The man behind her was gesturing her forward, to the cashier.
"It's our turn," she said.
Dylan didn't move.
Biting her lip, Kitty took a hesitant step forward. Dylan smoothly followed. He plucked the certificate out of her hand. "Why don't I pay the cashier and you go make small talk with Judge Tierney?"
Determined not to appear any less eager than he, she followed his direction. But even before she'd approached the judge, Dylan was beside her again, sliding his wallet into his pocket at the same time that he returned the certificate to her hand. He nudged her forward. "We're paid up. Hand it to the judge, honey."
Looking back at Dylan, she placed her water bottle in Judge Tierney's hand.
"The certificate," Dylan said gently.
Her face burned. "Oh, of course." She grabbed back the bottle and handed over the paper.
Judge Tierney's glasses magnified his faded blue eyes. He looked down at the paper, looked up for a long moment, then signed his name with a flourish. He slipped the certificate between the pages of the oversized Bible. "I'll take good care of this."
It was done.
Kitty clutched her fingers together, hardly believing. "Thank you, sir," she said.
The old judge winked.
Bewildered, but grateful for the friendly gesture, Kitty winked back.
Then Dylan was leading her out of the gazebo and the next couple stepped up.
She disengaged her arm from his hand. "All done," she said, still puzzling over the judge's strange wink.
"Not quite," Dylan answered. "We need to have that talk."
Though still thinking about the odd wink, Kitty recognized the determined look on his face. "No, Dylan." She took three steps forward, then whirled as realization struck. "Wait. I don't believe it. I just figured it out!"
His expression turned wary. "Figured, uh, what out?"
"The judge was hitting on me! Can you believe it?" Outraged, she drew herself up and propped her fists on her hips. "The minute I'm not married, that man winked at me."
Dylan pressed his lips together. "Oh, I'm sure you're mistaken," he said, his voice strangely tight.
"I am not mistaken. I may be a Wilder, but he's happily married and at least eighty-five years old."
Dylan coughed. "Well, you are a Wilder after all, and truly a temptation to him or any man, married or divorced, so..."
She glared over Dylan's shoulder in the direction of the gazebo. "I think I'll just go over there and give him a piece of my mind."
"Kitty..." Coughing again, he moved in front of her. "You have to live here, and - "
"But I'm not living here. I'm leaving." She sucked in an energizing breath. "And, Wilder or not, I won't stand for that kind of treatment in Hot Water or anywhere else." Dylan had been right all along. What did she have to be ashamed of? She was her own woman. A good woman. She blinked, almost dazzled by the sudden knowledge that filled her with an awesome power.
She wasn't merely a Wilder. She was Kitty. Herself.
"I'm not going to take it anymore!" she declared. With that, she stomped around Dylan.
"Oh, hell," she heard him say in that strange, choked voice.
Then a strong arm snaked around her belly and she was tipped over his shoulder. She half shrieked, then half sputtered. "Stop!"
"You're under arrest."
"Arrt?" Her voice was muffled by his shirt.
He started striding down the street. "You're under arrest for threatening a member of the judiciary."
She turned her cheek against his warm back and yelled at him. "You're crazy!"
"I know. And it's all your fault."
The people in the marriage line turned as they passed, their faces startled. "Help!" she called. "Help me!"
Someone giggled. "It's the sheriff and the madam." Several more laughed.
"It's the madam and the manhandler!" Kitty yelled back.
Dylan's big body started shaking and she didn't think it was due to the stress of her great weight. As his strides ate up the street below, she closed her eyes to the dizzying view. Voices swirled around her. She considered calling again for help, but everyone seemed convinced it was just another of their for-entertainment-only reenactments.
When he finally halted, Kitty opened her eyes. Even upside down, she recognized the jail. Keys jangled in Dylan's pocket, and then he had the door open. It was dark and cool inside. He slammed the door shut, then grabbed the iron key from the wall and banged the cell door open.
The soles of her shoes thumped against the wooden floor inside the cell as he set her upright. She took hold of a convenient bar and swayed, light-headed from the sudden change