The Runaway Pastor's Wife by Diane Moody, Hannah Schmitt Read Free Book Online Page A

was the fact that I control all of your remaining
stockholders.”
    Elliot stretched his neck again, emerging with a
mischievous grin. “Son, how stupid can you get? You were so all-fire sure that
this little business was all yours by making sure I never got too big a chunk
of the pie. Thought you had me, didn't you? But if you'd ever done your
homework instead of chasing golf balls and fast women, you might have noted a
couple of very important facts.
    “Oh, you are absolutely right. I only hold
fifteen percent of your precious little company. But I hand-picked the
remaining members of your stockholders myself and they all answer to me! ”
Elliot burst into laughter.
    Michael froze. “That’s impossible!”
    “Not hardly. Why, eighty percent of Texas resides in my back pocket, in case you haven’t noticed. I can buy anyone and
anything I choose. I have so many folks beholdin’ to me—they practically stand
in line to do favors for Elliot Thomas.” He chortled once again. “Oh,
me . . . this time it’s been a real pleasure calling in those
markers. As soon as I got wind of this divorce nonsense of yours, I made a few
quick phone calls. Made sure all my ducks were still in a row.” He rubbed his
hands together, clearly enjoying the bomb he was dropping.
    “Listen, you little punk, you’ve played your
last card.” Then, as if the clever thought just popped into his mind, he
continued, “This is your last inning and the game’s over!” He croaked his
self-absorbed laughter. “And guess what? You’re out!”
    Michael’s mind spun out of control. As Elliot
laughed himself into a fit of wheezing coughs, Michael desperately groped for anything to stop this nightmare. He could see The Sports Page—his whole
life—vaporizing before his eyes.
    And then he remembered.
    Suddenly the fog cleared and the answer broke
through. How could I have forgotten?
    While Elliot finally caught his breath and took
another sip of his drink, Michael nonchalantly wandered back to his seat. He
sat down slowly, giving his mind ample time to devise a plan of action. It had
been a long, long time since his thoughts had traveled down this secret
passageway, but he was relieved by its mere existence.
    Not to worry.
    A resurgent smile stretched across Michael’s
face. His confidence restored, he spoke slowly, his words calculated. “Elliot,
you’re an egotistical fool. Think you have all the answers, don’t you? Think
you can control everybody you meet by just snapping your pudgy little fingers.
Well, I’m afraid you’ve pathetically miscalculated this time.
    “You see, I still have one card left to play.”

CHAPTER 4
     
     
    Weber Creek , Colorado
    The carefully lettered wooden sign over the door
read Williamson’s. The long front porch adorned with several old wooden
rockers welcomed customers who stopped by. Stepping inside the old country
store was like stepping back in time. The Ingalls family should be browsing
these aisles. At the back of the spacious store, a stone fireplace boasted a
bright, crackling fire from a fireplace tucked beneath an extended mantle
sporting every imaginable gadget for the winter home. Four more rustic rockers
sat ready and waiting for weary customers, a worn and colorfully braided rug
resting beneath them. The long wooden store counter stretched along the entire
length of the wall to the left, overshadowed by shelves reaching all the way to
the ceiling. Each was packed with everything from Band-Aids to Borax to bubble
gum.
    The hardwood floors creaked melodically under
the tread of all who entered. Four short aisles offered an array of necessities
and a few luxuries here and there. Along the opposite wall to the right, a
refrigerated case installed back in the 70s held dairy products and assorted
chilled beverages. Overhead, an umbrella of baskets and dried flowers cascaded
from broad beams of sturdy oak.
    But it was the unique blend of aromas which
first welcomed customers to Williamson’s.