A Bride for Dry Creek

A rumbling growl came from the man’s coat pocket.

“Excuse me,” he said as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a cell phone. “That’ll be Mrs. B.”

The conversation was short, and all Francis heard were several satisfied grunts.

“Flint’s got them in custody,” the man said when he put his phone back in his pocket. “He’s holding them in something he called the dance barn in Dry Creek. Said you’d know where it was. Told me to bring you with me and come over.”

“So I’m free to go?” Francis asked blankly as she looked up. She’d been so distressed about everything the man had told her she hadn’t realized her first impressions of him must not be true.

“Of course,” the man said as he stood and put his backpack on his shoulders.

“But who are you?”

“Inspector Kahn—FBI,” the man said as he fumbled through another pocket in his coat and pulled out an identification badge.

“But—”

“The cattle business,” the man explained as he showed the badge to Francis. “It’s interstate. Makes it a federal crime.”

“So the FBI sent someone in.” Francis took a moment to look at the badge so she could scramble to get on track. She had heard the FBI was working on the case. They had asked Garth to help. “So you really didn’t need Garth, after all.”

Inspector Kahn grunted. “Not when I have a hot-head like Flint working for me.”

“Flint works for you?”

Inspector Kahn grunted again and started walking toward the door. “Sometimes I think it’s me working for him. I’d place money that the reason he’s so keen for me to get there is because he wants me to do the paperwork. Flint always hated the paper side of things.” He looked over his shoulder at her. “You coming?”

“Yes.” Francis certainly didn’t want to stay in this cold house any longer than she needed to. She pulled the jacket Flint had given her earlier over her shoulders and picked up the Bible.

The inspector looked at the Bible. “I expect you’ll need to talk to Flint about this marriage business.”

“I intend to try.”

The inspector smiled at that. “Flint isn’t always an easy man to reason with. Stubborn as he is brave. But you know that—you’re married to him.”

“I guess I am, at that.” The ashes inside of Francis might not be blowing away, but she could feel them shifting all over the place. It appeared she, Francis K. Elkton, had actually been married to Flint L. Harris some twenty years ago.

For the umpteenth time that night, Flint wondered at the value of being a hero. He had saved Garth Elkton’s hide—not to mention the even more tender hide of the attractive woman with him, Sylvia Bannister—and they were both giving him a shoulder colder than the storm front that was fast moving into town.

In his jeans and wool jacket, Flint was out of place inside the barn. Not that any of the men there hadn’t quickly helped him hog-tie the three men who had kidnapped Garth and Sylvia and attempted to take them away in the back of an old cattle truck.

But the music was still playing a slow tune and the pink crepe paper still hung from the rafters of that old barn. And Flint felt about as welcome as a stray wet dog at a fancy church picnic.

“There, that should do it.” Flint checked the knots in the rope for the third time. He’d asked someone to call the local sheriff and was told the man was picking up something in Billings but would be back at the dance soon. He hoped the sheriff would get there before the inspector. Maybe then some of the paperwork would be local.

“Who’d you say you were again?” Garth Elkton asked the question, quiet-like, as he squatted to check the ropes with Flint.

“Flint Harris.”

“The guy who called me the other night about the kidnapping?” Garth sounded suspicious.

“Yes.”

“Still don’t know how you knew about it.”

“Because I’ve been freezing my toes off the past few nights following these guys around.” Flint jerked his head at the men on the floor. Flint could see the direction Garth was going with his questions and he didn’t appreciate it. “If I was one of them, don’t you think they’d at least recognize me?”

Flint looked at the three men on the floor. They looked quarrelsome and pathetic. He didn’t appreciate being lumped in with them. But at least it was clear that none of them claimed to have ever seen him before now.

“They didn’t seem too clear about who their boss was,” Garth continued mildly. “Could be they wouldn’t recognize the man.”

“I can’t tell you who their boss is, but he’s using a local informant,” Flint said in exasperation. “We’ve got that much figured out. And I’m not local.”

“You were local enough for my sister.”

Ah, so it’s come to that, Flint thought. It seemed he’d never get a square break from an Elkton. “Let’s leave your sister out of it.”

The mention of his sister made Garth scan the room. “Where is she, anyway? Thought she’d be back inside by now. I heard Jess was looking for her.”

“She was with me.” Flint resigned himself to his fate.

“With you? What was she doing with you?”

“Don’t worry. She’ll be back here any minute now.”