His Substitute Mail-Order Bride

by Sherri Shackelford

  Judging by the resigned expression on Tomasina’s face earlier, this wasn’t her first kitchen fire. “I’m assuming you’re accustomed to a bit of ruckus around the house,” she told the baby.

  The child’s eyes drifted shut, and a look of complete and utter peace settled over his pudgy face. An unexpected burst of sorrow robbed Anna of breath, and she blinked back tears.

  Her eyes smarted, and she blamed the lingering curl of smoke escaping from the kitchen. She’d taken so much for granted in life. She’d assumed that once a woman married, children naturally followed. She hadn’t realized how very much she wanted children until she was denied the possibility. Edward had not been a comfort.

  Marking her two-year anniversary with Edward had been dismal. They’d dined with his colleague at an elegant restaurant in downtown Philadelphia. The man and his wife were celebrating the birth of their third grandchild. Their joyful celebration had been in sharp contrast to the grim diagnosis she’d received that morning from yet another specialist. Children were not to be. She’d tried several herbal remedies from well-meaning friends to no avail.

  Edward had considered the prognosis her personal failure. He had spent the rest of the evening critical of her appetite, convinced her slender frame was the cause of her difficulties. When she’d reluctantly accepted a dessert in celebration of their anniversary, he’d criticized her poor nutrition. There was no winning. Looking back, her marriage had been irrevocably broken at that moment.

  If they’d had a child, tensions might have eased between her and Edward. But that happiness was not to be.

  What had seemed like such an easily bestowed prayer in the early days of her marriage had gradually turned into the center of her existence. She hadn’t understood how much having a child would come to mean to her personally, to her identity and her sense of self, until that gift was denied.

  She felt as though she’d come adrift from herself, two separate pieces floating through space and time. She was set apart from the other young wives in their social group. They had conversations to which she couldn’t contribute; they made assumptions that didn’t apply to her. Gradually, they began to treat her differently, as though they’d all joined a club and her membership had been denied. The future she’d taken for granted had been yanked from beneath her feet, turning the present into something unsafe and unpredictable.

  She’d never considered herself a greedy person. She hadn’t wanted much out of life beyond a roof over her head and a family to love.

  Charlotte had been the ambitious sister. Charlotte had wanted the perfect man and the perfect house and the perfect life. All Anna had ever sought was someone to love her, a comfortable, safe home and a family of her own. Yet she’d been denied even those simple desires.

  Though her husband had never been physically abusive, his sharp words and cruel comments had often cut her to the quick. In the early days, she’d been horribly naive, thinking that if she simply did everything correctly and on time, he wouldn’t be so cross and disappointed in her. She soon realized that nothing she did was ever going to be good enough for him. He found fault in her cooking, in her housekeeping—even in her manners when they met with his business associates. The more she tried to change, the more he criticized her. Eventually, she gave up even trying, and they drifted apart. Barely twenty-four months married, and they were two strangers boarding in the same house. He made every excuse to stay away from home.

  She might have reconciled her life more easily had it not been for her own culpability in the disaster. To others he was jovial and kind, the same man she’d hoped she’d married. Looking back, there’d been plenty of signs, but she hadn’t wanted to acknowledge them. He’d belittle her under the guise that he was only trying to help her improve. He dictated every aspect of her housekeeping—the meals, the groceries, even her garden. When something went wrong, he’d blame her for his behavior, claiming she was somehow responsible.

  There were times she was certain she was going mad. If only she’d trusted her instincts. Yet each time she balked in the early days of their relationship, he’d shower her with praise and attention or invent a plausible explanation for his behavior.

  With Charlotte married and her parents gone, there’d been no one she felt she could ask for advice. Instead, she’d married the wrong man, and she’d paid a terrible price.

  Pots and pans clattered from the deep recesses of the house, breaking into her memories. Brisk footsteps sounded, and Will Canfield strode through the room. He’d doffed his coat and rolled back his sleeves. A smudge of soot streaked across his left cheek, and his dark hair was disheveled.

