Evie swallowed, heard Chance shifting his weight from foot to foot. Now that it was time, her legs wobbled as if they were noodles straight from the pot. She didn’t know if she would stay on her feet. When Chance left, she’d gone out in the field behind the church, picked a few wild buttercups and mountain bluebells, and put them together in a small bouquet. They weren’t the Victorian’s hearty roses, but to her, their sweet fragrance and delicate petals were all the more beautiful.
“Come on over here and line up,” the reverend instructed. “You here, Lucky, and then Chance. Evie come in close. Now you, Francis.”
“If we’re all set,” Reverend Crittlestick said, glancing around, “we’ll begin. Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today in sight of God and man for the union of Chance Holcomb and Evelyn Davenport. If anyone present knows any reason this couple should not be bound in holy matrimony, speak up now or forever hold your peace.”
Evie’s mind raced. Perhaps she should have told Chance she was only a maid. That she’d taken his letters without permission and written to him on the sly. Was that grounds for divorce? Or the fact she’d never corrected his assumption about her cooking abilities, or the big house. Was she dooming her marriage by starting out with falsehoods, just as Trudy had told her not to? Oh, why hadn’t she said something before it got to this?
She gave a little cough. “Uh, excuse me.” Chance looked at her, askance. “May I speak with you for a quick moment in private?”
Chapter Ten
CHANCE’S EYES widened with surprise. He glanced at Reverend Crittlestick. When a strained hush dropped over them all, Evie’s heart shuddered. With a hand to her lower back, Chance escorted her to the far side of the room.
“What is it, Evie?”
She swallowed. Tried to keep the flowers in her hand from shaking the blossoms right off the stems. Behind Chance, the others were conspicuously looking in other directions except theirs. “It’s just that there are a few things I meant to share with you last night at dinner,” she whispered close to his ear, taking in his soapy, woodsy scent, his well-formed eyebrows. Warm tingles almost made her shiver. “As the evening went on and perhaps because of the champagne, I completely forgot. You asked me once—”
Chance held a warm finger to her lips. “Are you already married?” he asked, his voice earnest, low. Her heart shuddered.
“No.”
“Have you killed anyone?”
She shook her head.
A smile played around his lips. “Are you wanted by the law?”
She glanced away, thinking. Was Mrs. Seymour trying to track her? Had she told the sheriff about her taking the—
“Evie!”
“There are things. I think I’ve misled you in believing—”
“Darlin’, there’re things I haven’t told you yet either, just didn’t know how to broach the subject. We can’t know everything about each other by writing a few letters and having dinner once. I understand that. I hope you’ll be as accepting when you learn my faults. Maybe I should explain myself to you. About the house and why we’re staying—”
“No.” Her forceful whisper stopped him short. “There isn’t anything that I don’t know yet that would stop me from marrying you, Chance.”
He stared at her for a long second. “There isn’t? Well—good.” A smile reappeared on his face, and his eyes crinkled in the corners in the most appealing way. “As long as you’re free to marry me, and you still want to, everything else is neither here nor there and will get worked out later. Agreed?”
“I guess.” She forced a smile, but knew it must look silly. “I’m ready and willing.”
Reverend Crittlestick’s expression was uncertain when they angled back in between Lucky and Francis. “We all set? Questions answered?”
“Yes,” they said in unison.
“As I said before,” the preacher said, rushing the words out as if fearing another interruption, “we are gathered here today in the sight of God and man for the union of Chance Holcomb and Evelyn Davenport. No one has any objections, so we’ll move right along.” When he signaled for Chance to take Evie’s hands, she turned and held out her bouquet to Francis.
Chance’s fingers were warm, his hands large and roughened from work. Her heart shivered so fast she was sure she would swoon before she was able to say one word.
Her life at the agency came rushing back. The time since her mother’s death, all the years wondering who her father was and why he’d abandoned them. Mrs. Seymour herself, trying, but never being able to make her feel truly wanted and loved.
