A Stranger's Wife

by Maggie Osborne

  “Then that’s where you need to be. Go.” She touched her fingertips to the circles beneath his eyes, then kissed him on the chin. “Don’t fall into a snowdrift.”

  “You’ve been spending a lot of evenings alone lately. You don’t mind if I desert you this afternoon, too?” He had dismissed the cook and houseboy for the weekend to provide them privacy in which to relax and speak freely.

  “I’ll be fine. I brought a book about furniture.” When he laughed, she smiled then made a face. “I want to learn. Everyone except me can tell at a glance if a table is a Queen Anne or something French.”

  Wrapping herself in a wool shawl, she followed him to the veranda and watched until Quinn and his foreman, Smokey Bill Johnson, rode into an unbroken field of snow. Then she lifted her gaze toward the rocky peaks thrusting against the western sky.

  It was a beautiful winter day, frosty and clear, the sky so sharply blue it hurt Lily’s eyes to look up. Sunlight sparkled across the snowy fields and poured into the house.

  That’s what she liked best about the ranch house, the bright cheer of sunshine. In town, the mansion was oppressively dark and shadowy, necessitating lights in the corridors even during daylight hours.

  The first time she had visited the ranch house, she’d thought it sparsely furnished and starkly male. Her experience had broadened since she had been here last, and now the rooms appeared even more spartan. She found herself imagining carpets over the planks, more furniture, ferns in the windows, softer wall hangings than the mounted animal heads. She wouldn’t want the ranch house to be as opulent or as crammed with objets d’art as the mansion, but it could be made more homey, more welcoming.

  “What are you thinking?” Extending her hands to the flames snapping in a massive stone fireplace, she frowned and lowered her head.

  Quinn didn’t want a woman’s stamp on his ranch and certainly not hers. In the long span of a lifetime, her time with him would be very short. A year from now, he would have forgotten that she had passed through these rooms or his life. He would be in his element, governing the new state. His life would be rushed, packed with meetings, important decisions, and a calendar filled with glittering social events. He would move away from the brief memory of Lily Dale and into the history books.

  A year from now the Miriam problem would be a thing of the past, and so would the Lily problem.

  But she would have a Quinn problem for the rest of her life.

  Every time she saw a man wearing a Stetson at a jaunty, confident angle, she would think of Quinn. When she looked into grey eyes or spotted a broken nose, she would see his face. When anyone mentioned politics or speeches or sleighing or horses or artwork, or roses, or, or, or . . . Quinn’s voice would whisper in her mind. And each evening when she gazed at the empty pillow beside her, she would remember warm bodies intertwined on cold nights. Soft laughter and whispered words. Passionate kisses that drank deep of sweetness and desire.

  He had awakened her from the slumber that had been her life, and when their time together was ended, he would send her back to a half-awakened state. When she reviewed this period, she would remember it as the time when she had been most alive and the happiest. Because of Quinn and the excitement and vibrancy he brought to her life.

  While part of her already grieved the loss to come, part of her heart rejoiced because one of love’s miracles was its ability to transform. She had begun her odyssey into Miriam Westin’s life not caring if Quinn achieved his ambitions or won his dream. Now she cared as deeply as he did. She wanted him to win the election and everything he dreamed of and had worked for. Wanted him to have the chance to implement his ideas and tell the party to go to hell.

  In the beginning she had also resisted the changes required of her, but now she played her role wholeheartedly, for his sake as much as for the opportunity it gave her.

  Love’s transforming qualities extended to Rose as well. Once Lily had thought only of her own need for a child to love her. But now she spent hours and hours planning how she might meet her daughter’s expectations and hopes. It no longer mattered if Rose was all that Lily wanted her to be. What mattered was that she be everything Rose wanted and that Rose grow up knowing she was loved and cherished and accepted for who she was.

  Truly, she was no longer the woman she had been. It was surprising that Ephram Callihan had recognized her, when she felt so utterly different from the woman he had known.

  Her mind shuddered away from remembering Callihan, but he hadn’t been far from her thoughts since she’d read of his death.

