The Rancher's Inconvenient Bride Page 7

  “It’s getting toward sundown and you must be weary. I reckon we ought to head home.”

  “Yes, well. There’s that coat in the window two stores up. It would look fetching with the last four gowns you purchased.”

  He suspected it wasn’t the coat she wanted so much as to prove to him that the stress of the day had not wearied her.

  “Mayor! Mayor, wait!” Mrs. Peabody’s call reached him from half a block behind.

  He turned to watch her charging up the boardwalk. “Mrs. Peabody, have you met my wife?”

  “Not face to face. But I did see you carry her off when the circus folks went mad. Lovely to meet you with your clothes on, my dear.”

  Agatha opened her mouth but no words came out. Mrs. Peabody didn’t seem to notice.

  “Mayor, there’s a stranger over at the Bascomb. Didn’t look a savory sort, if you ask me.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Peabody. I’ll look into it.”

  “The sooner the better. Gave me the shivers.” She hurried on her way, no doubt to bolt her doors and windows.

  He hoped the fellow was a product of the old woman’s fear because if he wasn’t he could be one of Lydle’s men.

  That didn’t bear thinking. Pete Lydle and his bunch weren’t due for another couple of months.

  At least the circus had packed up and gone on to their next engagement. Word was that only half of the tent had blown down in the wind. Luckily, the same report said no one had been injured—unless one counted the stuffed elephant. It had been knocked over, its tail bent in the attempt to set the thing upright.

  “I wonder why she came to you about it. It seems a job for the sheriff, not the mayor.”

  “One would think so. The truth is we don’t have a sheriff.” He took one of the boxes she carried and stuffed it under his arm. “Every time I present someone who wants the job, they turn him down.”

  “It sounded like that woman thought it was up to you to deal with the trouble.”

  That was exactly what she thought. It was what they all thought. The next man to apply for sheriff was going to be hired.

  William’s job was to deal with civic matters, not disorderly folks.

  “Let’s get that coat. It’s been a long afternoon and I’m ready for the comforts of home.”

  “If you have butter and flour in the larder, I can fix up something for us to eat.”

  “You shouldn’t have to. I’ll hire a temporary cook and housekeeper tomorrow.”

  Two hours later, he sat at the table eating something. He was not certain what it was intended to be but it was thick and buttery with carrots in it.

  * * *

  Agatha had stood over the soup pot for an hour watching, waiting for the ingredients to turn into stew.

  She had added more flour, more butter, another carrot. With any luck William noticed how fetching she looked in her new apron rather than how her brows knit together in puzzlement while she stared at the pot.

  Now, with his dinner sitting before him on the table, she watched while he lifted the spoon from the bowl to his mouth. Nervously, she tugged the full, ruffled bow of the apron tied at her waist.

  It was odd how the apron had all but called her name from its hook on the wall of the mercantile, because it had never been her dream to become the best chef in the land.

  No, she thought the apron had more to do with the idea of making a home—for herself but even more for her husband. And what was more homey than an apron?

  What could be more satisfying than seeing William enjoy a meal she had prepared with her own hands?

  The soft voice of her conscience fluttered across her mind. “Giving him a child,” it whispered.

  The man had saved her from being shot from a cannon. He’d rescued her reputation from ruin by giving her his name. He’d promised to do his best not to be overbearing, which she suspected was not going to be an easy thing for him to do.

  Now, above everything else, he smiled when he swallowed the stew, did not grimace when he dipped the spoon in the bowl for a second bite.

  All of a sudden she wanted to hug him tight. He’d given her so much and she’d given him nothing, nothing at all.

  Oh, he claimed that she’d salvaged his reputation as well and that was critical for his future plans. Still, he would not have been in a questionable situation had he not carried her away from danger—probably saving her life in the process.

  She ought to be able to give him something he wanted. The thing he had given up when he married her.

  A baby.

  Any other woman he married would have been able to give him one.

  She gripped the apron in her fists. It had been years since the doctor pronounced her unfit to bear a child. Given the condition she had been in then, the diagnosis would have been correct. But she was no longer an invalid.

  “Sit, Agatha. Eat your dinner.”

  Sitting down on the chair across from him she drummed her fingers on the table and stared at the lumpy brown “stew” in the delicate china bowl.

  What if it was awful? She would rather go hungry than taste it and find it inedible.

  “It won’t hurt you.” He raised his spoon to her. A glob plopped back into the bowl. “See?”

  He placed the spoon in his mouth, swallowed then smiled.

  If he could eat it, she had better.

  “Well,” she said once she had forced the swallow down. “I don’t imagine it will make us sick. I’m better with bacon and eggs, though.”

  “You don’t need to be good at cooking. I’ll find someone who can begin right away.”

  * * *

  They would be better off for it, she had to admit.

  “Why the frown, honey? Do you want to do the cooking?”

