RNWMP: Bride for Dermot (Mail Order Mounties Book 7)

by Cassie Hayes

  “No!” Isabelle grabbed his arm, her eyes widening in what looked like alarm.

  Why on earth would she be alarmed about a blanket? Shrugging, he returned his attention to the road ahead. It was pitted and rough, and each time the buckboard zigged, he hoped Isabelle would zag into him, but she’d scooted as far away from him as the seat allowed.

  First, the jibe about getting lost, then her strange reaction to the blanket, now the distance she’d put between them. On the way to Moose Lick, she hadn’t exactly snuggled into him, but their bodies had touched each time the buckboard lurched. As much as he wanted to ask if he’d somehow offended her, he swallowed the temptation.

  “How are your friends settling in?”

  She gazed off into the trees. “Fine.”

  “Did you have a nice visit?”

  “Mmmhmm.”

  Dermot shot a glance at the side of her head. “Are they adjusting to life in the Yukon?”

  She lifted a shoulder in a half-shrug. “They seem to like it.”

  The first shock of alarm ripped through Dermot. “What’s that supposed to mean? Don’t you?”

  Isabelle sat silent for a few interminable heartbeats. “I don’t know.”

  Any sense of happiness he’d felt earlier blew away with the wisps of clouds rolling past overhead. That very morning, she’d whistled merrily as she fried up a few rashers of bacon and some flapjacks. They’d turned out perfectly, and when he’d complimented her on their delicious fluffiness, she’d beamed at him. She was already fitting in well with the Indians, and her eyes lit up whenever she talked about all she’d learned from Janey every day.

  “Has something changed?” He wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer, but he had to know it.

  She snorted, something she would have been appalled doing just a week earlier. “I’ve changed, if that’s what you mean.” Her voice vibrated with anger.

  “You certainly have. We both have. And for the better, if I may be so bold.”

  Isabelle said nothing, just sighed deeply and turned away from him. They rode in awkward silence again, until she finally spoke, this time so quietly he barely heard her.

  “I don’t even recognize myself anymore. Every single person I know would be aghast at what I’ve become.”

  Alarm grew to worry inside Dermot. “I, for one, am glad. You came here pampered and spoiled, and now look at you.”

  She sniffed. “Right, a half-feral forest animal who skins rabbits and chops wood. That’s not who I am.”

  “Who are you then?” he asked quietly.

  She turned to him finally. “I’m a lady, Dermot Strickland. Have you lived out in the wilderness for so long, you forgot what a lady looks like? How she behaves? The way I’m living here is not the life of a lady. I mean, I can’t even wear my hats!”

  Worry turned to fear, chilling Dermot far more effectively than the outside temperature. All day, he thought she’d made peace with her new life, but he was obviously an idiot. She wasn’t just having second thoughts; it sounded to him as if she’d already made up her mind.

  Then why is she returning to the cabin?

  If she’d planned to go back to her parents’ home, she would have brought all her things. But she hadn’t. Instead, she’d given several of her prized possessions to her friends, and left everything else behind. No, something must have happened in Moose Lick, and Dermot suspected it had something to do with that second letter she received.

  He’d never had trouble charming a lady into his way of thinking before Isabelle. As an educated, beautiful lady herself, she was wise to his ways, and thus impervious. He’d felt a thawing in her over the last week and a half, but was it enough for him to reach her? He wasn’t sure, but he knew he had to try. Life in the Yukon not only wouldn’t be the same without her, it would be intolerable.

  Life anywhere would be intolerable without her!

  “You’re more of a lady now than when you arrived, as far as I’m concerned. Isabelle, the measure of a lady isn’t the clothes she wears or the parties she attends or even how much money she has. The longer I’m away from the city, the more I believe that a true lady is kind and generous and loving, never looking down her nose at others, and always willing to lend a helping hand.”

  He shifted his gaze to her, but she kept her own focused on her gloved fingers. They were made of the finest calfskin and probably cost a pretty penny, but they wouldn’t do her much good in a few weeks’ time, when the weather turned really cold. He made a mental note to buy her some decent mittens from Kelu’s wife, who made them from moose hide and lined them with mink fur.

