The Bride of Willow Creek

by Maggie Osborne

  Golden Avenue was a steep climb from Bennet and she was slightly winded when she arrived at the site. Stopping to catch her breath, Angie shaded her eyes and examined the reverend’s new two-story parsonage.

  Her first impression was that the reverend’s wife would be delighted with the intricate fretwork along the eaves and with the wide veranda shaded by a stand of cottonwoods. Her second sobering impression was that Sam was a gifted builder. The house was elegant, snug, and tight, every detail a lesson in perfection.

  One of the men painting the exterior climbed down a ladder and crossed the street. “Angie? What are you doing here?” Sam smiled, pleased and surprised.

  “I brought you some ham and beans,” she said, pulling the jar out of her cloth shopping bag. “For tonight. When you go up to your claims,” she added when he looked puzzled. “Oh. I almost forgot to give you the spoon. Here.”

  “That’s very thoughtful.” He accepted his supper, but his gaze narrowed warily.

  “I just thought . . . Well, by the time you get home, I’ve put away the supper things.” She spread her hands, feeling her face blaze crimson. “I know you must get hungry. It’s a long time between dinner and supper.”

  A sparkle of amusement chased the suspicion. “You don’t have to explain doing something thoughtful.”

  “You had an odd look on your face. Like maybe you thought the beans were tainted or something.”

  “I was surprised, that’s all.”

  Surely there was something wrong with a woman who felt a weakness for a man wearing a work shirt rolled to the elbows, Angie thought helplessly, fighting an urge to fan her face. She glanced at the light gold­tipped hair on his arms and the thick muscle turning brown in the sun. Then she lifted her gaze to a strand of long dark hair that had pulled out of the twine tying the curl on the back of his neck. When the strand of hair lying against his cheek began to seem bafflingly disturbing, she lowered her gaze to the hammer hanging from a loop on his denims near his thighs.

  Oh Lord. What was happening to her? Images she’d seen only in secretly obtained medical tomes teased her mind and left her feeling light-headed.

  “Angie? Are you all right?” Catching her elbow, he steadied her.

  But his strong fingers on her arm only made things worse. A hot electric jolt ran toward her shoulder and made her twitch.

  “I shouldn’t have washed your underwear,” she whispered. Handling a man’s underwear did strange things to a woman’s mind. But how could she have known?

  “What?”

  “I washed your clothes,” she said, pulling away from his hand. Her chin came up and her eyes turned defiant, daring him to comment.

  For a long moment, he didn’t. He stood in front of her, tall, handsome, the muscles flexing along his forearms. The intensity in his gaze shot another bolt of lightning along Angie’s spine and she wondered frantically if she were coming down with an early summer ague. Standing this close to him made her feel feverish one minute and shivery the next.

  She gave her head a shake, scattering images that made her feel as if she’d eaten something about to go bad.

  “I came to ask about your jacket.” A quick glance didn’t reveal any burns on his arms or along the arrow of tanned skin at his throat. “I was going to wash it, but the jacket is ruined beyond mending.” Turning away from her, he gazed across the street at the reverend’s house. “Sam? It appears to be fire damage. Were you in some kind of danger?”

  “We’ll talk about it tonight. Would you like to see the house?”

  Frustration tugged her lips. She wanted to talk about the fire now. But the stubborn way he spread his legs and folded his arms over his chest told her the mystery would remain unsolved until he was good and ready to answer questions.

  “I’d like that,” she said, letting him take her packages.

  The painters on the ladders tipped their caps to her and smiled. One of them grinned and gave Sam a thumbs-up sign, which made Angie blush.

  The house was wonderful, a house Angie could have happily lived in herself. Silently, she considered wallpaper patterns for the parlor, dining room, and bedrooms, and furnished the windows and floors with draperies and carpets. A large, leafy fern would have finished the bay window to perfection.

  The large, airy kitchen had room for a worktable and a separate laundry area. “It’s a marvelous house, Sam,” she said with genuine admiration. She knew just enough about construction to know the structure was well built with a keen eye for detail.

  Sam leaned against the doorjamb, watching her inspect the kitchen cabinets and shelves. “Maybe you heard about the new hotel down by the depot. There’s a grand opening Wednesday night.”

