“I can’t.” Lifting her into his arms, he carried her back to their bed and laid her on the mattress. He had to make her listen to his apology and pray it’d be enough for her to forgive him.
“Don’t move,” he barked out, pointing a finger at her and feeling like the worst kind of bastard as her face lost all color.
Reaching for his trousers, he slipped them on, then sat on the bed to haul her onto his lap so that her head was cradled against his shoulder. Her slender body went rigid with hurt and defiance. “Retta. I’m sorry.”
She didn’t respond, but there was no missing the feel of her tears dropping onto his chest. He raked his fingers through his hair and sighed. He’d really stepped into it this time.
How can I make this right?
Harrison wasn’t sure he could, but he had to try. “I loved your sister. You know that.” He doubted she’d respond, and she didn’t. He made soothing circular motions to her back, trying to ease the tension under his fingertips. “Even though I hadn’t seen Jenny in years, I remained faithful to her, knowing one day she would be my bride. Every morning I would take out the tintype I had of her, so I’d never forget. The entire town knew I was holding out for my girl back home, much to their amusement. When you got off the stagecoach with that letter, all my dreams fell apart.”
Retta buried her face into her palms and began to sob.
Harrison brought one hand up and held her head close to his heart as she cried. Damn. He was terrible at explaining.
With a deep breath, he continued, hoping to make her understand. “Then I brought you and Addie home and got to know you, and Jenny’s memory dimmed a bit more each day. And each day I felt guiltier. But I pushed it to the back of my mind, because this is what Jenny asked of me. Of both of us. To marry, provide for Addie, and live a happy life.”
Retta trembled in his arms, but not as she had when her body came alive against his. This time, he’d caused her pain. And that knowledge sent a wave of self-disgust through him. But at least she’d stopped crying, and he hoped she was listening.
Harrison pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “You’re my wife, Retta, and I’ve grown very fond of you and Addie.”
Head down, she kept her hands clenched in her lap.
“Retta, look at me.”
She didn’t move.
“Please.” He was done ordering her around. He wanted her to submit to him because she desired it, not because he forced her to. So he waited patiently as his wife took a deep breath, before lifting her accusing stare to him.
Harrison kissed her pert nose.
Her lips firmed stubbornly.
He sighed again. “I know who was pleasuring me with her pretty little mouth. Not once did I imagine it was your sister.”
She looked away and blinked rapidly, before returning those soulful eyes back on him. “Then why did you call out her name?”
“Guilt, Retta. At that moment, I realized I had the wife I wanted. Jenny’s memories are close to four years old. Faded. Aged. Like a painting covered in dust, holding images from the past. But you’re here with me, right now. You’re beautiful and sweet, smart and sassy, with a precious daughter I already think of as my own.”
He tipped her chin so he could see her face. “Don’t give up on us, honey. Please. Give me a chance to make it right.”
She stared at him for a long time, before a tired sigh left her lips. “Yes, Harrison. You’re my husband. Of course I’ll give you another chance.” Retta swiped at her damp cheeks with fingers that trembled a bit. “How can I be jealous of Jenny? She’s my sister and I love her with my whole heart.”
Harrison hugged her close, resting his cheek on the top of her head. “Jenny will always hold a spot in our hearts. But you’re my wife. My future. Addie is my daughter. I promise, you are the family I want. You are the wife I want.”
She only nodded, relaxing against him. As he continued to hold her in silence, Harrison knew he hadn’t won the battle, but at least they’d reached a peaceful draw.
He’d hurt her deeply, and he had some ground to make up with his new bride.
Chapter 11
Retta swiped the cloth a final time over the window in Harrison’s study, trying her best, and failing, to ignore the tempting sight of her husband, his muscled forearms flexing as he finished replacing a loose board across the threshold. She had caught her petticoat on a splinter earlier that morning and torn out a chunk of lace trim.
When he abruptly stopped hammering and stared at her, she hurriedly lowered her regard and polished with more vigor.
