RNWMP_Bride for Peter

by Amelia C. Adams

  Callie smiled as she took the seat Colleen offered. Her friend had more energy than she’d thought could be contained in one person, and that’s exactly what she needed—someone to take her thoughts off all the things that were weighing on her mind.

  She stayed as long as she felt she could, and they chatted about everything under the sun. Then she gave Colleen a hug and promised to come back soon, her heart much lighter than it had been before. She slid the bread in the oven, checked on the stew, and had everything ready when Peter walked in the door, just like she’d always been taught a good wife should.

  ***

  Peter’s feet felt heavy as he walked toward his cabin. His Mountie uniform boots were thicker than many and did weigh him down, but this was something more. Each of his men had spoken with him with their ideas for how they thought they should handle the train robbery situation, and as their commander, it was up to him to decide what their final course of action should be. He strongly felt that they should err on the side of caution rather than taking the bull by the horns, like Andrew wanted to do. Then he glanced up and saw Chip nosing around in some bushes at the tree line, and he chuckled. Maybe they should be taking the buffalo by the horns.

  For all they knew, the robbers had moved on in the other direction. Wasn’t it borrowing trouble to get all worked up at this point? He’d rather find a little more evidence that they were actually in danger before letting it keep him up at night. That didn’t mean he planned to brush it off or be lazy—far from it. He’d sent out a bunch of telegrams that afternoon seeking information from nearby towns and asking them to keep him apprised of any activity or even any rumors, and promised to do the same for them. He’d contacted his head office and asked for any updates that might not have been sent yet. He’d visited with the stationmaster and discussed safety regulations and tactics. He was doing everything he could to stay abreast of the situation—everything but get panicked about it. And that lack of panic was, to some members of the community, a sign that he didn’t care at all.

  He sighed and kicked at a dirt clod in his path. He knew he couldn’t please everyone all the time. He’d known from the moment he received his post that he’d be offending someone just as regularly as he’d be helping someone else. That’s how it was in any leadership position, and that was another thing he’d discussed with his father. But he had to push all that to the side. If he allowed himself to be swayed by every member of the community, he’d never be able to concentrate on doing his actual job.

  He cringed. He’d forgotten all about the alleged chicken murder, and he’d forgotten to follow up with Marshall about it. Really, he couldn’t be blamed—he’d just gotten married, a Mountie had been killed, and he was in the middle of an investigation. But Mrs. Obregon wasn’t likely to see it that way. He’d remind Marshall about it on Monday. Some things simply had to wait.

  When he opened the door to his cabin, he paused and took a sniff. The most heavenly aroma filled the air, and Callie stood by the table, smiling. This welcome was such a contrast to the thoughts that had been pressing so heavily on his mind that emotion welled up inside him, and he had to swallow a few times. He hung up his hat, then crossed the floor and took her into his arms in a hug, resting his chin on top of her head. She seemed a little surprised, but she didn’t object, and they stood that way for a long minute.

  “Thank you,” he said when he released her. “You have no idea what it’s like to come home to a cabin so warm and friendly when I’m used to it being cold and lonely.”

  “I really didn’t do much,” she replied. “I went and visited Colleen this afternoon and didn’t get the curtains started.”

  He blinked at her a few times. “I don’t care if you didn’t start the curtains—or if you ever start the curtains. I’m just so glad not to be alone anymore.” He washed up at the basin in the corner, pleased to find that the water was warm—she’d thought of everything. Then he joined her at the table, where they said grace and began to eat.

  “Miss Hazel came by after you left this morning. She said she was just checking in on all of us to make sure we’re all right before she headed back to Ottawa.”

  “I hope she has a safe trip,” Peter said as he smeared butter on his bread. “Does she travel by herself often?”

  “I don’t actually know, but she didn’t seem to have any qualms about it. I told her I was settling in quite well except for one thing.”

  “Oh? What’s that?”

  “You.”

  Peter looked up, surprised. “Have I done something to upset you?”

  “No, and that’s exactly the problem. You’re so perfect, I’m worried that you’re not actually real. She encouraged me to watch you very carefully for faults, so if you catch me following you around, taking notes, you’ll know what I’m up to.”

  Peter grinned, relieved that it was nothing more serious than that. “Oh, I assure you, I have plenty of faults. Plenty of them.”

  “None that you’ve shown me.”

  “Then maybe following me around all day is a good idea after all. My men will tell you, I’m far from perfect. But I’d rather know what you think of me—your opinion matters more to me than theirs.”

  She lowered her eyes and then raised them again. “I think you’re a good man who’s doing everything in his power to make me happy here. And I know that you’d never hurt me intentionally, and that you’d apologize immediately if something were to happen. It’s only been a day since we met, but you’ve shown me enough of who you are that I trust you.”

  He met her gaze and held it. “Thank you. That means a great deal to me. As does this bread. This is the most meaningful bread I’ve ever tasted.”

  She chuckled. “Meaningful bread?”

  “Very meaningful bread. I knew I’d enjoy whatever you made, but this bread surpasses all my hopes, dreams, and expectations. If we weren’t already married, I’d go down on one knee and propose to you based on this bread alone.”

