Bushedwhacked Groom (16 page)

Chapter Thirteen

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The next morning Lucky found himself back in Mari
posa, standing with Molly before the county clerk, a
bad-tempered little man absurdly named Dudley Din
kle, who sported a high-pitched nasal twang and a
tobacco-stained suit. Both his breath and his clothing
seemed to reek of mothballs. Behind them in the small
anteroom of the courthouse stood Cole, the forever-
menacing overprotective father.

“Name?” the crotchety man asked Lucky as he began scribbling on the marriage license.

Glancing sourly at his “fiancée,” who stood beside
him wearing her customary smirk as well as an all-too-
enticing peach-colored dress, Lucky cleared his throat.
“Lyndon B. Lamont.”

Molly tittered. “Lyndon? Your real name is Lyndon?”

At once Lucky wanted to kick himself. Why had he
revealed his given name to Molly? After all, back in the
present, he’d gone to great lengths to bribe one of the
sweet young things who worked for motor vehicles into
putting “Lucky” on his driver’s license.

But then, his grandma had always loved Lyndon, and had suggested the name to his mother. Maybe it was just a sentimental slip—but that didn’t mean he
wanted to hear the name from
her
lips.

“Yeah, Lucky’s my nickname,” he told Molly tersely. “And if you really want to get me riled, try saying ‘Lyn
don’ one more time.”

She chortled. “But what kind of name is that?”

“I’ll have you know I was named after a president.”

“Which one?”

Lord, was there even any point talking with this infu
riating woman? “Johnson.”

“But President Johnson’s Christian name wasn’t ‘Lyn
don.’” She turned to Cole. “Was it, Daddy?”

“No. It was Andrew.”

“I’m talking about a different Johnson!” Lucky burst out in exasperation. “The one from
Texas
. My grandma
was from there, too.”

“Huh?” Molly asked blankly. “Daddy, what’s he talk
ing about?”

Before Cole could respond, the clerk waved a
hand. “Now, children, get aholt of yourselves, will you? You want to stand there and bicker all day or get
hitched?”

Both the bride and groom glowered at him.

The clerk looked askance at Cole. “Why do these two
want to tie the knot anyhow? ‘Pears to me they hate
each other.”

Cole grinned. “Sounds like the basis of an excellent
marriage to me.”

“Ah, all of you Reklaws are haywire,” groused the lit
tle man.

“Don’t call me a Reklaw,” retorted Lucky.

“Well, you’re about to wed one—”

“That don’t make me a Reklaw.” Abruptly Lucky
smiled vindictively, jerking a thumb toward Molly. “But
come to think of it, it’ll make
her
a Lamont.”

“0h,” cried Molly.

The clerk rolled his eyes. “Just keep on dreaming,
sonny. Now if you’ll just put your John Hancock right
here, and pay the fee—”

Grudgingly, Lucky took out his wallet and extended
a bill to the man. “Here.”

The man’s eyes grew huge as he examined the alien
bill. “What in Sam Hill . . .? Sonny, are you trying to
pass off counterfeit on me? I’ve half a mind to call the
sheriff—”

Laughing, Cole snatched up the bill and handed it
back to Lucky. “I’ll pay the fee for these two.”

Lucky glowered at him. “Why not? You and your
crazy daughter are calling all the shots in this marriage
business anyway, aren’t you?”

The clerk reached out to swat Lucky’s arm. “Just my point, young man. You’re a Reklaw now, and all of you
Reklaws are haywire.”

Lucky almost slugged the codger then. Only the thought that the county jail might be more objection
able than being in Molly Reklaw’s clutches stopped him . . . though just barely.

***

“Ah. Here’s the happy couple.”
Half an hour later, Lucky glowered at Reverend
Bledsoe as he entered the fussy Victorian parlor of the
parsonage wearing a huge smile and carrying a large
black Bible. After being dropped off by Cole, Lucky
and Molly had seated themselves in stiff, high-backed
chairs on opposite sides of the room, and had been
staring daggers at one another ever since.

“Reverend,” Lucky acknowledged stiffly.

He nodded and turned to Molly. “And Miss Molly? How are you today?”

She tapped her toe on the rug. “Just get on with it,
Pastor Bledsoe. This counseling business is supposed
to be for Lyndon here—”

Lucky shot to his feet. “Call me Lyndon one more
time and you’re toast, sister.”

“Now, now, children.” The pastor laughed nervously
and sat down on the settee that was positioned between the two warring factions.

Molly was contemptuously ignoring Lucky’s outburst.
“Like I said, he’s the one that needs some educatin’, but
for some reason Pa insisted I come along, too.”

“Yeah, imagine that,” drawled Lucky. “Whoever
would have thought you might need some training as a
proper wife?”

Molly shot to her feet, her eyes flashing. The reverend frantically waved a hand. “Youngsters, please,
please. Little birds in their nest should agree.”

“Oh, brother,” groaned Lucky.

“Tell
him
that,” retorted Molly with a defiant jerk of
her chin. “He’s the one who’s being so ornery
about everything.”

“Because I don’t want to be forced into this sham of
a marriage.”

Molly sneered at him. “You know, Handsome,
women get forced into roles they don’t want all the
time. Like cooking for you menfolk, and mending your
socks. About time a man got a taste of the same treat
ment, I say.”