  That was another of love’s attributes. One could love even though . . . No, she wouldn’t allow herself to voice ugly suspicions, not even within the privacy of her mind.

  “Lily?”

  Startled, she gripped the arms of the chair and sat forward, her eyes wide.

  “It’s all right,” Quinn said, smiling and extending his hands to the heat of the embers. “We’re alone.”

  His use of her name wasn’t what startled her. She was astonished to discover the light had faded. Pink and orange glowed against the windows, transforming the frost on the panes to red lace. The afternoon had slipped away, lost in reverie.

  “Are you hungry?” she asked, saying the first thing that came into her mind.

  “There’s no hurry.” Bending, he kissed her lingeringly, his mouth still cold from the outside air. “Are you sure you don’t mind cooking?”

  “I hope I remember how,” she said, smiling. “I’ve been spoiled since I’ve been with you.”

  Still leaning over her, he gazed deeply into her eyes before he straightened. “Have you decided where you’ll go when this is over?” Kneeling, he added logs to the fire.

  He must have read her mind, or perhaps they had been thinking along similar lines. “It doesn’t matter.”

  “If you have no preference, I’d like you to consider Italy. I enjoyed my time there. I think it would suit you, too,” he said, not looking at her.

  “Quinn,” she said softly, watching his shirt pull tight across his shoulder muscles, “it isn’t necessary to remind me that I have to leave.”

  The fire was blazing now, but he remained kneeling, the poker resting across his knees. “We still have a couple of months, perhaps a little longer. But it feels as if our time is growing short.”

  Her throat tightened and she stared at the dark curls laying against his collar. “I sense that, too, but I don’t know why.”

  “If there was any way, Lily . . . any possible way . . . but there isn’t.”

  “I know.” Moisture filmed her eyes, and her chest ached. Did he want to say the forbidden words, too? Sometimes she thought he did. Hoped he did. Most of the time it was enough to believe that he cared about her, at least a little. But sometimes she hurt inside with the need to hear him say the words. And to say them herself.

  “The risk is simply too great.”

  “I understand. Truly. There could be another Callihan.”

  It seemed that he stiffened, but she couldn’t be certain. Leaning forward, he prodded at the flaming logs.

  “Or I could make a mistake and one of Miriam’s friends or acquaintances would suddenly realize, this is not Miriam. We’ve been very lucky so far. But I think we both know disaster could strike at any moment.” Immediately she thought of Marshall Oliver approaching her outside the hotel cloak room. For one fleeting instant, she was tempted to tell Quinn that she’d received another note from Marshall demanding to see her.

  “I’ll never forget you, Lily.”

  Slipping to the floor, she knelt beside him and placed her hands on either side of his craggy face. “Why are you saying these things now?” she whispered, looking into his smoky eyes. “Surely we don’t have to say good-bye just yet.”

  “I’m not sure,” he said in a thick voice, resting his fingertips on her throat. “It feels like events are rushing out of control. Forces coming together. I’m standing in the eye of a hurricane, with chaos spinning around me.
Nothing is as I thought it would be.”

  “Listen to me.” Pressing her hands against his cheeks, she gazed deeply into his eyes. “There is not a doubt in my mind that you will win the election. Paul’s right. It will be a landslide in your favor. And Quinn? You’re going to be the best damned first governor this state could possibly have. Do you hear me?” Hot tears glistened in her eyes.

  He slid his fingers up to her lips. “The price is too high. No man should trade his soul for a line in the history books.” His eyes closed, and his shoulders dropped. “If you knew . . .” He opened his eyes again. “You believe that Paul and I had Callihan murdered, don’t you?”

  She bit her lips and let her hands drop from his face. “Please. Don’t ask that.”

  “I thought so.” Wrapping his arms around her, he lowered his face to her hair and crushed her against him. “There have been so many lies between us. Once I thought it wouldn’t matter, but now, tonight, I wish we could begin again, speak the hard truths and put them behind us.”

