Autumn Brides: A Year of Weddings Novella Collection

By Kathryn Springer, Katie Ganshert and Beth K. Vogt

Happily ever after begins today. The honor of your presence is requested at three autumn weddings . . .

A September Bride by Kathryn Springer

When Annie moves to Red Leaf, she’s ready to call the little town home, but Deputy Jesse Kent can’t believe his mother has handed the keys to her bookshop over to a woman she met on the internet. Jesse has seen his mother taken advantage of before, and he decides to keep a close eye on this Annie Price. But when a close eye turns into a historical wedding reenactment with Jesse and Annie as the couple, make-believe nuptials quickly give way to real-life emotions.

An October Bride by Katie Ganshert

No one but Jake and Emma know the true reason they’re getting married—so Emma’s dying father can walk her down the aisle. While Jake and Emma plan an autumn wedding together, it becomes clear that their agreement has a few complications—the biggest being their true feelings for each other.

A November Bride by Beth K. Vogt

Having celebrated the big 3–0 by ending a relationship, Sadie is tired of romantic relationships-by-text. The only man she knows willing to put down his iPhone and have face-to-face conversations with her is Erik. It’s time to put a 21st-century twist on the Sadie Hawkins’ tradition of a woman going after her man. But when he realizes he’s fallen for her, can Erik convince Sadie his just-for-fun dates were the prelude to “’til death do us part”?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Zondervan
• Release date: Aug 11, 2015
• ISBN: 9780310341635

Kathryn Springer

Kathryn Springer is a USA Today bestselling author. She grew up in northern Wisconsin, where her parents published a weekly newspaper. As a child she spent many hours sitting at her mother’s typewriter, plunking out stories, and credits her parents for instilling in her a love of books—which eventually turned into a desire to tell stories of her own. Kathryn has written 19 books with close to two million copies sold. She lives with her husband and three children in Marinette, Wisconsin. Visit her online at kathrynspringer.com Facebook: Kathrynspringerauthor

Book preview

One

Annie Price didn’t know why Mondays had such a bad reputation.

This one happened to be perfect. Sunshine. A smooth stretch of open road. A scented breeze sifting through the sunroof of her car.

Flashing red-and-blue lights in the rearview mirror.

The police car those lights happened to be attached to triggered a strangely familiar, built-in reflex, and Annie’s foot tapped the brake. One of the cardboard boxes lining the backseat tipped forward, and a wave of Styrofoam packing peanuts spilled over the side, flowing underneath the seat and pooling around her feet. Along with the antique spoon collection Annie had spent the last half hour carefully packing inside that box.

She steered onto the shoulder of the road and waited for the squad car to drive past. Except . . . it didn’t. It pulled up right behind her.

There was no time to contemplate the exact nature of her crime because a county deputy quickly appeared at the window, blotting out the sun like an eclipse in brown polyester.

Annie’s gaze glanced off the gold badge centered above his pocket and followed a row of perfectly aligned buttons all the way to a face that looked as if it had been carved from a chunk of granite. Angular jaw. Sculpted cheekbones. Hair a rich sable brown, cropped close to his head to discourage any type of wayward behavior.

And speaking of wayward . . .

Annie squinted at her distorted reflection in the deputy’s mirrored sunglasses and noticed one of her curls had gone rogue. Leaning forward for a better look, she tucked it back in place.

The deputy whipped off the sunglasses and a pair of eyes as blue as the cloudless sky locked with hers.

Do you know why I stopped you? His crisp tone matched the September morning, leaving Annie to wonder if he always sounded that way or if it was part of the uniform.

No. Was this a trick question? Annie caught her lower lip between her teeth. Don’t you? she ventured.

The blue eyes narrowed. You have a brake light out. And your tailpipe is hanging by a thread.

Actually, the tailpipe was hanging by a piece of binder twine—a little detail Annie knew because she was the one who’d tied it in place—but she decided it would be best not to correct him.

I know. Annie flashed what she hoped was a See-I’m-An-Honest-Upstanding-Citizen smile. I just haven’t had time to get them fixed.

