The Convenient Bride Collection: 9 Romances Grow from Marriage Partnerships Formed Out of Necessity
Page 7
He hadn’t chosen Audrey!
“Why?” Her voice emerged, paper thin.
“Because I told her I love you.”
“What?” The words scarcely registered. “What did you say?”
“I told her I love you.” He reached out and took her hands between his. “That though our marriage was one of convenience, I’ve grown to have feelings for you I never had for her.”
She drew in a jagged breath. His hands closed around hers. Possessive. Had he just told her …?
I love you.
No. Her sleep-dazed mind must be playing tricks on her. She had to be hearing things. Human beings could only ask for so much happiness. Breaking off with Audrey was enough to content her for a long while. More would be too much.
“You what?”
“Gracie, Gracie.” He stood up, drawing her with him. “How many times must I repeat it, lass? I love you. I love your smile, your laughter. How you look with flour on your face and an apron around your waist. The way you wrinkle your nose when you’re mending my shirts. I love your faith in God and your kindness to others. You’re precious, Gracie. And will continue to be, no matter how things go between us. But I want you to be mine.”
Tears filled Grace’s eyes, and before she could force them back, a burst of sobs overtook her. She hid her face with her hands in mortification. He would think her childish, losing control of her emotions. She tried to dry her eyes with her sleeve, but he stayed her hand.
“I hope those are glad tears you’re crying, Gracie lass. I’ve not offended you by my words?”
“Offended?” A shaky laugh emerged. “Oh, Raymond.”
“Let me win your heart, sweet one. Just give me a chance. That’s all I ask.”
Win her heart? She, who had never before had a man so much as glance in her direction was now being spoken to in such a way?
Lord, thank You for this blessing.
“It’s too late, Raymond,” she whispered.
“Too late?”
She smiled through a sheen of tears. “It’s too late because … you already have.”
In a sudden motion, he drew her against him and brushed his lips against hers, his kiss so gentle, so sweet. As if she, above all else, was what mattered in the world.
Time seemed to stand still, then slowly she kissed him back, letting her love and longing win. His fingers threaded through her hair, the pins falling to the ground, but she barely heeded them. She inhaled the scent of him, shaving water, soap, and a faint hint of leather. Her heart accelerated as he deepened the kiss, and she allowed herself to melt into his arms.
The arms of the man she loved.
Slowly, he stepped back, his gaze cradling hers.
“You care for me then, Gracie?” His brogue thickened. How she loved his accent. Some might think it an annoyance, but to her it was the most wonderful sound in the world.
“Not just care, Raymond.” Boldness overtook her and she fingered the buttons on the front of his shirt. “Love. So much so that I want our marriage to be more than just an arrangement.”
“Truly, Gracie?”
She could have wept again, looking up into those coffee-brown eyes. For once, hers was not a devotion unrequited. At long last, she would have a life of absolutelys. Absolutely blessed. Absolutely loved.
And in answer to Raymond?
“Absolutely, yes.”
“Oh, darlin’.” His hand captured hers. The quiet beating of his heart reverberated through her fingertips. “My sweet one.” He kissed her once. “My forever love.” Twice.
“Go on.” She smiled up at him.
More devotion than she’d ever dreamed possible radiated from his eyes as he folded her in his embrace. “My treasure.”
Amanda Barratt has won several awards for her work and enjoys writing about eras such as Regency and Victorian England, and the Gilded Age. A member of American Christian Fiction Writers, she lives in northern Michigan with her family, where she reads way too many old books, watches period dramas to come up with new plotlines, and dreams of taking a trip to England. Amanda loves hearing from her readers on Facebook and through her website amandabarratt.net.
ONE WAY TO THE ALTAR
by Andrea Boeshaar with Christina Linstrot Miller
Dedication
With thanks and much love to our editor, Becky Germany, my agent, Mary Sue Seymour, my dear friend Andrea Boeshaar, my real-life hero and husband, Jan, and to our Lord Jesus, the Author of the greatest book of all!
