The Kitchen Marriage

by Gina Welborn

  She studied his intense gaze. “What do you mean?”

  “You drop the R sound in words like people born and raised in New York do, like my godfather does. Instead of saying pow-er or A-mer-i-can, Uncle Jonas says powah and you say A-meh-i-can. No R sound. Just like your accent.” He leaned closer. “Where did you say you hail from?”

  “Isaak, stop!” Jakob tossed his napkin on the table. “Zoe isn’t one of those mail-order bride schemers you’ve read about in the papers. She doesn’t deserve this.” He stood and looked to their other guests. “Excuse us. I promised Zoe a tour of Helena.”

  * * *

  Isaak stood out of politeness when Miss de Fleur rose and left the table.

  Yancey popped up to chase after Jakob and Miss de Fleur. “Don’t go. Please.” She glared at Isaak, as if to say, Apologize, on her way out of the dining room.

  But he’d done nothing wrong, and he wasn’t sorry about asking a few questions. He pressed his lips together. He wasn’t opening his mouth, because if he did, he’d yell that the woman was a fraud and somebody needed to ask questions until she admitted it or—more likely—disappeared one day, leaving a note with a fabricated emergency that took her back to Denver.

  Carline’s gaze flitted between him and the archway, as if she didn’t know whether she should follow her best friend or remain where she was. She was still sitting at the table when Yancey returned with a blunt, “How could you be so rude?”

  Isaak sat and placed his napkin in his lap. “Is asking questions considered ill-mannered now? How fortunate I am to have you to point that out to me.”

  “Don’t get snippy with me.” Yancey pointed her index finger at him. “You weren’t asking questions; you were making accusations.”

  “I was acting in the best interests of my brother, and you aren’t going to make me feel guilty about that.” Isaak swirled his remaining potatoes and gravy together. “We know nothing about this woman except what she’s told us, and I find even that suspect.”

  Yancey huffed, sat down, and stabbed her fork into her green beans. “You’re impossible when you get on your high horse.”

  Carline laid her napkin beside her empty plate. “I don’t know, Yancey. Isaak has a bit of a point.”

  Yancey dropped her fork onto the side of the china plate with a clang.

  Carline lifted one shoulder and leaned her head sideways at the same time, the gesture an act of contrition for disagreeing with her best friend.

  Yancey looked to her brother. “What do you think, Geddes?”

  “None of my business.” He reached across the table and took another helping of mashed potatoes. “Carline, would you please pass the gravy?”

  Jakob stormed back into the dining room. With a fire in his eyes that Isaak hadn’t seen in years, Jakob leaned over Isaak’s chair, one hand on the armrest, the other on the table. “How could you be so rude?”

  Isaak wiped his lips with his napkin. “We can discuss that at a more appropriate time.”

  “Like you chose an appropriate time to interrogate Zoe?” Jakob shook his head. “I’ve never been ashamed to be called your brother until today.” He pushed himself upright and stomped out of the dining room. The front door swooshed open and then slammed shut.

  Isaak laid his napkin beside his plate. “I apologize for my brother’s behavior. Would anyone like dessert?” He looked around the table for a response.

  Carline’s blue eyes couldn’t get any wider.

  Geddes was holding his fork aloft and swiveling his head between Isaak and the archway as though watching a tennis match.

  Yancey covered her lips with a napkin, but hilarity pinched the corners of her eyes together. “You deserved that. You know you did.”

  Isaak scooted his chair away from the table and stood. If he didn’t leave the room, he was going to whack something, which was both a waste of effort and beneath the dignity of anyone claiming to be a gentleman. “I’ll get the cake.”

  He picked up his and Miss de Fleur’s empty dinner plates and carried them into the kitchen. After setting the plates in the sink, he hauled some deep breaths in and out of his lungs.

  Yancey came through the door to the dining room carrying empty dinner plates she’d cleared from the table. She laid them in the sink. “I thought you might need help.”

