She’d thought he had something against marriage, and if he didn’t, why hadn’t he gotten married in the first place and saved everyone a lot of trouble?
Now, four days after they’d told the girls their mother was dead he was getting married? She’d never have guessed. He’d wanted to tell her—that was why he’d been so determined to take Daisy over to the LeBlancs himself to play with their granddaughter, when Martha could have taken her and stayed and visited with Birdie. It was why he’d insisted on returning to the ranch house and talking to her when they were alone. Anne was at school; she’d missed the Monday after learning of her mother’s death. Martha had thought she needed some extra time to begin to adjust to her loss, and Fraser had agreed. They’d had a quiet day together. Martha had believed the girls needed to have as little change as possible in their daily routines. Fraser had agreed.
Monday afternoon, while Fraser took the girls riding for an hour, Martha had decided to tidy up their room. That was when she found the book under Anne’s pillow, an old paperback copy of Anne of Green Gables, by Lucy Maude Montgomery. Martha had paused, hand on the worn cover, and realized suddenly why Anne’s words had sounded so familiar when she’d first told her that her name was Anne, not Blossom—Anne with an e Anne Shirley, the orphan girl mistakenly sent to a Prince Edward Island farm when they’d wanted a boy to help with the work, had chosen to spell her name with an e. Anne Shirley, the girl no one had wanted, who’d found happiness with a crusty spinster and her elderly brother. Anne Shirley, the orphan who had found a true family at last.
Family. Martha had felt the tears swim and, annoyed, had blown her nose and tucked the book back under Anne’s pillow. She’d wept a lot lately, with the girls and alone in her own bed. She was not normally a weeper, or a moaner, or a complainer. She wondered what Fraser must have thought when he’d seen her redeyed much of the time during the past couple of days.
“I appreciate the job you’ve done here, Martha.” Martha’s attention centered again on the man in front of her. “But now you’ll be able to leave. Ever since we heard about Brenda, I’ve been thinking about what’s going to happen with the girls, and I’ve decided the best thing to do is adopt them—”
“Adopt them!”
“Yes, legally adopt them.” He continued to pace. “I believe that would be best. It’s the only way they can stay here with me. I’d hate to see them go to a foster home somewhere, which is what would probably happen. That or some group home—”
“No!” It came out more vehemently than Martha had intended. She shuddered. A foster home or a home with the horrible aunt. She prayed it wouldn’t come to that. How could she bear it? How could she bear to let them go? How could Fraser send her away like this?
“Look, I realize this is none of my business,” Martha said, “but I can’t quite see what adopting the girls has to do with you getting married.”
“It has everything to do with it,” he said tensely. “Everything. How likely is it I can get guardianship or adopt them? A single man living up here alone. Come on, the judge would laugh me out of court.”
He had a point. This was getting curiouser and curiouser. Fascinated, Martha watched him walk back and forth. Something prickled under her skin. His hair was disheveled, as though he’d run his hands through it many times today. His shirtsleeves were rolled up, exposing strongly muscled forearms, lightly dusted with dark hair and still tanned, even now in November. He thrust his fists violently into the back pockets of his jeans. She sensed a tremendous pent-up energy in him, a pure masculine energy she felt ought to frighten her but didn’t. His back was broad and strong as he walked away from her, his shoulders straight. His legs were long and lean and powerful as he walked toward her again.
For a few seconds Martha wondered who the lucky woman might be, then frowned at the errant thought. “I see your point,” she said. “I think.” She still felt confused.
He stopped in front of her. “A man with a wife would have a lot better chance of adopting two girls like Blossom and Daisy,” he said slowly. “Now do you understand?”
Martha’s heart flipped over. “Y-you don’t mean to tell me you’re just going to marry someone so some…some child-welfare authority will consider you a better prospective parent?”
“That’s exactly what I mean.”
“Why, that’s terrible! How could you do something like that?” She’d never, not in her wildest dreams, have thought Fraser capable of such a thing. “How could you marry someone you weren’t in love with?”