  He paused in the center of the room and spun on one heel, catching sight of her. “I’m quite sorry, Mrs. Linford. We’re having some difficulty.”

  “That’s quite all right.”

  “I was certain I left my glasses somewhere around here.”

  Anna spotted a pair of spectacles on the side table and gestured. “Are those what you’re looking for?”

  “Yes. Thank you.” He placed the lenses on the tip of his nose and adjusted the metal frames over his ears before spearing his fingers through his tousled hair. Then he plucked a sheet of paper from his front pocket. “Still getting used to these new glasses. Apparently, Tomasina misread a step in the recipe. Fifteen minutes is very different from fifty minutes. A raging inferno of a difference, apparently.”

  “Is the fire under control?”

  “Mostly. Russ is fetching another pail of water. Should be short work after that.” He tucked the paper into his pocket and leaned over his son. “I hope you have a strong constitution, my little man. You’re going to need it if your mother insists on cooking.”

  His smile was saturated with pure, unabashed adoration. The undiluted emotion stole the breath from her lungs. Her heart ached in her chest, and she ducked her head lest he note her distress.

  Will crooked his finger and rubbed his knuckle along his son’s cheek. “Be right back, little fellow.”

  With that, he strode from the room with long, purposeful strides.

  Her throat closed, and tears threatened behind her eyes. She grasped an edge of the blanket and frantically dabbed at the moisture.

  Russ appeared in the archway, and she dropped the blanket with a sniffle.

  He was at her side in an instant, dropping to one knee before her. “What is it? What’s wrong? Has something happened?”

  “It’s nothing. The smoke. Is the fire under control?”

  “Crisis averted.” He didn’t appear entirely convinced by her hasty excuse, but he was too much the gentleman to say anything different. “How’s the little man?”

  “Quite content.” She glanced at Russ from beneath her eyelashes. “Is Mr. Canfield very angry? Should we postpone dinner for another time?”

  Russ’s expression turned questioning. “Angry at what?”

  “At...well...at Tomasina. Isn’t he worried about what people will think?”

  Russ guffawed. “Will couldn’t care less what the rest of us think. He’s fiercely defensive of Tomasina. Not that she needs his protection.” He snorted. “He wouldn’t know what to do if one of Tomasina’s dinners went smoothly.”

  Will strode past the door, pivoted on his heel, threw up his hands, and turned back toward the kitchen.

  “See what I mean?”

  “Oh,” Anna said dumbly.

  Tomasina had caused a crisis in the kitchen, yet her husband wasn’t angry or berating her for her foolish behavior. He appeared resigned, even amused by his wife’s antics. And he obviously adored his son.

  Russ pulled his watch from his pocket and dangled the shiny, gold case just out of Andrew’s reach. The child tracked the movement with his eyes, then pursed his lips and let out a gentle coo.

  Anna’s chest expanded. “He’s fascinated. Have you been around babies often?”

 
“Nope.” Russ shrugged. “I just figured he’d like something shiny.”

  Tomasina appeared once more, her volcanic curls having taken on a life of their own. They bounced around her head in cheerful abandon, independent of her movements.

  She caught sight of Russ and Anna and smoothed the corkscrew tendrils before running a hand down the front of her apron. She needn’t have bothered. The next instant, her curls sprang back to life with shocking fervor.

  “I’m terribly sorry about that,” their muddled host apologized. “Don’t worry. No harm done. Unless you count the side dish. I never was fond of brussels sprouts anyway.” She crossed the room and reached for her son. “All right, little fellow. First supper and then it’s sleepy time for you. I’m Tomasina, by the way. I don’t suppose handing you a babe on the front stoop counts as a formal introduction.”

  “Pleasure to meet you.” Anna reluctantly handed over the warm bundle. “He’s just precious.”