Chapter 1
Montana, 1902
A bath. A refreshingly cool bath. That would lift her wilted spirits after this horrid journey. Please, Lord …
Leah Hermaning whispered the prayer. Six days on the train in a hot, stuffy passenger car, three hours in a rickety stagecoach that bounced her like a child’s rubber ball—and now she was finally here.
In the middle of nowhere.
The stage pulled to a bone-jarring halt, and Leah climbed out unassisted. The driver and his helper tossed down her trunk as if it didn’t contain everything precious left to her. “Here ya go, lady.”
Such rudeness! Uncle Robert would have had something to say about that. She glanced around. Now … where was he?
She searched the dusty street for a sign of him or Aunt Estelle. Horses tethered to hitching rails in front of water troughs, wagons clattering by on the dirt road—she was in another world, far from the comforts of Newport, Rhode Island. But somehow she’d adapt.…
Wouldn’t she?
Now where could her aunt and uncle be?
Amid laughter and loud voices, a half-dozen men burst out of the freight office and headed toward her on the boardwalk, their clothing and faces as dirty as the language spewing from their mouths.
No, Leah was certainly not in her refined Newport neighborhood anymore.
She pressed herself up against the unfinished outer wall just in time to dodge the men. No doubt she’d blend into the background as usual, despite her lavender dress and leaf-green vest. God had given her brains, not beauty, and nothing could enhance her drab brown hair and the plainness of her face. And those men, who looked right through her as they passed, gave testimony to that fact.
Of course, she’d expected nothing more. Twenty-six years was time enough for Leah to accept her less-than-lovely looks, along with the fact that she would always be a spinster. But she was in a new place now, with a new teaching position waiting, and she’d make the best of her God-given days.
And she’d do that if Uncle Robert and Aunt Estelle showed up.…
Leah stepped into the depot office and approached the baggage clerk’s window. She gave the man a smile to cover her growing uneasiness. “I’m Leah Hermaning, the new schoolteacher.”
The stench of cigar met her as the long-faced clerk paused in his duties, eyeing her with so much suspicion in his gaze, Leah feared he’d heard of the trouble in Rhode Island that had sent her to Montana. “Schoolteacher?”
“That’s correct. May I leave my luggage here while I find my uncle, the Reverend Hermaning?”
“Nope. Sheriff Waite don’t take a shine to unattended baggage settin’ outside. He says it’s a source of trouble.” He glared at her as if she, not her trunk, were the source of trouble.
If she were pretty, she could bat her lashes at the man, and he’d be quick to do her bidding. As it was, that tactic wouldn’t work, so she reached into her reticule and found two nickels—all she had left.
“Will this compensate for your inconvenience?”
The man swept the coins toward himself and deposited them into his vest pocket. “Be quick about it. If the sheriff comes around and gives me a fine, you’re payin’ it.”
Grudgingly, she nodded. Chances were, the sheriff was a pudgy, power-hungry oaf, and she’d have a hard time convincing him to dismiss the fine. She’d been acquainted with his ilk in Newport. “Which way is the church?”
“Ain’t no church. If yer the preacher’s niece, like you say, you�
��d have knowed that.”
No church? How could that be? “But my uncle—”
“Is a missionary. Not a parson.”
“Yes, but his church—”
“Meets under that tree over yonder.”
Under a tree—not in a church building? As the surprise took root, Leah dared to look. Sure enough, in the far distance, six benches angled toward the sturdy trunk. Oddly, the tree was the one beauty she’d seen in this town so far.
“But—what do they do if it rains?”
“Reckon they pray it don’t.”
The freight office door opened and closed. The man stepping forward filled the dim space. Strikingly handsome, in a rugged sort of way, he seemed to fit his surroundings without blending in as Leah always did. He held a battered leather hat, and his blond hair curled over the collar of his checked shirt. His well-groomed beard appeared a soft reddish-brown, and his bright blue eyes regarded her keenly.
“Miss Leah Hermaning?”
“Yes?”
A broad smile tempered his chiseled features. “We’ve been expecting you, ma’am.”