  He seldom said what she expected him to, but she followed his lead. “One of the ladies mentioned the grand opening last week when we got together to do our mending. The event is by invitation only.”

  “I’ve been invited. Would you like to go?” He cleared his throat and scuffed his boot tip at a paint speckle on the floor. “There’s a dance and a late supper.”

  Her mouth dropped and she stared. “Tilly Morgan said people were coming up from Denver and Colorado Springs. She said the only locals invited were town dignitaries.”

  “Turns out I’ve served on enough town committees that someone or other thinks I’m a dignitary.” A grin curved his lips. “Maybe you don’t know, but you have me and one of my committees to thank for the public toilet beside the bathhouse. Do you want to go to the grand opening?”

  Already her mind raced through the trunk she hadn’t unpacked, discarding one gown, considering another. Then her eyes sharpened on Sam. “Do you have proper attire for a dance?”

  He looked pained. “I can pull myself together when I have to.”

  Her hand fluttered in an embarrassed little wave. “Of course you can. I just . . . I have to leave. The girls will be home by now, and I should be there.” A dance.

  She had never attended a dance with a male escort or without her parents as chaperons. She had never danced with the same man twice, except her father. Or flirted during a waltz. Her frozen state as a married woman without a husband had made her a wallflower. During those rare times when the husband or brother of a friend had requested a duty dance, Angie’s behavior had been tediously circumspect.

  He laughed at the excitement growing in her eyes. “I take it that you want to go?”

  “Oh yes,” she said softly. “But wait. The girls.” For a moment she’d forgotten them. They were too young to leave alone. “Maybe Molly . . . I don’t think she and Mr. Johnson were invited.”

  Sam walked her through the house and back to the street where they turned to face each other.

  “I’m glad you came by.”

  For some reason she had a tendency to forget how tall he was until she stood next to him. He was taller than Peter De Groot. And better looking, too, a traitorous little voice whispered in her mind. And he built wonderful houses that would be standing long after they were both gone. There was something remarkable about men who created enduring legacies.

  “I wanted to see your house.” Surprise lifted her eyebrows as she recognized the truth in her admission. Now she understood she hadn’t needed an excuse. He’d enjoyed showing her his work. His pride had been palpable. She touched his arm and looked into his eyes. “You’re a gifted builder, Sam.” Even her father would have had to concede the truth if he’d seen this house.

  A subtle shift occurred in his expression. Her compliment embarrassed and pleased him. He cleared his throat. “Well. I’ll see you later. At home.”

  “Yes.” She took her packages from his hands, careful not to brush her gloved fingers across his wrist. But she was aware of the smell of paint and sunshine, of his solid warmth and the sheer maleness of him. Aware that he looked at her with a slightly puzzled tilt to his eyebrows, as if he’d seen something in her that he hadn’t noticed before.

  “The girls’ new shoes,” she explained, taking the heavy packag
e.

  “I’ll look at them later.”

  “Oh, I didn’t mean that. . . .” Stopping, she shook her head and smiled. The conversation felt as it had ten years ago when they couldn’t quite say good-bye to each other. “Will you be home to tuck the girls in?”

  He nodded, studying her upturned face. “We’ll talk then.”

  Once he was halfway across the street, Angie realized how late she was running. The twenty minutes she had allowed for this detour had long since expired, Lucy and Daisy would be wondering where she was as this was the first time she hadn’t been home when they returned from school. On the positive side, her hurried walk was downhill.

  She rushed into the house, relieved to discover both girls sitting at the kitchen table. “I have your new shoes,” she said triumphantly. “Let’s . . .” Then she noticed they were not alone.

  The woman sitting with them stiffened, but did not turn. Angie noted a rigid set of shoulders, a white coil of hair beneath an expensive gray hat.

  Lucy raised an expressionless face.

  “Gramma Govenor came to visit us.”

  Laura’s mother. The air ran out of Angie’s chest.

  Chapter 10

  “That’s Angie. She’s Papa’s wife.”

  Mrs. Govenor’s silk-clad spine straightened until only her shoulder blades touched the back of the chair. “Lucy, I should think a young lady of your age would know by now how to perform a proper introduction.”