Well, now you have five days. He didn’t return the smile.

Annie contemplated offering him one of the leftover donuts from her early morning get-together with the historical society, but he would probably arrest her for trying to bribe an officer of the law.

Thank you for bringing it to my attention. I’ll take care of it right away, she promised.

Instead of leaving, the deputy took a step closer. Annie dragged in a breath and held it while he took a slow but thorough inventory of the interior of her car. She knew the exact moment he zeroed in on the spoons.

Those don’t belong to me, Annie said quickly.

One eyebrow lifted. Is that so?

I mean, I’m just . . . transporting them. For a friend.

There you go, Annie. That sounded so much better.

His expression remained unreadable. I’ll need to see your license and registration, please.

Of course. Annie twisted toward the glove compartment, but the seat belt chose that particular moment to resist the sudden change in position and held her firmly in place. Acutely aware the officer was watching her every move, she finally managed to free herself from its grip.

Could the situation be any more embarrassing?

Apparently the answer to that question was yes, because the door on the glove compartment gave way—she really needed to get that loose hinge fixed too—and released an avalanche of the miniature candy bars Annie kept on hand for emergencies. On the bright side, the empty compartment made it easier to locate the envelope holding her insurance information.

Here you go. It took every ounce of Annie’s self-control not to grab one of the candy bars and devour it while the officer verified she hadn’t stolen the car. Or the chocolate. Or the silver spoons scattered around her feet.

A discreet glance at her wristwatch told Annie she had exactly seven minutes to get to work, unlock the door, and brew a pot of coffee for her first customers.

Everything is in order, Officer? Somehow, it came out sounding more like a question than a statement.

The deputy handed her the envelope, and Annie couldn’t help but notice the papers looked tidier now than they had the first time she’d stashed them inside. License, please.

It’s right here, in my— Annie stared at the empty spot on the passenger seat, where her purse should have been riding shotgun.

Let me guess, he drawled. You don’t have it with you?

No, I . . . no. It’s in my purse. Which is . . . somewhere. Else. Panic shorted out the circuits in her brain. I have one, though. A license. Annie knew she was rambling, but she couldn’t find the shutoff valve to staunch the flow of words. I never go anywhere without it. Except today, of course.

Of course.

Was that a tiny spark of amusement Annie saw in his eyes?

She couldn’t be sure, because the sunglasses slid back into place, shielding his expression.

Heart beating in double-time, Annie silently retraced her early morning route. She’d stopped at the bakery for the donuts and then swung by the gas station to fill up the tank and buy a package of red licorice for Mr. Gunderson, whose arthritis was acting up again. After that, she’d driven to Caroline McCready’s house. The older woman had recently made a generous donation to the historical society, and the committee members offered to pack up some of the more fragile antiques. Annie volunteered to be the designated driver, transporting the items to their new home at the museum. She’d deliver them during her lunch hour, when she also planned to give Mr. Gunderson his licorice.

She wasn’t getting anywhere, and she didn’t want him to think she was just stalling. Maybe if she started at the beginning . . . She’d showered and dressed, and then a few minutes before she’d left her apartment, her friend Lorna had called to ask about a box of old playbills Annie had discovered while cleaning out the storage closet at the bookstore, so . . .

I know where it is! Annie clapped her hands together. My license . . . I left it at the bookstore!

The deputy didn’t appear nearly as thrilled as Annie that her short-term memory had returned. In fact, he looked downright skeptical. Are you talking about Second Story Books?

Yes. Annie didn’t know whether to be relieved he’d actually heard of it or terrified he might be a regular customer. Although she couldn’t imagine Deputy Tall, Dark, and Disturbing being comfortable in the bookstore’s whimsical setting, with its pastel furniture and cheery yellow walls. I must have left my purse on the counter.

The bookstore doesn’t open until ten.

Rats. Regular customer.

That’s true, but I can get in. Annie pointed to the cluster of keys hanging from the ignition like a miniature set of wind chimes. I’m the manager.

The manager . . . He paused, the word hanging in the air between them, almost as if he were giving her time to retract the statement.

