“You know,” he said, “most men give their wife a ring.”
The loser of the bet was Leo Barns, a quiet, gentle-natured carpenter who had foolishly wagered that his handcrafted bridge could outlast Hailey’s temper in a storm. It hadn’t. The bridge held, but Hailey’s resolve was iron. So Leo, all six feet of flannel and sawdust, found himself standing at the altar of the Pineridge Community Church, wearing a flowing ivory gown that Hailey had ordered from the city. Hailey Makes The Boy Bride
“Stop fidgeting,” Hailey murmured, adjusting the veil that cascaded down his broad shoulders. She was dressed in a sharp, tailored tuxedo, her auburn hair slicked back. Her grin was that of a cat who had not only caught the canary but had also taught it to sing opera. “You know,” he said, “most men give their wife a ring
At midnight, as they walked home past the very bridge he’d built, Leo stopped. He looked down at the dress, then at her. So Leo, all six feet of flannel and
“Let them stare,” Hailey said. She picked up a bouquet of wildflowers—his bouquet—and pressed it into his calloused hands. “You lost fair and square. Now, smile. You’re a beautiful bride.”
Normally, the Harvest Festival ended with a pie-eating contest or a square dance. But this year, the mayor had lost a bet. And the mayor, a sharp-eyed woman named Hailey Cross, always collected her debts.