his heart, he suddenly realized Foster was staring at him all funny-like. “What?”

“You said you would kiss her,” Foster said, looking like he wanted to throttle Brett.

“You asked me what I would do, and I told you. It was…just an example.”

“Oh, yeah, right. It just sounded so…real. Like you really wanted to do those things yourself.”

“That’s what makes me a good teacher,” Brett said defensively. “I can put myself in your shoes.”

“That makes sense, I guess.” Foster stared down at the ring in his hands. “So, what do you think about tomorrow? You know, about me popping the question and all?”

Brett’s mouth ran dry, and he swallowed hard. “Maybe you should wait till next week. Kate’s still upset about what happened to her aunt at the bank.”

Foster frowned. “How do you know that?”

“How do you not know that?” When Foster failed to respond, Brett blew out his breath. “I stopped by the shop earlier to question her aunt again about the robbery.” Unfortunately, Mrs. Denver had nothing more to add to her original statement.

Foster returned the ring to his pocket. “Okay, I’ll wait a couple of days.”

“Good idea.” Brett rubbed his forehead. “So how do you plan to propose?”

“How?”

“Yes. Show me.” He meant for Foster to rehearse the words out loud. Instead, Foster took it one step further by dropping to his knee by Brett’s chair.

“Kate,” Foster began without preamble. “I think it’s time that you and me got…you know…hitched.”

Brett drew back, appalled. “Great thunder! What kind of proposal is that?”

The corners of Foster’s mouth drooped. “What do you mean?”

“What do I mean? A proposal isn’t like a cork. You don’t just pop it out. This is the most important question a woman will ever be asked. You must make it special. Memorable.” He motioned to Frank’s chair. “Get up.”

Brett waited for Foster to return to his chair before dropping to his own knee. “First, you take her hand in yours.” He took hold of Foster’s roughened hand, and suddenly his mind started playing tricks on him. He was back at the barn dance, Kate’s small hand in his. Soft as silk it felt. Soft as a rose petal. Shaken by the flushed feeling that came over him, he stared at the poor substitute in his hand. What in blazes was the matter with him?

Foster made an impatient moue. “Well, get on with it.”

“All right, don’t rush me,” Brett muttered. “Proposals can’t be rushed.” He gazed up at Foster, but the eyes that came to mind were Kate’s, so blue that even the sky paled in comparison. And he felt himself sinking into the imagined depths.

Mindful, suddenly, of why he was kneeling in front of Foster, he cleared his throat. “What is her full name?”

“Her real name is Katherine Denver, and her middle name is Anne,” Frank told him.

“Okay. Now, what do you love about her?”

Foster eyeballed the ceiling a moment. “I guess I love the way she can change a wagon wheel in record time.”

Brett frowned. “Go on.”

“She’s pretty good at poker and is a fast runner. Sometimes she even beats me in a race.”

“What else?”

Foster thought for a moment. “I love how she wields a hammer.” He demonstrated with a thrust of his arm. “Last year, she helped rebuild the Madison barn after the wind blew it down and…”

Foster raved on about Kate’s carpentry skills, and Brett could only shake his head in disbelief.

“Hang it, Foster!” Brett said when at last he could get a word in edgewise. “What kind of crazy talk is that? A woman wants to be loved for who she is, not for her prowess with a hammer.”

Aware he was still holding Frank’s hand, he got down to business. “Now, this is how a man proposes.” He cleared his throat. “Katherine Anne Denver… It’s important to use her full name. That shows that what you’re about to say is special. You know what I mean?”

Foster had a blank look on his face, but he nonetheless nodded, and Brett continued. “Next, you say something like…I love everything about you. I love the way you smile, the way you make me smile. I love the way you treat everyone with kindness. I love the way you toss your head when you laugh and wrinkle your nose when—”

Foster yanked his hand away.

Brett knitted his brow. “Now what’s the matter?”

“You have no right saying those things about Katie.”

Brett rolled his eyes. “I’m giving you examples of what a marriage proposal should sound like.”

“I don’t want you using Kate as an example. Use someone else.”

“Blast it!” Brett grabbed hold of Foster’s hand. “How ’bout this? I love the way the hair curls out of your ears. There! Are you satisfied?”

Foster glared back.

Still on bended knee, Brett forced himself to calm down. “Okay, now pay attention. This is important. After you tell her all the things you love about her, you could say something like…I want to spend the rest of my life making you as happy as you make me.”

Foster stared down at him but said nothing, and Brett continued. “Okay now, here comes the big moment.” He tightened his hold on Kate’s…uh…Foster’s hand. “Kate, you would make me the happiest man alive if you’d say you’ll marry me.”

Brett would have said more, but Foster snatched his hand away with a frown. “You make it sound like you…you really mean what you said.”

Brett blinked. “What?”

“You made it sound like a real proposal. Like you really want Kate to marry you. Like…like you love her or something.”

Realizing with a sense of horror that he could very well be guilty as charged, Brett sat back on his heels. His mind scrambled. He loved Kate? That couldn’t be true. Sure, he was attracted to her. Maybe even infatuated with her. But that didn’t mean he was in love with her. At least not in the full sense of the word.

Since Foster was staring at him all suspicious-like, Brett fought to pull himself together. “I’m trying to show you the proper way to propose,” he blurted. “You’re supposed to say yes. Yes, I’ll marry you.”

“All right, dang it.” The volume of Foster’s voice would have made an auctioneer proud. “Yes, I’ll marry you!”

The sudden silence that filled the dining room gave Brett a bad feeling. Still on his knees, he glanced over his shoulder, only to have his worst fear confirmed. All heads, including that of Kate’s friend Connie, were turned to their table, and there he was, still on his knees, holding Foster’s hand in his own.