  “Isn’t he? I never was much for babies until I came to Cowboy Creek. I thought they all looked like hairless little drooling monsters. I love this little fellow to bits, though. I guess it’s different when you have your own. I’d like a passel more of them.”

  “Did I hear someone calling for more children?” Shrugging into his coat, Will appeared in the archway. He dropped a kiss on his wife’s cheek and gazed at his son with that same unashamed reverence. “You won’t get an argument from me.”

  Tomasina playfully elbowed her husband in the side. “I only wish I could skip the last few weeks before he was born. I was tired and cranky, and my feet swelled up something fierce. Looked like I was walking on two watermelons.”

  Will tucked his wife against his side. “That’s because you wouldn’t slow down. You needed to rest and put your feet up.”

  “I’ll rest when I’m dead. There’s work to be done. Fix these two something to drink, and I’ll be right down for supper.”

  Will followed his wife’s exit, a lopsided, somewhat bewildered expression on his face. He glanced at them and started, as though only just remembering he was supposed to be entertaining a couple of dinner guests.

  “Sorry, sorry. That woman has a way of distracting me. Come this way. We’ve got everything laid out in the dining room.”

  He paused at the bottom of the stairs and glanced toward the second floor, his expression wistful.

  Anna and Russ exchanged an awkward glance. There was such a breathtaking intimacy between the couple, it almost felt as though they were intruding on a private moment.

  Finally, Russ shrugged and assisted her to her feet. He leaned near her ear. “Don’t worry. You get used to those two. Will is head over heels and always seems slightly befuddled when Tomasina is around. I don’t know how he manages to run the two hotels in town and serve as mayor.”

  “One hotel,” Will declared, his gaze sharp. “As far as anyone knows, I only own one hotel. Which is mostly the truth. I’m only part owner of The Lariat.” He slapped Russ on the shoulder. “You know how it goes, old boy.”

  Anna frowned. “Why don’t you want people to know that you own two hotels? That sounds like a grand accomplishment.”

  Her late husband had shouted even his smallest achievements from the rooftops. She’d thought he was the highest-ranking member of the firm before she married him. He wasn’t. He was simply the most vocal about his achievements. When he succeeded, the credit was his and his alone. When failure threatened, the fault rested everywhere but him. He was either the victor or the victim, there was no in-between.

  “I prefer to remain a silent partner,” Will began, leading them into the dining room. “People are odd. There are folks who think it’s a personal affront if another man is too successful. Not to mention I’ve made a few enemies over the years. The folks who don’t like me enjoy thumbing their noses at me by staying at The Lariat.” He winked. “I’m better off if they don’t know I’m still making money off them.”

  Footsteps sounded from the second level, and Tomasina’s sweet voice drifted down the stairwell in a soft lullaby. Will showed them to their seats and disappeared into the kitchen, returning moments later with a covered dish.

  Anna stared in mute shock. Her late husband had rarely graced the kitchen, and never when they were entertaining. She half stood from her chair. “Let me help.”

  “Not at all,” Will replied quickly. “I’ve become quite adept at culinary duties since marrying a woman who cooks best over an open campfire.”

  Russ shook out his napkin and draped the fabric over his lap. “Perhaps we should have dinner outside next time.”

  “That’s not a bad idea.” Will stroked his goatee. “That’s not a bad idea at all.”

  “That sounds quite fun,” Anna said, surprising even herself. The two men turned toward her, and her chest seized. “You’re making a joke, aren’t you?” she mumbled, stricken by her faux pas. “I didn’t realize.”

  This was precisely why she avoided social gatherings. She always managed to say or do the wrong thing. At least she wouldn’t have to worry about Russ inviting her any longer. After tonight, he’d probably avoid her at all costs.

  “No joke intended.” Will slapped his hands together. “Our next party will be a barn dance. Why didn’t I think of that before?” He patted his breast pockets with both hands, searching for a nonexistent pencil or a piece of paper. “I should write that down. Don’t want to forget.”