I’ve only been there a few weeks. Annie tried to ignore the prickle of unease that rappelled down her spine, one vertebra at a time. But I love Red Leaf. Everyone is so friendly.

Name and date of birth, please.

Well, almost everyone.

"Anne Price. With an e. But everyone calls me Annie. And my birthday is October twenty-fourth?" Don’t make it sound like a question! Yes. October twenty-fourth.

I’ll be right back.

Before Annie could blink, the deputy turned on his heel and strode away.

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Jesse! Lorna Kent answered on the first ring. I didn’t expect to hear from you until this evening. Did you take the day off?

No, I’m on duty. Jesse kept an eye on the rust-stained vehicle parked on the side of the road. And I just pulled over a woman named Annie Price who claims she’s the manager of Second Story Books. The last I knew, that title belonged to someone else.

Jesse half expected to hear a shriek. At the very least, a gasp of disbelief. Not . . . laughter.

Well . . . you’ve been gone for three weeks, sweetheart, Lorna declared. A lot can happen in that amount of time. I decided to make a few changes.

Changes?

His mother was as predictable as an eastern sunrise. She thrived on routine, whether it was the menu for Sunday dinner—baked chicken, creamed peas, and mashed potatoes—or watering the row of African violets on her kitchen windowsill from left to right every Wednesday while she watched Jeopardy.

Are you telling me that you actually turned the bookstore over to a . . . stranger? The unexpected announcement might have rattled any preconceived notions Jesse had about his mother, but there was one thing he did know for sure—he’d never seen Annie Price before.

He would have remembered.

Annie isn’t a stranger. She happens to be a member of my book club.

An alarm went off in Jesse’s head. He knew of only one book club that his mother faithfully attended. "You met her on the Internet?"

It’s an online group, yes, his mother confirmed. But Annie and I have gotten to know each other quite well over the past six months. There were talks of layoffs where she worked, and as it turned out I happened to have an opening at the bookstore.

An opening— Jesse’s back molars snapped together. "You gave her your job!"

Along with the keys to the front door—and the safe.

Believe me, Annie was an answer to my prayers. Lorna’s voice dropped a notch. And I think moving to Red Leaf just might have been an answer to one of hers.

Jesse didn’t doubt that for a second. Scam artists were always on the lookout for an easy mark. Someone like his mother, who assumed the best in everyone in spite of what she’d gone through in the past. Experience had taught Jesse that trust was something a person had to earn.

You don’t know anything about this woman, Mom.

I know the things that matter. Annie is a hard worker, and she’s already gotten involved in the community. Everyone on the committee loves her.

What committee? Jesse’s fingers tightened around his personal cell phone.

She joined the historical society. In fact, we were together a few minutes ago. Cricket McCready asked the committee members to meet at her house this morning to pack up the items she donated to the museum.

Spoons. The word rolled out with Jesse’s sigh. I saw them.

The explanation for the spoons being in Annie Price’s possession didn’t exactly put Jesse’s mind at ease. Why would a woman in her mid-twenties with no ties to the town join the local historical society?

You saw them? What did you do, search her vehicle? Lorna teased.

Of course not. Unfortunately, Jesse didn’t have probable cause. It was a courtesy stop. Her brake light is out.

I knew it had to be something like that. Lorna sounded way too confident. Annie is as sweet as maple syrup. I can’t imagine her doing anything wrong.

And therein lay the problem.

Jesse’s gaze cut back to the vehicle. The topic of their conversation was leaning out the window, looking not at him but at a flock of geese flying in a perfect V formation over the trees. The breeze toyed with a short platinum curl, and Annie pushed it back into place—without using his sunglasses as a mirror this time.

She caught his eye and pointed at the sky, the smile on her face warm enough to melt right through Jesse’s Kevlar vest.

The woman was trouble, no doubt about it.

The radio attached to his belt crackled, and Jesse heard the county dispatcher sending officers to a fender bender at an intersection a few miles away.

A formal written notice would have to wait. Jesse pointed to the road and waved her on.

If possible, Annie’s smile grew even wider. She waved back, ducked inside the car, and put it into gear.

