A Bride for Noah

by Lori Copeland

  Panic stirred to life inside her. Was he casting her aside, then? “But you don’t understand. My uncle died, and I’ve inherited his estate. At first I thought I would go back to Tennessee, but I could stay here. I can sell the house and the property, pay off the loan, and have enough left over to build the boardinghouse we talked about.”

  He did look at her then. “Why should I continue a partnership with someone who isn’t honest with me?”

  “Because I’ve told you the truth.” Sobs threatened to rob her of a voice, but she plowed ahead. “All of it. I have no more secrets.” Desperate, she put a hand on his arm. “And I love you, Noah.”

  She searched his face for a sign, a glimpse of something that would give her hope that he still loved her, still cared for her. But all she could see were gray eyes clouded with doubt.

  Slowly, she removed her hand. He didn’t love her after all. If he did, then surely he would forgive her. The air around her darkened, and at first she thought the cause was the anguish of her thoughts. Then a heavy raindrop splashed against her cheek, followed quickly by another.

  With an upward glance, Noah finally spoke. “You’d better go inside.” The softness in his voice held not love, but farewell. He turned and strode away.

  Evie watched until he disappeared inside the trees. Numbly, she stumbled to the restaurant and threw open the door. When she stepped inside, the storm broke. The heavens opened, and rain poured from the sky. She sank onto the nearest bench, put her hands over her face, and gave in to tears.

  Twenty-One

  Ethel was at the logging camp’s cookhouse arranging a surprise for Evie when the rain started. The paltry amount of supplies the Commodore brought wouldn’t keep the restaurant going more than a couple of weeks, and Mr. Coffinger had purchased all the wrong things, besides. Who could make a decent supper out of turnips and cabbage?

  “Here we go.” Cookee backed out of the storeroom carrying a wooden crate. “Them’s canned peaches. I kin make a cobbler that’ll stick to yer ribs with no more’n a can a peaches and a handful of wheat flour.” With a thud, he set the crate beside the others on the rough slats that served as a table for the lumberjacks when the camp was in operation.

  Ethel eyed him with disbelief. “I know my cobblers, and it takes more than peaches and flour to make a decent one.”

  The little man chuckled. “Well, I might throw one or two other things in there.”

  “Such as?”

  The smile faded and he narrowed his eyes. “That there’s mine to know and yours to find out. A fella can’t go around givin’ away all his secrets, can he?”

  Cackling, he stomped back into the storeroom. Ethel gave a grunt of disgust, taking care to make it loud enough for him to hear. She saved her grin for when his back was turned. Wouldn’t do to encourage him, after all.

  He returned with another crate of peaches and plopped it beside the rest. “That there’s the last of it. Don’t know what the pusher will say ’bout handing all this over to a woman, though.”

  “Mr. Denny doesn’t need these supplies right away, not with the logging camp temporarily closed.” Ethel made note of the tally, marking two crates of peaches carefully on her paper. “By the time he’s ready to start up again, Miss Evie will have made enough money in her restaurant to pay him back or replace them.”

  He folded an arm across his middle, propped his other elbow on it, and stroked his scraggly beard with two fingers. “Well, I’ll give ’er one thing. That gal’s got a lot of spunk for a Tennessee girl.”

  Ethel drew herself up, eyeing him down the length of her nose. “And what’s wrong with Tennessee girls?”

  “They’s ignor’nt, for th’ most part.” He gave her a pointed look. “And pigheaded.”

  “Huh!”

  She turned her back on him and marched to the open doorway. Rain fell from the sky in a true deluge. She could barely see three yards into the camp. The ground would be a muddy mess in a matter of minutes.

  “Reminds me of the day we arrived,” she commented without turning.

  He came to stand beside her. “I remember. You and the other wimen looked like river rats and howled like a pack of banshees.”

  Ethel twisted her lips. “I did not howl.”

  “Yessiree, you did. You was cryin’ like you’s afraid a little rain’s gonna do you in for good. And shoutin’ for tea like you’d marched into a fancy restaurant or somethin’. I knew right then you was cantankerous as all git-out.”

  He chuckled, and though it galled her, she couldn’t deny the accusation. She never had been pleasant when denied her tea.

  The chuckle faded, and Cookee cocked his head to look at her sideways. “I always liked me a cantankerous woman.”

  Ethel looked at him. Had she heard correctly? Was that a compliment he’d just paid her? She couldn’t tell from the way he was watching her. “It would take a cantankerous woman to put up with the likes of you.”

  “That’d be true,” he admitted. “I speak my mind, I do. I need me a woman who ain’t afraid to speak her mind right back.” He peered at her, as if watching closely for a reaction.

  A funny feeling commenced to tickle Ethel’s stomach. Was Cookee trying, in his bumbling way, to tell her he had feelings for her?

  “She’d have to be pigheaded too,” she replied cautiously.

  He threw his head back and laughter filled the cookhouse. “That she would.” When the laughter died, his grin remained. “What say ye, then? You ’n’ me’d have quite a time together.”

  At the sight of his grin, the tickle became a flutter. Her and Cookee? Well, and why not? He irked her to no end, with his brusque manner and know-it-all attitude. But he made her laugh, and in an odd way, she enjoyed spending time with him. Half the time she wanted to slap him silly, and the other half she spent laughing till her sides split. Could that become the basis of a romantic relationship? She took a new measure of him. Not a bad-looking man, if he would shave and wash his clothes every so often. The top of his head came barely to her eyebrows, and of course she outweighed him by a few stones at least.