  Leaning across the width of the seat, he nudged her with his elbow. “Sound like anyone you know?”

  Her brown eyes glanced up at him from under her lashes, heating him up from the inside out. Every time she did that, he became as helpless as a newborn baby, and she knew it. Didn’t bother him a bit!

  “So,” he said, turning his attention back to the road, “who were your letters from?”

  It was a dirty trick and he knew it, but it was also effective. Her fluttering eyelashes snapped open and she nearly gasped. “How—“

  The buckboard gave a hard lurch to the left as one wheel dropped into a deep hole in the road. Isabelle flew into Dermot, and he just barely caught her before she tumbled into the footwell.

  “Whoa!” he howled, both in surprise and as a command to Star. The horse nickered and stamped her feet, still anxious about something.

  Pulling Isabelle upright again, he brushed the hair from her face and asked, “Are you—“

  His question was cut off by a high keening coming from the back of the little wagon. They both turned just in time to see what appeared to be a cougar cub wriggle out from beneath the wool blanket, leap to the ground, and scamper into the woods. And if his eyes weren’t fooling him, the critter was limping slightly.

  He shouted, “What the…” at the same moment Isabelle cried, “Clara!”

  Chapter 8

  “Clara?” Dermot half-asked, half-shouted. “What on earth was that!”

  “That’s Clara!”

  Isabelle didn’t have time to explain further. That last pothole must have knocked Clara right out of her crate and the poor dear must be terrified. Clambering down from the wagon, Isabelle sprinted after the limping cub.

  Tree branches whipped her face and slapped at her arms as she plowed into the woods without thought for herself. What if she couldn’t catch up to Clara? What would happen to the poor baby? Surely a cub so young wouldn’t be able to survive on her own out in the wild, and no one really knew where her mother was. One day, there’d be a sighting on the far side of Moose Lick, the next day Janey was reporting someone had seen a cougar near their village. No, the other women had entrusted her with Clara’s care, and she wasn’t going to let them down. She wasn’t going to let Clara down.

  “Clara!” she called, hoping the cub would answer like a dog. Silly!

  But to her surprise, a pitiful squeak came from just ahead of her. Skidding to a stop at the foot of a tree, Isabelle craned her neck and spotted the spotted furball halfway up. Hiking up her skirts, she wedged her toe into the bark and reached for the first branch.

  Before she could even get her other foot off the ground, strong arms encircled her waist, lifted her, and spun her body away from the tree, before setting her back down. She whirled on Dermot and glared up at him.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” she demanded. “We have to get her down before she falls!”

  She tried to push past him, but he held her firm by the shoulders. “Isabelle, stop!”

  Huffing in frustration, she stopped. “What?”

  He looked utterly befuddled. “What? What? What is going on here, that’s what!”

  It didn’t seem fair the other women had been able to hide Clara from their husbands for over a week, but Isabelle hadn’t even managed the ride home. Sighing, she glanced over his shoulder at the miserable cub, who seemed secure e
nough on her perch for the moment.

  “Fine, I’ll tell you. Clara is a little orphan baby Lisa found. Her leg was hurt, so Lisa cared for her, but when Wesley got wind, Maryanne took Clara in. She couldn’t keep her any longer, so I agreed to help.”

  Dermot whipped off his hat and raked a hand through his wavy, blond hair. “What were you ladies thinking? You can’t keep a wild animal like that.”

  Isabelle tipped her head up in defiance. “Well, we certainly aren’t going to just let her starve to death, or even worse, get eaten by some other animal! What would you have us do, kill her outright?”

  His expression pleaded for her to see reason, but she stood her ground. Glancing back at the cub, he shook his head and scrubbed a hand across his strong jaw.

  “Are you sure her mother is dead? Is it possible she could be the cat that’s been prowling around the area, making everyone nervous?”

  “I don’t know, Dermot. That’s your job to figure out. My responsibility is to make sure little Clara heals up and stays safe in the process.”