  “No! I enjoy eating good food. Please, do hire a cook. It’s just that, really, William, I don’t know what I bring to our marriage. You are wealthy, well-respected, kind and heroic. Everything a girl could dream of. I’m just—nothing.”

  “It’s what you were led to believe.” Standing, he walked around the table and sat down on the chair beside her.

  “I believe there is someone very special, in here.” He tapped her chest with one finger, just over her heart. “Fighting to find her way out.”

  It touched her deeply, knowing that he truly saw her. That he understood how the person she used to be fought hard against the one who wanted to break out and be free.

  “Other than Ivy, you are the only one—” she had ever let look so deeply into the heart of her.

  She did not finish the thought out loud. Rather than ask her to, William leaned forward and kissed her forehead.

  “Let’s go to the library. I think we ought to send letters home. Gossip spreads uncannily fast. I’d rather our families heard of our marriage from us.”

  So would she. She only hoped the letter would get to the Lucky Clover before Laura Lee did. A message of this importance needed to be told from her own lips, or pen.

  There were many rooms in the house she hadn’t seen, the library being one of them.

  While she gazed at the bookcases that stretched from floor to ceiling, William knelt beside the hearth and built up a fire.

  This was a charming room with lots of polished wood and large windows. Since it was dark outside, she could not see what was beyond them, but she pictured a garden with flowers of every color.

  William drew a chair to the desk and indicated that she should sit on it. He took a seat on one opposite. Opening a drawer, he withdrew paper, pens and an ink bottle.

  “What are you going to say?” he asked while pushing paper and a pen across the desktop. He opened the ink bottle and set it between them.

  “Oh, I suppose I’ll say that your wealth backs the Lucky Clover after all.” She
set the pen to paper not knowing how she was really going to explain things. “What are you going to say?”

  “I finally got the Lucky Clover’s reputation to boost my career.”

  His eye twinkled. Her heart shifted.

  Silence fell between them. William’s high spirits seemed to dim.

  “Are you sorry at all, Agatha?”

  “It’s not something I planned, but no. I do not believe that I am.” She must have been pressing the pen hard. A blob of ink pooled on the paper. “What about you? Are you sorry, William?”

  “I am. But only in that you had no choice in the matter. You should have had one. My plan was to marry soon anyway, I’ll admit. I’m not sorry it turned out to be you. I meant it when I said it had nothing to do with the Lucky Clover.”

  All of a sudden the twinkle in his eye returned. She had to glance away.

  “Dear Ivy and Travis,” she mumbled as she wrote, then her mind went blank.

  How was she to explain that she left home to find independence and found a husband instead? And that she was happy with the turn of events?

  She could not explain this to herself let alone her sister.

  “Finish up your letter, Agatha.” William blew on the ink of his own letter to dry it. “I think we are both done in. It’s time for bed.”

  Her pulse jumped when she realized she was ready to be his wife in every way. Only two days ago she would have sworn this to be impossible.

  She jotted something down quick. Later she would write a longer letter.

  At the bottom step he placed his hand under her elbow. He must believe she did not have the strength to go up on her own.

  “I can manage.” She tried to yank her elbow free but he only gripped it more firmly.

  “No need to risk it.”

  “I would not attempt to climb the stairs if I thought there was a risk, William.”

  In spite of her insistence, it wasn’t until her foot was planted securely on the landing that he set her free.

  There were a pair of grandly ornamented doors at the end of the hall, but he stopped at the door to the room she had napped in after the wedding.

  It was a cozy feminine space. She did not think it suited William in any way.

  “Is this our room?”

  “No, it’s your room. Mine is right there.” He indicated the fancy doors with a nod of his head.

  “Isn’t it appropriate for married people to sleep together?” Back home as soon as dinner was over Ivy and Travis fairly ran upstairs.

  He took a deep breath, held it while he nodded.

  “Many do, but I believe you understand why we cannot.”

  It felt like he had ripped the heart out of her and stomped on it. She was not going to cry. If it took all her will she was not going to weep because the man she had never had a hope of marrying had become hers, and now he was casting her off.

  What a ninny she was. He could hardly be casting her off before he had even taken her. But it did feel like being cast off and her heart ached.

  But to be fair, their marriage had been as much a surprise to him as it had been to her. The only one who had not been taken off guard was the fortune-teller.

  “Agatha, honey...” He stroked his thumb across her cheek, dashing away a gull-durned tear. Why had her sister’s turn of phrase come to mind? Probably because she had no strength of her own she was drawing on Ivy’s. “You think I don’t want you with me but it’s not true. I just won’t put your life at risk by sharing a bed with you. What kind of man would I be?”

  Oh, well, given what he believed about her—what the doctor had told her father, he would be—

  “A selfish brute.” Drat! She hadn’t meant to mumble that out loud and it was not at all what she meant.

  “I won’t be that. You are a sweet girl. Please trust that you are safe with me.”

  “Good night.” She stretched up on her toes, kissed his cheek lightly, then shut the door.

