The Rancher's Inconvenient Bride Page 8

  He’d expected the front door to be locked and it was, but luckily, the back door was not.

  As he came in through the kitchen, all was quiet. Walking through the dark lobby, he dodged covered chairs and couches.

  All was quiet here as well. He started to climb the stairs. The first one squeaked, the third one squealed.

  Any chance he had of surprising the person carrying the lamp was gone.

  Just as well, for he didn’t really want to encounter anyone.

  “Hello?” he called. “Anyone here?”

  Something on the next level fell over, sounding like it clattered on the floor.

  Dashing up the rest of the stairs, he saw a beam of light coming from under a door.

  “Hello!” he called again as he eased the door open.

  No one was inside, but a cane lay on the floor. No doubt it was what he had heard fall over. A rumpled black cloak was draped over the back of a chair.

  Whoever it belonged to had clearly fled to another part of the hotel.

  “I’m not going to chase you!” he called. “I’m Mayor English. Come to my office tomorrow and we’ll find you a better place to stay.”

  Clearly this was not the demon Mrs. Peabody had feared but some poor soul down on their luck.

  There was no response to his call.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow, then!”

  * * *

  Four days after her wedding, Agatha stared at the ornate doorknob on her front door.

  The blamed thing was not going to turn itself and let her out. She actually had to touch it in order to leave the sanctuary of her new home.

  “Don’t forget your bonnet.” Beatrice Holmes snatched it from the hall tree, placed it on Agatha’s head then tied the ribbons in a neat bow under her chin. “Off with you now. Enjoy this bright sunny day.”

  “Thank you Mrs. Bea.”

  The housekeeper William had hired might be the single most cheerful person Agatha had ever met. It was true that she hadn’t encountered all that many people in her sheltered life, but she was convinced that Mrs. Bea was the sunniest woman in Tanners Ridge if not all of Wyoming.

  “Don’t let that lovely fair skin of yours get freckled.”

  Agatha smiled, making sure not to promise that. After spending so much time indoors she did intend to let the sun shine down upon her.

  Once she went out of the blamed door, she intended to walk all over town before her anticipated appointment with the dressmaker.

  Having been dull for so many years, she now found that she loved bright and pretty things. In this she could not be more different than her twin. Whenever she could, Ivy left her corset behind in favor of pants, while Agatha loved the sound of fabric swishing about her knees and ankles.

  Mrs. Bea reached behind her, turned the knob and flung the door wide.

  “I’ll have a nice spot of afternoon tea waiting for you when you return.”

  Out on the porch, with the door closed behind her, Agatha wanted to weep. She ought to have been able to open her front door on her own, to step out onto the porch with a smile and a nod for anyone who might be passing by.

  Oh, she did, in fact, have a smile. She only wondered if the man who just tipped his hat to her noticed that it trembled at the corners.

  What she wanted was to feel that smile coming from toe to bonnet.

  “Good morning,” she said then went down the stairs, her hand extended. It was what William would do, and now that she was his wife she represented him. “Isn’t it a grand day?”

  She felt much better about herself now, if only because she had done what anyone would do.

  If the fellow had questions about her sudden marriage he kept them to himself and returned her greeting.

  And it was a grand day. She had not made that up. It was early enough that the earth still held the coolness of the night, and the sun had not yet become blistering.

  Walking west down Main Street, she eventually came to open land. Up here at the top of the ridge, one could see for miles all around. The area below where the circus had camped was now a vast field of grass stirring ever so slightly in the morning breeze.

  Drawing in a lungful of fresh air, she held it as long as she could. This was a daily test she gave herself. In her mind, the longer she could withstand taking a breath the heartier she was becoming.

  Eleven seconds! She hopped up and down like a child, clapped her hands. When she had begun this trial, three seconds would give her a coughing fit.

  A blur in the distance caught her attention.

  A herd of horses moved west, then south. Galloping closer, individual animals became defined. Sunlight glimmered on hides of black and brown. When they were nearly to the base of the ridge, she was able to see how their great muscles pulled and stretched as they raced along.

  What if, every morning she came to this spot and ran? What if she pulled off her bonnet, lifted her face to the sunshine and dashed about with her arms spread wide?

  She would become stronger. In time, perhaps she would not be judged unfit to give birth to a child.

  Perhaps William would take her to his bed.

  Since there was no better time than now to begin an endeavor she drew the bonnet off, gripped the ribbons in her fist.

  She had tried to run once, but the attempt had been more like stumbling.

  Anything worth doing took time, she reminded herself.

  Time and baby steps. Twenty feet today, thirty tomorrow.

  One day she would be strong, like those beautiful horses down in the valley.

  An hour later she stood on the dressmaker’s dais with yards of shimmering blue silk draped over her shoulder. She felt the effort of the exercise settle into her muscles. By bedtime she was bound to be one huge ache.

  “It will take some time, Mrs. English,” the dressmaker mumbled through a collection of pins held between her lips. “But when I’m finished with these dresses you will be the envy of every woman.”

