by Jillian Hart
She averted her gaze as he faced her, so she wouldn’t have to remember. Wouldn’t have to feel vulnerable and feminine and have to acknowledge the terrible longing inside her. The longing to be in his arms.
“Mariah.” Nick’s voice sounded strained, as if he wasn’t at all pleased to be alone with her. “Glad you could fit us into your deliveries today. This was my last clean work shirt.”
Business. Yes, that’s all they would ever have between them. The last fraying thread of hope snapped. How deep did her love for Nick go? So many years of quietly loving him, and hating that she did, only to be his laundry woman.
There would be no second chances for her. For them.
She didn’t dare lift her gaze to his. Her despair felt as enormous as the Montana sky and as easy to see. If she didn’t have a warm heart, she did have her pride. And by God, she would not lose anything else to Nick Gray.
Fine. This is the way it’s meant to be. She was woman enough to accept it. He was not the love of her life, but a customer. Nothing more. Not ever. “I’m glad I could fit you in today’s schedule, then. I found several buttons that needed tightening and patched quite a few garments. All included in the price, of course.”
“Sure do appreciate that.”
“I’ll send a bill at month’s end. I’d appreciate payment upon receipt. Good day.” She pushed past him, staring hard at her feet as she breezed by. That’s right, keep going. Don’t look at him. Don’t look back.
“Wait. You forgot something.”
“I didn’t forget a single shirt. I delivered the same five bundles you brought to me.”
“Not the laundry. What about me?”
“You? That’s right. You and Theresa. I must offer my congratulations.” Mariah forced the grief from her voice because she wasn’t sad. Really. She refused to be sad. “I’m nearly finished crocheting a lace tablecloth that should do fine for a wedding gift. I’ll include it with the recipe I promised—”
She choked, turning away before he could see the pool of tears in her eyes. Shame on her, breaking down like this. She was a grown woman who ought to have more sense than to keep hoping she’d be good enough for a man like Nick.
“Wait. Mariah. Come back here.” His boots pounded in the dirt behind her. “I’m not marrying Theresa.”
She stopped, grabbed the wagon’s sideboard, and let her head fall forward. She was breathing hard, and the world was nothing but a blur. She blinked hard, fast, as Nick skidded to a stop behind her. She couldn’t have heard him right.
“I hired her. For a few days. Until you give me an answer.”
“An answer?” She didn’t understand. He wasn’t marrying Theresa? He certainly wasn’t interested in her—an old maid who didn’t know the first thing about being a wife or a mother.
“I believe I tried to propose marriage a few evenings ago. To you. Do you remember?”
She shook her head, willing the wetness from her eyes. “I would have declined your offer of marriage, serious or not.”
“It was damn serious, Mariah. Why else would I ask? So I’ll say it again. Will you marry me?”
His hand settled on the dip of her shoulder and the imprint of his hand burned like a stove-hot iron. Be Nick’s wife? She could see the ranch house clearly, the windows open to the temperate breezes. There was Theresa in the kitchen, clanking open the oven and lifting out a cookie sheet held in a thick, cumbersome mitt. Georgie’s voice rose in excitement along with a little boy’s whoop of delight.
A home. A husband. Children to call her own. Her chest constricted until it hurt to breathe. Was this a second chance for her? The opportunity to change her life? Was this fate giving back the one thing she regretted most losing?
She could see that day in her memory as clear and precise as if it was that very day more than a decade ago. When she’d raced down the stairs, skirts flying, hopes as high as the fluffy clouds in the pristine Montana sky. There was Pa, closing the door behind him, stepping out to speak with Nick.
“Mariah don’t want you to come courtin’,” Pa’s rough baritone had been faintly slurred with drink and rang with a mean note. The one that said he meant business.
She froze, not believing her father had turned Nick down. Not believing as Nick climbed back into his buggy and drove away. He never looked back.
The heavens above were giving her another chance to love the one man she’d secretly wanted through all the lonely days and nights since. Did Nick feel this way, too?
