Romancing the Bride

by Melissa Jagears

  The lizard hit the floor with a soft smack.

  Jacob cringed.

  “Mama!” Spencer rushed over to capture the horned lizard that had scrambled between a couple of crates.

  She squatted beside him and hugged his head. “I’m sorry.”

  The boy cupped the spiny reptile and flipped him over to rub his soft, round belly. The lizard relaxed as if he were enjoying the rubdown. “Aw, he’s all right.”

  She straightened with lightning speed. “Marshal Hendrix. I apologize. I should have been out here to greet you.”

  “No apology needed, ma’am.”

  Annie wiped her hands across her apron more times than necessary. Her mouth was so pinched her lips were paler than normal. If she’d just relax, her features would probably transform into something more pleasant, but she’d always sported the look of a prim schoolteacher.

  “Please have a seat, Marshal.” Annie gestured toward a flowered sofa in the adjoining parlor-like room. “Supper will be ready shortly.” She beckoned to Celia. “Get him something to drink, darling.”

  Spencer brought the well-fed lizard over. “Want to see him?”

  “Take the reptile outside, son.” Annie clinked a lid on a pan.

  Spencer poked out his lower lip. “I don’t understand why she doesn’t like him.”

  Jacob mirrored the child’s pouty face and shrugged.

  Spencer cuddled the horntoad against his chest, and pivoting, crashed into his sister directly behind him.

  Celia gave him a slight shove toward the door. “Tea or water, Marshal?” She stared at him with one eye half-closed, as if daring him to choose wisely.

  He kept the grin off his face. Celia’d been testing his Biblical assertions and values in Sunday school for the last several months. Last week, she’d asked how he could believe in a loving God when bad things happened to good people. Though she often bordered on rude, he never refused to answer her, no matter the question. His father had always encouraged him to give a kind answer to people attacking their faith, for one never knew when God might use their words to soften a heart. “Water would be fine, ma’am.”

  She trudged to the cupboard, leaving him alone in the corner to listen to Annie slide cast iron pans around the cook stove.

  He settled back and relaxed. Strange how such a small place seemed less confining than his, even with all the furniture and doodads filling up every tiny corner. The cabin looked much the same as the last time he’d been here, decorated as if it were one of the big houses he’d visited in Texas as a boy. One would think Annie entertained society ladies every afternoon, what with the piano in the corner, patterned wallpapered walls, and a crystal light fixture casting a warm glow on the parlor trinkets arranged in corner hutches.

  He assessed the value of the furnishings. Gregory Gephart must have had a lot of money before settling here. Why would a man leave wealth behind for the sparseness of Wyoming?

  And why would a woman need such a fancy room when she wasn’t involved in the social circle of Armelle? He scratched his head, left his fingers tangled in his hair, and leaned back against the sofa.

  “Here you are.” Celia handed him a glass of water. “Remember to keep it off the wood.”

  He straightened to take the glass. “Sure thing.” He took a sip before placing his drink on the lacy doily on the side table. She flounced away, and he settled back into the cushions. He ought to get a soft seat like this for his own front room.

  A few minutes later, Annie stood before him, her cheeks flushed. “Supper’s ready.”

  He grabbed his glass and walked to the kitchen table set with candlesticks and fancy napkins squeezed through napkin rings. Had he even sat at his table this week? He stopped himself from rubbing his gurgling stomach. Tomorrow he’d go back to eating beans straight out of the can on his back porch, but tonight, he’d be sopping up every last smear of gravy with that heavenly smelling bread arranged in a fancy pyramid on the table’s center platter.

  Annie motioned to the head of the table. “If you would have a seat, we’ll start.”

  As much as he wanted to swipe a roll and grab his chair, he pulled hers out first, earning a pleased look that lit up her plain features. Had he ever seen her smile? He seated himself and waited to observe their routine.

  “Shall I pray, Mama?” Spencer flopped into the chair next to his mother.

  “Um, actually...” Annie’s fingers rubbed, or maybe quivered, on the table top. “If the marshal wouldn’t mind?” Her teeth creased her lower lip.