  She tried to push past him again, but again, he stopped her. Tears pricked the back of her eyes and it was all she could do to stop herself from pounding her fists on his chest. Not that she could hurt him, but he didn’t deserve that kind of treatment. She was just frustrated…and angry…and scared…and confused.

  “Isabelle,” he said, his voice turning soft. “Isabelle, look at me.”

  That was the last thing she wanted to do, but he tipped her chin until she had no choice. A single tear slipped down her cheek and she tried to sniff it away as she glared at him.

  “What?” she snapped.

  Her heart nearly broke at the pain lingering in his eyes. None of this was his fault, and she shouldn’t take it out on him, but she was just so overwhelmed by…everything.

  “Did I do something?” he finally asked, worry and regret etched on his brow. “You seemed so happy this morning, but now… Did I do something?”

  She tried to maintain her scowl, she tried to hold on, but it was all too much to take. First, she felt her chin tremble, then her nose burned as her eyes filled, and then suddenly she was sobbing into his coat as his warm arms pulled her close. He didn’t speak, just held her as all the emotions she’d been battling since reading her mother’s letter poured out of her eyes and all over his red serge.

  They clung to each other, and Isabelle never wanted to let go, but her mother’s words kept coming back to her, tearing her up inside. The minute she’d stepped off that train, she’d wanted to climb right back aboard and go home, regardless of the humiliation she would have suffered. And now she’d been offered the chance to resume her old life, as if nothing had ever happened.

  Rodney would marry her and give her the life she’d always expected to have: well-off, well-respected, and…well, bored. Simply thinking about spending her days calling on other ladies for tea or organizing galas that benefitted no one but the elite who attended, set her teeth on edge. Even before Rodney’s betrayal, she’d abhorred such duties, but that was the life of a lady. Or so she’d grown up thinking.

  Standing in the middle of nowhere, wrapped in Dermot’s cozy embrace, felt more like home to her than Ottawa ever had. He made her feel safe in a way she’d never known possible, and therefore had never missed. Rodney would never make her feel safe like that, although she’d never again have to gut a bunny or chop wood or cook meals.

  The problem was she rather enjoyed those chores. Okay, enjoy might be pushing it, but with each new skill she learned, the more confident she became. She was no longer the woman who ran from her humiliation in Ottawa, hoping to make everyone back home jealous of her adventures and her Mountie husband.

  And then there was Dermot. He deserved so much better than a wife who wasn’t quite sure she wanted to be there. After fearing he was a lout, he’d actually turned out to be patient, witty, and brave. On top of that, he was so committed to serving his country, he’d vowed to remain in the Yukon for five years, two more than was required of him. Isabelle wouldn’t have been surprised if it became his life’s work.

  Sniffling back the rest of her emotions, she pulled away and glanced around the stark landscape. Certainly, trees thrived in the southern part of the territory, but what if he was transferred farther north? Would she thrive there?

  She chuckled with the absurdity of it. How could she survive polar bears and wolf packs when she couldn’t even kill a little rabbit? No, it was ridiculous!

  Dermot’s concerned gaze burned her skin, but she couldn’t meet his eyes. Clara’s pitiful squeaks drew her attention. The kitten was the perfect diversion.

  “I need to rescue Clara,” she whispered, surprised that she didn’t choke on the thickness in her voice.

  “Isabelle, you can’t—“

  Before he could so much as grab her wrist, she sprinted past him. With the mightiest leap she could muster, she managed to wrap her fingers around the lowest limb on the tree. She’d never climbed trees as a child, so this was new for her, but instinct took over as she kicked one foot up onto the jagged stub of a long-broken branch.

  “Isabelle! Come down from there this instant!”

  She ignored his command and started climbing in earnest. Before she could reach the third branch, just a few feet below where Clara sat crying for help, Dermot grabbed her ankle.

  “Let go!”

  “No, come down from there before you get hurt.”

  “She needs me!”

  A grunt reached her as the heel of her shoe connected with something that crunched sickeningly.