His harsh laugh silenced her. “Don’t be naive. I’m not looking for love, Miss Martha Thomas,” he said. “I’m looking for a wife.”
Had he emphasized the Miss? That was unfair. She managed a humorless laugh herself. “That’s preposterous! Who’d marry you? And I presume you’re in a big hurry, too.” Then she wished she hadn’t laughed; she remembered Katie Barker.
Scowling, he ran his hands through his hair again. “I’ve got one or two prospects,” he muttered, but he didn’t look all that confident.
“Well, I’ve never met Miss Katie Barker,” Martha said tartly, “but I can’t say I envy her landing in this. According to the girls, the poor woman’s in love with you.” She stopped, wondered why her heart was beating so rapidly.
“I haven’t asked her,” he snapped with a fierce look that should have silenced her, but didn’t.
Yet, Martha thought grimly. “Doesn’t seem like a very honorable thing to me, you marrying her so you can adopt the girls. Apparently the girls don’t even like her,” Martha added, remembering with horror Anne’s promise that if he’d hired Katie Barker, they’d have run away.
“Dammit, woman! I haven’t asked her.” He added irritably, “Hell. Couples have started out under worse circumstances—”
“Not much.”
“—and if things don’t work out, well, we’ll get a divorce. People do get divorced in this country, you know.” He glared at her. “Every day.”
“I’m well aware of that,” Martha said quietly. “And wouldn’t that be a wonderful experience for the girls, too?” she couldn’t help saying, then wished she’d bitten her tongue.
“Well, if you’ve got any better ideas, I’d like to hear them,” he growled. He sounded frustrated. He stopped in front of her. “Look. I could use some coffee. You want a cup?”
She nodded and he escaped to the kitchen. Martha sat there for a moment, gradually becoming aware that her fingers were trembling. The room was unnaturally quiet. At the far end were the children’s things. Daisy’s purple-and-yellow lamb, which Martha had bought her in the hopes of weaning her from the kangaroo. Anne’s new fleece jacket flung over a chair.
Suddenly the room swam. She bent her head and squeezed her eyes. What a mess! Where would she find the strength to walk away from them, the way Fraser expected? In just a month, they’d become an inextricable part of her life. How could she leave them to the likes of Katie Barker, who was probably a very nice woman but not someone they wanted as a stepmother? And just how badly would Katie Barker want him if the girls were part of the package? She might turn him down. Who else was on Fraser’s list?
She knew her accusations had struck their mark. Fraser obviously wasn’t entirely comfortable with his scheme, even though he appeared determined to follow through with it. He wasn’t at all convinced it was the right thing to do, but he was going to do it, anyway, because he believed it was his best chance to get what he wanted. To adopt the girls. That, after all, was his main objective. She didn’t doubt for a moment that he meant what he said. Or that he usually got what he wanted.
And he was an honorable man. It had been a low blow on her part to say he wasn’t. Loveless marriage or not, she knew in her heart that he’d do his best to make it succeed. And he was right—many marriages had been founded on less. If Katie Barker loved him enough, perhaps in time he’d grow to love her, and it would all work out in the end.
Martha felt her heart sink. She felt terrible.
The very thought of Katie Barker and Fraser McKenna together, sharing meals, raising the girls—sharing a bed, her mind shrieked at her. That’s what you really mean, Martha Virginia Thomas.
Of course she didn’t. That was utter nonsense. Martha sat straighter and laced her fingers together in a brief futile effort to hide the tremors. Giving up, she got to her feet.
Fraser came back with the coffee. He handed her a mug. She was reminded of the first night she’d arrived. Then, when he’d handed her the mug of hot chocolate, she’d been careful not to touch him. Now, it seemed he was as careful as she. What did it all mean?
She sipped at the hot liquid, hands locked around the warm ceramic. She tried not to look at Fraser. In fact, she looked everywhere but at him. She couldn’t bear to look at him.
