by Megan Besing
Luke decided to make his presence known before she did something that might embarrass them both. He cleared his throat and waited. Miss Wagner’s eyes sprang open, and she bounded from the bed, her wide gaze landing on him.
“Oh!” Her fright reminded him of a rabbit caught in a snare.
“Miss Wagner.” He stood and nodded politely.
“Dr. Preston,” she squeaked. She reached up to investigate her hair with her fingers. Dismay flashed across her face at what she found. Next, her hands moved to smooth the wrinkles her nap had creased in her skirt. When she looked at him again, moisture glistened in eyes the same shade of summer grass. “I must apologize.” A catch in her voice ended her speech.
“No need to apologize,” Luke said, hoping to ease her distress. “I’m sure you must be tired after such a long journey. I’m the one who should apologize for not being available to meet you in town and making you wait here in the cabin alone.”
Her tense shoulders relaxed some. “I do hope the miners’ injuries weren’t serious.”
Her compassion in spite of the awkward situation pleased him. “It’ll take some weeks of bed rest, but they’ll mend.”
She nodded but remained mute with her hands clutched together in an uneasy knot.
Luke glanced at the pot of stew warming over the low embers of the fire. He needed a distraction, anything, to fill the uncomfortable silence. “Are you hungry? Eula Whitaker is an excellent cook.” He offered a small smile, finding himself ridiculously nervous in Miss Wagner’s presence.
“I don’t believe I could eat a thing just now, but thank you.”
He nodded. His own stomach had turned rebellious despite his hunger only minutes before. The clock on the mantel told him the Whitakers would arrive soon, so it was best to get on with their introduction.
“Miss Wagner,” he said, indicating the small floral armchair he’d purchased last week. “Won’t you have a seat? I feel we should get acquainted before the Whitakers arrive.”
She moistened her lips and blinked several times before nodding. Luke allowed her to settle in the chair then took a seat in his own. Had he been inclined, he could reach out and take her delicate hand in his. He didn’t, of course, but maybe someday he would.
Now, with her green eyes wide and staring at him, Luke’s mind went blank. What does one say to a woman he’s just met but plans to marry in less than an hour?
“I trust your journey was uneventful?” That seemed safe. Cowardly, but safe.
She nodded again. “Thank you for the fare.”
He had so many questions. Why was a woman as attractive as Miss Wagner seeking marriage to a total stranger? She’d surely had suitors lined up at her door. Suspicions swirled through his mind. Without an obvious physical flaw, Luke wondered if it were perhaps a flaw of character that prevented her from finding a suitable husband in Kansas.
“You should know, Miss Wagner, that honesty and trustworthiness are the two most important traits I require in a mate. It doesn’t matter to me if you’re not a good cook, although I’m looking forward to meals that aren’t scorched or cold.”
His attempt at humor did little to change the serious expression on her face.
“I believe a married couple should have no secrets between them,” he continued, feeling more confident as he lay the foundation for their life together. Perhaps this mail-order marriage wasn’t such a wild idea after all. Having a comely wife, with trust as the underpinning of their relationship, might bring the peace and happiness he’d been missing the past five years.
“It will take time for us to come to know each other,” he said, offering a gentle smile he hoped conveyed his patience as a husband, “but it seems to me the best marriages often begin with friendship. And the best friends I’ve ever had were those individuals I knew I could trust beyond a shadow of a doubt.”
Luke waited for an amenable response. It didn’t come. Instead she stared at him with those luminous eyes, her face pale in the firelight. He reminded himself she was tired and in a strange place. Perhaps she simply needed time to adjust to it all.
The jingle of a wagon sounded from outside, announcing the Whitakers’ arrival. “That must be the reverend.” He stood to greet their guests.
Phoebe shot a panicked glance to the door, her eyes growing wider, if that were possible. “Dr. Preston, I must tell you—”
“Please, Phoebe, call me Luke. We are, after all, about to become man and wife.”