“Well, thank you, little miss suffragette,” Lucky mocked
back.

By now the reverend looked almost desperate, and
Lucky and Molly appeared ready to lunge at each
other. Then all were distracted as a door swung open
and a pretty, plump woman bearing a tray moved in
side, humming, “Lead, Kindly Light.” She wore a floor-
length dress of sprigged beige muslin, and her dark
shiny hair was piled high on her head.

All three rose, the reverend appearing supremely re
lieved. “Ah, Edwina, dear, how kind of you to bring us
tea.”

“Your wish is my command, dearest,” she re
sponded, flashing her dimples at him.

“Molly, you know my wife, Mrs. Bledsoe. Lucky—”

“How do you do, ma’am?” he asked grudgingly.

She beamed her dazzling smile on him. “Just splen
didly, young man, especially since I’ve heard the excit
ing news that we’re soon to have a wedding at our
church. All of you, do sit down and I’ll serve you tea.”

Exchanging hostile looks, Lucky and Molly resumed
their seats.

Watching his wife attend to her duties, the reverend
noisily cleared his throat. “Well, young Molly, as I was
telling your father yesterday, marrying Edwina here was the best thing that ever happened to me—”

“You mean the best thing that ever happened to you
with a shotgun at your back,” grumbled Lucky.

Molly stuck out her tongue at him.

Bledsoe gave a squeaky laugh, then winked at his
wife. “Well, in First Corinthians, the Gospel sayeth, ‘Bet
ter
to marry than burn.’”

As both Bledsoe and his wife fell into gales of laugh
ter over this obvious private joke, Lucky fired back,
“And in Lucky Lamont’s book of favorite proverbs, it
sayeth, ‘Marry in haste, repent at leisure.’”

Molly tossed an antimacassar at Lucky; Edwina
smiled and reached out to pinch his cheek. “Now,
young man, it’ll all work out for the best, you’ll see.”

“Yeah, just like the maiden voyage of the
Titanic,”
Lucky mocked back.

As the others absorbed this remark in confusion, a
muffled wail came forth from within the house. “Ah, I
hear the baby,” declared Edwina ecstatically. She
winked at Lucky and Molly. “You two just wait. Having
a young one will be the greatest joy the good Lord has
in store for you. ‘Be fruitful and multiply’ sayeth the
Lord.”

“Amen,” intoned her husband.

“And while you’re at it, win the lower five hundred,” Lucky finished cynically.

Molly shot him a withering look, while the reverend
and Edwina regarded one another in perplexity before
she hastily left the room.

Coughing, the parson opened his Bible. “Now,
youngsters, according to the Book of Genesis—”

“Wait a minute,” Molly cut in. “You ain’t gonna read
us all that Genesis hokum about Adam and Eve, are
you? My grandma’s already forced me to memorize
half the Old Testament.”

Before the preacher could answer, Lucky cut in
snidely, “I think the parson should read it, so you can
learn all about
your place
as Adam’s rib—”

“
Oh, yeah? Didn’t Eve tempt dumb old Adam into being banished from the
Garden
of
Evil
—”

“
Eden
,”
Lucky corrected. “And bring it on, sweet
heart, bring it on. I’d purely love to be banished. Just
say the word, call off your father and the rest of your
crazy family.”

“
0h! Maybe I should ask Pa to fire a few shots into
your worthless hide.”

“Children, please, please!” beseeched the minister,
mopping his brow. “Perhaps we can forgo the biblical
lessons this time and speak in more general terms of
the honorable institution of marriage, the foundation
of the sacred union in harmony and trust—and, espe
cially,
patience.
Then we can read over the marriage rit
ual itself, the obligations and the vows—”

“0h, yeah, like to love, honor and obey?” Lucky cut in
with relish. “Ain’t she gotta obey me, Preacher?”

“In a pig’s eye,” declared Molly.

“Well, that is the wording of the sacrament, young lady,” intoned the preacher.

She harrumphed. “So, take it out. Or better yet, make
Handsome obey
me.”

Reverend Bledsoe’s gaze implored the heavens.
“Lord, grant me patience.” To the couple, he said, “Just
what is the problem between you two?”

“Other than my being shanghaied into this union?”
scoffed Lucky.

“Yes. Other than that, why are you opposed to mar
rying this lovely young lady?”

Lucky glanced at Molly, who was simpering back at
him. “Because she’s the devil incarnate, beguiling and
manipulative. Because she lied to me, to her parents,
her grandma, everyone, to lasso me into this ridicu
lous marriage. Because I don’t like her, much less love
her—”

“Is that all?” interrupted the minister.

“Damn it, man, isn’t that enough?” Lucky de
manded. “Bottom line is, she’s not my idea of a proper
wife and never will be.” With satisfaction, he watched Molly flinch at his emphatic words.

“Then what is your idea of a proper wife, young
man?” asked Bledsoe.

Lucky cast Molly a baleful look. “Someone like my
grandma, a helpmate who reveres her husband and
knows her place—”

“You mean a mealy-mouthed little drudge?” inter
rupted Molly.

Lucky waved a hand. “See what I mean? She’s got no
respect for me—”

“And what have you done to earn my respect, cow
boy?”

“Well, you sure as hell haven’t earned mine, trying to
use me to get a baby—”