Mail Order Marcella

by Marie Higgins

  “What are you doing?” Johnson asked, quickly setting the tray down on the nearest table and rushing to the closet.

  “I need to get dressed and find Wesley.”

  Johnson, a forty-year-old woman with beautiful blonde hair, shook her head. “Then sit at the table and eat your breakfast while I get your things ready. After all, that’s what I’m being paid to do.”

  Marcella chuckled. “Yes, you are.” She moved to the table and sat, picking up her favorite muffin.

  “You had quite an evening last night. I’m surprised you’re up this early.” Johnson moved to the bed, laying a dress across the blankets.

  “Lottie and I will be leaving with Mr. Greystone today. Mr. Hinsdale is kicking us out of the house.”

  Johnson frowned as she continued to rush around the room, collecting Marcella’s clothes. “I think Mr. Greystone has left the estate early this morning. I’d heard Mr. Higley mention that Mr. Greystone went into town to meet his friend.”

  “What about Mr. Hinsdale? Is he here?”

  “He never came home last night.”

  Marcella was relieved about Martin not being here, but she still worried about Wesley. “He really shouldn’t be on his leg. He was limping quite noticeably last night.”

  “I can see how much he cares for you.” Johnson smiled. “Do you think he’ll ask for your hand in marriage?”

  Marcella’s cheeks warmed. “Although that’s a perfect dream, I don’t dare think of it right now. Wesley has bigger issues to worry about.”

  “I agree, but if he doesn’t take care of his leg, infection might set in, and then he’ll be in danger of losing it.”

  “Are you certain about that?” Marcella asked, warily, not ever hearing about that before.

  “Oh, yes. My cousin had an infection in her leg when she was young. The physician wanted to cut it off, but my aunt wouldn’t allow it. Because the wound wasn’t treated properly, the infection kept getting worse. Eventually, it killed her.”

  Marcella sucked in a quick breath. “Oh, dear. That’s awful.”

  “You must tell Mr. Greystone to take care of his leg.”

  “Yes. I understand. Thank you, Johnson.”

  Her maid returned to helping Marcella dress for the day. She tried not to think of her exhausted body and mind. Instead, Wesley needed her attention, especially if they still needed to find evidence to have Martin arrested.

  Of course, another reason she wanted to see Wesley so desperately was so that he could take her in his arms and kiss her passionately. Her heart raced whenever he was near, and his knee-weakening kisses took her to Paradise. It was hard to accept that she’d fallen in love with Wesley so quickly, but that had to be the reason she cared about him so much. She couldn’t wait to see him, and when they were apart like now, she longed to be near him again.

  Gladness burst in her heart and she needed to share this newfound feeling with someone. Since Wesley wasn’t around, the only other person she could talk with would be her sister. As soon as Johnson left, Marcella stood, hurried out of her room and moved toward her sister’s room, relieved nobody was here to stop her. She hadn’t visited with Joanna since she met Wesley. There was so much to tell her sister.

  She knocked on the door and waited for a reply. Finally, on the other side, her sister’s soft voice answered, inviting her to enter. Marcella opened the door and walked in. As always, her sister lay propped up in bed with a heavy shawl draped over her shoulders that covered most of her arms. The once vibrant golden brown color of Joanna’s hair had faded to a dull yellow. Marcella frowned. Why couldn’t her sister recover from this unknown malady?

  An odd scent drifted in the room, and Marcella couldn’t decide what it smelled like. It definitely wasn’t food. Perhaps the maid was trying a new herb blend poultice or something similar to make Joanna healthy again.

  Joanna smiled. “I’m so happy to see you.”

  Marcella closed the door and moved toward her sister’s bed. “So much has happened lately.” She sat on the edge of her sister’s bed. “But how are you doing? There is a little bit of color in your cheeks.” At least she thought there was. Then again, her face looked more like a buttery color than anything.

  Joanna pulled the shawl tighter around her shoulders and arms. “I’m losing strength, Cella, and I’m tired more than I should be.”

  Marcella’s heart ached. “I thought you were doing better.”

