She didn’t want that job anymore. But did she have the courage to tell Ian what she really wanted?
Neelie tossed the letter and the envelope into the fire then took slow steps toward Ian, their gazes locked on each other. “The day I wrote that letter, your mother had fallen and you were angry with me. I didn’t feel like I belonged here.”
His gaze lingered. “And now?”
Neelie untied the straps on her bonnet and let them hang. “Now I’m wearing skirts and bonnets. The shooting exhibitions, the job in San Francisco, the men’s clothing—all of it was me hiding from past hurts. Avoiding any commitments that could lead to future disappointments. After Archie was done with me, I vowed I’d never be that stupid again. I’d trust no one.” A pop drew her attention to the campfire, and she watched a spark fly up and burn out. “That was before I met you. And before I had a long talk with God on my ride back to camp the other day. That’s not the life I want now, Ian.”
His eyebrows arched and his mouth fell open slightly.
“Would you like to know what I want?”
Ian nodded in slow motion, never looking away from her.
Neelie pulled the bonnet off and let it fall to the ground. She looped her hands around his neck and pulled him close. She closed her eyes, kissed his mouth. And he kissed her.
“I want more than a marriage of convenience.” She cupped his whiskered cheek. “I love Maisie and Lyall and Duff and Angus and Blair. I love your mother. And I love you. I know you still—”
He pressed his finger to her lips. “That’s the best news I’ve heard in weeks. I love you, too, Neelie Kamden.” Bending, he scooped her bonnet from the ground then captured her hand. “Would you like to know what I want?”
“I would.”
“I want to make you my blushing bride.”
When he bent to kiss her again, she giggled and pulled him toward the Conestoga, a prayer of thanks giving her heart wings.
Mona Hodgson is the author of nearly forty books, historical novels, and children’s books, including her popular Sinclair Sisters of Cripple Creek series. Visit her at www.MonaHodgson.com.
BLINDED BY LOVE
Melissa Jagears
Dedication
To those who hold onto their thoughts until they believe they have something worthwhile to say.
Thanks for sharing
Chapter 1
California, 1888
Books and sewing machines made decent companions. Truly they did.
Helen would not allow herself to think of the companions she’d rather have as she sat under the churchyard oak, far from her niece’s wedding party. She hitched up her shoulders and forced up the corners of her mouth in case anyone looked her way. Not that anyone would. Some might console her sister, Margaret, for having the last of her seven children leave the house. But no one would bother with the spinster aunt—even if Helen would mourn her youngest niece’s departure more than her sister would.
Now that she was no longer needed to tend Margaret’s brood, she’d have to be content reading and sewing in her brother-in-law’s tiny attic room for the rest of her life.
With a poorly wrapped box in hand, Neil Oliver stepped into the churchyard and strode toward the gift table. Helen raised her eyebrows. Her sister surely wouldn’t have invited Mr. Oliver. Margaret considered him dreadful company because he rarely discussed anything other than the sermon—and since Helen was the only one who actually enjoyed debating him, he rarely spoke to anyone else in the family.
Not that he really talked to other people, either. Though he owned a good portion of the properties and factories in town, most people left him alone—a brooding, handsome, rich bachelor was the most intimidating kind of man.
Helen sighed, dismissing the idea of getting up to get some of the cake they were cutting. She wasn’t in the mood for chitchat.
Too bad the marriage ceremony was read from the Common Book of Prayer. Mr. Oliver certainly couldn’t find anything divisive enough in that book to want to debate it with her. But with no more children’s fibs to expose or mathematical gymnastics to perform to buy enough food for ten people on her brother-in-law’s fluctuating salary, hopefully Neil would still spar over controversial verses. If not, she’d have no occasion to use her brain again.
Maybe she should ask him to debate her every Sunday instead of only occasionally. And every Wednesday, too …
Oh, who was she kidding, he wouldn’t waste his carefully saved breath on her more than he already did.
And yet, the second he laid eyes on her, he set down his gift box and walked her way.
“Miss Barker?” The gray, highlighted cowlick above his right eye was mussed more than usual. He never was quite put together lately, as if he hadn’t the time to look in a mirror.
“Mr. Oliver, so glad to have you come witness Lena’s happy day.” Had he come with a gift just to seek her out? She rolled her eyes at herself. He’d not deliberately seek her out. Surely she’d simply overlooked him at the ceremony—he’d probably hidden in a dark corner to avoid talking to anyone.
“It’s a beautiful day for a wedding.” Mr. Oliver ran the tips of his fingers over his right eyebrow as if to press out a headache. “The weather is quite pleasant, don’t you think?”
She opened her mouth—to ask—to respond—to … to what? Not once in the ten years they’d attended church together had Mr. Oliver ever attempted small talk. She’d always appreciated that he never bored her with prattle but rather gave her something to ponder—expected her to think. Unlike her brother-in-law, who never conversed with a woman beyond what he wanted her to put on the shopping list. “Are you feeling all right, Mr. Oliver?”
“Besides my eye troubles, I’m fine.”
