“Do you have a ring?” Reverend Turner asked.
Of course they didn’t.
“No, sir,” Wyatt answered.
“Very well, then,” the minister said with undisguised distaste. “It’s your turn, Charlotte. Repeat after me. I, Charlotte Rose Miller, take this man to be my lawfully wedded husband, to love, cherish and obey...”
The words buzzed in her ears, taunting her. Liar, liar. Was she lying before God? Or was she speaking the truth? She picked apart the vow. She was willingly and knowingly taking Wyatt for her lawful husband. She would cherish and obey him until death parted them. But love? Could she love him, knowing that he would break her heart?
Her lips quivered, and Holly squeezed her elbow.
Reverend Turner waited. Mason and Holly waited. It was time.
She ought to look at the man she was tying herself to for the rest of her life. Fighting doubt and fear, she lifted her gaze.
His steel-gray eyes bored through her, demanding to know why she hesitated.
Dear Lord, forgive me, she silently prayed. I will do my best to fulfill this vow, even though it will hurt.
The minister cleared his throat. “You may agree with the vow if you can’t recite it.”
Though her throat had squeezed to the size of a needle, she managed to squeak out her assent.
Then Reverend Turner pronounced them husband and wife. “You may now kiss the bride.”
Excitement mixed with terror. Would he kiss her? What would it feel like? It had been years since she’d experienced anything other than a peck on the cheek.
Wyatt looked at her then at the minister and back to her. He was going to refuse to kiss her. Tears of humiliation threatened, but instantly vanished when Wyatt drew her near. This close, he was even more handsome. His eyes no longer appeared cold, and she could see hints of sun and sky in them. She caught her breath and shut her eyes, half-afraid, but that fear melted the instant his lips tenderly touched hers. Gentle as a whisper at first and then firm, yet tender. The room and everyone in it vanished in a swirl of emotion.
He cared for her. He must. Wyatt Reed spoke with his actions, and that kiss said he cared more than he would ever let on. Every buzzing doubt fled in that embrace. She threaded her arms around his shoulders and sank willingly into the bargain she’d just made.
Chapter Nine
Considering Wyatt had just hitched himself to a woman for the rest of his life, he ought to feel weighed down. Instead, he felt like kicking up his heels. At first, stepping into the church had scared him half to death. He’d waited for a lightning bolt to strike him dead or the minister to chase him off. Neither one happened.
Then Charlotte had walked down the aisle looking like a princess, and he’d been lost. It took every bit of steely nerves to stand there solemn, like a man was supposed to act in church. He’d had to tense his jaw and look at Miss Sanders, er Mrs. Wright, so he didn’t betray how he felt about Charlotte. He could hardly believe a woman that beautiful would marry him.
If she knew what he’d done...
But she didn’t, and it was going to stay that way. Once she legally adopted Sasha and no one could take the girl away, he’d slip off and head to San Francisco. Then she’d have everything she wanted and be rid of an unwelcome husband.
He could tell she regretted having to marry him. She wouldn’t look at him almost the entire ceremony. When she finally did lift her eyes, he saw panic underneath those perfectly curved eyelashes.
Sweet stars, she couldn’t even repeat the vows. He thought for a minute that the whole thing was done and over with, but she somehow managed to say enough to please that crotchety minister who’d glared at him the entire time.
Then he had to kiss her. He’d forgotten about that part, but it didn’t hurt his feelings that he’d have to kiss such a pretty thing. She looked terrified at first, as if he would strike her. His dander rose at that first husband of hers. Though she’d insisted he didn’t beat her, she could be hiding the truth. It wouldn’t be the first time.
Her fear only made him want to help her more. He took it slow and gentle. It took every ounce of restraint he could muster, because deep down he wanted to claim those soft lips. He wanted to regain—even for a moment—all that he had lost. Yet, he held back.
Then the miracle happened. She responded. Her lips softened, and she wrapped her arms around him. So close to her, he lost his head and every ounce of resolve.
