Peter leaned back in his chair. “I don’t know if it’s silly to want romance.”
“It seems plenty silly to me now.” Callie finally pushed her fork away, realizing she was probably annoying Peter with her fidgeting. “We fell in love hard and fast—the whole thing was like a tornado, swooping us up and carrying us off. We’d meet up when I was sent on errands, and he’d do my shopping with me. It was funny, really—he’d wear an old coat and hat so no one would recognize him, but I’m sure they did anyway. If word got back to the house, though, we didn’t know about it because nothing ever seemed to happen.”
“You were never punished?”
“No one said a thing. I thought we were getting away with it.” She wasn’t sure if that was her first big mistake or her twentieth. It was so hard to look back and try to determine where she had gone wrong. “Around this same time, Victor began dropping hints about our relationship becoming more physical. I explained to him that I would have a ring on my finger before any such thing happened. He told me he admired that and he stopped bringing it up, but then he proposed a few days later.”
Peter raised an eyebrow. She wondered if he had suspicions about Victor’s integrity, but if he did, he didn’t say anything.
“His parents hated the idea and threatened to have me sent off unless we changed our plans. Victor said that we’d pretend to go along with their wishes, but we’d elope, and then there would be nothing they could say, as we were both of age. We chose a day to elope when we believed his father would be out of town, but he found us at the train station, told Victor that his money would be cut off if he married me, and I was left there on the platform for Miss Hazel to find.” Callie pulled in a deep breath, aware that she’d been talking for a really long time. “And that’s how I came to be here.”
Peter shook his head, and she wondered what he was thinking. Was he sorry that he’d married someone with such a checkered past? She’d done her best in every situation, but it was enough to make someone question their choices.
“You’re quite a lady,” he said at last. “I know half a dozen men who would have fallen apart if they’d been through half as much.”
“You almost sound proud of me,” she replied, knowing that couldn’t be the case.
“I am proud of you. In fact, I’m beyond proud. I might even be smug.”
“Smug?”
“That’s right. I’m going to walk into the Mountie station tomorrow knowing that I ended up with the best bride of the lot, and they’re not going to know what to do with me. I might even get thrown in the snow for my cocky attitude.”
“Would they do that?”
He seemed to reconsider. “Well, probably not, because it’s on my recommendation that they receive pay raises and such. But they’ll definitely want to throw me in the snow, and that’s good enough for me.”
Callie smiled. “You’re doing it again.”
“Doing what?”
“Being kind to me. Accepting what I have to say.”
“Why wouldn’t I be kind to you? Callie, is it so hard to believe that you deserve to be treated well? It’s as if you expect me to judge you.”
She looked down at the table. “I suppose that’s what I’m used to. Then when I met Victor, and he was kind to me, well . . . I fell for it. I thought I’d finally found someone who saw me for who I was, and I even defended him to his father there at the last minute. But on the train, I thought about everything that had happened, and I could see how it had all been a long lie. He didn’t love me. He didn’t even want to marry me. What are the odds that we actually would have made it to a church once we’d arrived in Montreal? He had a plan, and he meant to execute it. His father probably saved me by coming when he did, and I should be grateful for that.”
“And this note of self-recrimination I hear in your voice?” Peter asked.
“I should have seen it. I should have known. If I’d listened to Cook, if I’d been wiser . . .”
“No.” Peter held up a hand. “You need to stop this. Callie, I don’t care. It’s in the past, and we have our whole future ahead of us. We will build it together one day at a time, one moment at a time. We can’t change what happened, but we don’t need to. It’s really not important.”
She looked into his face. He seemed in earnest, and she so wanted to believe him. “You’re not angry with me?”
“Why on earth would I be angry? You were duped by a conniving man, someone who had probably used those same tricks a dozen times before and was practiced at it. The only person I’m angry with is him. Well, him and everyone else who has treated you poorly. I swear to you, I will never treat you that way, and I will protect you with all that I am for the rest of your life.”
Callie wasn’t expecting the tears that filled her eyes at his words. He meant everything he’d said—she could feel that down to her marrow. This man would be at her side no matter what—no amount of money or loss of power would change that for him. She picked up her napkin and wiped her eyes. “Thank you,” she said. “I don’t know how . . .”
Just then, her gaze flicked over Peter’s shoulder to the window, and she caught sight of a huge face staring in through the pane. She screamed, jumping backwards and knocking her chair over as she scrambled to get away.
Peter whirled and looked at the window, then stepped around the table and helped her off the floor. “It’s all right,” he said, trying to help sort through the tangle of material that was her dress. Her ridiculous dress that Victor had purchased for her, that was the only nice thing she’d owned for a wedding gown. “It’s just Chip.”
“What do you mean, it’s just Chip?” she asked, pushing her hair back from her face. Not only was her dress twisted, but her hair was coming out of its pins. Chip had a lot to answer for, whoever he was.
“Come here. Let me introduce you.” Peter held out his hand, and she took it. It was both strong and tender at the same time, and she liked it immediately. He led her over to the front door and opened it, then stepped through. She followed hesitantly. “That,” he said, “is Chip.”