  When she heard him go into his room, she sagged against the wood. The knob pressed into the small of her back.

  He thought she was a sweet girl! Little did he know that the scrape of his beard stubble on her lips made her go all hot and cold at the same time. The sensations twirling in her belly were far from sweet—not a bit innocent.

  Day by day she was going to make herself stronger, in body and spirit. One night soon, she was going to go into that bedroom, crawl into his bed and take her rightful place.

  No matter what, she was going to give him the thing that only she could.

  One fine day, she was going to place a squalling, lusty infant in his arms.

  Chapter Six

  Twelve deep gongs of the great clock downstairs vibrated through William while he blinked sleeplessly at the ceiling. He sat up, swung his legs over the edge of the bed and tapped his foot on the floor. He couldn’t help but wonder if Agatha had been woken by the noise.

  Hopefully, she had not been disturbed—roused from sleep to pace her room in the sheer nightgown he had purchased for her today—walking past the big window where the full moon would be shining in.

  “Hell.”

  It was good to be alone where he could curse with no one to hear what he said. The public William could not express such a thought. He would lose votes.

  But he was alone now and his bride was in the next room possibly pacing before a window that would illuminate her body with light and shadow.

  “Hell and damn.”

  Once in a while he wished he had become a cowboy like his late father always wanted him to. Those hardy souls cussed hourly and no one thought a thing about it.

  Life would be easier if he’d followed his father’s plan for him. Cowboys applied for employment, got hired. A politician had to make sure folks liked and trusted him more than they did another politician. Even if they did elect him, the whole process of currying votes started again after a few years.

  Although he’d been through these thoughts hundreds of times, he always realized in the end that he was, indeed, seeking the right career. The uncertainty of his political future was not what was keeping him awake.

  It was Agatha Magee English.

  At what point, in his mind, had she changed from a girl to a woman?

  The way his body had reacted to the knowledge that she expected to share his room made it clear that his mind had changed.

  This was a lot of thinking to do sitting at the edge of his bed.

  Dressing quickly, he tiptoed down the stairs and left the house, closing the door quietly behind him.

  Outside, the air was still and warm. It settled about him with the sensation of a friendly hand on his shoulder.

  Up and down Main Street, lanterns had been snuffed. Moonlight cast everything in bright light and muffled shadow.

  He stepped off the boardwalk because his shoes clicked harshly on the wood.

  Down here on the dirt of the road, his progress was as quiet as a wraith’s.

  With the chirrup of crickets and the hoot of an owl for company, he hoped to think more clearly.

  He was married.

  Married to a woman whom only days ago he had thought of as a girl.

  When he’d carried Agatha from the circus, she had been Ivy’s helpless sister. His intention had been to send her home at once.

  Circumstance had certainly changed that intention. Indeed, had changed his life. And hers.

  Had she really thought she would find what she needed by leaving home? Frenchie Brown’s enterprise was a shady thing. Agatha had landed herself in a nest of vipers.

  Marriage to him had to be better than that.

  But when had she changed from a girl to a woman in his eyes? And not just his eyes, but his heart? He’d always held a fondness for her, h
ad pitied the thin young lady watching the world go by from a chair on her balcony.

  He’d felt something of a hero when he’d danced with her that night at the Lucky Clover, because that was the way she had made him feel as she gazed up at him.

  What he felt tonight, watching his mooncast shadow stride before him, was not fondness or pity.

  It was lust.

  Perhaps the transformation in his attitude had happened when she’d stood before him in red underwear refusing to marry him. Or, during their vows when she’d refused to obey him.

  Or more likely, when she’d demanded her wedding kiss. He’d not soon forget how her eyes looked in that moment. Her gaze was so vulnerable—but at the same time challenging. He’d spent a lot of time since then trying to figure out what was going on behind that deep emerald gaze.

  One thing was certain in that moment, something stirred in a place he hadn’t expected it to.

  “Hell,” he muttered but more quietly than he had in his bedroom. Now he was in a mess.

  He wanted a woman he could never have. No matter that she bore his name, she could not bear his children.

  There was only one thing to do. Set his mind on the marriage being one of deep friendship.

  Many marriages were based on that.

  And some were not. If he had held that hope for himself in his heart—and he had for a time—he must now put it away.

  He kicked a dirt clod. It exploded on the toe of his boot and rained back on the road in a puff of brown.

  Apparently, no matter how logically he thought about this, it didn’t keep him from picturing Agatha English pacing in front of her window with moonlight stroking her skin.

  He had no reason to think she was pacing. As far as he could tell, she was sweetly asleep. With any luck she was not facing the turmoil he was.

  He was halfway to the Bascomb Hotel when he spotted something that should not be.

  Light, as if from a dim lantern, moved from one window to the next on the second floor.

  It seemed that Mrs. Peabody’s concerns might not be unfounded.

  There was no way of knowing unless someone checked. Since there was no sheriff to do it, he reckoned the job fell to him.