  “Ow!”

  Worry for Dermot’s damaged body part — she wasn’t sure which it was, but she guessed it was his nose — caused her to almost lose her grip, but the guilt that filled her with each of Clara’s pitiful cries pushed all else out of her mind.

  Just one more branch, she thought, her eyes never wavering from the tan fuzzball. Strangely, a crack very similar to the one Dermot’s nose — or whatever she’d kicked — had made reverberated through her body. It was just as loud, only distinctly different…and it kept going.

  Was that the—

  The branch gave way under her foot and her heart stopped as she fell.

  Through tears of pain, Dermot held his nose and watched helplessly as Isabelle shimmied up the tree as if she’d been doing it her whole life. He doubted that was the case and, despite his agony, he couldn’t help also feeling proud of her. Glancing at his fingers, he was relieved to find no blood, but the pain was intense.

  Had his eyes not been watering so badly that his vision blurred, he might have noticed the limb she stepped on was rotten. He didn’t though, and his first clue something was amiss was a loud crack that could only mean one thing.

  Heart in his throat, Dermot let go of his nose and lunged forward, his eyes never leaving Isabelle’s body as she hurtled toward him. She cried out as she fell, which set his heart thumping even harder. The last branch between Isabelle and Dermot slowed her progress when her shoulder smashed into it, but it shifted her body so she landed perfectly in his arms.

  “Oomf!” Even a tiny thing like Isabelle could knock the wind out of him after falling from a height.

  Holding her that way, as he had when he carried her over the threshold of their cabin on the day they married, sped his pulse up faster than he thought possible. He loved this woman — this stubborn, sassy, brilliant, beautiful, generous, loving woman. If only he could know whether she loved him. Recalling her terse comments and that kick to the face, his stomach fell all the way to the center of the Earth as he guessed the answer.

  “Are you hurt?” he asked, searching her face. A smudge on her forehead and a cluster of leaves tangled in her copper hair were all the damage he could see, but she’d fallen hard and fast.

  “I don’t think so, but look at you!”

  Her tentative fingers skimmed the bridge of his throbbing nose. He tried not to wince, even though he barely felt her touch.

  “
Did I…?” her small voice sounded full of regret and shame.

  He shrugged nonchalantly. “I’ve had worse. Besides, it’s not even bleeding. Are you sure you aren’t hurt?”

  While the thought of anything happening to Isabelle tore him apart, the thought of not holding her so close to him was even worse. But at her nod, he gingerly lowered her until her feet were under her.

  “See? I’m f— Oh!”

  “What is it?”

  Dermot reached for her again, but she waved him away.

  “No, it’s just my ankle. I must have whacked it on a branch on my way down.” Her chuckle sounded almost hysterical.

  “Here, why don’t you sit and rest?”

  “No, I have to get Clara!”

  Dermot held her by the shoulders until she was forced to turn her gaze from the cub in the tree to his face. He smiled softly and waited until he saw the panic leave her eyes.

  “You rest and I’ll go fetch Clara. How does that sound?”

  One more glance at the tree, then she nodded and let him help her hobble to a fallen, half-rotted log. The Isabelle who’d arrived ten days earlier would have balked that such a seat would ruin her dress, but this new version of Isabelle plopped herself down and began massaging her ankle to assess the damage. He watched her rotate it easily without wincing, then turned his attention to the cougar.

  “Hi Clara,” he cooed in what he hoped was a soothing tone. “Don’t be a scaredy cat, the Mounties are here to help.”

  “You mean Mountie, singular,” Isabelle teased from her perch. That was a good sign.

  Careful to test each branch before he rested his full weight on it, Dermot slowly inched his way up the tree until he was face-to-face with little Clara, who clung to her branch, squeaking out tiny, high-pitched chirps that almost sounded like loud bird calls. The injury on her leg looked nearly healed, but it might take a day or two to track down her mother. He’d have to talk with Jonathan about the situation first thing in the morning.

  “Hi baby girl. Are you ready to come down now? Maybe we can find your mama.”