by Jillian Hart
She’d only just arrived, he thought, and needed a day or two of rest before he said anything. Besides, he needed to think about things before blurting out anything he might regret later. Look how he’d reacted to Sophie at their first meeting.
“Do you think the minister would still be available, should we need him?” Paulette stopped outside the shade of the covered boardwalk and leaned into the alcove of the building.
“You’re not even interested in how I felt when I got your letter, Paulette?”
She stammered. “W-well—well, of course, John. You must’ve been devastated that you couldn’t marry me.”
He shook his head at her wording. She was nervous, he told himself, and not choosing her words wisely.
“We corresponded for months. I thought I knew you. Somewhat.”
“It was a silly impulse on my part to call it off. Terribly sorry. That time of the month, I’m afraid. When my mind goes fluttery.” She smiled too readily, and the excuse was lame.
“Actually, Paulette, I think you did me a favor.”
“A favor?” She brought her gloved hand to her throat and laughed with nervousness. The curls stacked upon her hair jiggled. “Ah, I see. It made you realize just how much you’d lost.”
He shook his head. She needed to be told in a forthright manner, for he had no inclination for games. “How much I’d gained.”
“Gained? You need a wife, John. A man with three livery stables and still expanding. Who will run your household? Organize your servants?”
“I never told you I had three livery stables. How did you learn of it?”
“Wasn’t it you?” Her forehead creased in feigned surprise. “Who else—”
“You found out in Seattle.” That was why she’d come back.
“No, no, I believe you were the one.”
He set down her bag beside his big cowboy boot, crossed his arms and looked across the street at the pedestrians, who were oblivious to the delicate situation he was in. “Paulette, I trusted you once, and quite frankly, you did nothing to honor that trust. It was your choice to marry or not marry me. I don’t hold your change of mind against you. In fact, perhaps I respected that more than…more than this.”
“More than what?”
He groaned, wishing she’d drop the stage act.
A man’s deep raspy voice called out from behind the hotel. “Paulette, have you come back, my sweet?”
When the gent appeared, sporting a cane, dapper gray suit, top hat and bejeweled fingers, he balked at seeing John. By his fresh attire, the man was obviously a newcomer, too. Perhaps someone she’d met on the ship? His eyes traveled over John’s work clothes, which were rugged and casual.
The gent pointed the gold tip of his cane at John but spoke to Paulette. “I see you’ve got one of the stable hands to help you with your satchel. Did you speak to the Colburne fellow? My offer still stands.”
John winced. Paulette’s neck turned a shade of pepper-red. How many offers did she have? It didn’t take a sharpshooter to see what her priorities were.
The gent frowned and looked from Paulette to John. Her mouth wobbled with unspoken words, searching perhaps for something to say to keep all her options open.
“Sir,” said John, picking up her satchel and putting it next to the gent’s polished high black boots, “John Colburne wishes to let you know that she is free to take you up on any offer she pleases.”
Paulette gasped. Her friend grinned.
John tipped his Stetson to her. “Good day.”
Several hours after her embarrassing encounter in Colburne Stables, stuck between Paulette and John as they introduced themselves as future bride and groom, Sophie took another step down the stairs of her hotel and sighed.
Kerosene lanterns lit the hall. Fading sunlight streamed in through the front windows, but it was too weak to reach the inner rooms. Carpeting beneath her feet deadened the sound of her footsteps as she reached the landing of the main floor and twirled to the front exit. Her hair swung around her shoulders as she planted her new cowboy hat on her head.
“Evenin’, miss,” said the man at the front desk.
She nodded and smiled politely, masking the rush of sadness she’d been feeling most of the afternoon.
How could Paulette come now?
Well, it was her right.
But she’d said she no longer wanted John.
So she changed her mind.
They had an agreement long before you planted your boots on this soil.
Yet the feelings of abandonment lingered. John had asked her out for dinner this evening. Not Paulette.
With another sigh, Sophie pushed through the door and turned right to find the café down the street where she might pick up a sandwich or a crock of soup to take back to her room and eat in solitude. The way she’d eaten her meals for months. Years, in fact.
Alone.
Oh, what did it matter if John and Paulette decided to marry? Sophie had known her chances were not 100 percent before she’d taken her assignment from the agency. She’d known there was a risk she’d lose out on befriending and marrying John Colburne.
Either way, it was a pleasure to know him, and she wished him all the luck in the world in his new life.
Inhaling a lungful of fresh air and feeling somewhat brighter, she adjusted the brim of her hat against the descending ball of sunshine and searched the signs above her for the right one.
Mercantile. Jessie’s Boots. Laundry and Mending.
She bounced down the stairs of the boardwalk and nearly crashed into the arms of a stranger.
“Sorry,” she said with a chipper lilt to her voice. She looked up with a smile, saw his face and froze. “John.”
“I saw you from across the street. I’d like to talk to you, please.”
“The hat?” Embarrassed, she snatched it off her head, smoothing the strands of blond hair that rose with it. “You’re right. It wouldn’t be proper to accept such a personal gift. Now that Paulette is here. She wouldn’t like it. I mean…I mean I wouldn’t like it, if I were her.”