She dared a peek from beneath her lashes. If there was a God in heaven, which she knew there was, how she wanted to believe the emotion she saw on Chance’s face right now, trust the sparkle in his bottomless, dusty-green, wonderfully wise eyes. She didn’t want this to be make-believe, one of the happy-ever-after stories she so often conjured up in her head. He was so handsome and earnest. He would be her husband in the next few moments, and the thought was heady, amazing. She was the luckiest girl in all of Montana.
“Do you, Chance Holcomb, take Evelyn Davenport to be your lawfully wedded wife? To have and to hold, from this day forward, for better and for worse, for richer and poorer, keeping only unto her, never forsaking her, until death do you part?”
“I do.”
Chance never faltered or hesitated, his deep voice sending shivers up her back. She’d gulped in a huge breath at the word wife and clenched her eyes closed, expecting him to come to his senses and stop the ceremony.
Lucky chuckled softly. “Open your eyes, honey.”
She did and looked around. They were all smiling.
She hardly heard what the preacher said next, but knew it was her time to respond because they were all staring at her expectantly. “I do.”
“Do you have a ring?”
Chance let go of one of her hands to dig in his pocket. It only took a moment to unwrap a smooth gold band.
The reverend smiled. “Go ahead and slip it on.”
The sight of the band warming her finger, her heart, was almost too much. She had no idea Chance had gotten her a wedding ring. It looked just like Mrs. Seymour’s, and Mrs. Klinkner’s, or the wedding ring quilts she’d helped to sew. Her very own beautiful ring. Her heart swelled. Chance watched her so closely, she couldn’t imagine what he was thinking.
“By the powers vested in me by the great territory of Montana, I happily pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride.”
Chance took a small step forward and leaned toward her. His thumbs brushed across the backs of her hands as he placed a brief kiss on her lips.
Evie could hardly believe her dream had come true as his warm, dry lips brushed across hers, gentle, sweet. She thanked God in heaven she wasn’t still back in St. Louis, destined to die an old maid without a home of her own, children on her knee, or this wonderful man to love.
But what about my lie, Lord? What would she do if Chance discovered the truth? She pushed the fear aside, wanting to enjoy her wedding. The deed was done, and she’d worry about the consequences later.
***
The ceremony was over. Chance was married to the prettiest filly this side of the Rockies. With her fancy blue dress, tiny waist, and golden done-up hair, Evie looked like a picture he’d once seen in a magazine. She sure brought a sparkle to Y Knot.
Lucky grasped Chance’s hand, smiling like the town fool. “Sure glad ya included me and Francis in yer big day, boy,” he said, wiping the tear welling in the corner of his eye. “Sure tickles my britches to be a witness fer the two of ya.”
“Here, ma’am,” Francis said, holding the buttercups and bluebells out in front of Evie. “Your flowers.”
“Thank you,” she replied.
Chance put his arm around her and pulled her to his side. “Thank you, Reverend. We appreciate—”
Evie gasped in fright.
Chance swung around, his hand reaching for the gun that wasn’t strapped to his
hip. He’d left it in the hotel, being they were headed to the church and he didn’t think it mannerly to be armed at his wedding.
Francis did draw his gun, though, and was searching for the culprit. Lucky looked around wildly when Evie let go another distressing cry. She flung her flowers to the floor and slid behind Chance, gripping him with the strength of Samson.
“What! What is it, Evie? What’s wrong?”
Peeling her arms from around his middle, he turned around and gathered her quivering body into his arms. Her face was ashen. She tried to say something but only gulped for air, then squashed her face into his chest.
“Evie! Talk to me?” Is the girl loco?
“Sp-sp-spider,” she finally got out, pointing at the array of blossoms scattered across the scuffed wooden planks.
It took a moment for him to find it scampering toward the wall. “Why, that’s just a harmless ol’ daddy longlegs, Evie. It can’t hurt you.” She was shaking uncontrollably, her eyes fastened on the body no bigger than a tomato seed attached to eight long, wiry legs.
