Wolf Creek Wife

by Penny Richards

  Two years ago.

  Two years was plenty of time to pick up the pieces of his life and move on instead of wallowing in self-pity. Admitting that his actions had been less than exemplary since her infidelity was easier than he expected. He certainly wasn’t proud of himself. In fact, he’d acted like a blamed fool. Drinking, carousing, behaving like the meanest cuss in town. He wondered why that was easier to own up to than to face the idea that he’d failed as a husband.

  He had a chance to remedy that with Blythe. They’d said vows. Made promises. The moment he’d entered into marriage with her, he’d started a new phase in his life. It was high time he stopped dwelling on the ugliness of the past, and there was no better place to start than with his new wife and new life.

  If this marriage stood the slightest chance of succeeding, he had to stop comparing Blythe’s actions to what Martha had done or assuming Blythe would behave in the same way. It meant not expecting her to react in a certain manner just because she came from a wealthy family, and it meant relying on the Lord when he had nowhere to go and no one to turn to, something he hadn’t done in far too long.

  Like any newlywed couple, they would face ups and downs, as well as the adjustment of living together and the dozens of unexpected things that would crop up. Marriage was getting to know the other person and adapting to the differences between one another.

  Just because they’d entered this new relationship in unusual circumstances didn’t mean they couldn’t have a satisfying life together. All his friends claimed she was a good person. A smart person. And while she’d had a lot of the advantages money could buy, she didn’t seem to be the spoiled woman he’d expected her to be.

  A memory of how she’d felt in his arms as he drove them home from town slipped into his thoughts. The slight weight of her resting against him and the floral scent that drifted up from her hair had been...unsettling in a way he wasn’t prepared to deal with just yet.

  To be truthful, she was very pretty and, under any other circumstance, he might have pursued her. She was lovely enough for any man to be proud to call his wife, and there was something about her that, despite their inauspicious beginning, made him want to protect her. He’d felt it from that day at the train station when he’d come between her and the pushy Boston reporter.

  By the time he arrived at the mill, Will had reached a decision about his marriage. From now on out, he would do his best to rein in his impatience and at least try to build a friendship with his new wife. He knew that patience, kindness and civility could go a long way, and there was always the possibility that in time they would grow to care for each other. If there was any hope for them to make it through a lifetime together, it was the only course to take.

  His decision made, Will checked the pile of logs that had been cut during his absence, as well as the boards that had been cut and stacked for the shipment. Satisfied that everything at the mill was on track, he headed back to the house. It was getting along toward dark and he and Blythe were about to spend their first night as a married couple.

  * * *

  The first thing he noticed when the house came into view was light streaming through the windows. Even though it wasn’t quite dark yet, the glow seemed to welcome him. It was far better than returning to a dark house.

  Alternately curious about what would happen when he stepped through the door and dreading his next encounter with his wife, he unsaddled the horse, rubbed him down and gave him his nightly ration of oats and a small pile of hay. Then he headed to the house and pulled off his boots on the porch. Martha had been adamant that he not wear his dirty boots inside and he figured any woman would appreciate the gesture.

  When he stepped through the doorway, his eyes went automatically to the table. He couldn’t hide his surprise. A pretty globe lamp with flowers painted on the sides sat in the middle of a damask cloth topped with two pretty plates he’d never seen before and flanked by silver cutlery and elegant crystal stemware.

  A plate of fancy-cut sandwiches surrounded by pickled okra, cheese slices and chunky sweet pickles his mother had given him sat near the plates, along with a selection of cookies, a crystal bowl holding some of the delicious Saratoga chips from Gentry Mercantile and two slices of Ellie’s famous coconut pie.

  Blythe had made the simple fare look like a formal meal. Martha had been a pretty fair cook when the notion took her, but she’d made no attempts to make the food she prepared look appetizing unless they were entertaining someone she thought might help her move up the social ladder.

  Will thought the formality might be a little much for the country life he lived, but he realized this was normal for Blythe. It was pretty and inviting, and he didn’t think it would take much for him to get used to the change. His awed gaze moved from the table to his new wife, who was standing near the fire. He might have thought this was a real marriage and she was waiting for him to come in for supper, except for the wariness in her eyes and the fact that her hands were clenched together.

  “Was everything all right at the mill?” she asked, breaking the silence stretching out between them.

  This was the second time today she’d asked about his work. Will didn’t recall Martha ever asking anything about the mill except in relation to whether or not someone had paid their lumber bill or if he’d collected any money to put in the bank.

  “It looked like they did just fine while I was gone.”

  “That’s good. Win says that sometimes it’s troublesome to leave someone else in charge, but it has to be done from time to time.”

  “He’s right.”

  She gestured toward the table. “I hope you’re all right with what the ladies sent home with us. I haven’t had time to check the larder and see what you have.”

  “Not much, I don’t imagine,” he told her truthfully. “The table looks very nice.”