  “Not at all.” He bowed his head. “Heavenly Father, I thank you for the food we are about to eat, the hands that made it, and the land which provided it. May you help me be of assistance to this family. Help these children respect their mother for the hard decisions she makes and the work she does. Would that you lead us in paths of righteousness. Amen.”

  Jacob looked up.

  Celia eyed him, Spencer grabbed a roll, and Annie’s head remained bowed. He didn’t know if it would be appropriate to pass around plates before she finished her attitude of prayer, so he waited.

  She cleared her throat, but she didn’t look up. “Thank you.” Her words seemed thick.

  He shrugged as his stomach rumbled.

  Spencer cried, “Let’s eat.”

  Annie set coffee in front of the marshal and grimaced when the hot liquid sloshed into his saucer, but he didn’t seem to notice.

  She’d sent the kids to milk the cow and had stayed the marshal with dessert, but hadn’t yet found enough courage to say what she needed to. And considering she hadn’t wrangled out more than a few words during supper, how was she ever going to speak aloud the words she’d practiced over and over this afternoon?

  The sun would soon disappear behind the sky’s long edge. Now had to be the time.

  She shivered though she stood right next to the cook stove.

  “Cold?” The marshal pushed his chair away from the table.

  “No.” She wrung her hands, wondering where to start.

  “Seeing as the sun is about to set, you’d best ask me for that favor.” His china clinked as he set his drink down. “I enjoyed supper, but I know you didn’t have me over to feed me.”

  She couldn’t make herself sit. Couldn’t make herself look at him. This was all so ... improper. A lady didn’t ask a man to marry her. Let alone a marriage of convenience for her and one of inconvenience for him. Her mother would be appalled.

  Peeking at him, she forced in a breath.

  He cocked his eyebrow.

  She had no qualms about his being an upstanding man who could fill the role of husband and father adequately. But did she want to look into his eyes when she asked? Would they be filled with pity, revulsion, hilarity, indifference? She stood transfixed by his concerned expression, but the words wouldn’t come.

  “I know people are having a tough time paying taxes this year.” The marshal leaned back in her kitchen chair as if it were a chaise lounge. “If you need help, there’s no shame in asking.”

  She couldn’t keep from widening her eyes. Did he already know what she planned to ask and was encouraging her? Impossible. Unless—

  Letting the legs of his chair thump forward, he propped his elbows on the table. “I’m supposing your firearms would bring in a nice chunk of money. I know they might be difficult to let go of, but I could advise you on what you should ask for them.”

  She blinked.

  “I wouldn’t be the best person to ask about the farm implements or the livestock, but I could ask Bryant—”

  She shook her head violently. She could’ve asked Mr. Whitsett about her personal property when she’d gone into town to plead for more time to pay taxes. He hadn’t budged on the due date. “The guns, um...” Gregory’s firearms had been his pride and joy. “I guess whether or not I sell them depends on you.”

  He smiled and rubbed his hands together. “I’d hoped you might sell me the Henry. I have—”

  “Actually, that’
s not it, but I guess if you agree to what I’m asking, the Henry would be yours by default.” Surely he’d not keep Spencer from inheriting his father’s guns later.

  “How’s that?” His face contorted.

  Her left hand clenched the fingers of her right. “Difficult times often call for unusual solutions.” She gazed out the window toward the pasture. “I have no cowhands and am woefully ill-prepared to run a ranch.” She avoided glancing at him and stared at her desk instead. “No one seems willing to work for me, and I can’t pay my taxes.”

  She couldn’t help but squirm, but the man needed to know what he could be getting into. “All I have is a husband and three children buried on the property Celia and Spencer’s father dreamed they’d grow up on. I won’t leave it if I have another option.” She took a breath and peeked at him.

  His hand rubbed his jaw. “I’m guessing the purchase price on the Henry wouldn’t be enough, but I’m assuming you still have the Sharps. I could give you money for that, which I’m willing to return whenever you have enough to pay me back. Would that help?”