“Look.” He bent over and scooped it up to show her, letting it crawl over the back of his hand and up his arm.
Evie swayed. Thankfully, a wide-eyed Francis reached out when her legs buckled, catching her before she hit the floor.
Lucky gave a long whistle, and Francis handed Chance his unconscious bride. “City girl, huh?” the cook asked, slowly shaking his head back and forth.
“Looks to be the case,” Francis said. “Where’s she from?”
Chance, distracted by holding Evie’s limp body, managed to reply, “St. Louis.”
Lucky scratched his head through his thinning brown-and-gray hair, his expression one of doubt. “You’ll have yer work cut out fer ya,” he said, his eyes still glued to the small woman in Chance’s arms. “Montana’s full of creepy critters.” He put his hat on and started for the door. “Be sure ta bring her out ta the ranch soon. All the McCutcheon women have been atwitter since the men brought back the news of meetin’ her.” He cocked a brow. “That is, when she wakes up.”
Chapter Eleven
EVIE WOKE up by degrees. It was quiet. Motion rocked her, and a soft, cool breeze caressed her face. When she opened her eyes, she was gazing up at the underside of Chance’s chin, held in his strong arms. The spider! She’d swooned. Heat born of embarrassment singed her insides and she thought she might die. What must he think of me? She pressed on Chance’s chest.
He stopped walking and looked down. “You’re awake,” he said softly. “Do you think you can stand?”
Oh, how she wished a hole would open up and swallow her away. Here she was in her fine blue velvet dress, just married to the man of her dreams, and she up and faints.
“Yes.” They were only a few yards from the church. Looking over his shoulder, she saw Reverend Crittlestick watching them from the porch. The other two men and the wagon were gone. “How long have I been out?”
“Only a minute or two,” he said, setting her on her feet. “Just enough time to say good-bye to Lucky and Francis.” He pointed to the rattling wagon. “There they go around the corner.”
She didn’t want to look. Now the story would be around the town in no time. All of Chance’s friends would think she was a silly, brainless ninny. She felt like crying, but that would only make this whole mess worse.
“Can you walk?”
She straightened. Squared her shoulders. “Of course, thank you.” She took his arm, and they returned down the street they’d come up less than an hour before. But now they were man and wife. Her mind was blank. So much for good conversation. Why couldn’t she think of a single thing to say?
A gun discharged down the block and she startled, stopping in her tracks.
“That’s just the men in the saloon. They’re rowdier since Sheriff Crawford is out of town.”
She nodded, still feeling shaky.
He eyed her. “You’re not going to faint again, are you? I promise you’re safe with me.”
“I don’t swoon at any old thing, Chance.”
“Just spiders?”
“Just spiders.” She held her chin up. Remembering her letter to Trudy in her bag, she asked, “Where can I send a post?”
“Just ahead at Lichtenstein’s. We’ll go inside and I’ll show you around.”
When they arrived at the store, Chance politely opened the closed bottom half of the Dutch door for Evie. The store was larger than it looked with clusters of merchandise everywhere.
“Over there by the cash register is where you’ll post your letter. It should go out on today’s stage.” He pointed to the far wall. “Canned goods there, on the right, hardware. Lichtenstein has some dress material in the back, but you’ll find more across the street at Berta May’s sewing shop. Everything else on the shelves is placed in alphabetical order.”
He took her shoulders and turned her around to the shelf. “Almonds next to alum powder for pickling, and so on. Over there, candy is next to the hair combs. Mr. Lichtenstein is very organized. If you need something, just start at this end at the As and continue around the room. You’ll come to it sooner or later.”
“That’s fine if you know the alphabet.” Agitation from fainting, and her too tight corset, still had her insides tangled, but Chance hadn’t seemed to notice.
“Guess you’re right.” He lightened his tone. “But one thing I do know about you is you’re an educated woman, and I have the letters to prove it.”