  She tried to smile, but it was a feeble attempt. “I know it may seem like a bit much...considering everything, but I brought my hope chest with me and, despite everything, I thought both of us might need at least one pleasant memory when we look back on our wedding day.”

  He hadn’t thought of that, but she had a point. It would be nice to have one good memory of the day. “You’re right,” he said, attempting to reciprocate her smile. “Let me just wash up and I’ll be right out.”

  He took off his coat and hung it on a peg by the door, then crossed into his room and closed the door behind him. He wasn’t sure what to make of his welcome. Had Blythe, as he had, decided that they should go from here with as much courtesy as possible? He hoped so. If they both stuck to that, life would be much easier for them both.

  When he emerged a few moments later, she was still standing next to the fire, waiting for him. Will might be a country boy, but he wasn’t completely lacking in social graces.

  He went to the table and pulled out a chair for her. She crossed the room and sank into it gracefully, even gratefully, it seemed. When he scooted her chair beneath the table, he caught a whiff of the same scent her mother wore, the same scent that had drifted up from her as he’d held her close against his chest on the way home. It was a fragrance he knew he would forever associate with her.

  “What’s that perfume you’re wearing?” It never occurred to him that she might consider the question too personal.

  She turned her head to look at him, surprise in her eyes. “Um...lilac.”

  “I like it,” he told her, pulling out his own chair. “It’s what your mother wears, isn’t it?”

  She placed her napkin in her lap. “Yes.”

  “I don’t think I’ve ever smelled lilacs before,” he told her, doing the same. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen any.”

  “Probably because it’s very hard to grow them in the South. They need some cold weather,” she said, reaching for the plate of dainty sandwiches and passing it to him.


  “Ladies first.”

  She did manage a small smile then. “Not if you’re Libby Granville’s daughter.”

  “She sounds like my mother,” Will said. He grew serious all of a sudden and again spoke what was on his mind. “Look, Blythe, I realize you come from a very different lifestyle than mine, and I’m sure you’re used to having people...” He paused, searching for the right words.

  “Wait on me hand and foot?” she supplied.

  He shrugged. “Something like that.”

  “I did grow up with a lot of advantages, but that doesn’t mean that I’m worthless or helpless.”

  “I didn’t mean to imply you are. I just wanted to let you know that I don’t expect you to wait on me hand and foot.”

  “At the Granvilles’, we consider waiting on our menfolk as more of a thank-you. Men are out working all day, making a living, and it only seems right that they should come in to a...pleasant place where they’re treated with courtesy and respect. You’ll soon learn that my mother is very big on common courtesy.”

  “Wonderful attributes to pass on to your children,” he said truthfully. “But I’ve been taking care of myself for a couple of years now.”

  “Understood,” she told him. “But as your wife, I want to make our house a home. It’s what I’ve been taught to do. Now will you please take some sandwiches? This plate is getting heavy.”

  He took the other side of the plate. Flashed another half smile. “How about we take one at the same time?”

  She sighed and did as he asked. He imagined he saw the corners of her mouth tip upward the slightest bit. Maybe it wouldn’t be nearly as hard as he expected to build a life with this woman.

  * * *

  Blythe was surprised at how well their first meal together went. Like two people courting, perhaps, they talked about various things, just getting to know one another.

  When Will had finished his pie and drained his second cup of coffee, he scooted his plate back, rested his forearms on the table and turned to look at her. The serious expression in his eyes set her heart to pounding in anxiety.

  “Thank you.”

  “For what?”

  “Making our first meal together special.”

  “It was leftover party food.”

  “Presented in a very nice way.”

  “It just seemed like the thing to do.” The praise from him was as unexpected as it was puzzling.

  “Do you feel like telling me about...what’s his name? We can talk about it, and then if we never mention it again, that’s fine with me.”

  Though she’d known they would have to discuss their pasts at some point, Blythe was a bit taken aback by the fact that Will was broaching the subject so soon and with such forthrightness.

  “Of course,” she said. “As long as you tell me about Martha.” What was good for the goose was good for the gander.

  “Fair enough.”

  Like Will, she pushed her plate aside. “When Devon arrived in town, he took Boston society by storm.”

  “How’d he get in?” Will asked, frowning. “I figured you’d have to be someone another person knew...or something.”

  “Oh, he said he was. He was very clever.” Her voice held unmistakable sarcasm. “Devon knew just enough about a former friend of an elderly businessman in the city, convinced the gentleman that he was his friend’s nephew. Devon was handsome and well-dressed and knew his way around society. The investigator Philip hired later discovered that his name was really Wilbur Delaney, that he had a wife stuck back in a tenement somewhere and that he’d been a valet to the real nephew.”

  “Clever. And he set his cap for you.”

  She could hardly believe she was talking about such personal matters with a virtual stranger, and a man, no less. But somehow it felt right, even natural. Of all the people she knew, Will probably understood her feelings better than anyone else ever could. After all, he’d been through a very similar situation. Besides, even though she hardly knew him, he was her husband, and if they were to make this marriage work, it was best to be honest from the start.

