Shotgun Bride
““I want to buy shells for that shotgun in the window.” Now that the brides were busy with their pies over at the hotel, the store was quiet, and Mandy’s words, intended to be private, echoed from one end of the place to the other.
Minnie’s small, eager eyes widened a little. “Why, Sister,” she said, leaning toward her, “what on earth would you want with ammunition?”
“Even a woman of God has to take care of herself,” Mandy said, and then waited for the inevitable lightning bolt. It was a relief, and a bit of a surprise, when nothing happened.
“These are troubled times,” Minnie agreed. “I wouldn’t give you two hoots in Hades for that McKettrick bunch’s chances, for instance.”
Mandy stiffened, perturbed. “What do you mean by that?”
Minnie shrugged her skinny shoulders. She was a painfully plain woman, her flesh pockmarked, her hair wrenched back from her face, slick as an onion skin, but it wasn’t those things that made her homely.
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