Are you still planning to come for dinner tonight? His mother’s question yanked Jesse’s attention back to the moment as he strode toward the squad car. I have a surprise for you.

I think you already filled your quota for the day, Jesse said drily. But I’ll be there.

To find out what was going on.

He wasn’t a fan of surprises . . . or change. And no matter what his mother claimed, Jesse could trace both of them to a common source. A curly-haired sprite with a smile so captivating it had the power to make a man forget his own name.

Annie Price.

Two

I have the perfect book for you, Lily. Annie smiled at her pint-sized customer, who resembled the heroine of the story with her long blonde braids and gap-toothed grin. This was one of my favorites when I was your age."

The girl’s mother looked at the title and smiled. "Little House in the Big Woods. It was one of mine too. Thank you, Annie."

Don’t forget to sign up for the activity night next Friday. We’re going to have a lot of fun. Annie winked at Lily as she rang up the purchase. Let me know when you’re finished with this book—there’s a whole series about Laura and her family.

Lily bobbed her head. Okay!

The little girl and her mother left the bookstore, and Annie flipped the sign in the window to Closed. Lorna was expecting her for dinner, but a steady stream of customers all afternoon meant there were still a few things that needed Annie’s attention before she could leave.

Not that she was complaining.

Less than a month ago, Annie had eaten alone in her studio apartment every night, but now she actually had a friend to laugh with over a home-cooked meal several times a week. She was also the manager of a quaint little bookshop located above a bakery on Main Street, where the scent of cinnamon and yeasty bread dough drifted through the metal grates in the floor and scented the air, sweeter than any fragrance a candle company could manufacture.

Thank you, God.

The prayer reverberated in Annie’s heart, as clear and sweet as the chimes that sang out a greeting whenever a customer came into Second Story Books. Because she knew it could only have been divine intervention that had led her to Red Leaf.

Annie loved everything about the northern Wisconsin town, from the street made up of red bricks that cut through the center of town to the pots of yellow mums that brightened every corner. It could have been the setting for one of her favorite books, although Lorna had laughed the first time Annie had voiced the thought out loud.

"Oh, the town is real all right, Lorna had said. Not perfect, but real."

Annie happened to think it was both.

She paused to pet the enormous gray tiger cat curled up on the window seat. Esmeralda spent the majority of her day in the bookstore rather than in Annie’s adjoining apartment. A preference as contrary as the feline herself, because Esmeralda didn’t particularly care for books—or people.

I’ll be back to get you in a couple of hours. Two lime green eyes cracked open long enough to glare at her.

Annie chuckled. Sorry for disturbing your nap, Essie. Don’t get into trouble while I’m gone.

The cat formally dismissed Annie from the room with a flick of her crooked tail and fell back to sleep.

Reaching underneath the counter, Annie retrieved her purse and experienced a flashback. A flashback that featured a taciturn deputy. Her pulse spiked just remembering the encounter.

Annie found it odd that he had called someone on a cell phone rather than the radio attached to his belt, but when he had waved her on she decided not to stick around and ask why. She planned to replace the brake light, get the loose tailpipe fixed, and never have to deal with the man again. He had a whole county to protect and serve, right?

Comforted by the thought, Annie locked up the bookstore, stopped by her apartment to pick up the chocolate cake she’d made for dessert, and took the stairs two at a time until she reached the ornate wooden door that opened onto the sidewalk.

Hey, Miss Annie! Across the street, Arthur Gunderson paused in his daily ritual of sweeping away any flotsam and jetsam that dared to wash up on the sidewalk in front of his hardware store. He hailed her with the push broom. Thank you again for the licorice.

You’re welcome! Annie waved back as she got into her car. They’d met the day she had wandered into the hardware store to buy a set of shelves for her living room wall. Not only had Arthur told her which kind to buy, but he had insisted on helping with the project despite his arthritis.

Because that’s what neighbors do, he’d told her.

Annie had cried when he’d left, because she had never even met the people who lived in her last apartment building, let alone her neighborhood. From the day she’d moved to Red Leaf, everyone had treated her like she was family. It meant everything to a girl who’d never had one of her own.