The embrace must’ve lasted longer than respectable, because the minister cleared his throat. That got enough of Wyatt’s attention for him to break off the kiss.
Once he was separated from her, cold, hard reality returned. The marriage license had to be signed. The sheriff, mayor and banker wished him well. Mrs. Wright hugged Charlotte, and then it was over and they stood outside the church not sure what to do next.
“I suppose I should fetch Sasha from the schoolhouse.” Charlotte stood just out of reach, wringing her gloved hands. “Y-y-you can bring your things to the house at any time.”
Wyatt hadn’t quite realized he’d have to live with her. “Maybe I should stay at the hotel.”
“After we’re married?” She lifted those glorious hazel eyes to him. “People will know.”
Wyatt understood what she meant. People would know their marriage was a sham. Still, living with her? That wasn’t Wyatt’s way. He preferred the open air and a campfire. He didn’t get attached to anyone or anything.
“Are you sure?” he asked.
She nodded, her cheeks turning that pretty shade of pink, but she wouldn’t look at him. Why not? He hated the way women thought he was supposed to understand what they wanted without them saying a word. That was one good reason not to get involved. One good reason to stand alone. He had to put a stop to those blushes and squash any idea she might be getting into her pretty head that they’d have a real marriage.
“You haven’t paid me yet,” he said flatly.
After a jerk of surprise, her shoulders sagged, and he regretted hurting her.
“You will get your money, Mr. Reed. I am not a person who goes back on a bargain.”
He liked it when she showed a little feistiness. That was a Charlotte he could admire, one who spoke her mind, not one who cowered and fretted. It also kept her at a distance. “Neither do I.”
Her lips pressed into a furious little pink knot. “Even if it means hurting children?”
They weren’t back to arguing over the orphans, were they? He considered telling her he might change his mind, but women couldn’t keep a secret to save their souls. If he told her, she’d tell Holly Wright, who’d tell the sheriff, and then he’d never discover why this town was so desperate to keep the children.
“Only four have been taken,” he reminded her.
“Five now. Holly and Mason have taken Liam.”
That explained the sheriff’s personal interest in the case. It also meant trouble if the judge ruled for Greenville. Sheriff Wright wasn’t going to give up the boy without a fight. He hoped the judge would at least let the five stay. “That still leaves three unclaimed children.”
She braced her hands on her hips and elbowed past him. “Men.”
“Mrs. Reed.” He caught her arm.
She stiffened as if just that moment realizing she was no longer Widow Miller. Her voice caught when she asked what he wanted, and his conscience pricked. A good husband would show consideration. He’d share everything with his wife. That’s why Wyatt could never be a good husband. Still, he owed her an apology.
“I’m sorry.” He truly was. “But I don’t know where you live.”
“Oh.” That pretty blush returned, chasing away the anger. “On Third Street, past Liberty. The second house on the right. There are the sad remains of a tulip garden in front.”
Of course she’d have flowers. Beauty loved beauty.
She ducked her head as a wagon passed slowly, its occupants watching them with no attempt to hide their curiosity. Her fingers toyed wit
h the ribbons on her hat. “I—I should be back from fetching Sasha by the time you get there.” She rubbed her midsection, as if she had a stomachache. “Until later, then.”
“Until then.” He tipped his hat, not quite sure what a man was supposed to do at this point with his new wife.
Wife. That was going to take some getting used to.
* * *
Charlotte needed to explain Wyatt’s presence to Sasha before he arrived, but she didn’t know how. Even though they were legally married, she didn’t want to get Sasha’s hopes up that he would stay. The poor girl had lost two fathers already, and Wyatt had made it clear that he would leave after the adoption.
On the walk home, Sasha investigated every bug and flower until Charlotte’s patience had worn thin. She couldn’t broach the subject in public, and at this pace, Wyatt would be at the house before they arrived.
When they finally turned the corner onto Third Street, she was relieved that his horse wasn’t in front of the house. She glanced back. Third Street ran all the way to the hotel, but it was so clogged with pedestrians, dogs, carts and the bustle of a normal late afternoon that she couldn’t possibly spot him.