When she turned to face him, it wasn’t the past she saw, but the present. She was no longer young, but neither was Nick. Lines of character and strength marked his face. And he may still be too confident and cocky, yet he was more handsome to her than any man in the world. Did they have a chance to find happiness? Or was love, once gone, always gone, never to be renewed, never breathed back to life like the last embers of a banked fire?
She didn’t know. She didn’t know how to answer. Or what to say. The woman she’d become was hard as stone, as cold as a dark January night, as unfeeling as a razor’s keen edge. She was nothing like Theresa, cheerful and caring, or like those young women in town, soft and coy.
She could only be herself, the practical woman she’d become. Was that enough? But then Nick smiled, as if he could see the answer in her eyes. She felt the young woman she’d once been. Just a hint of her. The young woman full of hope, who still believed she was worth loving.
Her chest tightened as she made her decision. Took the biggest risk of her life. “What are you doing tomorrow, say, around two o’clock?”
“Will I be marrying you?”
“Yes.” Her knees started to tremble and her petticoats rustled. Nick had to hear her quivering. He had to guess how afraid she felt, afraid and vulnerable.
Then he smiled. A small ghost of a smile that reminded her of the young man he used to be, kind and gallant, the man who had once captured her heart. Who lived inside the steely, remote man and his confident manner.
The tightness in her chest eased. Hope beat there, steady and strong. Hope. For the first time since she was young, she felt new, expectant, as if the future held more than the sounds of an empty house echoing around her. Tomorrow she would be a wife with children to care for and a real home to call her own.
And Nick. She would have Nick as her husband to hold through the night, no longer alone.
“I’ll swing by in the surrey to drive you to church. Will that do?”
“Just fine.”
“Just so you always know.” He leaned close, his breath a hot caress against the shell of her ear. “I proposed to you and no one else. I can’t think of any woman who’d make me a better wife.”
“I can.” It was only the truth. She was practical enough to be honest. “Just about any woman around knows more than I do about being a wife and mother. I’ve been a spinster for too long.”
“I know deep down you’re a kind woman. That’s all I ask. That you be kind to my children. Raise them up right. Love and protect them the way a mother should.”
“I’ll do my best.”
“That will be more than enough. You’re a hard worker, Mariah, and your best effort is a far sight better than anyone’s.”
A hard worker? Her father’s words had a strange echo in the empty places in her heart. What man would want you, Mariah? You’re as cold-hearted as your mother, and there’s only one thing a woman like you’s any good for and that’s hard work.
No, Nick didn’t mean that. He only meant he admired her work ethic. Right? That he trusted her to care for his children. Right?
“Marriage is hard, I won’t lie to you.” He caught her left hand and cradled it between both of his, a deliberate act, and his touch was as firm as his words. “I promise you this. I won’t make you sorry you married me. I’ll do my best by you. I’ll give you my all. I’ll do every damn thing I can to make you content. As long as you take good care of my children. That’s all I ask. This isn’t a marriage for love. You know th
at.”
Not for love? Mariah squeezed her eyes shut as pain exploded like a bullet through her chest. Of course, she was being foolish. Nick was mourning his beloved Lida. He wasn’t ready to love again, not until he’d finished grieving. She shouldn’t be foolish hoping for the impossible. Right now Nick needed her to care for his children and for him. In time, he would need more from her.
And she would find a way to give it to him. Her father couldn’t be right. She refused to believe it, not now, with Nick towering over her, blocking her view of the world. He was all she could see as he leaned close and brushed a kiss to the side of her face. A warm, brief caress of heat that left her ears buzzing and her skin tingling.
“I promise you won’t be sorry that you chose me. You could have asked anyone, and I—” she paused, swallowing hard “—thank you.”