  She didn’t add, with serving dessert, to the end of her statement. Nor did she apologize for saying he deserved to be humiliated in front of guests in his own home.

  “I’m fine.” Isaak moved to the counter and lifted the glass dome covering the remainder of Aunt Lily’s chocolate cake. Thank goodness she’d brought it over yesterday afternoon out of concern that “her boys” were running low on sweets. He sliced a hefty piece and laid it on the topmost dessert plate he’d stacked on the countertop near where he was working.

  Yancey walked over to him and lifted the top cake plate from the stack, clearing it out of his way. “No, you aren’t fine, but I won’t say another word.”

  He gave her a look to convey his skepticism.

  Yancey’s grin deepened on the left side. “For now.” She took another plate from the stack and held it closer to him so he didn’t have as far to balance cake on the knife while transferring it. “You know how you’re always teasing about marking a day in the calendar when Jakob does something to surprise you? Well, I’m marking today.”

  Because? he asked with raised eyebrows.

  “This past year has changed you. I don’t know if it was being put in charge of The Resale Company or your decision to run for mayor, but we’ve all noticed your benevolent arrogance.”

  His jaw sagged. “My what?”

  “You heard me. We’ve put up with you bossing us around because we know you mean well. However, it was only a matter of time before someone stood up to you.”

  How was he supposed to respond to that? It was unanswerable. Isaak dropped his gaze to the cake to conceal his dumbfounded silence. He sliced a smaller piece and laid it on the plate she held. “Forks are over there.” He pointed with the icing-covered knife.

  “Clearly,” she sassed.

  On any other day, he would have chuckled at the way she’d called him out, but he wasn’t in the mood.

  She took the plates over to where the forks were piled, added one to each plate, and headed back to the dining room.

  Isaak set down the cake knife and let out a breath. Did people really think he was arrogant—benevolently arrogant?

  If Jakob had heard the phrase, it explained why he’d been so argumentative of late. This whole mail-order bride business was likely another attempt to show he was responsible enough to handle the commitment of a wife and family, the same way he’d insisted he could get The Import Co. built, stocked, and opened by the first of week of May.

  Ma had been convinced, but not Pa, or he wouldn’t have told Jakob how important it was that The Import Co. open on schedule. Of course, when Pa said “schedule,” he meant as soon as was reasonably possible, but no later than whatever date Jakob advertised as the grand opening.

  Which was the fourth of May, nine days after Ma and Pa were planning to be home.

  Who could be enlisted to make Jakob see reason and end the courtship before Ma and Pa arrived? Mac was away on his honeymoon, and given how Miss de Fleur had turned Jakob’s brain to mush in a matter of two days, waiting two weeks for the sheriff to return was out of the question. Hale had already said he didn’t consider it his business if Jakob wanted to order up a bride like another parcel to be delivered to The Import Co., and Geddes said pretty much the same thing. Windsor Buchanan? His penchant for saying he had Isaak’s back meant Jakob would attribute any criticism Windsor voiced of Miss de Fleur to Isaak. Quinn Valentine, the city marshal, might be of some help. He was dedicated to serving the community, but he was also likely to say he had no jurisdiction to investigate Miss de Fleur without proof of a crime.

  Isaak was on his own.

  Yancey returned to the kitchen, her expression seriou
s. “Why don’t you like Miss de Fleur?”

  Isaak cut a third piece of cake and laid it on a plate. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “But you will.” She leaned her forearms on the kitchen counter. “You always do.”

  He didn’t want to, but there was something uncanny about Yancey and her ability to make people talk. With him, she was direct, but he’d seen her worm information out of others by doing nothing more than sitting next to them and remaining silent.

  Like she was doing now.

  Waiting for him to talk about something he did want to talk about . . . just not with the girl he considered his baby sister.

  Who was still staring at him.

  Waiting.

  And watching.

  Isaak sighed in defeat. “You of all people should understand my wariness when it comes to mail-order bride schemes.”

  “Because of the way I was deceived by Finn Collins?” She pressed her lips into a flat line.