Milling around in their yard was a huge bison, acting as though he didn’t have a thing to do in the world but peer into windows. “Is that a buffalo or a bison?” she asked, now second-guessing herself.
“Well, he’s technically a bison, but his name is funnier if you refer to him as a buffalo at least once,” Peter replied with a grin.
“And what if I think his name is horrid and unfortunate, and I refuse?”
He gave her hand a little squeeze. “Then he’d be one sad, sad buffalo.”
She shook her head, unable to resist. He wanted her to go along with it so badly. “Fine. He’s a buffalo named Chip.”
“See? That wasn’t so hard, was it?”
“It was actually painful, but I suppose I’ll survive.”
“Good girl.”
Chapter Four
It had been all Peter could do to remain still while Callie told her story. He’d never wanted to track down a man and punch him more in his entire life, but he knew she needed his understanding, not his vengeance. Peter had been raised to treat women with respect, and he was always surprised to be reminded that not all men felt the same way he did. He had a wonderful mother and sister, and now a sweet wife, and these relationships made it all the more important to him that he protect womankind to the best of his ability at every opportunity.
Now, as he looked at his bride standing in the yard, her hands on her hips, contemplating Chip the Buffalo, he smiled. Fate had blessed him richly. He was being given a chance to make a real mark on the world, not only through his work as a Mountie, but in his duty as a husband, showing this woman that she was worthy of love and kindness and every other good gift he could give her. Restoring her belief in herself—if she ever had any to begin with—might be more valuable than anything he’d ever do with his uniform.
“Does this happen often? Wild animals wandering into town, peeking into windows?”
“We do get a fair number of wild animals. Chip seems to be the only one who peeks in windows, though, and I’m not sure he’s actually wild. He’s around people enough that he seems pretty tame.”
“But he’s huge! What if he woke up in a bad mood one day? He could trample a grown man quite easily.”
She had a point, but he didn’t want her worried. “Most of the men around here carry a pistol as a matter of course, and if they ever needed to defend someone against Chip, or any other animal, they wouldn’t hesitate. It’s just part of living out here.”
She shuddered, and without thinking, he draped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close. “I don’t want the animals to get killed, necessarily,” she said. “I just don’t want anyone else to get hurt either.”
“I can’t promise you a perfect world, but I can promise that we Mounties are doing everything we can to keep everyone in this town safe.” A breeze picked up, and with it, the faintest smell of snow. He shook his head. He’d thought they were heading into spring, but apparently not.
“Let’s go inside,” he said. “It’s getting cold out here.”
She let him keep his arm around her shoulders until they were inside, then she stepped away and began clearing the table. “When can I plant an herb garden? I saw a nice patch of ground out there that would be perfect for it.” She paused. “Will I be able to get seeds here?”
“I don’t see why not. The store has a catalog for special orders if they don’t have what you want in stock.” He was already missing her in his arms and wanted to pull her back into his embrace. Patience. You don’t see anything you need to forgive her for, but she’s still trying to forgive herself.
“And planting time?”
“That’s a different question. Spring comes whenever it has a mind to. I’d say to wait until you see the first real blades of new grass poking through the ground.”
She nodded. “But I could order the seeds now, couldn’t I?”
“Of course. Just put them on my account at the store. Along with anything else you think we need.”
She set the last dishes near the sink, then turned to face him. “What would you think of new curtains? I don’t mean to make Chip feel bad, but the face in the window . . . Honestly, I thought we were about to be murdered. He looked like some sort of deranged lunatic with a full brown beard and creepy, beady eyes . . . I’d just as soon never go through that again.”
Peter laughed. “Yes, I think we could use some new curtains. I’m sure there’s something you can use at the store.”
“Thank you.” She held up both hands. “I just . . . honestly.”
Peter didn’t know who this Barbara woman was that Miss Hazel had originally chosen out for him. All he knew was that Callie was capturing his mind, soul, and heart, and he would do whatever it took to show her that she could be blissfully happy here with him, much happier than she would have been with that rich fancy pants she’d planned to marry.
Callie set to work washing the dishes, and Peter fetched a pair of socks from his drawer and sat down near the fire, lighting an extra lantern to see by. When Callie was finished, she came and sat in the other chair near him, but paused when she saw what he was doing.
“Are you darning that sock?” she asked, her voice incredulous.
He held it up for her inspection. “Yes. Am I doing it wrong?”
“No. In fact, you’re doing it very well. I’m just surprised—I’ve never seen a man darn his own socks before.”
“Bert’s first wife, Sally, taught me how. I’m terribly hard on socks, and she figured it was easier to teach me how to mend them than to teach me not to wear them out.”
“I’m glad to hear that because I have a secret. I may be a good cook, but I really, really hate darning socks.”