  She dropped into her chair and traced the wood grain in the table with a fingernail. “No.” She squared her shoulders and looked straight at him. “I appreciate the thought, but at some later date I’d be in the same financial straits I’m in now since I don’t know how to run the place.” She pulled in a steadying breath. “What I’m asking for would put you out of more than just money.”

  Oh how could she ask him to give up his life, his job, everything?

  He leaned in, his fingers steepled in front of his nose.

  “If—” Her voice squeaked to a halt. She swallowed to loosen her vocal chords. “If you might consider becoming owner of this land—the head of this household—we could stay.”

  He sat up stiffly, his jaw working in a nervous fashion.

  Heat radiated up her torso and into her face. “I know this seems strange, being I don’t really know you, and you don’t know me well either. But I’d feel wrong selling this place without giving remarrying a chance.”

  His stony expression wasn’t encouraging.

  She cleared her throat. “Of course, I would only marry an upright man of the same faith who could raise my children well. You may not know much about ranching, but I bet it’s more than I know about it, and since no other man around here seems to fit the description, I figured I’d ask you.”

  He sat back and did nothing more than stare at her.

  She tried not to fidget, but nervous tremblings shook her skirt’s fabric anyway.

  He turned to stare out the window and moved his thumb along his jawline.

  The quiet thickened. Why didn’t he say something? “I know that you’re...” too handsome, more than I deserve, dedicated to Armelle and shouldn’t quit to take on my broken family, “…little more than an acquaintance at the moment, but I felt led to ask.”

  Maybe not really led. I’m simply humiliating myself out of desperation. At least when you say “no,” my other option is to sell and move far away from here, never to face you again.

  She fiddled with the handle of her coffee cup and waited for him to frame his reply. Hopefully it wouldn’t begin with hollow praise for her, or pity.

  The door blew open and slammed against the opposite wall. Spencer stomped in, his boots thick with mud. Celia followed, spun around, and pushed the door closed against the strong wind.

  Why hadn’t she told them to stay in the barn? She bit her lip and heat scampered up her neck. Because that would have sounded inappropriate.

  The marshal’s eyes traveled up and down Annie’s frame.

  She wanted to scoot around the corner of the table and wrap her arms about herself.

  How dumb of her. Several single ladies in town were sweet on him. Especially the young Miss McGill. Not only was the twenty-something the prettiest thing around, but her father was the wealthiest man in the area. Annie’s mousiness and failing ranch would not tempt the marshal even if she was closer to him in age. She grabbed her coffee and drank until she hit dregs. She should have gone along with his assumption and sold him the guns.

  Spencer’s red nose rubbed against her warm cheek. “Can I have some crumb cake?”

  “Sure, honey,” she whispered.

  Celia pulled the curtain farther aside. “Marshal, if you stay much longer, it’ll be dark before you get home.”

  He jerked straight in his chair. “Right.” His dark brown eyes assessed Annie’s for a few seconds before he stood and shrugged on his coat. “Might I come back Wednesday night to discuss this further?”

  Annie’s heart pounded itself toward oblivion. He was considering her proposal? Or did he not want to embarrass her in front of the children right now? “Yes.” She forced the word out. “For supper?”

  His lips slanted into a small smile. “I’d be obliged. See you Wednesday.” He crammed on his hat. “Good night.”

  He chucked Celia on the jaw before striding out the door.

  Her daughter glared after him, slammed the door, and then served herself cake.

  Annie skirted the table and pulled back the curtain. The marshal’s mare was galloping toward town, their silhouettes quickly dissolving into the shadows the setting sun was throwing across the plains.

  She forced herself to continue breathing.

  What if he said yes?

  Chapter Four

  Duchess hated pulling a carriage, but Jacob didn’t want the sun dictating the end of his upcoming visit with the Gepharts. There would be a new moon tonight, so he needed the carriage lanterns in case he stayed as long as he suspected he’d need to.