  “I’d say he set his sights on me, but I didn’t know the difference and I allowed myself to be swept off my feet and into a fantasy I’d always dreamed of.”

  “You loved him.” It was a statement.

  “I did. At least I thought that what I felt was love,” she told him. “And you loved Martha.”

  “Yes.” The scowl was back, bringing with it two little lines between his eyebrows that begged to be rubbed away. “Or, like you, I thought it was love. She was pretty and I was proud of her, and she made me think I was the best thing that ever happened to her. It took a long while for me to see that she wanted me because I was reasonably attractive and successful, and our marriage was a step up in the world for her.

  “After a while I realized she didn’t want to make a home or a life together. She wanted things. Now that I’ve had a couple of years to think about it, I’m not sure I understood what real love is.”

  “And you do now?”

  “I think so.”

  “Well, I’m not sure I do,” she told him, “but I know what it isn’t. It isn’t about being the perfect couple or having those ‘things’ you mentioned. Devon didn’t want me. He wanted the money.”

  She brightened suddenly. “Perhaps he and Martha will cross paths one day. It sounds to me as if they’d be a perfect pair.”

  Will actually smiled at that. The quip was made in a mocking tone, but there was a certain truth in it.

  “You know,” she said, “I think the thing that bothers me the most is that he made me look like a fool in front of everyone. I’m not sure my heart was hurt as much as my pride.”

  Will gave a thoughtful nod. “Exactly. I didn’t like everyone talking about me not being man enough to hold her.”

  “Oh, surely people didn’t say that.” She couldn’t imagine anyone saying such things about the man sitting across from her.

  “Who knows? That’s what I imagined them saying.” He took another sip of his coffee. “Have you heard from him?”

  “Hardly!” Blythe scoffed, the expression on her face reasonably close to a snarl. “The last thing Devon Carmichael wants to do is come anywhere near me. He knows that if my brothers had even the slightest inkling of where he’d gone off to, they’d have the Pinkertons after his sorry hide in a heartbeat.”

  Will’s mouth curved into another wry smile.

  Her eyebrows drew together. “Martha has come back, so it seems to me she still cares for you.”

  “She doesn’t know the meaning of the word.” Will got up and poured himself another cup of coffee. “Martha cares for Martha. I know how her mind works.”

  “Meaning?”

  “The man she left me for was already married and had no plans to leave his wife.”

  “There seems to be a lot of that going around.”

  “So it seems,” Will agreed. “Martha came back because she’s exhausted all her other options and she thinks she can rope me in again. It’s a good thing I’ve learned a few things the past couple of years.”

  “There’s nothing like a few hard life lessons to teach you prudence.”

  “True. Besides, she’s wasting her time.”

  Blythe looked at him questioningly.

  “As I was reminded earlier, I already have a wife.”

  Blythe stared into his eyes, trying to gauge his feelings and failing. “Yes, you do.”

  “Regrets, Mrs. Slade?” he asked.

  Hearing him call her by her new name caught her off guard, yet she couldn’t help an unexpected and fleeting feeling that it sounded right. His tone was light, maybe even a little teasing, but the look in his eyes was dead serious. Was he as uncertain as she was about their new relationship
?

  Did she have regrets? Not a one. At least not yet.

  “No regrets. What about you, Mr. Slade?”

  “Nope.” He lifted his coffee cup as if he were making a toast. “To marriage.”

  * * *

  Blythe woke the next morning to the aromas of freshly brewed coffee and frying bacon. A quick glance at the clock at her bedside told her it was almost six. Evidently she’d overslept, but she’d been so weary the night before that she hadn’t thought to ask Will what time she should get up.

  After splashing water on her face to wash away the last cobwebs of sleep, she slipped her arms into a warm, woolen robe and padded into the kitchen in her bare feet.

  Will, who was standing at the stove, turned when he heard her door opening. There was no welcoming smile from her new husband, not that she’d really expected one. For a moment he didn’t say anything, just stood looking at her, letting his gaze roam from the braid hanging over her shoulder, past the robe knotted at her small waist and down to her bare feet. She curled her toes in embarrassment. Starting to feel uncomfortable, Blythe drew the edges of her robe together.

  “Good morning.” Her voice was husky with sleep.

  “Mornin’,” Will said. “Coffee’s ready.”

  She cleared her throat. “That sounds wonderful.”

  “Have a seat. I’ll get it for you.”

  “I thought we’d settled this last night.”

  “Settled what?”

  “That I don’t expect you to wait on me.”

  “Well, it won’t hurt this once.” He took a cup from a cabinet and poured her a healthy portion of the fragrant brew, then more for himself. “Cream and sugar?”

  “Ugh. No,” she said with a frown. “My daddy always said cream and sugar are for sissies. If you have to use them in your coffee, you like cream and sugar. Not coffee.”

  Will’s heavy eyebrows lifted in query. “Is that so?” he said and proceeded to add two generous spoonsful of sugar to his own cup. His eyes never left hers.