  “My goodness. You’re either extremely hungry, or your past experiences with bread have been pretty dismal.”

  “Both, I’d say.” He took another bite and closed his eyes. “Bread. I love bread.”

  She outright laughed, and he was delighted by the sound. He wanted to make her laugh every day. “I’m glad you like it so much because I plan to have it on hand as a regular matter of course. I would have made some last night, but you only had a tiny bit of yeast on hand.”

  “We will never run out of yeast again, I swear it.” He finished off his slice and reached for another. He couldn’t believe that something as simple as bread could turn his whole day around. Well, bread and the sweet woman who had made it for him.

  Chapter Seven

  Callie felt a little conspicuous walking into church the next morning on Peter’s arm. Everyone nudged each other and whispered, but after a moment, she realized that the expressions on their faces were friendly, and they were curious about her as a newcomer in town. This was shown to be true when an older woman approached her after the services and took her hand warmly.

  “Welcome to White Fox, Mrs. Murray,” she said, her voice thin and reedy. “We’re so glad to have you here. We’ve left you alone for a few days to give you time to settle in, but don’t be surprised if you get a lot of visitors this week. We’re all quite curious to get to know you, considering that we don’t often have people move to our little community, and now we’re getting four at once. It’s quite a treat.”

  “You’re more than welcome to pay a visit. What was your name?”

  “I’m Mrs. Frederick, Mrs. Gladys Frederick. You can bet I’ll be by.” She gave Callie’s hand another squeeze before moving off to meet the next bride, probably giving her much the same welcome and the same speech.

  Peter took Callie’s arm and steered her around a mud puddle as they walked back home. “Bert gave a fine sermon today,” Callie said, grateful for her husband’s assistance. She hadn’t thought to bring along sturdier boots. “Do the Mo
unties always preach?”

  “Almost always. Sometimes the pastor will take a turn when he’s around, but we take turns. It’s good for us. Keeps us humble.”

  She laughed. “Is humility something you’re lacking?”

  “Oh, in spades. You might put that on your list of my faults. And underline it a few times.”

  “I have to see it in action before it can go on the list. I need a demonstration.”

  He looked thoughtful. “Okay, I’ll get right on that.”

  She laughed again, and they wiped their feet carefully before entering the cabin.

  She served up chicken and dumplings for lunch, which Peter said he adored, and then he said something else that simply flabbergasted her. “Why don’t we take a Sunday afternoon nap?”

  She blinked, not sure she’d heard right. “A nap?”

  “Yes. It’s this strange thing people do where they lie down, close their eyes, and go to sleep in the middle of the day. Most find it quite refreshing.”

  She shook her head. “Of course I know what a nap is. I’m just . . . well, no one’s ever suggested I take one before. They usually have tasks for me instead.”

  “It’s Sunday. You’d do tasks on Sunday?”

  “Depending on where I was . . .” She didn’t want to tell him that she hadn’t been allowed a proper Sunday in years. It would only perturb him—she’d learned quickly that he was easily perturbed by hearing how she’d been treated in the past. It was endearing, but she didn’t want to add to his burdens.

  He stood up and held out his hands. “Come with me.”

  She wasn’t sure about this, but she took his hands and let him pull her up. Then he led her into the bedroom, nudged her to sit on the bed, and he knelt down and unfastened her shoes. “Now lie down,” he said, picking up the spare blanket that was folded at the foot of the bed. As soon as she lay back, he covered her up. “Sleep,” he whispered. Then he stepped out of her line of sight, and the creak of a bed told her that he was lying down as well.

  At first, it felt ridiculously odd, being in bed in the middle of the day when she wasn’t the slightest bit sick. But then she grinned as the deliciousness of it washed over her. She was taking a nap. Because it was a nice thing to do. She giggled, unable to help herself.

  “That good, huh?” Peter asked, amused.

  “Yes,” she replied. “I feel so . . . decadent.”

  He laughed. “I take a nap every Sunday I’m not on duty.”

  “Well then, so do I.” She allowed her eyes to close and her muscles to relax. This . . . this was a little piece of heaven.

  ***

  The air was crisp on Monday, and Callie decided that she’d like to stock up on coffee and tea against the harsher weather she sensed coming. A quick trip to the general store took care of that need, and as she added her packages to Peter’s account, the shopkeeper surprised her by bringing a package out from behind the counter.

  “Commander Murray asked me to check the back room for these, and sure enough, I found them,” he said. “Here you are, Mrs. Murray.”

  “Are you sure this is for me?” Callie asked. She couldn’t remember Peter saying anything about a special request.

  “Sure am.”

  She took the parcel along with her purchases, curious to know what was inside, and as soon as she got back to the cabin, she sliced the twine that held the brown paper in place. Inside was a pair of nice, stout boots, and they looked to be her size. They were made of the softest leather she’d ever touched.

  She held them to her chest for a long moment, her eyes brimming with tears. Why was God blessing her so immensely? What had she done to deserve this? She’d been given a man who noticed her needs and sought to fill them even when she hadn’t said a word. She’d meant to dip into the money Mr. Vanderbilt had given her to buy herself some boots, but Peter had noticed and he’d simply taken care of it. She’d never dreamed that she would find a man who would care so deeply about her comfort and her welfare, and yet, here he was. And he was hers.