His deep voice held a hint of a drawl—smooth and manly—and yet it sounded as sturdy and unyielding as the leather holster at his hip.
“Hope you’ve had an uneventful trip.”
“Yes, thank you.” While the man was polite, his expressive gaze told her something was amiss. Then she glimpsed the silver star affixed to his brown vest. “You’re the sheriff?” He smiled and inclined his head. “Name’s Jesse Waite.”
“A pleasure to make your acquaintance.” Leah offered her white-gloved hand. As he held it, she took in the sight of his strong jaw. His ruggedness, contrasted with the softness of his eyes, stole her breath. But she’d learned long ago that no man this handsome would look at her in a romantic way. She pulled back her hand as she pulled back her heart.
And then she remembered her baggage. “Oh no …”
A frown. “Beggin’ your pardon?”
“I can explain.”
“You can?” He arched thick golden eyebrows.
“I had to leave my luggage outside. Of course, I can’t transport it by myself. My uncle was supposed to meet me, but”—she held out her arms, indicating the empty boardwalk—“he’s not here.”
“I know.”
“Please don’t fine the baggage clerk.”
“Well now, I—”
“He said I’d have to pay it if you give him a fine, and I’m afraid I’ve spent all my savings on my trip here from Rhode Island.”
There. She’d admitted the truth. However, men, particularly the handsome ones, enjoyed making an example of her rather than extending their mercy. Like the arresting police officer at the women’s suffrage demonstration in Newport and the city’s haughty district attorney, not to mention the highbrowed judge in the courtroom. And, of course, there wasn’t a man in the world as insensitive as Mr. Bonfield, the school superintendent who’d terminated her teaching position.
The sheriff strode toward the baggage clerk’s window and stuck his hand between the bars. “I don’t plan on fining Givens. In fact, I think you might’ve accidentally left some money with him.”
The clerk fished in his vest pocket, produced two coins, and dropped them into Sheriff Waite’s hand. “Now, Jesse, a man’s gotta earn a living.”
“Not by coercing innocent females into paying him for nothing.” He rolled the nickels in his palm before offering them to Leah. “I believe these are yours.”
“It wasn’t a bribe,” she explained quickly. “I only wanted to acquire the man’s cooperation.”
“I’m sure you meant no harm, Miss Hermaning.” He smiled, wider this time, and his teeth appeared all the more white against his autumn-colored beard. “And you’re lucky. It usually takes more than ten cents to get Warren Givens to cooperate.”
“In that case, heaven must be smiling on me today.” And not just heaven, either. If this man greeted every stagecoach, smiling like that, he could have women lined up from here to the East Coast.
Leah accepted the coins and dropped them into her reticule. She needed to turn her thoughts in another direction and pay attention to what was going on around her. The last thing she wanted was to get herself mixed up in any trouble here in One Way and cause her aunt and uncle—and herself—further shame.
“Can my baggage remain outside the freight office awhile longer? I promise to stay with it until my aunt and uncle come for me.”
“Don’t worry about your luggage. As for your relatives … they’re tied up at a funeral this afternoon. They won’t be back for a while, so your uncle sent me to fetch you and take you over to the boardinghouse.”
“Is that where my aunt and uncle are staying?”
“Yep. And I’ll rustle up a couple of men to bring your things later. I’m sure you’re anxious to get settled.”
“Extremely.” And she wanted a bath!
He gave her another of his easy smiles. “I’ll bet if I ask him real nice, Warren’ll keep an eye on your things.”
“Will I have to pay him more than ten cents?”
“Naw.” The sheriff reached for Leah’s elbow and walked her out of the depot and to a shady spot in front of the land office. “That cantankerous old owl owes me a favor or two. Stay put. I’ll be right back.”
“Where are you going?”
The sheriff glanced over his shoulder. “I see the window is empty, so I need to hunt down Givens and get him to watch your baggage. I promise I won’t be long.”