Eye troubles? Had she missed his prayer requests concerning his eyes? No, she’d have remembered such. He never asked for anything for himself at prayer meetings—no worries, pains, problems—he only mentioned others’ needs. Maybe he felt he couldn’t ask for prayer since he was better off than most. “Would you like me to mention your eye problems at Wednesday’s meeting?”
His mouth twitched a bit before he pulled in a breath. “If you feel inclined.”
She pursed her lips. That was likely as close to a yes as she’d get from him. “All right.”
But instead of bidding her good day, he stood there looking toward the bride and groom, a puzzled expression on his face. She looked, too, but noticed nothing amiss. Lena’s bright red hair accentuated the pink in her cheeks as she laughed at a well-wisher patting her new husband on the back. Margaret and Don were beaming over Lena’s favorable match, since marrying off the other four girls had left the youngest without an attractive dowry.
“That’s what a pretty face gets you,” Margaret had said when Lena had announced her engagement to the oil tycoon, callously hinting at Helen’s reason for never catching a man’s eye. Plain features, a tall, stocky body, and no money easily landed a woman in a relative’s attic for the rest of her life.
“So what are your feelings regarding matrimony, Miss Barker? Is it better to remain single as Paul did, or to marry—whether or not one burns?”
Though she had a darker complexion than her niece, Helen’s cheeks were now likely turning as bright pink as the bride’s. She put a hand against her face, her cold fingers doing little to cool her skin.
Imagine going from talk of weather to … burning with passion.
She shook her head a little, but the memory of his choice of words didn’t change.
Surely he’d not thought through his wording.
At least Mr. Oliver was acting as expected now—coming straight to the point of whatever bit of the sermon he’d hoped to discuss.
Though … had any of Paul’s passage to the Corinthians been included in the recitation of wedding vows?
Mr. Oliver cleared his throat. “What do you think? Are there reasons besides love that a man or woman should cast away their gift of singleness?”
Levelheade
d debate should soothe the fire in her cheeks. She let out a steady breath, imagining the heat draining with the air. “If I recall correctly, that passage is Paul’s opinion, and therefore, I can only offer mine. On deciding whether or not to marry—beyond the command given by God to be equally yoked with a believer—wisdom should be employed. I wouldn’t bother to offer an opinion, however, unless I knew the circumstances of the specific parties.”
“And what bit of wisdom keeps you a spinster?”
She licked her dry lips and glanced over at her sister sitting at the bride and groom’s table. Today’s tête-à-tête with Mr. Oliver was not turning out to be as fun as usual. “I’m afraid I never had a decision to make. Lack of opportunity explains my marital status.”
“And why’s that?”
She generally liked his straightforward chatter, but not so much today. However, he wouldn’t appreciate her dancing around flat-out truth. There was nothing feminine about a five-foot-eleven-inch woman with large feet, square shoulders, and a face that could pass as a man’s if she ever cut her hair like one. Her strong features had made her father handsome, but what she wouldn’t have given for one soft feminine attribute from her mother. However, God had bequeathed all beauty to Margaret. “For someone who analyzes scripture to pieces, you have obviously not taken the time to look me over from head to toe.”
She braced herself for him to raze her with a glance and find her wanting, but all he did was frown, his gaze fastened to her eyes as usual. Behind his thick glasses, his greenish-gold irises appeared smaller than they really were, but his lenses never distorted the sincerity and seriousness that always rested within his pupils. He might be brusque and reticent—which many took for rudeness—but she’d watched his eyes enough during previous conversations to know he cared about ideas and people and truth.
Though whether or not he cared much about her in particular … well, why should he?
“So you’re not opposed to marriage if the opportunity came about?”
She let out a cynical huff. “I’m forty-seven, Mr. Oliver. I no longer entertain the slightest hope—”
“As you said, deciding upon a spouse should be undertaken using wisdom. I think we’d both agree choosing a marriage based upon appearance is reckless.”
Easy for him to say. He was one of the more handsome men she’d met and likely one of the richest. He might flatter his morality by believing he’d choose an ugly woman if it was a wise decision, but he’d never have to actually do so. “I think marrying purely for attraction is rash, certainly. However, though a woman’s looks are inconsequential to her character, they tend to be highly sought. Physical attraction seems to have a stronger pull than practicality when considering a match for one’s self.”
“That’s why I choose you, Miss Barker.”
She blinked. Choose her for what? Their discussions? Ah yes, no need to worry about anyone finding their talks inappropriate when no one would fathom to think him attracted to her.
He turned his head slightly to the side and squinted as if seeing was giving him great difficulty.
And now she knew firsthand how her sister felt during the awkward silences that always swathed this man.
She dipped her head, unable to look at him anymore. And for years, she’d had such warm thoughts about him, even imagined he thought of her as a friend—as much as the most reticent man on the planet could possess a friend.
“I assume you’ll want more time to think about it.”
She opened and closed her mouth twice—figuring out how to respond to him seemed to be impossible today. Think about what? “Mr. Oliver, I’ve never before been at a loss for knowing what point you were dissecting or what Scriptural nuance you were probing, but you have puzzled me this afternoon from the moment you commented on the weather.”
His forehead wrinkled as he squinted. He looked like he was having difficulty swallowing.
