Mistaken Bride

by Renee Ryan

  If that was true, why did Bridget feel as though she was the one receiving the blessing? The smiles, the giggles, the relaxed shoulders on the far-too-serious man, these were her rewards. Her eyes stung with gratitude.

  Thank You, Lord. Thank You for bringing me to this home and to this family.

  Looking away before a tear escaped, Bridget caught Esther’s eye. The older woman smiled brilliantly at her, her own eyes shining.

  Several moments passed before the children finally wound down. Will untangled himself and rose to his feet. Olivia skipped back to Bridget and plopped onto the bench next to her. The little girl leaned against her and released a dramatic sigh of pleasure. Bridget wrapped her arm around the child’s tiny shoulders. It felt natural to have Olivia with her, while Caleb stayed close to his father’s side.

  Bridget felt a pang at the sight the two made. Man and boy, father and son, the perfect statement of family.

  She felt a tug on her heart, a painful yearning that dug all the way to her soul. If only they were mine.

  Her breath hitched as the thought whispered through her. She swallowed, knowing her wish could never come true. Will didn’t want a real family, he wanted a wife in name only.

  Bridget wanted so much more. She wanted it all. Love, family, forever—someday. When her heart had healed from all the damage Daniel had done.

  “Papa?” Caleb tugged on his father’s hand. “Can we keep her?”

  Will looked down at his son. “Keep who?”

  “Miss Bridget.” Caleb pointed in her direction. “Can we keep her for forever and ever?”

  A pause.

  “Oh, can we, Papa?” Olivia hopped off the stool and ran back to her father. “Can we?”

  Will whipped his gaze to Bridget’s, his eyes perfectly unreadable. For a long, tense moment they simply stared at one another. It was a question neither was prepared to answer.

  Will cleared his throat. “It’s only been a day, Cal. We don’t…” he swallowed “…need to…”

  “Decide anything just yet,” Esther finished for him.

  Asserting herself, the older woman stood and then crossed the room with surprising agility. “Now.” She put a hand on each child’s shoulder. “Let’s get you two washed up for supper while your father and Miss Bridget have a quiet moment to talk about the day.”

  The childish arguments began at once, proving just how far the children had come in one day. When Bridget had met the twins in the general store, neither would have raised their voices, much less protested a direct command. She wondered if their father realized the magnitude of the change in them.

  * * *

  One day. Nothing more than a handful of hours in Bridget Murphy’s care and his children were already acting like…children. Will was so pleased he didn’t have the heart to reprimand them for their whining.

  His mother had no such qualms. “That’s enough, both of you.” Her voice had taken on the stern yet loving tone he remembered from his own childhood. “Upstairs, now.”

  Will recovered quickly from his stupor. “Do as your grandmother tells you.”

  Both children grumbled then trooped out of the room with slumped shoulders. He resisted the urge to call them back and hug them until those forlorn looks disappeared. No matter how pleased he was to see their very normal behavior, he couldn’t reward disobedience.

  Once they were out of earshot, he turned back to face Bridget. “You have won over my children completely.”

  She smiled at the empty doorway, a look of gratification lighting her eyes. “I’m afraid it’s the other way around. They are very charming.”

  As are you.

  He refrained from saying the words aloud. Barely. She was amazingly beautiful even with her disheveled appearance, and it was very distracting.

  As though reading his mind, she smoothed an unsteady hand down her hair. The gesture drew his attention to her glorious face. The dark, loose waves were a perfect contrast to the flawless alabaster skin. A woman shouldn’t be that stunning after wrangling two three-year-olds all day.

  Will shook his head, only just realizing the heavy silence that had fallen between them.

  This awkwardness would not do. Perhaps a change of scenery would help matters. “I would like to hear how the day went from your perspective,” he began, pleased his tone was easy and businesslike. “Would you do me the honor of a short walk along the lane?”

  “That would be lovely, Will.”

  The way she said his name in that soft Irish lilt made his steps falter. Recovering quickly, he strode to the entryway, waited for her to join him and then opened the door so she could lead the way onto the front steps.

  As she passed by him, Will breathed in her scent, a blend of lavender and fresh air. She carried herself with poise and dignity, and not for the first time, he wondered about her background. Where she came from. Why she’d left her home. What her plans were now that she was in Faith Glen.

  Determining how best to start the conversation, he directed her down the lane toward the town square. The afternoon heat hadn’t yet dissipated, but there was a pleasant breeze kicking up.

  “Tell me about your life back in Ireland.”

  She didn’t answer him right away. And as he stared at her he realized her expression wasn’t merely sad. It was grief stricken, as though she was working to hold back painful memories.

  “You’ve lost someone recently,” he said softly, wishing he could wipe away her sorrow but understanding there wasn’t much he could do. Death was final.

  “My da.”

  “And your mother? What about her?”

  “She died ten years prior, during a terrible influenza epidemic.”

  “I’m sorry.” He knew his words were woefully inadequate, but she graciously accepted his condolences with a nod.