  Walking in a circle around her, Mrs. Hoover plucked the pins from her mouth and studied Agatha’s hips.

  “No need to look dismayed, Mrs. English. While your husband was well sought after, you have no need to worry.” She stopped, nodded and tapped Agatha’s hip. “I think a drape of silk right here will be just the thing. Your husband is a fine man.”

  “Yes, he is.” No doubt what she really wanted to know was more about how they came to be married.

  “Of course, you already know that. Mr. English tells me that you have been acquainted for some time.”

  A flash at the window caught her attention. It came and went so quickly that it gave the impression of a black smear, but there had been the image of a face in it.

  For some reason it sent a chill along her arms, up her thighs.

  That only happened when she thought of Hilda Brunne. She had to get over this fear of a dead woman.

  No, it was not the dead woman she feared, it was the person she had tried to turn Agatha into. Forever a girl afraid of shadows, believing she could only trust one twisted woman.

  “I just remembered another appointment.” Agatha yanked the silk off her shoulder and shoved it at Mrs. Hoover.

  Stepping off the dais she hurried for the front door. It was too tempting to hide inside the dress shop where it was safe.

  Out on the street she looked north, then south. Carriages rolled past, stirring up dust. Children chased each other laughing while their mothers warned them not to dirty their clothing. The scent of baking cinnamon came from the confectioner’s shop.

  As she knew deep down, Hilda Brunne was not a lurking shadow in the alley between the dress shop and the general store.

  Since it wasn’t yet time for the tea Mrs. Bea had promised, she decided to visit William in his office.r />
  Over the last three days she hadn’t seen much of him. He’d claimed to be busy, but she felt that he was avoiding her. Not outright, but subtly busy with work.

  The fact was, she missed him. He was one of the few people she felt easy with. There was Mrs. Bea, of course. One could not help but feel easy around her new housekeeper.

  But there was something else about William. While he did make her feel at ease, he also made her feel—twitchy. Yes, twitchy was just the word. At ease and twitchy, all at the same time.

  The one and only thing she could think of that would help would be a kiss.

  In the many books she read, a kiss always set things to right.

  * * *

  Henry Beal sat across from William at his desk, drumming his soot-stained fingers on the highly polished wood.

  “Mrs. Peabody saw someone at the Bascomb. It’s time to hire a sheriff.”

  Past time, he thought but refrained from saying so. Diplomacy was what he practiced even though wanted to shake the fellow by his lapels and remind him of every one of the men the council had turned away.

  “It turned out to be just a poor soul down on her luck.”

  “Her?” The breath went out of Henry in a rush. “No need to be afraid of a woman, I reckon. You saw her? You sure it was a lady?”

  “I didn’t see her—it was only an impression.” Henry looked too relieved. “That doesn’t mean you aren’t right about needing a sheriff. Pete Lydle is coming and he’s no gentle lady. From what I’ve learned about the man, you won’t like what he’s bringing to town.”

  The front door opened. Sunshine and his wife swept inside.

  “Good day, Mrs. English.” Henry stood up, extended his hand. Agatha must have seen the dark condition of his fingers but she set what she was carrying on his desk and shook his hand anyway.

  Perhaps she was a better match for his political ambitions than he could have hoped for. Aimee Peller would not have touched a dirty hand.

  William stood to greet her, too, his heart warming over three times.

  “I’ll leave you newlyweds to your lunch.” With a nod, Henry sauntered off.

  Something delicious was under the covered tray that Agatha had set on the table.

  Something delicious was in the smile on her face.

  In order to better focus on the food, he gave Agatha a quick kiss on the cheek then sat down.

  His feelings for Agatha were changing in a way he could never have expected. How could it be that only hours into the marriage he felt desire for her as a woman when for years she had been barely more than a girl in his eyes?

  He watched her lift the napkin from the tray, the movement of her fingers graceful. He wondered what they would feel like if she touched—no he did not! He could not.

  The vows had been to honor and cherish. He would obey those vows no matter the cost.

  “It was kind of you to think of me, honey. I was getting hungry as a matter of fact.”

  She did not sit as he expected her to. She stood beside the desk gripping a box that she had carried in with the food.

  “Sit down. Eat with me.”

  When she made no move to do so, he realized that his invitation sounded like a demand.

  “Please, sit with me, Agatha. I would enjoy your company.”

  She cocked her head, her smile as shy as the first pink bud on an apple tree.

  If the feelings simmering inside of him were to be believed, and they were, the biggest threat to Agatha’s health might be her own husband.

  “I’ve bought you a present.”

  A gift? For him? “Many thanks, Agatha.”

  With a wriggle of her fingers, she indicated that he should slide his chair away from the desk a bit.

  “I’ve discovered that you have credit all over town.”

  “So do you.”

  “Yes, I’ve discovered that as well. Shop owners are most welcoming.”

  He reached for the box, but she set it on the desk then settled lightly onto his lap.

  It felt like a feather had floated down upon him, except that it was warm and—forbidden!

  In a million years he would not hurt her feelings by hoisting her off even if he wanted to, which he did not. The trouble was, she was not exactly sitting still and something was happening to him that she was too innocent to understand.