Inwardly she winced at her stupidity. How awkward this was, and would she ever be able to look up into these glistening blue eyes and not think of how she’d once imagined herself with John—the two of them in bed together?
“Please keep the hat.”
She let it fall to her side, its woolen felt brushing against the fabric of her long linen skirt.
“Paulette must be busy, getting ready for a wedding.” Sophie gulped and looked down at the hat, toying with the thin leather strap that knotted beneath it. There. She’d said it.
“I imagine she is. She is getting married.” John pressed his warm fingers to Sophie’s chin and lifted her gaze to meet his. “But not to me.”
Sophie’s heart thundered. First at his touch, then at his words. “How do you mean?”
“I walked her to her hotel and discovered there’s another man she traveled with. Someone with a lot of money who’s apparently made her an offer.”
“Oh.” Sophie’s sympathies went out to John. Yet her heart continued to boom. Why wasn’t he dropping his hand? How could she think clearly if he continued to touch her? “You must be devastated. Rejected by her twice. I know how much you enjoyed her letters.”
“You are a sincere and honest person, aren’t you?” But it wasn’t a question—it was more of a statement.
He lowered his hand and she felt a surge of separation.
“I’m not devastated, Sophie.”
“You’re not?”
He shook his head. Dark blond hair whispered along his blue collar. “On the contrary. I’m grateful she declined my offer the first time around, so that I was able to meet you.”
Her pulse soared. Her breathing tripled. “You really believe that?”
“Absolutely. Our first meeting wasn’t the best impression I could’ve made, Sophie, and I hope you’ll forgive me for that. Now that we’re getting to know each other, I do believe we’re c
ompatible.”
“Yes,” she said slowly, carefully, taking in every beat of his words. “We are.”
“Then if you’ll have me, I would very much like to marry you.”
Chapter Five
The wedding was scheduled for two days later.
For superstitious reasons, Sophie didn’t wish to enter John’s splendid-looking house—beyond the grounds of the livery stables—until she became his bride, so she stayed at the hotel until the afternoon when she was to meet him at the chapel.
The chapel was only a few steps away, across the street and around the corner, so she walked. John had offered to send a carriage, but she’d insisted it was unnecessary.
He had been busy at the livery stables all morning, practical man that he was. And she’d worked right up until last night, when she’d gone out on a medical call with Victoria to tend to a man with gall bladder problems. How similar she and John were in that regard, their hardworking and logical natures.
Curious heads turned in Sophie’s direction as she crossed from the boardwalk to the grassy hill of the chapel in her simple wedding dress.
“Good afternoon,” she responded.
“Nice day for a weddin’,” said a man in overalls.
“Certainly is.”
May had turned to June just yesterday, and the warm gentle wind, a reminder that summer was on its way, ruffled her hem.
She had no friends with her, unfortunately, because Victoria and the two other nurses had had to leave town at the crack of dawn this morning when they’d gotten word of a near drowning in a fishing camp.
The other people Sophie knew in Skagway were patients, strangers really, and she couldn’t very well ask any of them to attend her wedding.
The minister’s wife was to be her witness.
Sophie urged herself to get over her bout of nerves, gripped her small bouquet of wild roses, picked up the skirts of her satin ivory wedding gown and walked up the stairs of the chapel. She wore no veil. A simple wild orchid adorned her long blond hair, which fell over the shoulders of her lacy bodice. A high collar circled her throat, embroidered with shiny buttons and pearls. It was a secondhand gown, bought yesterday with a precious ten dollars, and very practical.
Was everything about this moment a matter of practicality?
We’re compatible, John had told her. That’s what he was looking for in a wife. Friendship. Camaraderie. Someone to share his days with. All the things she’d wanted, too, when she’d first agreed to be a mail-order bride.
A niggling doubt rose inside her. Shouldn’t there be something more to marriage? Like illogical feelings. Crazy emotions. Daring excitement that had nothing to do with reasoned compatibility. She’d never felt any of those things with Miles, and she’d been desperately hoping for something more with John.
She knew she felt it—a throbbing rush of sentiment and desire whenever she laid her eyes on his handsome face—but apparently he didn’t.
Her palms grew damp. She got to the landing of the stairs, dropped her skirt to the ground and stared at the closed wooden door.
John was waiting for her inside.
The thought gave her hope for a wonderful future together, where he’d perhaps grow to want her passionately and wildly. She smiled at the private notion. It was a delicious fantasy. Putting on her most cheerful expression, she tugged open the door with shaky hands and walked in.
It was cold and empty.
John hurried to tie his gray silk cravat while looking into the hallway mirror of his home. His best man, red-haired and dashing Hugh Westwood, called orders to the other young men who were scrambling to get things done.
“Get her luggage from the hotel and carry it over here!”
“Has Mrs. Norton got the meal prepared?”
“His boots, his boots! Toss ’em over!”
With great laughter, the shiny new cowboy boots, tan-colored with silver tips, hit the floor at John’s feet. He shoved his arm into the sleeve of his black suit jacket being held up by another friend while Hugh leaned over and held one boot up for John.
“We’re late.” John grabbed the boot and shoved his foot inside. “I hope she’s not there already.”