I’m still angry at him.
In the corner of the study, Addie played quietly with a sock doll Retta had made from a pair of her old woolen hose that had seen better days. Yellow yarn for its hair and buttons for eyes gave the floppy toy a somber expression. Retta had dressed it in a sack gown fastened with a large hook and eye so Addie’s tiny fingers could remove it easily. Noodle lay boneless at Addie’s side, occasionally whimpering in his sleep.
Even her child and the family puppy had avoided her contrary mood this morning.
Retta gave herself a firm nod. I’ve got every right to feel out of sorts. Then she stole a peek at her husband, now examining other sections of the floor for loose boards, and sighed under her breath.
She didn’t want to remain out of sorts with Harrison. For the first time she’d felt like a true wife to her husband, experiencing such pride in giving. The thought of what she had done—and how he’d reacted to her mouth, her hands—made her shiver in the light of day.
Then he’d ruined everything by calling out Jenny’s name.
Retta swallowed back the urge to break into more tears. Crying solves nothing. Truthfully, when he’d revealed his heart to her and asked for her forgiveness, she’d understood his reasoning. She didn’t like it one bit, but she understood.
“Mama, look.” Addie’s high, sweet voice brought Retta out of her doldrums, and she set down her cleaning rag to cross the room, kneeling at her daughter’s side.
“What’s Lulu Dolly doing, my angel?” Retta pointed to the half-dressed doll. Addie had managed to unhook the fastening, but the dress wouldn’t pull down over the doll’s rather lumpy hips.
Addie thrust the doll under Retta’s nose. “Fix, pease?” The imp actually batted her lashes entreatingly. She’d already mastered the art of flirting. Heaven help us all.
“I surely will.” Biting the inside of her cheek, Retta took the doll in hand, running her fingers over the seam she’d sewn up the back of the little sack gown, and ripped out several stitches. “There, now.” She handed the doll back. “All fixed.”
She watched Addie play with Lulu Dolly, easily pulling on the gown, then crowing happily when the soft fabric slipped down its legs and dropped to the floor. Jumping up, Addie flung herself into Retta’s arms and smacked her cheek in a wet, noisy kiss. Retta pressed her face in her daughter’s neck and breathed in the scent of sweet little girl.
When Retta raised her eyes, Addie still clinging to her as well as her doll, she spotted Harrison standing in the middle of the room, hammer dangling from one hand, and a look of such tenderness on his handsome face, it made her heart thump. In that single look Retta’s resentment began to ease.
“Retta.” Harrison’s voice sounded thick in the quiet room, and he cleared his throat. “Would you come to town with me?”
Not quite what she had expected from him, but she remained quiet, waiting to see what else he said, and cocked her head inquiringly.
He gestured with the hammer, toward the pile of ledgers he’d shown her just a few days ago. “I want to talk to the folks at the bank.”
“Why?” She snuggled Addie closer, feeling how her child’s head drooped as she dozed off in her arms. “Addie needs a nap. And I already found—” An un
welcome thought came to her, and she rose unsteadily to her feet, Addie propped against her shoulder. “Don’t you trust what I told you?” she snapped, her back ramrod straight. “Do you think I don’t know what I’m talking about?”
As soon as the words left her lips, Retta wanted to take them back. She let loose a frustrated sigh. “Harrison, I didn’t mean that.”
“No, it’s all right. And we can go after she wakes up. It’s not your numbers, Retta. It’s mine.” Harrison gestured wearily with his free hand as he set the hammer on a corner of the cluttered desk. “Each month I go to the bank and deposit the vouchers I get for selling the ore. The vouchers are good for an exchange of money at the mercantile. I pay my men from those vouchers, and Frank draws on them, too. If I messed up my arithmetic, then how long have I made mistakes? How far back might it go? I need to go see Elijah Lambert. He’s the bank president.” He reached for Addie, tentatively, and with a sigh Retta relinquished her hold on her child, Addie snuggling into his arms easily.