“Are you all right?” It was not appropriate for her to feel a grown man’s head in front of the entire congregation, but Mr. Oliver needed some kind of comforting—he looked ready to keel over. Maybe illness explained this strange conversation.
She stood but kept her hand to herself. “Why don’t you take my chair.”
“No.” The single word tore out from what sounded like a scratchy throat.
Maybe she shouldn’t get too close. Whatever he was coming down with might be catching. “I think I saw Dr. Mathers over—”
“No.” He grabbed her wrist.
She stared at his hand. He’d never touched her before. His hands were rougher than she’d expected for someone so scholarly.
And was he actually pulling her closer? Feeling unbalanced, she took a step toward him—but just a little step.
“I … I suppose, Miss Barker, since I’ve never asked anyone this before, that I messed up. But I meant for our Corinthians discussion to naturally lead into asking you to marry me.”
While he hadn’t expected Helen to give him the evil glare he’d seen women give men they had no interest in, he hadn’t expected the mirth lighting her eyes, either.
He’d not meant to be amusing in the least.
Her smile only grew. “No other man on earth would use Paul’s opinion on favoring singleness as the opening to a marriage proposal.”
The muscle in his cheek that jumped when he was nervous began to pull at his lip. Unfortunately there was no way to stop the confounded tick.
He should grow a beard to hide it.
Not that he planned to do this again.
“I’m sorry, Miss Barker, for choosing something you find amusing for what I don’t find … amusing, exactly. I was in earnest.”
“I’m sure you were. If I know anything about you, you never jest.”
He scratched behind his ear. Was that true? No, he used to tease his younger sisters. But then, he’d left them over twenty years ago. Since then, had he ever been comfortable enough to tease someone—especially a female? He tried to summon a witty rejoinder to prove Miss Barker wrong.
No, he was decidedly too uncomfortable right now for lighthearted banter while his fate teetered upon her next words. He rubbed at his constricted throat. He’d spoken with her many times after services, for up to a half hour sometimes when disagreement enlivened her spirit, but he’d never felt so … so drained as now.
“What’s your reasoning, Mr. Oliver?”
“About what?” He leaned forward, trying to see past the darkness floating in front of her face. Of all the times for his vision to blur so badly.
“The motive behind your proposal. I’m sure you have an extensive list of reasons for approaching me instead of another.”
Of course he did. He’d thought about this for the last twelve days, every hour spent pondering his life’s next turn. “Almost two weeks ago, my doctor informed me there is an exceedingly high likelihood that my vision’s rapid decline will end in blindness. Despite cutting back on my hours of reading and writing, my vision steadily worsens.”
He pushed down the lump in his throat and pulled in some oxygen. He would not question God’s sovereignty. But this trial … well, considering it all joy was not coming easy.
“But don’t you care that I’m about as comely as an anvil?”
Did she think he cared about such things? “If I’d wanted a comely woman, my numerous holdings, investments, and properties would have lured one in by now, don’t you think? I prefer to converse with a woman who ponders more than what color ribbon she should thread through her next bonnet.”
He could just make out the slight pull of her lips to the right. She often did that when he’d backed her into an intellectual corner and she had to concede a point.
Without his vision, he’d have to start figuring out if she had any aural cues that would give her away.
If she ever bothered to debate with him again after this, that is.
“Even with your blindness, you could still lure in a woman half your age and three times as handsome as I, who al
so uses the brain God gave her.”
That he could find such a woman was likely, she knew it as well as he. Was this her way of refusing him?
Or maybe … no, wait. His sisters used to do this. He closed his eyes and breathed evenly. It’d been a long time since he’d had to deduce a woman’s true feelings despite the contradictory words she spouted. “Your age and appearance don’t concern me, Miss Barker, but not because I will no longer see you. A mind as lithe as your own, a spirit as generous, and an innate pleasing character makes taking your appearance into account needless.”
Now that look was the happy sort he’d hoped for earlier. Though he couldn’t quite tell if tears rimmed her eyes or if the moisture was his own from trying so hard to see her reaction.
But now, she seemed to be frowning.…
His cheek muscle started ticking again. He turned the right side of his face away from her.
“So why must you have a spouse now, Mr. Oliver? What pressing need drives you to choose me?”
Did she not find ensuing blindness an urgent matter?
The thought of letting her know exactly why he needed her made his vision swim even more. “I need someone trustworthy to take over my business, who’s teachable and would be willing …” He pressed his lips together in an effort to stop the tick. Futile. “Who’d be willing to care for me … as well.”
Not that he expected a vibrant and feisty woman like Helen to truly fall for someone as socially awkward as he, but he could get through life if he had someone to rely upon when he was incapable of getting around on his own. Hopefully she’d at least come to care for him a little so he wouldn’t be much of a burden to her. “Once I go blind, I’ll need someone to help me get around and care for me, quite possibly around the clock.”
“Why not hire someone?”
“Anyone can fill an employment position. But I figured since both of us are entering a season of life where we can no longer do what we have done for so long, we might be open to a different avenue.”
The Convenient Bride Collection: 9 Romances Grow from Marriage Partnerships Formed Out of Necessity Page 20