She clutched the cameo pin at her throat, her chest heaving as she stared at him.
Luke waited. “Was there something you wanted to tell me?”
A knock sounded at the door.
Phoebe squeezed her eyes closed for a long moment. When she met his gaze again, she shook her head. “No. It’s nothing.”
Luke wished they had more time to finish their discussion. Moving to open the door for the Whitakers, he made a mental note to revisit the conversation with her in the coming days. Perhaps by then she’d feel more comfortable talking with him.
But for now, it was time for his mail-order bride to become his wife.
Chapter 3
Mrs. Dr. Luke Preston.
That was the title Reverend Whitaker had addressed Phoebe with as he and Eula took their leave after the brief wedding ceremony. The older couple declined Luke’s invitation to stay for the meal, and now the newlyweds sat alone in the deep shadows of the cabin, staring as flames licked the log he’d added to the fire.
Earlier she’d insisted on cleaning the supper dishes while he put the leftover stew in a cold pit outside. She’d hoped he might stay away from the cabin, giving her a few minutes to herself, but he’d returned all too soon. They’d moved to the comfortable armchairs at his suggestion, but after a few stilted attempts at conversation, even he fell silent.
Exhaustion drooped her heavy eyelids, and it took sheer force to keep them from closing. She longed to call an end to this day, yet the mere thought of sharing a marriage bed with her new husband sent a wave of terror rushing through her. Mama went home to heaven long before Phoebe needed to know womanly things, and Aunt Augusta’s blunt description of marital unions left her confused and more than a little apprehensive. Would Luke expect a wife knowledgeable in such things?
“It’s been a long day.”
His deep voice made her jump. Phoebe looked up to find him studying her, firelight dancing in his brown eyes. When she’d awoken from her nap and seen Luke for the first time, his dark coloring and handsome features took her by surprise. Danny’s hair and eyes had been light, like her own.
He stood and extended his hand to her. Phoebe’s eyes widened as she stared up at him. She couldn’t refuse. He was her husband, after all. But surely—
“I imagine you’re exhausted. A good night’s sleep is what the doctor recommends.” The corners of his mouth lifted.
Phoebe stilled. Did he mean they wouldn’t…?
His warm fingers closed over her icy hand when she shyly placed it in his. As he drew her up, she met his gaze, the question surely shining in her eyes.
“We are married until death do us part,” he said softly, his gaze caressing her face in such a way that Phoebe’s stomach fluttered unexpectedly. “I’m willing to wait until you’re ready.”
His meaning was perfectly clear. And much appreciated. “Thank you,” she whispered. Their eyes held for a long moment before Luke bent and placed a light kiss on her forehead.
When he released her hand, he moved toward the door. “I’ll check on Ulysses and make sure he’s settled for the night. You don’t need to wait up for me.” He turned before going out into the darkness, a relaxed smile on his lips. “Good night, Phoebe.”
A mixture of relief, gratitude, and something akin to admiration raced through her after the door closed behind him. Her new husband was not only a doctor, but he was also a gentleman.
After a quick trip to the outhouse, she hurried to undress then tugged on her nightgown. Crawling under the cover
s on the far edge of the bed, she pulled the quilt up to her chin. The glint from the new gold band on her left hand caught her eye. Tears welled as she stared at the simple piece of jewelry, turning the golden circle blurry.
She rolled onto her side, presenting her back to the door. Unable to keep her eyes open, she gave into her exhaustion, her last thoughts on Danny.
Oh, how she wished it were his ring on her finger.
Sunlight shone through the window above Phoebe’s head when she awoke the next morning. The aroma of coffee and bacon filled the cabin, a reminder that she hadn’t eaten much for supper last night.
Sitting up, she found herself alone in the small room. Luke’s pillow held the indention of his head, so she knew he must have come to bed at some point. She’d never been aware of his presence next to her, though.
Heat filled her cheeks. Her first night as a married woman had come and gone. Things were bound to change between them soon enough, but for now she appreciated the time he gave her to adjust.