  She sniffed and wiped away her tears. He’d said that she’d made his life so much better just by being there, but he was returning that gift over and over and over again. Maybe this was what marriage was really about—each person looking to the other’s needs and being mindful of what those needs actually were. Peter didn’t want a wife who was constantly busy every second—he wanted a wife who was there, who was present, whether making bread or taking a nap. She could do that, and it was so easy—he made it easy to be near him.

  She tucked the boots away, deciding that her old shoes would be best for around the house and the boots would be for going outside. Then she started more bread, mixed up some corn bread, and put some salt pork to soaking. Her husband was going to get a wonderful dinner that night. She had to show him how very much his care meant to her.

  ***

  Callie woke up with a start in the middle of the night. She didn’t know at first what had awakened her, and she sat there, trying to sort it out. Then she heard it again.

  “Peter?” she said into the darkness.

  “Yes?”

  “What’s that noise? It sounds like Chip’s trying to climb in the window.”

  He chuckled. “It does sound like it, but no, that’s a blizzard.”

  “But it’s supposed to be spring! I thought maybe we’d have a little flurry or two, not a full-out blizzard.”

  “Maybe to Mother Nature, a blizzard is a little flurry. You can go back to sleep—the cabin is solidly built. We’re safe.”

  Callie pulled the blankets back up to her chin and tried to drift off again, but the howling outside sounded like wolves or banshees trying to get inside. “Peter?”

  “Yes?”

  “Um . . . maybe . . . you could come over here?” She felt ridiculous asking, but she’d feel so much better if she wasn’t alone.

  He didn’t answer, but crossed the floor and lay down beside her. He stayed on top of her blankets, but he’d brought his own, and he wrapped his arms around her and shared both his warmth and his blankets with her. She turned her face to his chest and breathed in the scent of soap. He stroked her hair back from her face over and over again, almost like he was petting a cat, and she found it soothing. Within minutes, she was asleep, knowing that even if the blizzard tore the entire house to shreds, Peter would keep her safe.

  Chapter Eight

  Peter’s stomach was in knots. Bert hadn’t made it back home before the blizzard hit, and he was out there somewhere in it. There was nothing Peter could do about it, though—he had to trust that Bert’s training would kick in and he’d know what to do.

  Peter blinked as he looked around the kitchen. Because the blizzard was still raging outside two days after it had started, Callie had decided it was the perfect time to reorganize the kitchen. She explained that she’d been meaning to do it since she got there, and now she could enlist his help. Now there were dishes stacked all over the table and on every surface, and she was up on a chair, washing shelves.

  “What am I doing again?” he asked.

  She glanced at him over her shoulder. “You’re stacking plates with plates, cups with cups, and so forth. But put the like ones together—don’t mix the brown in with the blue. Put all the browns together, all the blues together, and so forth.”

  He wasn’t sure what she’d just said, but he could at least tell the difference between cups and plates. That was a start.

  She finished washing the shelves, then climbed down from the chair. “If we put the mixing bowls here, and the soup bowls there, I can reach everything much easier while I’m working,” she said.

  A piece of hair had come out from her bun and dangled near her face. She had a smudge of dust on her cheek, and she looked so delightfully earnest, Peter couldn’t help himself. He took a step toward her, essentially blocking her from moving to either side. She looked up into his eyes as though challenging him to move, but then her gaze softened. He tucked her hair behind her ear, but
let his hand linger by her jaw, tracing it down to her chin. He didn’t want to rush things, but there was one thing he knew more than anything else he’d ever known—he loved this woman. He loved everything about her, even the things she disliked about herself. He loved her laugh and he loved her quietness. He loved the way she teased him and the way she sought his advice. He loved her spirit and he loved her heart.

  He studied her eyes. He wanted to kiss her more than he could even explain, but he wouldn’t do it unless she was ready. Her breath was coming a little rapidly, probably from nervousness, and he felt the same way. It had been so long since he’d kissed a woman—not since Geraldine Harper’s eighteenth birthday. He blinked at the realization. That really had been a long time. He’d been so busy studying, he hadn’t given courting a second thought, and now he started to worry that maybe he’d forgotten how to kiss. Could you forget something like that?

  He cupped her cheek with his hand and stroked her lips with his thumb. It couldn’t be too hard to remember. Lips, meet lips. Easy. Unless she didn’t want him to kiss her, in which case, it would be wrong no matter how he did it.

  He was just about to step back and put an end to his misery when she closed her eyes and leaned forward just the tiniest bit. Ah, there it was . . . the invitation he’d been waiting for. He lowered his mouth to hers, then slid his arms around her waist. It was really hard to judge, since he was the one doing the kissing and not the one being kissed, but it seemed to him that he remembered how after all. She melted into his arms like butter on hot bread, so he must have been doing something right.

  When he let her go, she looked a little dazed. “Organizing dishes seems to bring out your romantic side,” she said breathlessly.