  Discovering a stranger in her house, particularly this stranger, threw Angie off balance. What could she possibly say to Laura’s mother? Surprise and dismay tumbled her mind in equal measure as she walked around the table to stand behind the girls and face Winnie Govenor.

  Familiar gray eyes returned her examination. Very likely Winnie Govenor had never been as pretty as her granddaughters would be, but strong features and a determined jaw created a presence that assured she would not be overlooked. In middle age, she wore a mantle of dignity, acquired when Herbert Govenor hit pay dirt (according to Molly Johnson), that suited her well. If Angie hadn’t heard the story of Winnie selling pies out of her door during Mr. Govenor’s prospecting days, she would have believed that Winnie Govenor had been born into wealth and ease. But no amount of newly acquired dignity could conceal this woman’s iron will and fierce pride. Her determined mouth and steely gaze stated plainly she was no soft society creature.

  “We’re drinking tea,” Daisy announced into the silence. “Like grown-ups.”

  The girls cradled two steaming coffee cups. Mrs. Govenor drank her tea from Angie’s mother’s rose-painted teacup. Seeing that Winnie Govenor had appropriated her mother’s cup lit a small fire in Angie’s stomach. Mrs. Govenor didn’t know the cup belonged to Angie or that it was her only connection to her mother and to the civilized life she longed to restore, but still.

  “Can we try on our new shoes?”

  “May we try on our new shoes. Truly, Lucy. Are they teaching you nothing in your school?” Mrs. Govenor cast Angie a sidelong glance. “That’s the problem with schools in this kind of town. Skilled teachers are not attracted to rough mining camps.”

  The implication found its target. If Mrs. Govenor had custody, her granddaughters would attend a larger, better school in Colorado Springs. They would have the benefit of top-notch teachers and they wouldn’t have to walk past a brothel to reach their desks.

  “We’ll try on shoes later,” Angie said, slowly removing her gloves. A shaft of sunlight gleamed along her wedding ring, creating a glow like a halo encircling her finger. She had a feeling she would deserve a halo if she survived this encounter with Laura’s mother.

  Suddenly she realized Lucy and Daisy were not chattering as they usually did after school. They behaved more like they had on first meeting Angie, shyly and awkwardly. Curious, she examined their faces and discovered they had both twisted in their seats to stare up at her. Nothing in their expressions revealed what they might be thinking, but their eyes spoke volumes.

  “Oh my, look at the time.” If Angie was mistaken in her quick assumption, they would correct her. “You have five minutes to get to Mrs. Hooten’s for your next fitting.”

  Immediately the girls dabbed napkins at their lips then slid from their chairs. “We’re getting new dresses, Gramma.”

  Lucy nodded. “Angie bought us new hats, gloves, and bags, too. We’re getting everything new.”

  “That’s an expensive undertaking,” Winnie observed, lifting an eyebrow. She waved the comment aside for one of more importance. “I think you can postpone your fittings. I don’t see you often. I’d like you to stay.”

  “We can’t.” Lucy’s posture reflected regret. She looked as if she genuinely longed to stay, even though Angie knew Lucy was perfectly aware the fitting wasn’t scheduled until tomorrow afternoon. Sam was right. That girl should grow up to be an actress. “Angie says shop people work hard and are entitled to respect. It wouldn’t be respectful to ignore our appointment with Mrs. Hooten.”

  Angie pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes. She didn’t recall saying any such thing. But it was just barely possible that she had. Certainly she agreed with the sentiment. But then, how could she object to Lucy’s lie—if it was a lie—when she had just reminded the girls of an appointment that three of the four people present knew did not exist?

  This incident served further depressing evidence of how ill-suited she was for motherhood. She hadn’t the knack for setting a good example.

  “I expect you home for supper at the usual time,” she said before the girls threw her a hasty look of gratitude and ran out the back door. Leaving her alone with Winnie Govenor.

