Elise dropped back onto the bed, feeling hollow and confused. Would she ever really know this complicated man? Would he ever be at ease around her? She hadn’t meant to violate their agreement and make him uncomfortable, but she couldn’t deny how bereft she felt without his arms around her.
Perla gave her a knowing smile when Elise came downstairs so late. “I kept some breakfast for you. Do not be nervous, we have had many newlyweds here this year. Bowie has gone to get the wagon. I have been packing some things for you to take, dishes and food and such.”
“Thank you.” Elise’s cheeks felt hot, but she was grateful for the housekeeper’s prattle. She ate quickly, and within the hour, she was seated next to Bowie in the wagon and headed to her new home.
“I’ve arranged for someone to take you into town this afternoon, after you’ve seen the place, so you can start your shopping.” Bowie flicked the reins.
Her eyebrows rose. “You won’t come with me?”
He shook his head, his dark hair shielding his face. “I told you, I never go to town if I can help it. You’ll do fine. I don’t care what you buy.”
Behind them in the wagon lay a bedstead and mattress, a table and chairs, and a bureau. The barest of necessities until new furnishings arrived.
They drove northeast along a two-track road. “How far is your property from the main house?”
“El Regalo sits in the center of the 7 Heart, and our portions are like spokes on a wheel. Houston built the house on a rise above the Sabinal River about five miles as the crow flies from El Regalo.” He spoke as if reciting facts that had nothing to do with him or her.
Longhorn cattle grazed everywhere, the wind blew through the grasses and brush, and the sun shone happily. And yet, she was sad. Here she was riding to her new home with her husband, and the gulf between them yawned wider than ever.
Soon they approached a pretty, white house with windows that gleamed in the sunshine. Two stories, with a wide front porch that wrapped around one corner. It couldn’t have been more perfect if Elise had designed it herself. Everything looked new and ready for a fresh start.
Bowie leapt from the wagon and reached up for her, clasping her waist as she put her hands on his shoulders. He didn’t look at her as he swung her to the ground, and a chill set up residence in her middle. She rubbed her arms, even though the temperature was quite warm outside.
Stonewall barked and leapt from the wagon bed, followed more slowly by his mate. Bowie had introduced Elise briefly to Clara, but she remained aloof. Stonewall sidled up and nudged Elise’s hand for a pat. Elise obliged, grateful that someone seemed happy she was here.
Bowie held the front door open for Elise, and she walked into her new home, trying not to feel sad that there was no hope of Bowie behaving like a traditional groom and carrying her over the threshold. Stop being silly. You know it isn’t that kind of marriage. You knew what you were signing up for when you agreed to wed, and it’s ridiculous to pine for something different now.
But she couldn’t shake the feeling of being cherished that she had awakened with, nor the thrill that had shot through her and stolen her breath when they had kissed yesterday. In those moments, she had allowed herself to hope, to dream a bit, that their marriage might someday be more than just a quiet agreement to coexist.
“Parlor, kitchen, dining room down here, bedrooms upstairs.” Bowie pointed to the staircase. Everywhere around them the smell of fresh paint, fresh plaster, and newly-sawn wood swirled. The rooms were generous but not vast, and Elise could picture how inviting and cozy the house would look with rugs and pictures and books.
“It’s perfect. I love it.” She ran her finger along a smooth windowsill. “How is it that Houston knew just what kind of house to build?”
Bowie shrugged. “Before the War, I used to think I might want to be a carpenter or even an architect. Houston worked off some plans I drew up when I was a kid.”
There were so many layers to this man. Would she ever know them all?
Stonewall and Clara nosed around the baseboards, investigating the house. She wasn’t fond of dogs in the house, but she could put up with them as long as they stayed downstairs.
“The kitchen’s this way.” He led her to the back of the house.
She sucked in a breath, delighted at all the honey-colored wood. Cabinets and shelves covered one wall, a pump and sink sat under a wide window, and a massive black range stood in one corner. A door led out to a back porch where she could see trees along what must be the riverbank below the house. Everything was light and bright, and she could imagine a tin-topped worktable in the center where she could roll out pie dough or knead bread.