  “At Da’s funeral Reverend Larkin promised we would see him again someday in a heavenly place, a place where there will be no more hunger or sickness.”

  The preacher at his father’s funeral had said something similar. “That must have been a comfort.”

  “Not at the time.” She pressed a fisted hand to her midriff and sniffed back what sounded like the beginnings of a sob. “Especially since we’d been turned out of the only house we’d ever known that very same day.”

  “How…” He wanted to say criminal, but he didn’t know the particulars so he swallowed back the word and said, “That must have been terrifying.”

  “Terrifying? Yes, I suppose it was, but it was also grossly unfair. We’d worked the land alongside Da for years. It wasn’t right, what Mr. Bantry did, kicking us off the land without warning. Maeve, my youngest sister, was the most upset.”

  “The one married to Flynn Gallagher, the doctor on the Annie McGee?”

  “That’s the one.” A distant smile spread across her lips. “Maeve said ‘May God turn Bantry’s heart, and if He doesn’t turn his heart, may He turn Bantry’s ankle, so we’ll know him by his limping.’”

  Will let out a short bark of laughter. “Can’t say I blame her, under the circumstances.”

  Bridget bit her bottom lip as though trying to keep from smiling, or perhaps frowning. “She wasn’t feeling very charitable at the time. None of us were.”

  If Will ever traveled to Ireland he would find Mr. Bantry and tell him exactly what he thought of the man’s treatment of the Murphy sisters. Not usually prone to violence, Will felt a strong urge to punch the other man in the face. And then he would…

  Best not to continue the rest of his thought.

  “So you were tossed out of the only home you ever knew.” Anger made his voice come out harder than he intended. He drew a breath. “And then the three of you decided to come to America.”

  The courage
and faith required to make such a journey had Will admiring Bridget Murphy and her sisters all the more.

  “Not at first.” The distant expression filled her gaze once again and Will sensed she was no longer with him but back in Ireland. “When we started to pack our belongings Nora found a faded daguerreotype of our dear mother in an old worn frame. Behind the likeness we found a letter from a man named Laird O’Malley and a drawing of a home with a beautiful garden beside it.”

  Recognizing the name, Will stopped walking. “A Laird O’Malley settled here in Faith Glen a few years after I was born.”

  “That would be the same man.” She looked up at him with shining eyes. “He told our ma that he would always love her, that he’d built a house that he would keep waiting for her. He put the deed to his home in our mother’s name.”

  Will nodding in understanding, then resumed walking, matching his stride to her slower pace. “So you decided to come to America for the home awaiting you here.”

  The move only made sense, yet he still admired the courage it took the sisters to leave everything they knew behind and set off for a foreign land.

  “We had enough money to live on for a month or buy three tickets to America.” She smiled at him. “As I’m sure you have already guessed, we bought the tickets and placed ourselves in the Lord’s care.”

  Her smile was enough to make his steps falter.

  “Unfortunately when we arrived three days ago Sheriff Long said the house wasn’t legally ours until we verified our deed against the one filed in the County Clerk’s Office. He promised it was just a formality and agreed to travel to the county seat with us himself.”

  “Sounds like Cam.”

  “He and Nora left this morning, after dropping me off at your house. They took baby Grace with them.”

  Will silently wondered how Cam was coping with a woman and an infant in tow. It was a well-known fact that the big bad sheriff of Faith Glen was uncomfortable around children, especially babies. Will could see Cam squirming now, tugging on his collar and doing his best to pretend Grace didn’t exist.

  Will’s smile faded as an image of Laird’s house flashed in his mind. James Coulter had hurt his hip a few years back. The old man hadn’t been the same since, but refused to admit he couldn’t take care of his own home. As a result the house had fallen into a state of disrepair. Will had never liked the idea of the elderly couple residing in the house in its current condition. He liked the idea of Bridget joining them even less.

  “Have you seen the house yet?”

  “I’m afraid so.” She stumbled over a small branch. He reached out, holding her steady until she caught her balance. Once she was walking once more, he let her go then offered his arm.

  She accepted his assistance without question, as if they’d made this walk countless times before. The easiness he felt with her should have left him unsettled. Instead the rightness of the moment made speech impossible for several seconds.

  Will forced himself to concentrate on the conversation once more. “So if I understand you correctly, you will know sometime later today if the deed you possess to Laird’s house is legal?”

  Her fingers flexed on his arm. “Aye, that’s the way of it.”

  Although she’d been very forthright in all her answers, Will sensed Bridget was holding something back, a personal piece of her story she didn’t feel comfortable sharing with him. “Any regrets leaving Ireland?”

  “Not many.” Her response came quickly, perhaps a bit too quickly. “I miss some of the people.”

  Some of the people, or one in particular? A man, perhaps? Just as he opened his mouth to ask, a mangy dog came into view. The hound stood several yards ahead of them on the path, his shoulders hunched in a slightly aggressive stance. Burrs and twigs were caught in his coat.

  Will shifted in front of Bridget and put himself in the direct path of the animal. He rose to his full height and stared hard at the dog. Bridget’s safety was in his hands, now.