With a nod, Leah watched him saunter off. She sensed she could trust Sheriff Waite. Uncle Robert would never have commissioned a scoundrel to meet her in his absence.
How wrong she’d been in her initial assumption. Sheriff Jesse Waite was certainly not pudgy, nor was he an oaf. As for power-hungry, that remained to be seen.
Unpleasant memories of the past months resurfaced, and Leah tamped them down. Her life back East was over, and she had the chance to begin anew with Aunt Estelle and Uncle Robert. But it was a pity her future had to be here in One Way.
One Way. Even the town’s name sounded like a life sentence.
She gazed down the thoroughfare at the handful of sun-blanched wooden structures lining it. Fewer than a dozen businesses and maybe fifteen houses stood along the town’s only street. The general store caught her attention when a family of five exited onto the boardwalk. If she’d thought the town quiet before, she changed her opinion once the three boys broke into a gallop toward a meadow, near where the church tree stood.
Before long, she’d be corralling these same boys into the schoolhouse after recess—and, she hoped, into Sunday school, if her dream of teaching it came to pass. Their energy sparked some life into her as well. If she could meet these rambunctious three and learn their names before school began, she’d be that much ahead.
Just as she started toward them, the boys took off for the river and the lone tree. Rather than hike across the expanse of tall grass—and probably still not catch them—she turned to meet the parents.
As they approached, Leah was struck by the woman’s fashionable Parisian-style dress and hat of black silk velvet—with a real ostrich plume. The man’s striped cassimere suit was every bit as stylish.
The woman’s smile was friendly enough to encourage Leah to introduce herself.
“Good afternoon. I’m Miss Hermaning, the new teacher. I noticed your boys and hoped to meet them before school resumes this fall.”
The woman looked so taken aback, Leah felt herself pale. Wouldn’t everyone in town expect her arrival? Why the look of surprise? And the gentleman—he looked even more uncomfortable. Had news of that unfortunate scandal back East somehow leaked out?
The man recovered first. “Miss Hermaning, allow me to introduce myself. I’m Reverend Bigelow, and this is my wife, Elizabeth.”
“Reverend?” Apprehension prickled at the back of her neck.
“We’re delighted that you’re here.” Mrs. Bigelow�
��s smile was as warm as the August sunshine. “When did you arrive?”
“Minutes ago.” But the real question was, when did the Bigelows arrive? And why? This town already had a preacher.
The reverend cleared his throat and looked at his wife as if trying to assess how much to say. “I take it you’ve not seen your uncle yet.”
“That’s correct. He’s preaching a service for a funeral somewhere.”
“Oh yes. The funeral. Mind you, I would have done the honors so your uncle could meet you, but we just arrived yesterday. My lovely wife and I are still unpacking.”
“I understand.” The deeper truth of her own statement startled her. She truly did understand.
One Way didn’t need two preachers!
The truth gripped her. Uncle Robert and Aunt Estelle were missionaries, just as Mr. Givens had said, and as long as Leah had known them, which was all her life, they never stayed long in one spot. Once they established a church and found a pastor, they packed their clothes, their few dishes and pots, and their Bibles into what resembled a small converted delivery wagon, and moved on. “Light and efficient and unencumbered by worldly goods,” Aunt Estelle always said.
Could it be they were doing just that? Would they leave her behind?
Chapter 2
I don’t want any more trouble from you, Warren.” That distinctive deep voice, edged with controlled authority and just the right amount of friendliness, cut through Leah’s gloomy thoughts. She gazed over at Sheriff Waite, who had just walked back outside with Mr. Givens.
Mr. Givens snorted. “After Welton wins the election next week, you won’t have any more trouble from me—or anyone else.”
“Well, he ain’t won yet, and until the election is decided, I’m the law.” The sheriff squatted down and shoved Leah’s trunk through the office doorway. Filled with everything she owned, that trunk had to weigh two hundred pounds. Yet he seemed to expend no more effort to move it than he did now with her valise.
And there stood Leah, gawking at him like some silly schoolgirl.
She mustered her dignity and returned her gaze to the Bigelows.