“One of Perla’s relatives, Josefina, will come out to clean house and do laundry and cook.” Bowie opened several cabinet doors and drawers. “I’ll say this for Houston, he hires the best. These drawers glide perfectly. I’ll have to tell Giles Brown when I see him. Nobody beats his carpentry.”
“I don’t think I’ll need a housekeeper or laundress, not with just the two of us living here,” Elise said.
“You might be surprised how difficult things can be here in Texas. I think you should rest and take things easy. You had a long, hard trip just getting here, and you deserve time to recuperate. The shopping and decorating and such will keep you busy. Anyway, Perla’s cousin needs the work.”
What would Elise do to fill her time if she didn’t have housework or laundry or cooking?
“I suppose I can plant a garden. I’m not sure what grows here or when to plant, but I can learn.”
“Josefina’s husband, Carlos, will take care of the gardening, the chickens, and the like. It’s all been planned out.”
Without consulting her.
And just like that Bowie subtly reminded her that she wasn’t really needed here beyond changing his marital status so he could inherit his land.
Footsteps sounded on the back porch, and a young man appeared in the doorway, snatching off his hat to reveal wiry blond hair. “Boss, I’m ready whenever your missus is.” He bobbed his head toward Elise, an open, friendly smile on his face.
“Elise, this is Gage O’Reilly. He’ll drive you to town and fetch and carry for you.” Bowie looked out the kitchen window. “Looks like Carlos and Josefina are here, too. They can get the wagon unloaded and some cleaning done while you’re gone.” With barely a nod in Elise’s direction, he passed Gage on his way outside.
“Ma’am, GW asked if we could stop by the main ranch house on our way into town, if that’s all right with you.” Gage tapped his hat against his thigh.
“Of course. Let me make a few notes, and I’ll be ready.” Elise went to the wagon and got the tablet she’d packed for the purpose and went room to room, making lists. Furnishings, window coverings, kitchen supplies.
Upstairs, she peeked into the three bedrooms. Each was a generous size, but the one at the back of the house that overlooked the river caught her fancy. Lace curtains, a cheerful quilt on a four-poster bed, a beveled mirror on a stand. It would be quite charming when she was finished.
The other two rooms must’ve been designed for children, one for boys, one for girls. Her heart ached a bit as she thought of Bowie sketching his designs for a home, probably anticipating being a husband and father, having his family around him.
Now he had a paper wife, and no plans for fatherhood.
Which meant that she would be denied the opportunity to ever be a mother.
Bowie hadn’t slept so well in over a decade as he had last night.
And it bothered him.
Waking up with his wife in his arms had been a surprise and a revelation. When he’d come in after checking on the dogs, Elise had been sound asleep on the side of the bed he usually used.
The blankets had slipped to the floor, and she lay curled on her side as if trying to warm herself. Her hair spilled across the pillow like a chocolate river. Bowie touched one of the glossy waves, the satiny strands catching on his rough hands. He covere
d her up, and before he rounded the end of the bed, she’d rolled over and shed the blankets again.
He stripped to his small clothes and slid under the covers, careful not to jostle her. Stacking his hands behind his head, he stared at the ceiling. Within seconds, Elise had rolled once more and cuddled against his side like a kitten seeking warmth. Bowie froze, not even breathing. Her hair tickled his skin, and her breath fanned across his chest. Gently he eased his arm down around her shoulders, and her hand came up to lie over his heart.
Letting out his breath slowly, he swallowed. She snuggled in as if she’d always slept this way, and he relaxed. She was sound asleep, but even so, she’d sought his protection and warmth. So much for each of them staying on their own side of the bed.
Yawning, he’d reached up and tugged off his patch, tossing it onto the bedside table and rubbing the skin around his empty eye socket. He would be sure to wake up first and put it on before she had to see his disfigurement. He didn’t remember falling asleep; he just knew he’d remained asleep all night for the first time in years. No nightmare had stalked him. No raging battle, no despair, no regret. Just … peace.