A man, ancient as the pyramids in Egypt and clad in overalls with big black boots, shuffled in their direction. “That’s ol’ Mr. Simpson,” Chance whispered. “Store clerk.” He looked around. “Don’t see Mr. Lichtenstein here.”
“Can I help ya find somethin’, missy?” As the clerk came closer, he gave a wave of his wrinkly hand. “Oh, didn’t see ya, Chance. Blended right in with the store-bought shirts hanging on the wall.”
“Mr. Simpson, my wife has a letter she’d like to send.”
The old man’s face brightened.
Taking the hanky from her sleeve, Evie folded it into a small rectangle. She slipped it into her open letter and sealed the envelope, patting the flap for several seconds to make sure it was firmly closed.
Mr. Simpson scuffled behind the long counter totally missing the fact that Chance had called Evie his wife. He took the letter, looked at the address a long time, then marked the three-cent stamp with the carved end of a cork he’d carefully dipped in ink. The cancellation was a distinct YK.
“Do you know how long it will take to get to St. Louis?”
The clerk rubbed his chin. “That’s hard to tell.”
Evie hardly heard his response. A poster tacked to the wall behind Mr. Simpson’s head made her eyes go wide and her heart painfully thwack against her rib cage.
ATTENTION!
STEALING MAIL IS A FEDERAL CRIME.
OFFENDERS WILL BE PROSECUTED.
She gulped.
She hadn’t known.
The letters! Mrs. Seymour! But…but Chance’s first letter had to go to someone, didn’t it? Will the finding fee I left behind be enough to satisfy the mistress so she doesn’t turn me in? I left plenty to pay for two weeks’ board. Isn’t it the same as if Mrs. Seymour made the match herself?
A sense of relief calmed her when she remembered no one besides Trudy knew where she was, or where to find her. Who could bring charges?
“Evie,” Chance said, looking earnestly into her face. “I didn’t want to ask, but now that we’re married, I think I will. Did you receive my last post? The silly one with the small yellow buttercup?”
Turning, she gaped. “Buttercup?”
He chuckled. “It didn’t say much of anything. Just that I was counting the days until you arrived.”
“No.” She could only whisper, her throat tight.
Mr. Simpson came around the counter to stand close.
“You have any smelling salts?” Chance asked.
She hardly noticed his rueful
smile. All her warm feelings evaporated and the objects in the store, which moments before had enticed and delighted, now swam before her eyes. Chance sent another letter? She’ll know where I am. Am I a criminal? Will she come after me?
Chance winked when the old man scurried off to find smelling salts. “I always say it never hurts to be prepared. Might be a spider or two out at the ranch.”
She gave him a weak smile, barely hearing his words.
Chance’s hand on her lower back brought her to reality. “I’m gettin’ hungry,” he said. “How about you?”
“No. Uh, I mean yes.” She could see he was trying to figure her out. “A little, I guess.”
“You want to go to the Biscuit Barrel for a piece of pie?”
All Evie wanted to do was get out of town where she didn’t feel conspicuous and vulnerable. Was some marshal on her trail already? That poster had rocked her to her soul. She didn’t like looking over her shoulder all the time, wondering what might happen next. It was like waiting for the ax to fall—on her neck. “When are we going out to the ranch, Chance? I’m so looking forward to seeing it.” Her voice was tight. “Settle in.”
He gave her a strange look. “Well, actually, I’ll be going out there after we eat. I have the dog to tend to, heifers to check, and a few other things to make it presentable for you. That might take a day or two.”
“A day or two?” She tried not to show her disappointment, or shock.
He nodded. “I want to—ah—give you an opportunity to get to know me better before taking you out where the birds and cattle are your only neighbors for miles.”
“That’s kind, but not necessary. I want to be alone with you.” That slipped out before she realized how it sounded. Her face heated.
His face turned bright red right before her eyes.
Mail-Order Brides of the West: Evie (McCutcheon) Page 7