  She wasn’t to blame. None of them could have known that Finn would team up with Madame Lestraude to lure a woman into prostitution by pretending to court her through letters—even going so far as to use Yancey as a proxy bride in Emilia’s place. When Joseph Hendry wrote the newspaper article a year ago, he’d exposed the scheme without naming Yancey, but people had shunned her for weeks afterward anyway. She was still sensitive about it.

  “We were all deceived on some level,” Isaak acknowledged, and some of the antagonism drained from her face. He held out the chocolate cake. “Peace offering?”

  She eyed the plate. “Not with a slice that small.”

  Laughter shook some of the tightness from his chest. He held the knife at an angle over the cake, moving it to indicate a larger and larger piece. When her scowl turned to a smile, Isaak cut. “I wish you and Jakob would make a match of it.”

  Yancey reached for two forks, exchanging one of them for the cake plate he held out to her. “I’ve wished for that, too, but I haven’t been able to make myself fall in love with him.”

  Isaak cut himself a large piece and put it on a plate. “I’ve never agreed with the idea that people fall in love. It makes it sound like love is something you trip over and land in without any effort. Real love takes time and tending to develop.”

  “But sometimes even that isn’t enough.”

  He frowned. “What are you talking about?”

  “Joseph Hendry. He was a good man and I could almost love him, but he was always going to be second-best. I . . . I was going to break our engagement the night he died.” She sniffed. “I decided I’d rather have nothing than settle for . . .”

  Someone other than Hale, Isaak silently filled in the rest of her sentence. He took a bite of cake while searching for a way to move the conversation to something less upsetting for her. “What do you require in a husband?”

  “Are you asking me for a list?”

  He nodded. “Anyone who’s contemplating marriage should know what’s important to them in a spouse.”

  “Are you telling me you have a list?” Yancey shook her head as though clearing it. “Never mind. Of course you have a list. And a timetable, no doubt.”

  “Which isn’t a bad thing.” Isaak took another bite of cake. Schedules and lists kept him from wasting time and effort. In business matters, they kept others from spinning in circles when, with a little planning, they could accomplish a great deal.

  Yancey tapped her fork on his plate to get his attention. “Then tell me this: Why did you propose to Emilia Collins? You can’t tell me you planned that.”

  “True, it wasn’t on my timetable, but it wasn’t an impulsive decision.”

  Her tilted head and raised eyebrows said, Go on. Tell me all about it.

  Isaak pushed away his plate, no longer starving. “Before I proposed to Emilia, I analyzed the situation. She needed protection which I could have provided. She’s a wonderful person, and we could have built a solid marriage and grown to love each other over time.”

  Yancey cut a piece of cake with the side of her fork. “My parents said the same thing about Joseph, but there was no spark of romance between us.”

  “Not all women require that. My mother didn’t. She wanted a man who would help her raise her child—well, what she thought was one child at the time.”

  “Pfft. A tale a mother tells her sons. I bet she left out all the romantic parts.”

  Doubtful. His mother wasn’t one to shy away from what others might consider uncomfortable topics. Even if she had, it didn’t change the facts. “Romance is a fine thing, but it’s not the same as real love.”

  “Says the man who’s never even taken a girl out on a surrey ride.” Yancey lifted her chin in challenge.

  A somewhat valid rebuttal, but—again—it didn’t nullify sound logic.

  “Romance is like dessert.” Isaak pointed to his half-eaten cake as an example. “It’s a wonderful addition to the meal, but if that’s all you ever have, you’ll soon make yourself sick. True love is the meal. It’s heartier, more nourishing, and—yes—takes some planning to put together a good one.”

  Yancey chuckled. “A good point, but maybe not the best example coming from a man who’s notorious for loving his sweets.”

  “Touché.” He grinned. “Do you think it unromantic to have expectations and then discover someone who meets them? Because I can’t think of anything more romantic.”