  Joanna shrugged. “I thought I was, as well, but my body is telling me I’m not.”

  “When was the last time you saw the physician?”

  “About four days ago.” Joanna shook her head. “But I don’t need the doctor coming back. I’m not about to pay a man to tell me something I already know.”

  “But what if it’s something different—”

  “Cella, no. I’ve already had this argument with Martin. I’m stubborn, and I won’t budge.”

  “Fine.” Marcella exhaled deeply. “I just want you well.”

  “And I will be in time.” She weakly patted Marcella’s hand. “Tell me what has been happening to you lately? A moment ago when you entered the room, you had a certain gleam in your eyes. Dare I think you have finally met the rancher who’ll marry you?”

  Marcella shrugged. “I haven’t met the rancher. In fact, I’d heard that he died a few weeks ago. However, I think I’m in love with... his brother.”

  Joanna’s face brightened. “Please, tell me all about it.”

  Marcella chose her words carefully, because she didn’t want to say anything about how she and Wesley suspected Martin of murdering Wesley’s family. As she sugar-coated her story, she lied about a few things. Once again, she didn’t want to upset her sister in any way.

  “Does Mr. Greystone know you love him?” Joanna asked.

  “Not yet. I’m hesitant to tell him.”

  “Oh, Cella. You must always remember this one thing above all others—if you want to obtain something in your life, don’t wait for it. Get it yourself. If you wait for it to come to you, it will never happen.”

  Marcella didn’t know how well to take her sister’s advice, but she nodded and kissed her sister’s forehead before leaving the room. For some reason, visiting with Joanna left Marcella feeling gloomy. She definitely needed to see Wesley again. He always brightened her day. And, no matter what obstacles she had to jump, she would speak to him tonight.

  TWELVE

  Wesley was at his wit’s end and running out of ideas. He and Colt had been following Martin most of the day, and all the man had proven was that he was having an affair. This would end today, even if Wesley had to threaten the man’s life—or kill Martin himself. He couldn’t live in fear any longer, and Marcella and Lottie shouldn’t have to, either.

  His leg ached something fierce and was swollen, but he kept on his horse as he tried to ignore the pain. Once he climbed down to rest his leg on a large rock, but then Martin was on the move again, which made Wesley climb back on his horse.

  When they followed Martin to The Boar’s Nest, Wesley decided it was time to have a talk with his cousin. Wesley sent Colt inside the saloon to drag Martin out... which was exactly how it played out. Soon, Martin stood in front of Wesley looking like a small, pathetic man.

  “What do ya want?” Martin slurred his words. “Take Marcella and the girl and leave me and my wife alone.”

  “Actually,” Wesley scratched his unshaven chin, “I’m thinking of taking your wife, too. It’s obvious you don’t love her enough to stay home with her and be faithful to her. Plus, by bringing Joanna to my ranch, Marcella won’t have to worry about you hurting her sister.”

  Martin threw a swing, but stumbled. Colt was the one to keep the drunkard from toppling over.

  “You won’t understand,” Martin slurred, “but the truth is, I sought to marry Marcella off, not because I wanted to harm her, but it was for my wife’s sake.”

  Wesley’s eyes widened at his words. “You don’t make much sense when you’re d
runk.”

  Martin grumbled. “You see, because the two sisters are so close, I knew by marrying Marcella off, it would hurt my wife.”

  “Why would you want to hurt your wife?”

  “Because with Marcella around, she remembers how happy she was before she was married. She doesn’t love me anymore, and that made me mad enough to get back at her.”

  Colt snorted. “Do you blame her? You’re cheating on her, man.”

  Martin swished his hand through the air. “I didn’t start having an affair until I realized Joanna didn’t love me anymore.”

  Wesley shook his head. “Fine, then answer this question. Did you have anything to do with my father’s and brother’s deaths?”

  Martin’s eyes widened and he gasped. “Absolutely not! I looked upon your father as my own, especially after my father died. Your father helped me for many years, getting me out of embarrassing scandals.” His voice broke and tears filled his eyes. “He put me on a pathway toward a better life. I wouldn’t even think of harming your father. He was my mentor.”