  Tomasina soon joined them, having fed and put Andrew to sleep. Despite the inauspicious start, the meal was delicious. If the roast was slightly charred on one side, the potatoes a touch mushy, and the brussels sprouts missing altogether, no one mentioned the slight imperfections.

  “Did you hear?” Tomasina directed the conversation. “President Grant refused to sit in a carriage with President Johnson. He didn’t even attend the inaugural ceremonies. It’s a disgrace. I think politicians should set their differences aside in public and settle them in private.”

  Will gave them a sidelong glance. “Mind you, this is coming from a woman who called Ulysses S. Grant a drunken boor.”

  “I’m from Texas. And I’m not the president,” Tomasina defended herself.

  “Yet. You’d make a fine president.” Will winked, as though well aware he was about to start a controversy.

  “You ignorant men won’t even give us the right to vote.” Tomasina half rose from her chair and pointed across the table at her husband. “While I applaud the ratification of the Fifteenth Amendment, it wouldn’t hurt for Congress to pay attention to women’s suffrage.”

  Will held up his hands. “Go easy. I’m on your side.”

  She dropped into her chair with a thud. “And don’t you forget it.”

  As the sun sank low on the horizon and the candles dripped wax in lazy, rolling patterns, Anna sat back in her chair and drowsily watched the three friends. Clearly at ease with one another, they laughed and bantered, their rapid-fire wit volleying across the table at lightning speed. Tomasina was brash and charming, fiery and uncompromising. Her emotions hovered near the surface, and she shifted from anger to joy in a flash.

  Will remained quietly indulgent throughout the dinner, interjected when appropriate, but mostly he cast admiring glances at his wife. His tolerance baffled Anna. Perhaps the political climate was different out west. In Philadelphia, a meek countenance and a quiet, retiring manner were the most necessary components in a political spouse.

  As Tomasina and Will sparred over the benefits of a recent Kansas law, she leaned closer to Russ. “Is the conversation always this lively?”

  He smiled. “They’re being rather subdued for your benefit.”

  “Does Tomasina plan on accompanying her husband to Washington?”

  “Yes. I can’t imagine separating those two for more than a day.”

  “But you know what it’s like. Aren’t you worried about them?
Shouldn’t you say something to Will? His career...”

  “His career is bound to thrive. Tomasina will bring her own, unique charm to the proceedings.”

  Her late husband would have loathed Tomasina. Moreover, he’d have been frightened of her. Edward had been intimidated by powerful women. Yet Will was at ease.

  Anna sat up with a gasp.

  The conversation silenced.

  Russ tilted his head. “Is everything all right?”

  Stricken, she glanced around the table. “I just remembered something. Sorry.”

  The enthusiastic conversation sparked to life once more, and her thoughts raced. Edward wasn’t strong, he was weak. Weak and insecure. Will admired his passionate wife, and his admiration gave him strength.

  The two men at the table were remarkably similar in many ways. Russ was charming, handsome and successful. Even in Philadelphia, when he was merely a young law clerk, there’d been something special about him, a quiet, steady ambition.

  He belonged here. The wild, barely tamed land suited him.

  Russ rested his napkin beside his plate with an amused grin. “What are you thinking? You’re looking far too serious all of sudden.”

  Her heart sank. She didn’t belong here, and she never would. Her miserable marriage and her husband’s shocking death had tainted her. She felt as though she’d been poisoned with a slow, insidious tincture. As though the scandal had changed the very fiber of her being, and she was gradually rotting from the inside. Perhaps if they found the killer, she’d be free. Yet the detective’s words rang in her ears. The longer the case dragged on, the less likely they were to find the killer.

  These welcoming and kind people didn’t deserve to be saddled with her reputation. Exhaustion seeped into the very marrow of her bones. Her timing was rotten, that was all.

  She plastered a serene smile on her face and responded to his question. “I was thinking what a wonderful life you have here.”

  These people didn’t deserve her troubled past interfering with their bright futures. She had to find a way to leave—quickly.