His Brother's Bride

“What about the time Lance Brown had that trouble out at the farm and practically every man in Cooper’s Corner ended up out there one weekend, getting a month’s worth of work done in two days.”

“Wasn’t that the time the Browns ended up throwing that huge impromptu barn dance?”

That night was

one she’d never forget. It was the first time Paul Hunter had ever spoken to her. She’d been in Cooper’s Corner about a year. She was only fifteen years old and he’d been seventeen at the time—a senior. He’d asked her to dance. And she’d never looked at another man since that night. Impossible to believe that was more than eighteen years ago.

“If I’m not mistaken, it was Phyllis Cooper who arranged that dance—and their general store that donated all of the food. A way of saying thank-you for everyone’s hard work.”

Laurel hadn’t known that. Or hadn’t remembered. But she wasn’t surprised to find it so.

Philo was standing toward the front of the store, talking to an older gentleman Laurel didn’t recognize. He looked just as she remembered him. Not tall, stocky, dressed in overalls, with salt-and-pepper hair that never seemed to get more salty.

Laurel had seen him and his wife the night before at the barbecue, but had managed to avoid them. By staying close to the other guests at Twin Oaks, she’d actually avoided recognition by anyone who might have known her.

“Philo, you got a minute?” Scott asked the second the shopkeeper was free.

“Sure, Scott!” Philo said, patting the younger man on the back. “What’s up? Nothing official I hope?”

“Well,” Scott said, “in a way it is. I was wondering if perhaps you and Phyllis could spare me a couple of minutes for some questions.”

Philo’s kind eyes darkened. “No one we know’s in trouble, are they?”

“I don’t think so,” Scott said quietly, nodding as a middle-aged man left with a bag full of some kind of hardware.

Philo looked over, seeming to notice Laurel for the first time. She smiled tentatively under his scrutiny. “Pretty young lady you got there, Scott. Someone we should know?”

“You do know her...” Scott was saying, just as Philo blinked, shaking his head.

“Laurel?” he asked. “Is that our Laurel London?”

Laurel grinned, feeling for a second like a prodigal daughter returned home to a loving father.

Except that she’d never had a father, loving or otherwise.

“Laurel London!” Philo exclaimed, his smile widening as he reached his arms out to Laurel.

Not a hugger by nature, she didn’t even hesitate as she stepped into that embrace, feeling her throat tighten with emotion.

“How you doing, Philo?” she asked when the older man let her go.

“Can’t complain,” he said, still grinning at her. “I hear you went to the big city and got yourself a fancy TV job.”

“Laurel? Laurel London?” Laurel was saved from Philo’s inquisition by an enthusiastic greeting from his wife. A greeting that was only different from his in that it was even more physical in nature. Phyllis not only gave Laurel a long, tight hug, but kissed both of her cheeks as well.

“I’ve been wondering if you’d ever come back to us,” Phyllis said, tears gathering in her eyes.

The motherly woman was a beautiful sight to Laurel.

“I just needed some time,” Laurel told her softly. She couldn’t lie to Phyllis. She didn’t think anyone could keep things from the gentle, giving woman.

Scott shifted beside her, and Philo said, “Scott’s here to ask us some questions.” Then he looked back at Laurel, a worried frown creasing his brow.

“You aren’t in any trouble, are you, my dear?”

“Of course not,” Scott said before Laurel could reply. “Laurel’s helping me with the investigation.”

“It’s what she does for television in New York,” Phyllis told her husband as though he might actually not have been in possession of that information himself. She led them all back to the office at the rear of the store, instructing Philo to bring in a couple of extra chairs for Laurel and Scott.