  Wesley’s mind wanted to doubt Martin, yet his heart actually believed him. Wesley’s father would have been generous to one of his own family members.

  Groaning, Wesley rubbed his forehead and closed his eyes. As much as he wanted someone to blame for all the horrid things that had been happening to him lately, deep down inside he knew his cousin was not the culprit. Not now. Not after peering at the man who talked about Wesley’s father with tears in his eyes as though he missed the older man as much as Wesley.

  But if Martin wasn’t responsible, then who was?

  “It just made sense,” Wesley muttered, “that you would want to inherit the ranch since you were next in line.”

  “Wesley,” Martin’s voice softened. “I have never wanted your ranch. Even after everyone thought you were dead, I tried to find someone else to take it.”

  Wesley glanced at Colt. His friend’s expression relayed the same conclusion that Wesley felt—that Martin was being honest with him.

  Wesley was silent for a few minutes, trying to decide what to do. He wanted this matter fixed tonight, and yet, the one man he’d suspected of killing his family, was innocent.

  He motioned toward the saloon. “Go back to your drinking. I have no more questions.”

  Nodding, Martin walked unsteady back inside the saloon.

  “Now what do we do?” Colt asked.

  “I wish I knew.”

  THE MOON HADN’T BEEN up in the sky for very long when Wesley returned back to Marcella’s house. She would probably be worried about him since he’d been gone all day. Not only that, he couldn’t wait to see her. The more he thought about the woman, the more his heart grew. It was difficult for him to believe he’d fallen in love so quickly, but yet, why else would he feel this way about her?

  The household must be asleep, because as he crept through the house toward Marcella’s room, he couldn’t hear a sound. He stopped in front of her door, wondering whether to knock. It would be improper to sneak in, and yet he wanted to see her tonight. He wanted to hold and kiss her, and tell her about the talk he had with Martin.

  Being as quiet as he could, he opened the door and snuck inside. A lamp was turned down low near her bed, and her body was outlined underneath the blankets.

  Walking as softly as he could on his swollen leg, he moved to her bed and stopped. She wore a white nightdress, and her hair was flowing all around her. She was absolutely the most beautiful woman he’d ever met.

  He bent and brushed his knuckles across her cheek as gently as he dared, but she jumped and snapped her attention toward him. She gasped and sat up.

  “Wesley!” She grabbed his hands, pulling him down on the mattress. “Where in the blazes have you been?”

  He chuckled, loving how cute she looked mad. “My dearest blossom, I was following Martin to see if I could catch him doing anything that might give me some evidence.”

  Her eyes widened. “Did you find something?”

  “Yes.” He paused only briefly. “He’s having an affair on your sister.”

  Marcella rolled her eyes. “Tell me something I don’t already know.”

  He stared into her eyes, wanting nothing more than to hold her and lay next to her as they fell asleep together.

  “Martin didn’t kill my father and brother.”

  Her forehead creased. “Are you sure?”

  He frowned and nodded. “It’s very frustrating because we still don’t know who killed them.”

  “Oh, Wesley.” She wrapped her arms around him, pulling him close. “I’m so sorry.”

  He stroked her silky hair and rested his face in the crook of her neck. She smelled like flowers. “I want to tell you something else.”

  “What?”

  “I... love you.”

  She jerked up and met his gave. “You do?”

  He nodded. “You’re just too irresistible.”

  “Oh, Wesley,” her voice broke, “I love you, too.”

  Their mouths met at the same time, and he kissed her with all the emotion that had been building up inside him since he kidnapped her. Slowly, he laid her back on the bed and loomed over her, not breaking the kiss.

  He didn’t care how far this kiss went tonight. Then again, they were both so exhausted, he was sure they’d fall asleep before anything exciting happened.

  Suddenly, the floor in the room creaked, alerting his defenses. Quickly, he sat up and spun toward the intruder.

  A woman wearing a white nightgown crept toward them, holding a pistol. Her matted blonde hair stood out, making her look like a wild woman. Dark circles around her eyes gave the impression that they were sinking into her skull. Her skin color was a deathly pale, even in the room’s dim lighting.