  The dog hunched lower and added an insistent bark, bark, bark in the process.

  Will balanced his weight evenly on both feet, holding steady, ready for a sudden attack, prepared to strike if necessary.

  He had the situation under control, or so he thought, until Bridget got it in her mind to join the scuffle. Speaking in a soft, sweet tone, she moved out from behind Will and told the mutt he was a “pretty boy.”

  “Stay back,” he warned her, punctuating his command with an outstretched arm that barred her way.

  She stepped around him, just as the dog flattened his ears against his head and increased the volume of his barks.

  “Aren’t you a sweet boy?” she cooed as though she were talking to an infant. “We aren’t here to hurt you, you know.”

  Will knew better than to make any sudden move, but he couldn’t stand by and watch Bridget step straight into danger. Filing through several possible scenarios, he eased toward Bridget. “You need to get behind me again so I can—”

  “He’s afraid of you,” she whispered, her eyes still on the agitated animal. “Isn’t that right, little doggy? The big bad man is scaring you.”

  “Little doggy,” Will muttered under his breath. “He’s at least seventy pounds.” And was some sort of mixed breed with black, brown and possibly white fur. It was hard to tell under all the dirt.

  Bridget took a tentative step forward.

  The dog’s ears lifted, just a bit, enough to tell Will that Bridget’s tactic was working.

  “That’s right, boyo.” She took another step. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

  The ears relaxed some more and then boyo belly-crawled toward her.

  She stuck out her hand, slowly. “That’s it.”

  The dog inched forward again.

  This painful process of belly-crawl and soft encouragement went on for several minutes. At last, the animal raised himself to all fours then sniffed Bridget’s hand tentatively.

  Another moment passed and the mangy tail started wagging.

  If Will hadn’t been there to witness the full exchange, he would have never believed it possible. Bridget Murphy had won over a skittish dog in a matter of minutes. And she didn’t look a bit concerned the outcome could have been less pleasant.

  “You’ve done this before,” he said, aware his voice was full of awe.

  “Maybe a time or two.” She smiled at the dog. “Put your hand out, slowly,” she told Will, “so he can get a hold of your scent and know you aren’t a threat.”

  “Who says I’m not a threat?”

  “I do.” She gave him a look that grabbed at his heart and tugged. In that moment Will would have done anything she asked of him. He’d never really understood Delilah’s hold over Samson. Until now. A woman’s smile was her most powerful weapon, and a man’s ultimate doom.

  “Go on,” Bridget urged. “Make friends. Or we won’t be able to continue our walk.”

  Knowing she was right, Will did as she suggested. One inch at a time, he stuck out his hand.

  The dog dutifully sniffed and then licked his knuckles. Boyo was friendly enough, if a bit jumpy. Who could blame him? It was obvious the creature had been neglected and, Will narrowed his eyes, starved. A burst of indignation filled his heart. No creature should suffer ill-treatment like that.

  “He needs food,” Will said, eyeing the emaciated frame, and the matted fur. “And a bath.” He contemplated a way to accomplish both tasks without putting his children in danger when the sound of a wagon wheel crunching over gravel sounded in the distance.

  The dog flattened his ears against his head, looked over his shoulder and then shot off like a bullet toward the forest.

  “He’s gone,” Bridget said with a sigh. “What a shame.”

  Will wasn’t so sure
.

  As much as it pained him to admit it, even in the privacy of his own mind, he didn’t much like sharing Bridget’s affections with a dog. He knew he had no claim on her. She was merely company. He liked her. Perhaps too much.

  She’s your children’s nanny, he reminded himself.

  Why couldn’t he keep that straight in his head?

  Chapter Twelve

  Soon after the dog disappeared into the woods, leaving a row of trampled wildflowers in his wake, Bridget heard the grind of wagon wheels approaching from the distance. Had the skittish animal heard the sound as well and sensed a threat? Had that been the cause for his hasty departure?

  Whatever the reason, Bridget was sad to see him run off. Like Will said, he needed food and a bath, in that order.

  Perhaps the animal would return. If he did, she would work to keep him close, then she would go about getting the poor dear some food.

  Pleased by the thought, she felt a smile spread across her lips. But in the next moment her mind faltered and she paused to absorb what had just happened. Sensing danger, Will had put himself between Bridget and the dog. He’d been willing to sacrifice his safety for hers.

  She wasn’t used to that sort of care and protection from anyone other than her family and didn’t know how she felt about it. Pleased, to be sure, but also uncomfortable and confused. Bridget took care of others. They did not take care of her.

  The polite thing to do would be to acknowledge Will’s gallant behavior. She studied his profile. The sudden despair of knowing he would never be hers, not truly, lent urgency to her words. “Thank you, Will.”

  He turned to face her. “Pardon me?”

  His strong jaw was shaded with dark stubble. She wanted to reach up and touch, to feel the rough prickles on her fingertips. She clenched her hand into a fist. “I… Thank you for trying to protect me from the dog.”