While she was looking backward, Sasha wandered into the neighbor’s yard and plucked a handful of pansies. Charlotte gasped. Mrs. Ingersman would have a fit if she saw Sasha in her yard. Like Beatrice, she subscribed to the notion that the orphans were prone to criminal behavior.
“Stop that, Sasha.” She bit her lip for sounding too harsh. The little girl didn’t know any better. “Let’s go in the house before...” Before what? Before Papa got home? The words stuck in her throat. What should she call Wyatt?
Sasha skipped to her and held out the flowers. “Pitty.”
Charlotte’s eyes misted as she took the bouquet. “Thank you, dear one.” She hugged Sasha close. “They are pretty, but let’s leave the rest in the garden so we can see them when we walk past, shall we?”
Sasha nodded slowly, though she probably didn’t understand.
“Good girl.” Charlotte thought up a reward. “Would Katya like a new dress?”
As she suspected, a new doll dress proved more enticing than Mrs. Ingersman’s flowers. Sasha bounded to the house, climbed the single step and opened the door. Once inside, she climbed onto her chair at the trestle table and set Katya before her.
Charlotte tugged off her gloves and unpinned the fancy hat while drinking in her daughter’s eagerness. Oh, to embrace life with such excitement again. When Wyatt kissed her, she’d felt a stirring that had lain dormant for many years, but the next moment he’d stung her by reaffirming their marriage barter. Perhaps it was best he would soon be gone.
She glanced out the window. Still no Wyatt. Good. That gave her time.
The materials for the dress were in her trunk. While removing the fabric and thread, she began to broach the subject of Wyatt.
“You like Mr. Reed, don’t you?”
As often happened, Sasha chose that moment to hold her tongue.
Charlotte smoothed a remnant of the royal-blue fabric that she’d used to make Sasha’s dress, but then she spotted a bit of emerald-green taffeta at the very bottom of the trunk. Wouldn’t that make a pretty dress for Sasha’s doll? Then again, the blue gingham would be more practical. She’d let Sasha decide. Gathering both fabrics, she brought them to the trestle table and laid them out.
“Which would you like for Katya’s dress?”
Sasha’s eyes widened as she reached for the emerald-green taffeta. “Like Mama.”
The words tugged at Charlotte’s heart. “Yes, dear, just like Mama’s dress.”
“Pitty. Mama pitty.”
Charlotte blinked back a tear. Sasha had accepted her as her mother in just a couple of weeks. She was everything Charlotte could have asked for in a daughter, yet the girl had nearly been taken from her.
If not for Wyatt, she would have lost Sasha forever. For that alone, he deserved a good and loving home. She would do her utmost to give it to him for as long as he stayed.
* * *
Wyatt Reed never walked into a situation without checking it out first. Experience had taught him that danger lurked in the unknown. Therefore, while Charlotte fetched Sasha, he surveyed her home.
The tiny house looked cozy enough with its fresh coat of white paint. A single chimney jutted from one side of the roof, and a narrow porch with no railing stretched along the front, just one step up from the ground. Two glazed windows faced the street.
For a wheelwright who must have worked with wood all day long, Charles Miller did nothing to ornament his house. That surprised Wyatt. He’d imagined a woman like Charlotte would favor a porch rail with fancy spindles and shutters on the windows.
The tulip garden along the porch burst with weeds. Only the yellowing stems marked where the tulips had once bloomed. He circled the block to view the house from the other side. The large backyard contained a small shed and the privy. No stable. She must not have a horse or wagon, unless she owned one of the teams housed at the livery. Dusty would have to stay where he was. Wyatt felt a little relieved. It gave him an excuse to get away. The whole notion of sharing a house with her did things to his insides that he didn’t want to acknowledge.
He’d thrown his principles out with the bathwater when he let himself get involved with Charlotte Miller. Involved? He’d married her! What kind of fool notion was that?