“I’m sorry you think it’s such a rotten thing to do,” he said roughly. Her gaze flew to his. “There’s no other choice, or you can be sure I’d never do something like this.”
When she didn’t say anything, he went on. “Not that I’d ever do it for love, either.” Again there was that humorless bitter sound. “Don’t get me wrong. I have no interest in marriage at all.”
He looked at her over his mug, brows drawn, eyes fierce. “Damn trouble with women is they all think like you,” he growled. “They think they’ve got to be in love. Love, hell! What’s wrong with security, a good roof over your head, sex when you want it, ordinary decent respect for each other, getting along as a couple of people with the same goals? What’s so damn great about love?”
“I…” Martha barely trusted her voice. She cleared her throat and tried again. “So I suppose your next step is convincing some woman that you are in love with her so she’ll marry you.”
He glowered at her and said nothing. She was right. Convincing some woman he loved her when he didn’t went completely against his principles, not to mention stuck in his craw but good.
“And you don’t have a heck of a lot of time to do it in, do you?”
Still he said nothing. Emboldened, she plunged ahead. “So I guess you’ll want me to stay on—what?— two, three weeks? Until you’ve got this all, uh—” she cleared her throat again “—arranged?” She should walk out right now, not be party to such a ridiculous plan. But she knew she couldn’t do it, couldn’t leave the girls to another temporary care giver.
“Something like that,” he muttered, and turned away from her.
For a few moments Martha sat there, absorbing every aspect of the proposition Fraser was about to put to some unsuspecting woman. Then lightning struck. It started in her toes, and with the speed of real electricity ran up her body until every muscle tensed, every nerve jumped. Her heart literally stopped, then started again in triple time. Fortunately Fraser was at the other end of the room, head down, and he couldn’t have heard her gasp.
Quickly, afraid she’d lose her nerve, she walked toward him, so that when he turned, he was facing her. He stopped abruptly. Martha wasn’t sure she’d be able to speak. The idea had struck her so suddenly and so unexpectedly that she didn’t know if she could trust her voice.
The idea was perfect. It would solve his problem without his having to sacrifice principles he’d no doubt deny he had. It would solve problems for her, too, not only her reluctance to walk away from the girls she’d grown to love, but the dreams she’d had when she was young and foolish. Dreams that love would find her one day, and then everything else, the rest of her life, would fall into place. It hadn’t happened like that. It wasn’t going to happen like that. And now she was neither young nor foolish. There were other ways besides waiting patiently for love to come along, better ways to make your dreams happen.
“Martha?” His voice sounded uncertain, as uncertain as she felt. Yet at the same time she’d never been so sure of anything in her life.
“You asked me if I had any better ideas?”
He nodded. “I did.”
“You could marry me.”
Martha immediately wished she could take back her words. She watched his face, cringing inwardly at every emotion she saw there. Surprise, disbelief, shock—then skepticism and a canniness that made her heart weep and her spirit shudder. Was it really so difficult for him to imagine being married to her? Was it really so impossible even to consider?
His eyes never left hers, but it must have been a full minute before he spoke. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“Why not?” Martha said, wishing her voice didn’t sound so insubstantial, so…frightened. Was she really afraid of him? Or afraid he’d turn her down flat? “After all, you wouldn’t have to try and convince anyone you’re in love with her—” she couldn’t bear to say me “—and as I told you before, I’ve come to realize in the last couple of weeks just how much the girls mean to me, too.”
She felt the blood rush under her skin as he slowly, lazily surveyed her face, her jaw, her throat. “I’ve been realizing how much I hate the thought of leaving them now that I’ve…grown so used to them.”
“Haven’t you got a life somewhere else, Martha Thomas?”
“Wh-what?” She hadn’t expected him to say that.
“Haven’t you got somewhere to go? Somewhere you’d rather be?” His voice was deadly soft.