As her grip loosened, Lulu Dolly fell to the floor, and Retta hastily snatched up the toy before the inquisitive Noodle could get his teeth into it. The pup had already proved himself a champion chewer.
Thwarted, the pup whined, sniffed himself a few times, and started chasing his own tail.
“Dumb dog,” she muttered, then started as Harrison rumbled out a laugh. Retta glanced at him, feeling her own face breaking into a smile.
Maybe her husband really did desire her for something other than a hot meal, a clean house, and a warm presence in his bed. It went a long way toward making her feel better.
Crossing to the desk, she selected the ledger containing the mistakes she’d found before. “You know, the errors might also be on the side of the bank. Would it do any good to take this with us?”
He shrugged as he rocked Addie in his arms. “Might. But I don’t think it matters. If you find errors in the account book the bank clerks keep for me, we’ll have our answer.” He regarded her somberly, his cheek pressed to Addie’s soft curls. “Does this mean you’ll go with me?”
“Yes, I’ll go with you. After Addie’s nap,” she added, when it looked like Harrison might bolt for Copper right then and there.
~ ~ ~
The buckboard clattered to a stop several yards before the bank, and Harrison patted Copper on his rump. That last bit of road coming into town had been a teeth-rattler. He glanced over at Retta, one hand holding onto her hat and her opposite arm clutching Addie. “You all right over there?”
“Somebody ought to pull those rocks out of the road.” Retta smoothed down her skirt. “Is there anything like a town council here? You must remember how Bolster voted on street repairs and such.”
“This isn’t Bolster.” He shrugged. “If we want something done around here, we just do it ourselves.” Harrison swung down from the seat and looped the side rope to the hitching post closest to the boardwalk. He strode around the back of the wagon and held up his hands for Addie, who fearlessly jumped into his arms, clinging to his shoulder like a monkey.
He met Retta’s gaze over the little tot’s head.
Retta pursed her lips and his britches grew tight, to think of how that lovely mouth had engulfed him so sweetly, before he’d crushed her spirit with his thoughtless outburst.
Gracefully accepting his free hand, she braced herself against his shoulder as he swung her off the seat and set her gently on the ground. At her retreat, he bit back his protest of losing her touch so quickly. Small steps, Carter, he told himself. She’d willingly come with him today. That had to count for something.
Hoisting Addie higher on his arm, he held out an elbow for Retta to clasp, and guided her into the interior of the clapboard building Little Creede called a bank.
It wasn’t much to look at, just a square structure with two rooms, one set up as a vault and the other boasting a high counter and a few chairs scattered around a crudely built desk. Plans were already underway to expand into something bigger, more secure and more along the lines of the commerce bank in Silver Cache. But for now, this one served its purpose.
Harrison led Retta up to the counter and called out, “Mister Lambert, are you here?”
“He’s not here. Just a moment.” The gruff rejoinder belonged to Zeb Jenkins, Elijah Lambert’s worthless assistant and the town’s other bank teller. Harrison cursed under his breath. He didn’t want to deal with the man, who was ignorant as well as offensive.
Jenkins’ body odor preceded his rotund belly through the back door that led out to the necessary. He sidled inside, fumbling with his trousers and revealing a glimpse of the dingy union suit he wore beneath.
Harrison quickly pushed Retta behind him, shielding her. Too many of the men in this town had no care for a woman’s sensibilities. He waited until Jenkins approached the counter, then brought Retta around to face him.
“Mister Jenkins, may I present my wife, Retta, and our daughter, Addie.” Harrison chose not to react when the man’s beady little eyes swept up and down Retta’s body, lingering on her neatly-buttoned bodice, before offering a smile that bordered on a leer.
“Why, I’d heard you got hitched. How-do, Missus Carter. Welcome to our little town.” Ignoring Addie completely, Jenkins spread his hands wide as if he’d been fully responsible for everything within twenty miles. His expansive gesture revealed dark stains under both arms. Harrison held in his revulsion. He never understood how Lambert had been impressed enough to hire the man in the first place.