Annie parked in front of Lorna’s bungalow and hurried up the sidewalk. Balancing the cake plate in one hand and a folder bulging with craft ideas for the bookstore’s upcoming activity night in the other, she climbed the steps and wedged her toe in the screen door before slipping into the foyer.

Sorry I’m late, Lorna!

In the kitchen. Her friend’s lilting voice provided a wonderful benediction to a day that had gotten off to a trying start.

You’ll never guess what happened after I left Caroline McCready’s house. Annie kicked off her shoes and noticed another—much larger—pair on the rug near the door. She hoped that meant Lorna had taken her advice and invited Michael Garrison for dinner. He was a regular customer at the bookstore and attended their church, and Annie was sure the high school principal who’d recently retired and moved to Red Leaf was totally smitten with Lorna. Annie had a hunch the feeling was mutual. A police officer noticed my brake light was burned out and he pulled me over. I have five days—

Four. The man sitting at Lorna’s kitchen table rose to his feet. And don’t forget the loose tailpipe.

Annie almost dropped the cake.

It wasn’t Mr. Garrison—it was him. The deputy who had stopped her that morning. He may have exchanged his uniform for faded jeans and a flannel shirt, but the look of authority hadn’t changed. Maybe he was working undercover. Or . . .

"Are you following me?" Annie blurted.

One sable brow lifted. Guilty conscience?

Looking at the evidence. Six feet tall. Broad shoulders. Sky-blue eyes. And standing right in front of her.

Lorna’s bemused gaze bounced back and forth between them. Jesse mentioned he pulled you over on a courtesy stop this morning. She chuckled. It wasn’t the way I’d planned for you and my son to meet, but I guess it means we can dispense with formal introductions.

Her son?

Annie’s breath tangled in her lungs.

Come to think of it, Lorna had mentioned she had a son in his late twenties, but Annie hadn’t thought to ask where he lived—or what he did for a living. In the book club’s chat room, the moderator had a strict rule that the discussion be focused on the novel the group had chosen, not the personal lives of its members. Even after she and Lorna had become friends and e-mailed each other on a regular basis, there had been too many other things to talk about. Plans to be made.

Aware that Lorna was watching, Annie forced a smile and held out her hand. It’s nice to meet you. Again.

A split-second passed, long enough for her to realize Jesse Kent—Deputy Jesse Kent—didn’t feel the same way. Then his hand closed around hers, toasty warm as a wool mitten.

It made the shiver that coursed up Annie’s arm even more alarming.

Anne Price. Without the sunglasses, there was no hiding the glint of speculation in his eyes. "With an e."

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So this was the surprise his mother had mentioned.

Jesse should have known. He released Annie’s hand and took a step back, but the scent of her perfume, something light and sweet, lingered in the air the way her smile had lingered in his thoughts long after she’d driven away.

When you mentioned the bookstore, Jesse had to call me and find out what was going on. Lorna grinned. He was attending a three-week training course in Arizona, so I didn’t have a chance to tell him that I made a few little changes while he was gone. At least not in person.

Jesse shook his head. Hiring a manager for the bookstore isn’t exactly what I’d call a little change, Mom.

Oh, Annie is more than qualified. Lorna bustled over to the stove. Why don’t you two get to know each other better while I finish the vegetables? Michael should be here any minute.

Jesse frowned.

Michael?

For the first time, he noticed the table was set for four. So much for his keen powers of observation.

Michael is coming over for dinner? Annie’s face lit up as she grabbed an apron from the drawer next to the sink.

Jesse narrowed his eyes. Annie had been in Red Leaf for three short weeks and already knew her way around his mother’s kitchen?

Who is Michael? Jesse kept his tone casual. Because a good cop collected all the facts before he reached a conclusion.

A friend. The wooden spoon in his mother’s hand picked up speed, and a slice of carrot bounced out of the skillet and landed on the counter. He moved to Red Leaf about six weeks ago.

Yeah. Jesse pinned Annie with a sideways glance. There seems to be a lot of that going on.

Color bloomed in