  Pressing her cheek to his shoulder, she inhaled the clean outdoors scent of him, felt his solid warm strength against her breasts and hips. But she noticed that he had not denied an involvement with Callihan’s death. Perhaps he thought she would not believe a denial. “We could do that, Quinn. We could begin again with the truth. We could start right now.”

  “It’s not possible to put everything that’s happened behind us. I’ve done things I can’t undo, Lily, things I can’t forget and things I’ll live with for a very long time.” He stroked her hair, his touch a caress. “You’re one of the wrongs I regret, forcing you to impersonate Miriam. And Miriam. There are so damned many things to regret.”

  In this odd close moment, kneeling before the hearth with sunset flames blazing against the windowpanes, he was saying what she had longed to hear, using words her mind did not comprehend but her heart understood.

  “I love you, Quinn.”

  He stiffened and made a sound deep in his throat.

  She didn’t let him pull back, but held him tightly, pressing her head against his shoulder, her face hidden. “I ask nothing from you. When you tell me it’s time, I’ll go. I’ll never trouble you again. There will be no letters, no contact. Your secrets are safe with me. But I love you, and I need to say the words. I will love you and think of you every day until I die because no one has made the impact on my life that you have. I will always be grateful for this time with you, and for the profound changes you’ve helped me make.”

  “Lily, Lily,” he said hoarsely against her hair. “Lily of the dark valley of my life.”

  Then he stood, gathered her in his arms, and carried her to his bedroom. There, in the pink-and-lavender shadows of twilight, they made love as if it were the first time. Ardently, but tenderly, with passion and great joy in each other.

  Afterward, Lily clung to him and wept hot tears on his bare shoulder without knowing why.

  * * *

  Marshall Oliver was becoming persistent and therefore dangerous. He’d sent Lily two notes through Morely, pleading and then demanding that she meet him at the City Ditch. His notes carried a desperate, almost threatening tone that worried her greatly. Quinn was too close to the prize for Lily to allow Miriam’s past to explode in their faces. She couldn’t disregard Marshall any longer.

  Today, when Cranston served her midday meal, she instructed him to order the carriage, and she directed Elizabeth to lay out a heavy wool walking suit and warm boots.

  Morely lifted an eyebrow when she stepped out of the door and informed him with a significant look that she would be making her usual Monday afternoon visits. He held his expression carefully blank, but Lily understood he recognized a code established long ago. What she didn’t know was if Marshall Oliver would be waiting. Would he come again today after she had ignored him for the last two Mondays?

  “I’ll return in an hour, Miz Westin,” Morely said after driving her into the countryside and handing her to the ground. His rheumy old eyes told Lily that he would keep her secrets, but he didn’t approve.

  “This will be the last time,” she promised in a low voice. Impulsively, she pressed his hand. “You’ve been a good friend, Morely.”

  Standing beside the road, she watched the carriage recede toward the city, feeling abandoned and very alone. It was a grey day with storm clouds billowing over the mountains, and the rolling fields sloping away from the foothills seemed to wear their burden of snow with a resignation that suggested the land was as weary of winter as Lily was.

  When she spotted a carriage bowling down the road toward her, she straightened her shoulders against the cold March breeze, lifted the hood of her cloak, then raised her hems and walked toward the path hidden by a tangle of bare willow branches. The gravel was muddy in places, but dry enough not to splatter her skirts.

  Until she rounded a curve and saw Marshall Oliver jump up from the bench beneath the old cottonwood, she hadn’t realized how much she’d hoped he would not be here, or how deeply she dreaded this encounter. And feared it. If anyone would recognize her as an impostor, surely it would be Miriam’s lover.

  Sweeping off his hat, he ran forward and enveloped her in a fierce embrace. He would have kissed her lips, but Lily turned her head at the last moment and his mouth grazed her cheek.

  “Oh, my dearest. I feared you wouldn’t come.” Clasping her face between his hands, he examined her as if drinking in the sight. “I told myself you didn’t come last week or the week before because it was impossible for you to get away, but I also feared Helene was correct and you refused to see me.”