  That was something to be grateful for at least.

  “What is it?”

  “I’m not quite sure but—” Her cheeks flushed, pink and pretty. Apparently she was a bit shy about giving him a gift. “I mean, open it and see.”

  He lifted the lid to find a dashing-looking bowler nestled in gauze. She dipped her head. Her cheek grazed his temple.

  “It’s to replace the one you lost at the circus.”

  Had she been in the bakeshop as well? She smelled like a cinnamon roll.

  He settled the hat on his head, grinning.

  “It’s better than the one I lost!”

  “Oh, good.”

  She touched his ear. Slowly, she drew her fingers along the line of is jaw, turned his face side to side, seeming to study the look.

  She bent her head, kissed him and he didn’t have the good sense to end it.

  She had been to the bakeshop! The lingering flavor of vanilla invaded his senses. With a twist and a swoop, he shifted her shoulders down. Now he was the one on top, the one directing the kissing.

  In a second the aroma of baked goods was gone, leaving in its place the heady scent of a woman.

  He shoved back her bonnet, loosened a pin from her hair. Soft locks tumbled over his hands, tangled in his fingers.

  Why was it he felt triumphant and guilty at the same time? The woman was his wife, dash it! He deserved more than kisses. Judging by the way her shapely bottom shifted against him, she wanted more.

  Breaking the kiss, he breathed hard against her neck. How could an innocent like her even know what it was she wanted?

  What he could never in good conscience give her—or himself.

  Love and cherish—he’d vowed those things and already he felt them. Only a few days into the marriage and his heart was hers—but not—not ever his body.

  “It’s a wonderful hat, Agatha. I thank you for it. And now.” He glanced about, grabbed a sheet of paper from the corner of the desk, wondering what it even was. “I have urgent work to finish.”

  She did not rise at once, but pinned her hair and put the bonnet on her head. Why did she have to jiggle so?

  Of, course, she would have no idea how she was tormenting him.

  He retied the ribbon under her chin.

  At last she stood, gave him the oddest little smile. “I’ll see you at dinner, William.”

  “I’m looking forward to it.”

  Funny how much he was. And it was not because of the amazing talent of Miss Fitz, the new cook he had hired.

  Way down deep in his heart, he wanted to spend time with his wife. He only hoped he would behave with honor toward her.

  If it meant keeping a table length between them, or inviting Mrs. Bea to dine with them, that was what he would do.

  An image popped into his mind of crawling the length of the great dining table, drawing Agatha up with him, shoving chicken and mashed potatoes aside then feasting on what he wanted most.

  To his discredit, he was enjoying the image too much to set it aside.

  Chapter Seven

  “It’s clouding up. I predict we’ll have a storm tonight. What is that you’re reading, dearie?” Mrs. Bea hustled into the sunroom carrying a tray with tea and sweets balanced upon it.

  Agatha slammed the book upside down on her lap, her cheeks burning. If only she wasn’t so prone to blushing. Although, what she was studyi
ng would cause anyone to turn pink.

  “Whatever it is, I hope it won’t spoil your appetite. Miss Fitz has begun a crusade to put a few pounds on you and I quite agree.”

  Mrs. Morgan, the gifted cook back home at the Lucky Clover, had also tried.

  Given that she was a different person then than now, she wondered if Miss Fitz might be able to give her a few curves. The gray-haired woman did have a wonderful way with food.

  Agatha enjoyed indulging in it all. In the same way that she loved pretty clothes, she craved delicious food.

  Why, until Ivy forced her to nibble a chocolate croissant, she hadn’t known food could explode with flavor.

  Mother Brunne had always forbidden her to eat anything sweet or flavorful, always insisting that it would ruin her health. In order to save Agatha all kinds of illness, she’d eaten the food herself.

  Eating that croissant had been a revelation, although Brunne had considered it rebellion. The scolding had been worth it.

  Thinking back on it, Agatha realized the punishment had been about Mother Brunne’s fear of Agatha’s growing bond with Ivy as much as anything else.

  Luckily, Hilda Brunne was gone and Agatha was free to indulge in whatever delicious scent passed her nose.

  “Increased it I would think, Mrs. Bea.”

  Unless she missed her guess, there were strawberries beneath the flaky tart crust.

  When the housekeeper set the tray on the table, Agatha reached forward. The book slipped off her lap.

  For all that she was round and lovely, Mrs. Bea was quick. She snatched it up.

  Oh, no! Agatha’s only hope was that besides being cheerful, Mrs. Bea was discreet.

  There would be no end to scandal if people found out what the mayor’s wife was reading. It was no wonder she had found the book tucked in a corner of the bookshelf behind a copy of the Bible and The Common Man’s Guide to Weeding.

  Had she not been searching so diligently for something romantic, the book might have gone undisturbed for years. Judging by the layer of dust on it, William did not know it was there.

  “Why, aren’t you the smart one, Mrs. English. Not all brides are curious about the fleshy side of marriage. Although if you ask me, they would be better off for it.”