  And she wasn’t making the best impression, she realized, skimming a glance over the laundry tubs she’d left on the kitchen floor. The water in the wash and rinse tubs had gone cold, flat, and gray. A pair of Sam’s long underwear floated in the bluing tub. The burned jacket that had sent her flying off to see Sam lay beside the sink beneath Lucy and Daisy’s lunch buckets. Her apron was still hanging over the pump handle where she’d carelessly tossed it. Breakfast dishes filled the drying rack; she hadn’t taken the time to put them away. Even with the back door open to the sunshine and air, the house smelled of beans and ham.

  Well, she wouldn’t apologize. She hadn’t invited Mrs. Govenor to come calling on wash day.

  “Perhaps it’s just as well that my granddaughters ran off,” Mrs. Govenor said. She frowned at the teacup she jiggled against the saucer, but Angie suspected she didn’t really see it. “I have some things to say to you.”

  Angie removed her hat and cape and placed them with her gloves on the seat Lucy had vacated. A cup of tea would have suited her, perhaps calmed her nerves, but she’d be switched before she sipped tea out of a thick coffee cup while the mother of her rival sipped from the only teacup in the house.

  She couldn’t think of a single word to say to the woman who was trying to take her husband’s children away from him.

  “I want you to know that my husband and I were horrified when our daughter took up housekeeping with Sam Holland. I assure you, she wasn’t raised to be a trollop or to steal another woman’s husband. I can’t explain her shocking behavior and I heartily condemn it. You have my deepest apologies for the grievous wrong my daughter inflicted on you.”

  Angie blinked. She hadn’t expected such blunt talk, would have supposed that Mrs. Govenor would tactfully avoid a subject as delicate and scandalous as her daughter’s relationship with Sam. Obviously the words cost Mrs. Govenor dearly. This woman detested being placed in a position where an apology was necessary. Yet she’d done the right thing as she believed it to be. She had made the apology.

  Angie decided she could be equally generous. “Your daughter wasn’t entirely to blame.”

  Mrs. Govenor’s head snapped up and fire blazed behind those fine gray eyes. “We are well aware who was to blame, don’t doubt that for a minute. But we can’t ignore the fact that Laura was too weak-willed and lacking
in moral character to do what she knew was right. She allowed herself to be seduced into an adulterous liaison, and now, with your arrival, her sin is exposed! If it were only Laura paying for her lack of moral fiber, one could say she has reaped what she sowed. But a public stain has now blackened the Govenor name.”

  And that was unforgivable. Dropping her glance, Angie looked at the rose-painted teacup and tried to imagine her mother ever referring to Angie as weak-willed and lacking moral character. No matter what sin Angie might have committed, no matter what her mother thought privately, Emily Bertoli would have leaped from a three-story building before a disloyal word passed her lips.

  “And Lucy and Daisy! The shame they must feel!”

  “The girls are young,” Angie said slowly. “I don’t think they grasp the stigma of—”

  Mrs. Govenor leaned forward. “I tried to warn Laura. I told her that she was throwing away her reputation, her life, her family. I warned her that her children would grow up in shame.”

  While Mrs. Govenor continued to list the warnings she’d given Laura, Angie wondered how her parents would have reacted if she had defied their wishes and gone West with Sam. Would they have disowned her as the Govenors had done? Because they disapproved of her choice? Or would they have come around eventually and wished her well?

  And it suddenly and shockingly occurred to her that it was just barely possible that Sam was not entirely to blame for her wasted years. An argument could be made that her need for her parents’ approval had been stronger than her love for her new husband.

  She shifted uncomfortably in her seat. “I don’t know if you’re aware of the situation between Mr. Holland and myself.”

  Mrs. Govenor sat back with a look of disgust. “Mr. Holland called on us shortly before Laura broke our hearts and ruined our good name. He explained that the two of you never had a real marriage. That you remained in Chicago by choice, and that he expected you to seek a divorce at some point.”

  “That’s true,” Angie said, nodding. “Your daughter didn’t steal my husband, as you put it.” Angie had thrown him away. If she could have figured a way to mention that Sam was an unused husband when Laura got him, she would have said so. He had been as good as new in that regard. But Sam’s ring was and always had been on Angie’s finger, and that was all Mrs. Govenor cared about. “Sam and I were never really husband and wife. We should have divorced years ago.”