  Yancey shook her head. “You and I have different definitions of romance. I remember the exact moment I fell in love with Hale. My feet left the ground. I knew in the deepest place of my heart that he was my future. People have told me I was too young, but it’s been ten years, and no other man has ever made me feel that way.”

  “I want to feel all those things, too. I’m not heartless, despite what some people might think. But all that emotion needs to be balanced with cold, hard facts. For example, what if the man who made your feet leave the ground was Ole Olafson?” Isaak named the town drunk.

  Yancey laughed merrily. “You’ve made your point. I suppose what we disagree on is the balance between emotion and logic.”

  “I suppose.”

  She set down her fork. “Then who’s to say which one of us is correct?”

  Isaak lowered his eyebrows. She was building up to something, and he wasn’t sure he was going to like it.

  “And”—she looked him straight in the eye—“who’s to say you get to decide that balance for anyone else?”

  The question felt like another punch. “You mean my questioning of Miss de Fleur, I take it.”

  She nodded. “Jakob isn’t some flibbertigibbet.”

  A matter of opinion.

  Yancey scowled at him as though she could read his mind. “He’s not, and Miss de Fleur may turn out to be a perfect match for him.”

  Not when she was only out for his money.

  Yancey picked up her plate and held out a hand to take his. “I know you consider me too young to have any wisdom, but mark my words, Isaak David Gunderson. If you choose to exercise your benevolent arrogance by separating Jakob from a woman he’s falling in love with, you’ll live to regret it.” She walked to the sink and placed their dishes inside it. “I’ll leave you to your thoughts. Thank you for dinner.”

  Isaak nodded to acknowledge her gratitude. She left the kitchen, and he heard her rounding up Geddes and Carline, convincing them to leave their dirty dishes on the table and leave without saying good-bye.

  Once the house was quiet, Isaak started cleaning the kitchen. Perhaps it was somewhat arrogant to assume he knew better than his brother, but Isaak was sure of one thing . . .

  Zoe de Fleur did not belong with Jakob.

  Chapter Nine

  Deal’s Boardinghouse

  Monday morning

  De Fleur-Gunderson Courtship Contract, Day 3

  How could anyone say Isaak Gunderson was a nice man?

  Zoe sipped her lukewarm tea. No matter how many times she replayed yesterday’s lunch in her mind
, she found no reasonable explanation for his animosity, other than the rancor that was native to his arrogant personality.

  You drop the R sound in words like people born and raised in New York do.

  How dare he question her accent!

  She had gone to bed thinking about how angry she was with him. She woke thinking how angry she still was. The last time she felt this angry at anyone had been—

  She grimaced, unable to think of a time. She abhorred being angry at anyone; harmony with others made life sweeter. Isaak Gunderson bore not a sweet bone in his body.

  “Something wrong?” Nico asked.

  She met his curious gaze. “I am angry.”

  “Really?” He squinted at her. “I can’t tell. You’d make an excellent poker player because you always look so calm and expressionless. My cousin’s ears turn red and his neck swells when he’s angry. It’s kind of creepy.”

  That did sound creepy.

  Especially because he had never before mentioned having a cousin.

  “Zoe,” he said slowly, “have you ever actually been angry enough to know if you’re really angry right now?”

  Zoe stared at him in disbelief. There was no other explanation for the emotional upheaval she had felt since meeting Isaak Gunderson.

  “I know how I am feeling,” she insisted. “My stomach aches like a million butterflies struggling to escape a vat of boiling water.”

  “That makes no sense.”

  Exactly. Which made it fitting to describe how the man made her feel.

  “Well, because you’re too angry to eat”—Nico’s gaze flickered to her breakfast plate—“do you mind?”

  Zoe looked down at her still-full plate of hot cakes made from overmixed batter, bland sausages, and fried-to-a-burned-crisp potatoes. None of it was palatable.

  And yet Nico’s plate had been scraped clean.

  She put down her teacup. After giving him her plate, which he cheerfully accepted, she removed the linen napkin from the lap of her amethyst walking suit and laid it where her plate had been.