Up and dressed, with the quilt spread neatly, she was surprised to find a plate of bacon and eggs warming on the hearth next to a pot of coffee. That Luke had made his own breakfast, as well as hers, while she slept filled her with shame. He no doubt expected his wife to prepare the meals.
She’d just finished the repast when the door opened, letting in a chilly breeze along with her husband.
“Good morning.” His easy smile held no condemnation, much to her relief.
“Good morning.” She indicated her empty plate. “Thank you for breakfast. I’m sorry I overslept. It won’t happen again.”
Luke took off his hat and coat and hung them on a peg near the door. He turned to pour himself a cup of coffee. Phoebe could kick herself for not offering to get it for him.
“You needed the rest,” he said after taking a sip of the hot liquid.
“I appreciate that, but it’s my duty as your wife to tend to the house and the cooking.” She didn’t mention her other wifely duty.
After a moment, he settled in his chair. “I need to go to the mining camp and check on my patients.” He took another sip from the mug, his eyes meeting hers over the rim.
Phoebe perked up, relishing the prospect of having him away from the cabin for the day. She could unpack, do some washing, and become familiar with her tiny new home. She also needed to pen a note to Aunt Augusta to let the older woman know she’d arrived in the New Mexico Territory in one piece.
“I thought you might like to accompany me.”
Her plotting came to a crashing halt with his suggestion. “Accompany you?”
“Your letter mentioned your father was a doctor. Did you not ever assist him with his patients?”
Thoughts of Papa spilled into her heart. “I did. I don’t know that I was much help, being that I was a young girl, but I enjoyed going with him. After my mother died, it was just the two of us.”
“How old were you when she passed?” Compassion shone in his dark eyes.
“Ten. She took to her bed with pneumonia. Papa never got over the fact that he couldn’t save her.”
Luke nodded. “It’s difficult as a doctor to lose a patient. I can only imagine how helpless your father must’ve felt.”
“I hope you haven’t lost too many patients,” she said, wanting to turn the conversation away from the painful memories of Mama. The look that crossed Luke’s face, however, told her the shift didn’t please him.
“I was a doctor in the Union Army.” His voice took on a hard edge. “I saw thousands of men die, thanks to the brutality of those cowardly Rebels.”
Phoebe bit her lip. How foolish could she be to remind him of the war. That was a topic she most definitely didn’t wish to discuss.
“I suppose I could come with you,” she hurried to say. “To the mining camp, I mean.”
The resentment in his eyes brought on by talk of the war vanished. A smile slowly inched its way up his face in its stead. “I would like that.”
While Luke gathered the necessary medical supplies from the storage cabinet in the corner, Phoebe packed a simple lunch consisting of more fried bacon and flapjacks.
“We’ll go to town later,” he said, loading rolls of bandages and small glass bottles of liquids into his black medical bag. “You can purchase the supplies you think we need to cook some decent meals.” A lopsided grin tipped his mouth, and Phoebe was struck anew by his handsomeness. “Let’s just say my cooking leaves much to be desired.”
She smiled halfheartedly at his joke. Her admiration for her attractive husband caused her to feel disloyal to Danny. As irrational as it seemed, considering the circumstances, she didn’t want to put Danny’s memory aside, no matter that she was now another man’s wife. Danny was with her always, in her heart and her mind, and she couldn’t let that go. She reached up to grasp the cameo at her throat and closed her eyes, trying to picture his wavy blond hair and dimpled cheeks.
“Is something wrong?”
Her eyes flew open to find Luke very near.
“No, no. I–I’ll try to think of some meals to prepare. You’ll have to tell me your favorites.”
His warm smile left her feeling guilty. She’d need to keep her thoughts of Danny tucked away and only bring them out when she was alone.
They finished their preparations and left the cabin. Tied to the hitching post outside stood an enormous mule.
“This is Ulysses.” Luke’s affection showed as he rubbed the big animal’s neck. “I named him after General Grant. I’m not sure the general would see it as a compliment, but it’s meant to honor a great man.”