  The steady clip-clop of his horse’s hooves seemed like a funeral cadence in comparison to his erratic heartbeat. He breathed slowly and deliberately in hopes of lowering his pulse. He didn’t have to come out here—it was his decision, and yet, his insides were intent on panicking.

  Strange how the mealtime prayer he’d uttered over the Gepharts’ supper table Monday had set him up for a marriage request that had come out of nowhere.

  He’d been interested in guns. She’d been interested in him.

  He’d had several ladies throughout his life hang on his arm, bat their eyelashes, and whisper flirtatious nonsense in his ear, yet none had ever wriggled into his heart enough that he’d decided he couldn’t live without them. So why did a virtually unknown woman, marginally attractive, spark an interest he’d never felt before?

  Perhaps it had to do with Celia and Spencer.

  Since their father had passed away, he’d spent a lot of time praying for Annie’s children. And now he was being offered to personally give them what he’d asked God to provide—the soul-nourishing love his father had lavished upon him.

  Not that all men had to be like his pa to be a good father, and Gregory Gephart couldn’t have been less like Wallace Hendrix if the man had tried.

  A few weeks ago, after a particularly difficult Sunday, Spencer had confided that Celia had argued on the ride in that their father couldn’t have loved them, not with how he’d done something so stupid to orphan them. Celia was beginning to doubt their father had ever loved them at all.

  Though he hadn’t really known Gregory, he’d met him enough times to know Annie’s husband hadn’t been a man to wear his heart on his sleeve. But at the same time, Gregory had let his daughter spend enough hours beside him that she was practically his most trusted cowhand. No man who did that could be accused of not loving his girl.

  And though Jacob couldn’t bring Celia’s father back to prove that her father had loved her deeply, could stepping into Gregory’s place help Celia become the girl her father had believed he could depend upon?

  Up ahead, vultures rode the air currents in lazy circles above the bright spring green earth.

  And there was no use pretending that owning six hundred and twenty acres of land with all its improvements and livestock didn’t tempt his soul. Like the Gepharts, he’d once faced the same shocking realization that the land he
’d expected to live on forever could be gone in a snap.

  He’d always assumed his family’s ranch would be his since his older siblings had chosen more citified occupations and residences. But the year he’d gone off to fight the last few months of the war, his parents had sold their land for triple their purchase price to support themselves as missionaries in Central America.

  How could he have argued against that?

  Adjusting to the loss of his projected future along with his parents moving out of the country had been difficult. He couldn’t imagine how he would’ve coped if he’d doubted his father’s love.

  Duchess slowed as she pulled in front of the Gepharts’ home, and Jacob got down to scratch behind her ears and look out over the land. Sturdy outbuildings and several rows of cold frames surrounded the cabin. The naked branches of a line of short willows created the beginnings of a northern wind break. He sighed and let a small smile tweak his lips. Annie’s family didn’t have to obey the city code requiring tree planting this far from town, and yet, they had. Her ranch’s location along the cold, trout-teeming water of the wide Laramie River, plus its proximity to town while still abutted to acres upon acres of public rangeland, made it choice property. Someone would snatch this place up in a heartbeat if put up for sale.

  The front door swung open under the power of Spencer’s little arm. His bright smile caused Jacob’s own lips to turn up.

  “Ho there, Spencer!”

  “Ho there!” The boy skipped to his vehicle. “You have a nice carriage.” He caressed the black leather cushion. “We sold ours.”

  “I’m borrowing this one.” Jacob untethered Duchess and led her to green grass. “Bet your mother had to part with lots of things she wanted to keep.”

  Spencer frowned and nodded. “She cried about it.”

  “I bet.” Spencer was always asking for prayer on behalf of others, but not once could Jacob recall the lad complaining about his own life. Jacob ruffled Spencer’s hair. “Have you been helping your mother with supper?”

  “Yes.” He ducked out from under Jacob’s reach. “And she made cake again. Twice in one week!” Spencer licked his lips and rolled his eyes as if he were sampling the pastry. “She’s always telling us she has to save the sugar, but she must be having a real hankerin’ for sweets.” He ran to the front door and tugged on the latch with all his might.