  “You, there,” she snapped, pointing the pistol at Wesley. “Get off my sister or I’ll shoot.”

  THIRTEEN

  Wesley didn’t dare move. Obviously, the woman was not in her right mind. Either that or she couldn’t see who he was. Marcella shifted on the bed. He blocked her with his body to protect her.

  “Mrs. Hinsdale, I’m Wesley Greystone, and I love—”

  “You, sir, are lying.” She took another step toward him. “Move away from my sister, now.”

  “No, Joanna,” Marcella said in a rush. “This is Wesley, the man I told you I was in love with.”

  Joanna’s glare moved over him in an unhurried perusal. By her sickly form, he wondered if she was delusional. For certain, she wasn’t in her right mind.

  Colt had once described Martin’s wife as being a very beautiful woman. Wesley couldn’t see that now, and he definitely couldn’t see the resemblance between her and Marcella.

  “Mrs. Hinsdale,” he said again with a gentle voice. “I am Wesley Greystone.”

  The woman shook her head. “No. All the Greystones are dead.”

  Behind him, Marcella gasped. “Joanna, what are you saying? I told you earlier today that—”

  “Don’t try to tell me differently, Cella.” The brown, straggly shawl wrapped around her shoulders slipped, so she adjusted it, but still held the weapon steady. “I’m here, my dear Cella. I shall take good care of you. I won’t let this man break your heart.”

  “He won’t, Joanna. He loves me and I love him.” Marcella’s voice pleaded.

  “Nonsense.” Joanna glowered at Wesley. “I don’t know what kind of mind-trickery you are playing on my sister, but it’s going to stop now.”

  “Please, Joanna,” Marcella said as she tried to move off the bed, but Wesley’s arm kept her in place.

  “Marcella,” he said in hushed tone, only for Marcella’s ears, “I believe your sister is delusional.”

  “No.” Marcella choked on a sob.

  “She’s very ill,” he continued just for her. “We need to try a different approach with your sister.” He licked his dry lips and aimed his focus on Joanna. “Mrs. Hinsdale, please put the pistol down and let me help you,” Wesley coaxed, motionin
g his hand to her. “Nobody needs to get hurt.”

  “You cannot help me,” Joanna snapped.

  “We both can help you.” Marcella’s voice came out strong and confident.

  The older sister growled as she stepped around the bed to Marcella’s side. A strong stench accompanied the woman, and Wesley almost had to cover his nose to keep from smelling it.

  “Cella, come with me now.” Joanna’s voice rose even higher as she reached for her sister’s hand.

  “No, Joanna.” Marcella clutched Wesley’s arm. “He’s telling the truth. You must believe us.”

  “Believe you... and him? I can’t do that. Men are liars. They know how to deceive women and crush their hearts. Cella, the only person you can rely on is me. Now come with me and I’ll save you from him.”

  Wesley couldn’t understand the sister’s behavior. What had he ever done to her?

  “I will not come with you,” Marcella answered stubbornly. “I will stand by Wesley. He’ll keep me safe. Always.”

  Tears welled in Joanna’s eyes. “Oh, my dear, foolish sister. You made the wrong choice, Cella. I cannot save you now.”

  Worry tightened Wesley’s chest. His gut told him this wasn’t going to turn out good.

  “Joanna, please,” Marcella begged. “You have been sick, and you look like you need to rest. Let me help you.” She moved to climb off the bed, but Wesley grasped her arm just as she had snatched her wrapper. She shook her head. “Let me do this, Wesley. My sister needs me.”

  “Not while she’s holding a pistol.”

  “Wesley,” she whispered and brushed a kiss on his cheek. “I’m the only one who can convince her to put the weapon down.”

  He was physically torn. How could he allow the woman he loved to talk some sense into her sick sister? He had already lost people he loved, and he wasn’t going to lose Marcella. But she had a mind of her own, and she was slowly moving off the bed, anyway.

  “I’m here now, Joanna.” Her voice was soothing as she shrugged on the wrapper. “Put the pistol down and I’ll come with you.”