He’d told himself that he’d done it for the money, and on the surface, that made sense. If he backed Evans Grove on Monday, he wouldn’t get another cent from Baxter. The man would probably even demand he repay the partial fee he’d already received. If he was going to get to San Francisco, he needed Charlotte’s money, but he wouldn’t take a cent more than Baxter had planned to give him. And that’s where his argument failed.
A man who didn’t care would take everything she had.
His gut twisted. How on earth was he going to extricate himself from this mess?
Chapter Ten
The loud knock made Charlotte jump.
Wyatt had arrived, and she hadn’t yet told Sasha that she’d married him.
Her pulse raced even faster than when he kissed her. She smoothed her skirt, buying precious time.
A second knock sounded, and Sasha lifted puzzled eyes before slipping off her chair.
“No, Sasha.” Charlotte moved across the room. “It’s just—” His name caught in her throat. What should she call him? “Mr. Reed.”
Her hand trembled as she opened the door and it only got worse when she saw his dark, lean figure on her porch.
He surveyed her calmly. “Took so long I figured you were changing your dress.”
“Oh.” She looked down at the emerald-green taffeta. “No. Not yet.”
Wyatt waited while she tried to gather her scattered thoughts. He wore the same trail-worn buckskin coat. The early evening light shadowed the stark planes of his face and the saddlebags he’d slung over his shoulder.
A distant rumble of thunder echoed the storm in her heart as memories and feelings bombarded her. His kiss. Her desperate wish that it would never end. In that moment, she’d seen the tenderness beneath his brittle exterior. She’d ached from emptiness when he stepped away. It all jumbled together with the gathering fear.
What would he expect?
“You did tell me to come here,” he reminded her, and she realized she was blocking the doorway.
“Yes. Of course.” She stepped back to give him room to enter.
He had to stoop slightly under the lintel. Once inside, he hung the saddlebags on the back of a chair and removed his hat.
“Papa,” Sasha squealed. She stepped away from her chair and ran to him. Her thin arms wrapped around his legs.
Papa. Of course. Sasha had called him that since nearly the beginning. In some way that Charlotte might never know, Wyatt resembled her father. Sasha would think nothing of him living with them.
Wyatt lifted Sasha as if she weighed less than his saddl
ebags. “I’m glad to see you, too, pumpkin.”
“Pumpkin?” Charlotte frowned. What an odd nickname for a dark-haired girl.
“That’s what we called my kid sister, Ava. Sasha’s the spitting image of her when she was that age.”
So he had a sister. And Ava looked like Sasha. In one sentence, Charlotte had learned more about Wyatt than she’d known before she married him.
“You stay?” Sasha asked Wyatt.
He looked to Charlotte for guidance. At least he wouldn’t break the girl’s heart on the first day. No, he’d leave that painful task to Charlotte.
She found the words surprisingly easy to say. “Mr. Reed is going to stay with us for a while. Would you like that?”
Sasha nodded and threw her arms around Wyatt’s neck. A rare smile curved his lips, and he looked lost in a pleasant memory that Charlotte wished she could share.
“Is Ava your only sister?” she asked.
He stiffened, the moment lost. “Yes. I have three younger brothers and then Ava.”
So he was the oldest. That explained why he clung so staunchly to his sense of responsibility. Could she make him see that Sasha was his family now?
“Do you ever see them?” she asked softly.
His darkening expression told her she’d pressed too far. “Not since the war.”
Something had happened to split the family apart. What? The war? Had the brothers fought on different sides? Whatever it was, it had estranged him from his family. Though she longed to know more, the set of his jaw told her the subject was closed.
So she turned to the one thing Charles had appreciated in her. “Would bacon and potatoes be all right for supper? I don’t have much else.”
“You’re not cooking tonight.” Wyatt spoke decisively. “We’re going to the hotel dining room to celebrate.” His cheek ticked as if he resisted a smile. “After all, a woman shouldn’t work on her...special day.”
Charlotte wasn’t sure she could bear being in public again, but it did postpone the decisions she dreaded.
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