And waking up had been a pure pleasure. Bowie had lain still for almost an hour waiting for Elise to awaken. He’d been so comfortable, he had forgotten he wasn’t wearing his patch.
It still cut, the look of shock in her eyes as she’d stared at his ravaged face, at the hole where his eye should be. Why hadn’t he gotten up and out of the house at first light? Why had he subjected her to the horror that was his visage when he knew how awful it was?
Bowie snapped his fingers as he strode toward the barn construction site, and Stonewall loped over, tongue lolling.
“Last night was a mistake,” he told the dog. “One I don’t aim to make again. Let’s get to work.”
Even as he made himself that promise, he knew it wouldn’t be without cost. Holding Elise in his arms had been the most content and at peace he had been since well before Gettysburg. Shrugging, he joined the workmen.
He’d have to live on the memory, because it could never happen again.
GW greeted Elise on the front porch of El Regalo, inviting her to sit in the shade, offering her a glass of cider.
“Thanks for stopping by. I wanted a chance to talk to you on your own without the family bustling around.” He tipped his chair back and hooked his boot heel over the stringer. “I can’t tell you how surprised I was, Bowie showing up with a bride out of the blue like that, but I’m grateful.”
Elise perched on the edge of her chair, wary, not wanting to say the wrong thing. “It all happened rather suddenly.”
“Austin tells me that you knew Bowie during the War. That you were his nurse?”
“Yes, at Fort Slocum hospital in New York.” She told him a bit about volunteering there, treating the soldiers, and how in the days and weeks after Gettysburg, there seemed to be no end to the wounded being shipped in from the battlefield hospitals.
“My wife would’ve liked you, and she would’ve thanked you for taking care of our son. After Gettysburg, there was no word of him, not for years, and we all thought he was dead. My wife died thinking Bowie was gone. I like to think that when she got to heaven, God let her know he was all right.”
“I’m sure she’s at peace about that.” Elise couldn’t help leaning forward to touch his gnarled hand. He turned his palm to clasp her fingers and gave her a wink.
“First his nurse and now his wife.” He released her hand. “I’m glad he has someone to share his life with the way I did with my Victoria. Bowie needs someone to look after him and show him some tenderness, even if he doesn’t think he does. Victoria understood him better than I do, I’ll admit, but I have an inkling that you understand him pretty well yourself. I could tell he cares a great deal about you, the way he kept watching you, kept checking to see that we didn’t overwhelm you completely. And the two of you having a nice long lie-in this morning went a fair ways toward proving to me that you’re the right woman for Bowie. I can’t remember the last time he wasn’t up before the rooster.”
Elise blushed, and he laughed. If GW only knew that Bowie watched her so carefully to make sure she didn’t slip up and let on that theirs was anything other than a love match.
“My son has a great deal of love to give, but he keeps it to himself mostly, though he’s the first one his brothers go to when they need someone strong to stand with them in trouble. But he rarely asks for help himself, so I’m glad he has you now.” He smoothed his mustache. “I won’t keep you, since I know you’ve got a lot of shopping to do. By the way, don’t buy any silver for the table. I’d like that to be my wedding gift to you.” He let his chair come to rest on the porch and levered himself up.
Elise rose as well, and she couldn’t help but smile when he placed a whiskery kiss against her cheek. “You’re a good girl, Elise Hart.”
She thought about his kind words all the way into town. He was glad Bowie had someone to share his life with. But did Bowie, really?
At the time he had proposed, she had been grateful, thinking half a loaf was better than none. But now, now that she’d seen his happily married brothers and the way Bowie protected her and saw to her every need, now that she’d seen how much he had to give, she wanted more.
She wanted a real marriage, with loving and sharing and caring.
Hartville had gone by in a blur the previous day on the stage, but now that she stood on the main street, she had time to study it. Gage had parked the wagon in front of H & C Hardware.