  He would recognize the impersonation the minute she spoke. “I’m not the same person you knew, Marshall,” she said slowly, watching his pale eyes for the instant of denouement.

  “Helene told me you’re trying to make changes.” Pushing aside her hood, he pressed her head to the crook of his neck and held her against his body. “When I think of you coughing so violently that your voice . . . my poor brave darling.” Assisting her as if she were an invalid, he guided her to the bench and sat facing her, holding her gloved hands. “Let me just look at you.”

  “I have many things to say and not much time.” Helene had unwittingly paved the way for her, and for that she was thankful.

  “And I have much to tell you, dearest.” Closing his eyes, he released a breath. “You can’t imagine the anguish I suffered when you vanished. I was certain the son of a bitch had murdered you in a rage of injured pride or because he feared a scandal that would destroy his precious campaign.”

  Lily stared and her hands jerked. “Quinn would never—”

  “First there was the fire, and shortly afterward you vanished. Of course I thought he’d killed you.” Lifting a hand. he caressed her cheek, her bottom lip. “I can’t prove it, Miriam, but I’ll never believe the fire was an accident. I believe he intended you and Susan to die that night. He and Kazinski must have been very disappointed when they realized they’d only succeeded in murdering our daughter but not you. I thank God every day that you survived.”

  Lily stared into his pale eyes and decided Marshall Oliver either hated Quinn enough to genuinely believe his accusation, or he was a very convincing actor.

  Stalling to conceal her shock and redirect her thoughts, she pulled back and raised both hands to cover her face. “Oh please. I can’t bear to think about Susan.”

  “Shh, darling. We’ll have other children, I promise.” Gently he lowered her hands. “Miriam, since you’ve returned I’ve done a lot of thinking. I know what we decided, but it isn’t right that we should be apart. We’ve loved each other for a decade.”

  Lily lowered her eyes so he wouldn’t see her disbelief. She didn’t doubt that Miriam had loved this man. But if Marshall had returned her love, he’d had a strange way of showing it. He’d married another woman when he knew Miriam was waiting for him. And he hadn’t cared enough to write and release her so she could marry someone else with a free mind and open heart. />
  “Miriam,” he gripped her hands so tightly that her knuckles ached. “Come away with me. We’ll elope to Chicago or New York City, if you like. We’ll be together as we were meant to be.”

  They would have discussed this before, Lily thought, her mind racing. “We can’t,” she said, shaking her head. “You know the reasons.”

  “Hear me out, I beg you. I’ve come into some money recently.”

  From the Van Heusens? What would they pay to see Quinn’s wife run off with another man mere weeks before the election?

  “I’ll leave some of it with Sara. If the sum isn’t enough, then she and the girls can sell the farm.” He peered into her face. “The important thing is, they won’t suffer financial want if we seize our moment of happiness.”

  Did he really believe that his wife and daughters would not suffer if he turned his back and walked away from them? Did he believe that his daughters could grow up fatherless and not feel a lack? Did he care so little for his own flesh and blood?

  Rose rushed to the front of her mind. Rose, who would grow up fatherless. Heat flooded her throat, and she felt as if she were choking.

  “And it won’t matter about Quinn now, not after he tried to murder you, not after he did murder our daughter.”

  So Miriam had cared about the effect of her mistakes on Quinn.

  “The important thing is, we’ll finally be together. I can love you as you deserve to be loved and cherished.”

  Lily looked down at her hands clasped in his grip. “I did a lot of thinking while I was in the sanitarium.”

  She intended to tell him what she had told Helene. That she and Quinn were rebuilding their marriage. That they loved each other. But suddenly she understood Marshall would know this was a lie.

  He had reappeared in Miriam’s life, had seduced her and had reawakened her love for him. She had loved him enough to cast aside a lifetime of honor. And she must have justified her actions by painting Quinn as a villain. Perhaps Miriam had come to believe it herself. Whatever her private feelings, she had convinced Marshall that he was the man she loved, not Quinn.