Nick felt as if she’d gut punched him. She was thanking him? No, he was the one who ought to be grateful to her. She was saving him from marrying one of those young, idealistic women who were no different than Lida had been. Always grasping for something to make them happy—love, romance or pretty bobbles from the town mercantile. Believing that marriage was some blissful state of happily-ever-after where they got every damn thing they wanted.
Mariah. She confused him as nothing else on this earth. But he knew her down to her hard, steel core. Mariah was capable and hardworking and good, down deep. This proposal meant a lot to her. More than he realized. Odd how her lower lip trembled like that, how she closed up as if she’d said too much by thanking him, shown him how much it meant.
She wanted a family. He felt it in the way her fingers clung to his, holding on so tight with a need she wouldn’t admit to. Pride. He knew something about that. Yet she was fragile, too. Her hand was small against his, delicate, her nails short, her skin rough from the lye soap she worked in. Hardworking, trustworthy. A woman who wasn’t after his heart. No, not Mariah. She wanted a place to belong. He ran his fingertip over the crescent of her thumbnail. Yes, she was so fine-boned, so female, and it cut him to the core.
“No, I am the one who’s grateful.” He cupped her hand gently between his, this woman he could trust. “Do you think we can manage a peaceful union? We don’t much get along.”
“We don’t get along at all.”
“Yeah. Well, I figure we’ve got something to build on, don’t you? We’ve got respect. I hope we have friendship. That’s more than most marriages I can name.”
“True,” Mariah agreed. It wasn’t a promise of love, but it would come in its own time. Right? She studied the back of his hand, his sun-browned knuckles were scarred and battered from hard work, but there was no answer there. No reassurance. “It will take a lot of hard work to get along with you. You’re too sure of yourself. I may have to take you down a peg or two.”
“Yeah? I could say the same about you.” The tiniest smile touched the corners of his mouth. “You’re bossy and independent. Set in your ways. Good thing I like a challenge.”
“Bossy? I’ll make you pay for that one. Don’t be surprised if you find too much starch in your drawers.”
His eyes twinkled, as they once used to. “Is it too darn late to take back that proposal?”
“Absolutely. I haven’t yet begun to make you suffer.”
She loved the way he tipped back his head and laughed. The wind tousled his dark hair, making him look untamed and rugged and handsome enough to tug to life a strange, sweet yearning.
One that made her chest hurt as if an ax had sank deep into her rib cage. There was magic between them. Some strange, powerful force that could not be seen, only felt.
Maybe—just maybe—they could find happiness together. One day. After Nick was through grieving Lida.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, then.” He cupped her elbow, helping her into the wagon seat. “I’ll send Will by in the morning to help you pack. He’ll move whatever you want. How’s that?”
“I’d appreciate it.” She waited while he untethered the ox, smoothing her dull gray skirts with small, nervous movements.
Mariah, nervous? Nick had to think about that. He wasn’t used to seeing a vulnerable side to her. “Guess this is goodbye, until tomorrow. Until I make you my wife.”
“I’ll be waiting.” She snapped the reins. The ox groaned, not at all certain he wanted to move.
Nick slapped his behind and the animal took off, hauling the old rattling wagon down the driveway. Mariah sat so tall and straight on that bench seat, her slim shoulders set like a soldier’s.
“I heard what you said to her.” His father was there, wearing a look of disapproval that made a full force twister look friendly in comparison. “You’re out of your mind. You can’t marry that woman. She’ll tear you apart by the end of the first week.”
“I know what I’m doing, Pop.” If Mariah made his kids happy, then Nick figured he would do anything for her. And it started now, with his respect.
He would respect this woman and take care of her. Provide for her and protect her. “I’m marrying the spinster. If you have a problem with that, you keep it to yourself.”
“That’s no way to talk to your father. I’m still tough enough to whip you, boy.”
“When did you ever whip me, old man?” A lifetime of affection for his father warmed him, and he clasped Pop on the shoulder. “Just be good to her, okay? I’ve got a lot riding on this.”