Phoebe nodded when he looked her way but refrained from commenting. After his reaction earlier when speaking of the war, she felt it best they avoid that subject altogether lest she reveal things better left unsaid.
She looked for a wagon or buggy but found the yard empty. “How will we get to the mining camp?”
“Ulysses.”
She turned to see if he was genuine. It was then she noticed Ulysses’s broad back boasted a saddle. Her eyes widened. “Dr. Preston, surely you don’t mean for me to ride that thing, do you?”
His laughter filled the cool morning air. “I do, Mrs. Preston.” Bright sunshine sparkled in his brown eyes as his gaze briefly traveled over her attire. She only owned three serviceable dresses, none of which were adequate for riding. “While we’re in town, you can order one of those split skirts I’ve seen women wear when they ride. And whatever underthings you might need, too.”
Her face flamed. She’d never discussed unmentionables with a man. Not even Papa.
“But for now”—he went on as though talking about women’s fashions was an everyday event—“I figure you can sit in my lap.”
Phoebe gulped. “Your lap?”
“Ulysses can easily carry the both of us, but we’ll need to get another mule soon. We wouldn’t want to wear him out.”
Her concern wasn’t whether the mule could tolerate their weight. The very thought of being in such proximity to Luke set her heart racing with nerves. “Perhaps I shouldn’t go. I wouldn’t want to be any trouble.”
Disappointment flashed across his face. “I’d very much like you to come.” His shoulders slumped a bit. “But I understand if you’d rather stay home.”
Home.
His use of that simple word reminded her of the promises she’d made to this man yesterday. They’d stood before God and witnesses and pledged themselves to each other. He was her husband and she, his wife. His helpmeet, as Reverend Whitaker quoted from the book of Genesis during the brief wedding ceremony. A helpmeet should certainly go with her spouse to the mining camp, no matter the crowded form of transportation.
“I’d like to come and help you with your patients.”
His countenance brightened, as though a cloud had moved away from the sun, warming her with his obvious pleasure. He easily swung her up into the saddle, leaving both her legs dangling against Ulysses’s left side. Before she could make hers
elf comfortable, Luke stepped into the stirrup and squeezed in behind her.
“I’m going to raise you up a bit,” he said, his hands circling her waist again. Without so much as a grunt of exertion, he lifted her as though she were light as a child and plunked her backside onto his lap. “There. That’s better.”
Satisfaction sounded in his voice. She, however, found no such comfort in her awkward position, wedged between the pommel and Luke. His hard chest was pressed against her arm, yet there was no way to avoid it. The muscles in his thighs moved beneath her as he settled into his seat, and her face heated with the intimate arrangement.
“Ready?” he asked, his arms circling her to take hold of the reins. It seemed she was surrounded by Luke.
She refused to let him see her embarrassment and faced forward, her back ramrod straight. “Yes.”
With a click of Luke’s tongue and a slight nudge from his heels, Ulysses started a slow prod north. Phoebe attempted to keep her body from jostling too much, trying in vain to prevent herself from bumping into Luke. After a few minutes, however, her tense muscles began to cramp, and she knew she couldn’t keep this up for very long.
“How far is it to the mining camp?” she asked, hoping they didn’t have too many miles to cover.
“It will take us a good hour or more,” he said, dashing her hopes. As though sensing her discomfort—and possibly the reasoning behind it—he added with a chuckle, “You’d best settle in and relax.”
Recognizing there was no way to avoid touching him, Phoebe let her stiff posture slowly ease. He, in turn, seemed to tighten his arms around her, acting as a brace. Although Ulysses’s gait remained plodding, it was good to know Luke wouldn’t let her slip off.
Following little more than an animal path tucked in a thick forest of towering pine trees, they gradually began their ascent into the mountains. Snow still capped the uppermost peaks, and Phoebe was thankful she’d worn her coat. The temperature had already begun to drop despite the sun shining on their backs.