“Mister Jenkins.” His sharp voice got the man’s attention away from Retta. Jenkins turned, his smile almost as objectionable as his stench. “I want to see my account book. Can you fetch that for me, right quick?”
“Well, now,” Jenkins demurred, smoothing over his balding head with stubby, ink-stained fingers, “I don’t know . . . Mister Lambert usually approves bringing out the account books.”
“I have a right to see my books, Jenkins.” Harrison kept his voice level, but his tone held plenty of threat.
Annoyance flashed across Jenkin’s eyes, but he nodded. Fishing out a key from his trouser pocket, he threw open the vault, returning with the account book. Sweating profusely, he carried it to the desk and motioned for them to take seats.
Addie settled against her mother’s shoulder, thumb in mouth, and smiled around the wet digit as he sat next to Retta. Little flirt. He gave her a wink and a grin, which faded as he pulled the book toward him and flipped open the pages.
“As you can see, everything is in order,” Jenkins began importantly.
Ignoring him, Harrison spun the ledger toward Retta. “What do you think?”
She leaned forward, causing Addie to fidget. “Can you take her?” Retta dropped a kiss on her daughter’s head, then murmured, “Go to Papa, angel.”
Harrison’s heart swelled, not only at how eagerly Addie crawled into his lap, but at his wife’s usage of ‘Papa.’ For a moment he forgot about the very reason for visiting the bank, locking eyes with Retta over Addie’s head as she reached for the open ledger.
“Harrumph,” Jenkins broke in. “Why would you care what the wife says about anything?” He made a grab for the ledger.
Before Harrison had a chance to flatten the repugnant little man for his insult, Retta caught the edge of the book in a solid grip. “I beg your pardon, sir. My husband would like me to look at his accounts.”
“Now see here, missy,” Jenkins blustered, tugging at the ledger. “I’m a busy man.” He glared at them. “A woman’s got no business pokin’ into a gent’s affairs.” Yanking it away, he held the ledger to his blubbery chest, then sent a pasty smile, bordering on a sneer, in Retta’s direction. “Best you leave the intelligent-like matters to your husband, and take care of that little tot, there.” His nod toward Addie, snuggled on Harrison’s lap, held a palpable insult.
Harrison cradled Addie closer, rocking her when she squirmed in his hold. “Shh, sweetpea,” he murmured into her hair, and she instantly settled, popping a thumb back into her mouth.
Jenkins tried one more bluster. “Mister Carter, I really do think—”
“Now, Jenkins.”
Jenkins’ mouth tightened, but he laid the book on the desk. Huffing out a gusty sigh that reeked of onions, he pushed the ledger closer to Retta.
Silently she flipped the pages until she reached the last few entries. Brow wrinkled in concentration, she ran a finger down the page, her eyes flickering over the neatly-jotted numbers as she mumbled softly beneath her breath. Then she looked up at Harrison with a frown.
“Half these entries are added incorrectly,” she announced firmly.
Jenkins immediately bristled. “Just what are you accusin’, missy?”
Retta straightened, her hand steady on the ledger when it looked as if Jenkins would make another grab for the book. “Sir, I’ve been settling accounts for years. I was taught by a brilliant teacher, and I say these numbers are wrong.” She flipped a few pages back, stared at the columns of numbers, paused, and jabbed a finger halfway down the balances. “Here as well. Wrong.”
Even as Harrison swelled with pride at her confidence, Jenkins stomped around the desk until he loomed over Retta. “You come into my bank and accuse me of bein’ a liar?”
“Back away, Jenkins.” Harrison rose to his feet, shifting Addie to his wife’s arms as she, too, stood. Silently she took Addie and walked toward the dusty windows facing the street. Harrison tried and failed to curb his anger. How much of his accounts, his money, had been ruined by this ignorant cur?
The Substitute Wife (Brides of Little Creede Book 1) Page 10