“She can cook, I grant you that. But, son, are you sure? A woman like that will bring a man nothing but heartache.”
“A woman like what?” Nick thought of Lida, so beautiful and everything a young wife should have been. But she’d had no heart, not really, no loyalty, no strength, no character. When put to the fire, she melted like wax.
But Mariah, she was steel. She wouldn’t melt. She wouldn’t break. She wasn’t the kind of woman who would take a lover or her own life. No, Mariah was loyal and steadfast. Mariah was getting older and didn’t want to be alone anymore. That’s why she was marrying him.
Marriage was a serious commitment and it could tear a man to pieces if he let it. But he could handle Mariah, and he knew, gut-deep, that this marriage would be different. This time he’d keep the upper hand. He’d be good to her, but love her? He had no heart left for that.
Good thing she didn’t want that anyway. The look on her face when she’d thanked him for proposing… He couldn’t believe it. How sincere she’d looked. Not all prickly and self-righteous, like the Mariah he knew. But the soft, open young woman who could make him grin from just looking at her.
A few days ago he never would have predicted he’d be standing here, watching her drive away, glad he’d proposed. He had no idea how hard her life had been with her father. How little kindness she must have received in that house over the years.
Yes, he was glad he’d chosen her. More grateful that she’d said yes. By marrying him, she was solving a great many of his difficulties. But maybe by his proposing to her, he was helping her, too.
It was something to consider as he watched her wagon journey down the road, nothing but a small dark spot against the prairie. Sadness filled him, heavy and deep, and he didn’t know why.
Chapter Six
“Are you ready?” Nick’s warm voice brushed the shell of her ear as he held the door for her.
“As ready as I’ll ever be.” Mariah took a deep breath and stepped into the empty church. If only her pulse would slow down to a mere gallop. She wanted to marry Nick, so why was she so frightened?
Because you can fail him. She went cold all the way down to her toes. If she turned around right now and walked straight down the aisle and out those doors, she would be safe. She’d remain the crusty old reliable Spinster Scott with a business and a house and an officer in several of the town’s most prominent social clubs. But if she did, then Nick would marry another woman. And she’d be alone, watching him drive by on the way into town with another woman at his side.
Pain hit her like a falling brick and the impact left
her trembling. She was afraid. It was that simple. Afraid of her own inadequacy.
You can do this, Mariah. She took a deep breath against the tight stays of her corset. Women get married every day.
Nick’s hand caught hers and held tight. “I’ve done this before and survived it.”
“That’s not comforting.”
“Maybe this will be.” His fingers laced through hers, joining them together in front of the pulpit. He looked fine in his tailored black suit. “When this is done, you aren’t going to be alone anymore. You’ll have me.”
“And you will have me,” she vowed.
His smile was all the reassurance she needed. He understood. This was a life-changing moment. Joy made her feel as light as the sweet afternoon sunlight drifting through the stained-glass windows.
“Shall we begin?” the minister asked, storming into the sanctuary with an air of purpose.
Betsy clamored in the back door, lifted a hand in a silent wave and slid onto the front pew. “Congratulations,” she mouthed.
Congratulations. Yes, this felt like something to celebrate as the minister’s “dearly beloved” boomed into the stillness.
Mariah knew every word of the service by heart because she’d been to so many weddings. This one was hers. Hers and Nick’s. She squeezed his hand as he held on to her so tight. He towered above her, a perfect pillar of calm masculinity, but his palm was damp against hers.
He was nervous, too. His gaze latched onto hers and she could see the flicker of caring there. He didn’t need to say the words, but his concern for her was clear as he captured her other hand in his. And so he held her, hand to hand.
“I take thee, Mariah Elizabeth Scott, as my wedded wife.” Nick never wavered as he recited the sacred vows in his booming baritone. Promising to cherish her for the rest of her life. From his unflinching gaze locked on hers to the unyielding grip of his hands over hers, to the strong immobile stance, Nick Gray meant every word. “Until death do us part.”