“Brides are always behind schedule.” Hugh checked John’s hair and gave him a nod of approval. “Don’t worry. We’ll be there in ten minutes. Well before she is.”
“But what if—”
“The minister and his wife will take care of her.”
“But she doesn’t know anyone—”
“Let’s move,” Hugh shouted to the roomful of neighbors and friends.
And suddenly John was out the door and bolting toward the chapel, on foot.
“Aren’t you riding in the carriage?” Hugh hollered behind him from the vicinity of the stables.
Not without Sophie, thought John, and only after the ceremony. If only to bring them from the chapel to his home. He should have insisted the carriage swing by her hotel and take her to the church. He shouldn’t have bowed to her wishes.
He turned onto the boardwalk and picked up his pace. Customers coming out of stores stopped to stare. He heard twittering and murmurs when he broke into a run.
Late for his own wedding.
He leaped off the boardwalk and sped up the grassy slope of the chapel’s hill.
He had the gut feeling that twenty minutes could seem like a lifetime if one were standing at the altar alone.
Panting, he reached the front door of the church, whipped the door open and burst inside.
He groaned at the sight.
Sophie was sitting alone in the front pew, facing the altar where Reverend Peters was preparing his Bible and broad Mrs. Peters was murmuring in her husband’s ear.
Sophie had her head lowered, silent and lost in her own thoughts, when his footsteps on the wooden planks of the aisle made her head jar.
At the sight of him, Mrs. Peters let out a big sigh of relief.
Sophie didn’t turn around, though.
His muscles tensed as he neared her side. A pretty flower was pinned into the golden streams of her hair. Her bouquet of flowers sat nestled in the lap of her ivory gown, and she twirled her fingers nervously at the ribbon.
He bent to one knee in the aisle. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.
She looked over, and then smiled gently. Her lips were a little shaky.
“You must’ve wondered if…I’m sorry,” he repeated.
“You’re here now. And it’s lovely to see you.”
“Abbie delivered.”
“She had her calf?”
“Yeah.”
“Is she all right?”
“Both fine. There was a complication. The cord was tied around the calf’s neck and I had to stay to help.”
Sophie’s face turned radiant. “Of course. Of course you had to stay. I’m glad you did. Are you sure they’re all right?”
“Absolutely.”
Her resulting smile lit up the chapel and he was suddenly aware, it seemed for the first time since he’d met her, that she was about to become his bride.
They were about to promise their days to one another, about to share their nights.
She stood up beside him. The folds of her gown fell to the floor. She was breathtaking in the creamy color, with the light from the stained glass windows reflecting off the beads at her collar and neckline. It was a modest dress, buttoned to the top of her chin, yet the elegance and the sway of the fabric against her hips was more enticing than if the neckline were scooped low to reveal her cleavage.
John swallowed hard. He was about to have her in every sense of the word, and perhaps they weren’t quite ready.
He had no more time to think about it, for his friends bustled through the doors.
Hugh led the pack, then John’s neighbors who owned the jewelry stores in town, then the owner of the biggest casino, followed by the man and wife who ran the café, even the boot maker and the local laundress.
Dozens and dozens of neighbors, c
oworkers and businessmen.
He was proud to have such a group with him, amazed that they’d heard about the wedding and insisted on coming. But when they all sat on one side of the church—the groom’s side—he felt a wave of trepidation.
There was no one on Sophie’s side.
“This way, please.” The minister hailed them, white hair slicked back in a razor-sharp fold. “John and Sophie.”
Perhaps Reverend Peters would ask the congregation to spread out.
John held his breath with hope.
The reverend didn’t ask anyone to move.
John stretched his neck beneath his cravat, which felt suddenly hot and constrictive.
Perhaps the minister’s wife would ask them to even things out.
She didn’t.
She withdrew a hankie from her thick sleeve and stepped in beside Sophie. Hugh ran a hand through his auburn curls, adjusted his bow tie and took his place beside John to face the minister.
Perhaps Sophie hadn’t noticed the lopsided numbers, thought John. He hadn’t meant to make her uncomfortable. He wanted her to feel welcome.
“Dearly beloved,” Reverend Peters began.
John discreetly stole a glance down at Sophie. Her eyes skimmed the empty pews, her mouth fell open slightly, her lips trembled, then she turned to the bespectacled preacher.
Had John imagined it, or were her eyes glistening with an emotion he couldn’t quite read?
Was she upset at the way the wedding was turning out, or touched by the spiritual moment?
It made no difference, for he was unable to speak up to reassure her, nor to question how she felt.
Reverend Peters was speaking and John wanted to listen to every word.
Forty-five minutes later, after the scriptures were read and the promises made, Reverend Peters beamed at John. “You may now kiss the bride.”
Mrs. Peters, her smile stretching from one freckled cheek to the other, dabbed at her tears and blew her nose into her hankie.
A hum of approval rippled through the congregation, then an interested silence fell when John leaned over Sophie and kissed her lightly on the lips.
Her mouth was soft and gentle and pliable beneath his. He hadn’t kissed her since she’d first stepped off the ship, when he’d thought she was Paulette.