“No.” She shook her head, knowing it for the awful truth. There was nowhere in the world she’d rather be than right here. “I was fired from my job in Wisconsin. I’ve sublet my apartment and found a place for my cat to stay. My furniture’s in storage. My friends are, well…” She shrugged. Martha suddenly realized in how few painful words a person’s life could be summed up.
“You’d marry me so that I could adopt Bloss and Daisy?” he continued, his voice still soft. There was a strange light in his eyes, something she’d never seen before.
“So that we could adopt Anne and Daisy,” she corrected firmly. “Together.”
He stared at her. “I wouldn’t have to pretend I loved you and you wouldn’t pretend you loved me?”
“That’s right.” God, how that hurt! But it was no lie—she knew he didn’t love her. And, of course, she didn’t love him. Liked him, sure, found him physically attractive, a sexy outdoorsy kind of guy. But love, no. Whatever love was. Deep down, she knew Fraser McKenna was a good man. That mattered. Tortured in some mysterious way, but fundamentally a good caring man.
She could do worse. Martha felt a chill drift across her overheated skin. Perhaps there were some women for whom love was not meant. The love of children, friends, animals, yes, but the kind of love she’d once thought possible between her and one special man, maybe not. She could accept that, if it was true, however much it hurt. She could build a life without that kind of love. There were other things just as important—honesty, kindness, good humor, a certain generosity of spirit. Loyalty.
Fraser stepped back from her, and Martha let her breath out slowly, a breath she hadn’t been aware she was holding. “What’s in it for you, Martha?” he asked, eyes narrowed. “I can’t believe you’d do this just to help me out. A beautiful woman like you who’s got her whole life ahead of her somewhere else, married to a man who loves you the way you deserve to be loved…” His voice trailed off.
“What’s in it for you?” he repeated bluntly, eyes suddenly hard.
Martha took a deep shaky breath. The truth. Only the truth was good enough. “I’m nearly thirty-six years old, Fraser. Next spring. I can’t wait for the fairy tale you’re talking about to happen to me. I want a family. I want a child—”
“What are you saying?” he broke in, his voice rough.
“I want a baby of my own.”
His face had gone white. His expression—of fury, of disbelief, of utter shock—frightened her. He turned abruptly and went to stand by the window. Behind him, Martha saw the Wind Rivers rise over the ranch in the distance, brilliant in the winter sunshine. The line of Fraser’s shoulders was just as rigid and unmoving. After an eternity, he turned back.
“I won’t do it. I’ll never father a
nother child. Not for you, not for any woman.”
“Another child?” Martha breathed. “What do you mean?”
“I was married once—maybe you heard,” he began, his voice utterly devoid of emotion. “My wife is dead.”
Martha nodded.
He went on bitterly. “I might’ve known someone would be eager to fill you in. It doesn’t matter. It’s no secret.”
“Birdie told me your wife died,” Martha ventured as gently as she could.
“Yes.” Fraser looked out the window again, and Martha could see a muscle working in his jaw. “I killed her.”
“What?”
“I killed her.” He turned toward her, his face a mask of pain. “She died having my baby.”
“But…but that isn’t the same.” Martha shook her head, bewildered. “It happens sometimes, the doctors must have told you…”
“Yes. They did. But it comes down to the same thing. She went into labor too early because she was pregnant with my child, and she bled to death because I couldn’t get her to a hospital in time to save her.”
“My God, Fraser, you can’t blame yourself!”
“Who else is to blame?” he bit out. “If I hadn’t made her pregnant, if I’d managed to get her to the hospital, she’d be here today.”
And Martha Thomas wouldn’t be. None of this would have been necessary. The thought hung unspoken between them.
“Blame no one.” Martha took a few steps toward him, her heart sick with the pain she felt for him. She wanted to touch him but didn’t dare. “It could have happened to…to anyone, Fraser. You have to put it behind you. Go on with your life. I—I’m sure your wife would have wanted you to.”
“I wish I could, Martha,” he said wearily. “I wish I could forget. But I dream of it, especially since you’ve come to live here. It’s come back to me, like it was just yesterday.”
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