“This is Houston’s place. You can get paint here and wallpaper and such. And either of the mercantiles can order furniture and rugs and lamps and things. I’ll be by to load up your purchases later. I’m headed to the blacksmith’s, the livery, and the saddle shop for the boss. You can have tea or coffee at the restaurant in the Hartville Hotel up yonder, and I’ll meet you there. That all right with you?” He seemed eager to be about his business, and Elise nodded, letting him go, trying not to feel set adrift in an unfamiliar sea.
Houston and Coralee couldn’t have been nicer, and Coralee had fine taste, helping with paint and paper choices, as well as household items like pails and pitchers and washbasins. Both Houston and Coralee expressed their happiness for her and Bowie.
Elise couldn’t help but feel a twinge of envy as she watched them together. Coralee had a pretty laugh and made Houston smile, and he was always touching her, his hand on her shoulder, brushing one of her ringlets off her cheek.
The Yost Mercantile at the end of the street was enormous, a warehouse of a place stuffed from baseboards to rafters with everything from aprons to zinc paste. Disorganization reigned, and Elise’s heart sank as she stepped inside. How was she going to find anything in this wilderness of inventory?
“Yeah?” A man sitting on a stool behind the counter didn’t so much as glance at her, speaking around a nasty cigar stub jammed into the corner of his mouth and reading a newspaper.
“Do you have a catalog?” Elise bit her lip and twisted her fingers at her waist.
“Sure. Got a great big one. But if you need something, I prolly got it on hand.” Sighing as if he was annoyed to be interrupted, he laid down his paper and finally looked up. “You new in town?” Sliding off the stool, he leaned on his palms on the counter.
“Yes, I’m Elise Hart.”
He yanked the cigar from his mouth and threw it behind the counter, offering her an ingratiating smile. “Hart did you say?”
“Mrs. Bowie Hart.” Though it felt strange to say, she got a thrill just the same.
“Well, well, Bowie got himself a wife, did he? Folks will be mighty surprised to hear that.” He looked her over. “You said you wanted a catalog? Come to spend some of that Hart money already?” He cackled and slapped his thigh. “Guess it don’t matter how ugly a man you are, if you’ve got cash, you can find a gal to marry you.”
Her jaw dropped. How dare he? She skewered him with a stare. He stopped laughing.
“I believe I’ve changed my mind, thank you very much.” She turned on her heel, making sure to slam the door behind her. She’d rather sleep on bare floorboards and bathe in a bucket for the rest of her life than buy anything in that store.
Things went much better at Mortenson’s Mercantile up the street. Their place was bright and clean, and the proprietor, Michael Mortenson was helpful and friendly. Elise spent a happy two hours selecting pieces for the house, ordering some from the catalog at the table in the back and choosing some from the extensive inventory. She was especially happy to see Mrs. Mortenson’s selection of handmade soaps and picked up three cakes of jasmine-scented bars for herself.
“My mother said a woman should always have a signature scent. Roses, vanilla, cinnamon, lavender. I chose jasmine, but it isn’t always easy to find.” Elise smelled the floral soap, warmed by the memory of her mother.
“Now that I know you use it, I’ll make sure to keep some on hand. Easy enough, since I make all my own soaps, and I have a jasmine vine at home.” Meribeth Mortenson handed her baby to her husband and jotted down a note to herself. “Now, what else might you need for your new home?”
By the time she’d finished choosing furnishings for an entire house, Elise was weary and ready to sit for a while.
“I’ll send this order out by telegram this afternoon, and it should be freighted from San Antonio within a couple weeks. I’ll leave directions for it all to be shipped right out to your house.” Mr. Mortenson totaled her purchases in his ledger. “And the Hartville Hotel? It’s across the street on your left, beside Harley Burton’s law office. Tillie will take good care of you there.”
Elise entered the hotel and paused beside the screen that separated the lobby from the dining room, taking the time to smooth her hair and gather her courage. She once again wished Bowie were here. It had felt wrong to spend so much money, make so many decisions on her own, even though she was doing what he had asked.
Seven Brides for Seven Texans Romance Collection Page 52