He looked up and caught a twinkle in her eye. She was becoming more relaxed as the evening went on, and that was something he was glad to see. Perhaps falling off her chair in the middle of the floor had done something to break loose her natural reserve, or maybe she just needed to get her story off her chest. Whatever it was, he was glad for it. “I promise to darn all my own socks for the entire duration of our lives together.”
“Why wasn’t that included in the wedding vows?” she asked.
“I don’t know, but it should have been.” He smiled, loving the way she smiled in return. “Sally also put up the food in the cellar. She tried to teach me, but I can only learn so much at once.”
“She sounds like a good woman.”
“She really was. We were all heartbroken when she died.” Peter cleared his throat. Some emotions were harder to overcome than others. “Madelyn seems like a nice girl, though.”
“She really is. I spoke with her for a while on the train—she’s so eager to raise those little girls as her own.”
“That eases my mind. We’ve all pitched in and done what we could, but we’re just bumbling men—we may love those little girls like they’re ours, but we don’t know how to mother them.”
“I’m sure they love you just as much in return.” She set her chair rocking, and he admired the peaceful look that had crossed her face.
“Tell me about the other girls,” he said. “How did you all get along on your trip?”
“Well, you met Ida and her daughter, Lily,” Callie replied. “Ida’s a widow, and her daughter’s recovering from cleft palate surgery. They’re both a little withdrawn—I get the feeling that they’ve been through quite a bit, although they didn’t share much of their story. Ida’s calm and levelheaded, and Lily’s a sweetheart. She’s ready to have a new daddy.”
“And I think Andrew’s ready to be one,” Peter replied. “It’s been all he could talk about since we heard you were coming.”
“I’m so glad. They deserve a fresh start. The other girl is Colleen. I got to know her the best on our trip—she’s very free and open, and she makes me laugh. She kept me from brooding over Victor by coming up with various different diseases to afflict him with.”
“Diseases?”
“Yes, like, scurvy toad disease. You get a whole bunch of warts, and then you die.”
She said it with such relish, he couldn’t help but grin. “That sounds well deserved.”
“Definitely, but my favorite was never-ending hiccoughing. You just hiccough forever until you die.”
“All these diseases end in death?”
“Absolutely. That’s the whole reason for them.”
“I see.” He tied off the end of his work and snipped the excess with the scissors. “It sounds like I missed out on a fun game.”
“Colleen came up with it. I’m so glad she was on that train—I would have cried the whole way here without her, and that frustrates me because I’m really not a crier. In fact, I think I’ve cried fewer than ten times my whole life until now.”
Peter nodded. He could tell that she was the sort to face her trials with good humor, which made him all the angrier at Victor. A man should never make a woman cry—not if he could help it. There were some women who just cried all the time anyway. Callie definitely didn’t seem like that type.
“So, did you want to look at the rest of the house?” he asked. “There’s a closet there, and a bedroom at the back.”
“In a minute,” she replied. “I’m enjoying the warmth of the fire and just relaxing in this chair. I’m so glad to be here—I thought the train ride would never end.”
As eager as Peter was to show her the rest of the house, he couldn’t begrudge her a few more minutes. He put away his socks and sat down again, willing to wait as long as it took.
***
How many times was Peter going to mention the bedroom? Callie thought back—he’d brought it up four times now. Four! She mentally shook her head. She shouldn’t have told him about Victor’s intentions, and how she’d insisted on being married first. Now she was married to Peter, and he was definitely thinking about it. He seemed perfect in every other way, but it seemed that he was completely lacki
ng in patience in this one area. This one fairly important area.
She wasn’t sure how she wanted to handle this situation. She didn’t want to hurt his feelings—he’d been very good to her all day. But how could she explain that she just wasn’t ready?
She’d go into the bedroom and look around. Maybe there was room on the floor and she could make a bed from spare blankets. Or she could sleep by the fire. She wouldn’t dream of asking him to sleep on the floor—this was his house, despite his insistence that it was hers. It would probably be months before she felt any sense of ownership here.
She stood up, deciding to wander that direction without making a big deal out of it. She took one of the kitchen lanterns with her as she passed by, holding it up as she entered the other room. And then she stopped dead in her tracks, and Peter bumped into her from behind.
“I’m so sorry,” he said. “I wanted to see your reaction—I didn’t realize I was following so closely.”
“That’s all right,” she replied, distracted by what she saw. Instead of one large bed like she’d been expecting, there were two smaller beds, one on either side of the room, with space to walk between them.
“Two beds?” she asked, turning to face him.
“Two beds,” he replied. He took the lantern from her, set it on the dresser, then gathered her fingers up into his. “I believe that sharing a bed is the deepest act of trust between a man and a woman, and that it’s not something to be taken lightly or rushed into. As we come to know each other, those seeds of trust will be planted, and when the time is right, we can scoot the beds together. But for tonight and for as long as you say, this is how we’ll sleep.”
She was so flabbergasted, she almost couldn’t reply. “I . . . I can’t believe you did this for me.”
“I hoped you’d like it. I’ve been trying to get you in here all day so I could surprise you, but you were showing me the quality of your heart and making me dinner before you thought of anything else.”
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