  “We’d look like Jack Sprat and his wife,” she said, with a dubious frown.

  “Aw, who cares? I like me a woman with some meat on her.” He waggled his scraggly eyebrows at her. “Give me a nice plump hen over a scrawny ol’ chick any day.”

  A blush warmed Ethel’s cheeks. One thing was certain. Marriage to Cookee would not be a quiet, tame life. It would be full of eruptions and spats and making up.

  “One thing I insist on.” She narrowed her eyes. “You may not call me ignorant ever again.”

  He jumped to attention. “Ye have my word on that.”

  “In that case…” She inclined her head like a queen granting a favor to a knight, though Cookee was the least likely knight she knew. That was all right, though. She was the least likely queen in all of Seattle. “You have my permission to court me.”

  The joyful whoop he gave set loose a grin she couldn’t have held back if she’d wanted to.

  Lucy was still at the dock arranging for the supplies to be transported to the restaurant when the rain started. Barely had the crew of the Commodore set the last box on the shore when the first fat drops landed on the top of her head. She craned her neck back. Though the sky had been overcast all day, the section directly overhead was now dark and brooding. She’d seen clouds like this a few times since her arrival in Seattle.

  “Rain’s coming!”

  She didn’t wait to see if the men who were on hand to tote the supplies up the trail took note of her warning, but dashed toward the closest trees. The deluge began while she was still ten feet outside of the dubious shelter of the forest, and she was soaked to the skin in a matter of seconds. Blinded by rain running from her hair into her eyes, she stumbled toward a tree trunk.

  “Come farther in.”

  She heard the shout over the roar of the downpour and a moment later something was thrown over her shoulders and she was led several
more yards into the forest.

  “Thank you.” She raised a hand to wipe the hair from her eyes so she could see her rescuer.

  Her heart slammed against her ribcage, and her step faltered.

  “Be careful,” said James. “You’ll be mud from head to toe if you fall now.”

  With an arm around her shoulders, he guided her to a place where a stand of cedars grew more closely together than the others, and their leaves far above provided a bit more cover. Rain still reached the forest ground, but not nearly as heavily as in the clear area by the dock. Lucy allowed herself to be led, her pulse skipping unpredictably while she tried to untie her tongue.

  “There.” He looked toward the treetops. “Hopefully this will blow over soon. Not sure, though. It doesn’t rain like this very often back home.”

  “I’m from Tennessee too.” She could have bit her tongue in two. Must she blurt out everything that popped into her head without thinking?

  He looked at her, surprise apparent. “How do you know I’m from Tennessee?”

  “Everyone does after yesterday.” She ducked her head. “Everyone who was there when the Commodore arrived, anyway.”

  “Ah.” His lips twisted. “So I’ve been pegged as Evangeline’s jilted fiancé.”

  Jilted? A hopeful flutter arose in her heart. Rain ran down his face, and she realized she had his jacket around her shoulders.

  “Here.”

  She lifted it to form a cover for them both, and nearly lost the ability to breathe when he moved close to hover beneath it.

  “Since I saw you at the restaurant, I assume you’re working with Evangeline. Did you travel with her from Chattanooga then?”

  “That’s right. Along with Ethel and my sister and Mr. Coffinger.”

  He turned his head to look at her, which in the close quarters put his face only a few inches from hers. “You do look familiar, now that you mention it. Have we met?”

  “I don’t think so.” She was absolutely positive, though she had seen him at least a dozen times back home. The first time when she and Sarah were coming home from the dry goods store and passed the river dock. The men at work there had been laughing together, and how could she not notice the most handsome one? After that, she made a point of walking that way whenever a riverboat was in port. But she didn’t need to admit that. Not yet. “I am Lucy Burrows.”

  “A pleasure to meet you, Miss Burrows. My name is James Garvey, recently of Chattanooga. Currently”—he gave a rueful shrug—“without permanent residence.”

  “Oh?” The hope in her breast rose a little higher. “Does that mean you won’t be returning to Tennessee?”

  “There’s nothing for me there.”

  “I hear there are opportunities in panning for gold in California. A number of the lumberjacks recently decided to try their luck there.”

  “That’s what it is too. Luck.” With a scowl, he shook his head. “I don’t put much stock in luck. I prefer to rely on determination and plain old hard work.”

  “If that’s the case, then you’ve come to the right place. I’ve never met a more determined bunch of people than the Dennys and the men who work with them. And there’s certainly enough hard work to go around.”

  “You know, I’ve been thinking the same thing since I arrived.”

  He smiled down at her, and Lucy had to force herself to breathe past a wave of giddiness that threatened her composure. To think that the man she secretly dreamed of in Tennessee would end up here, in Seattle, huddled beneath the same jacket with her! It was divine providence, that’s what it was. And especially since the poor man’s heart had been broken. Why, he needed something to work for. A goal. And maybe someone to help him accomplish it.

  “Is the rain letting up any?” He extended his head to peer around the corner of the jacket toward the sky.

  “No, I don’t think so.” Lucy smiled and settled herself a little closer to him. “I think this one might take a long time to blow over.”

  Noah had not taken five steps away from the glade when the rain started. He barely noticed even when it pounded on his head and turned the ground beneath his boots to mush. She loved him? He didn’t believe it. Back in Tennessee she thought she loved James, and what did she do to him? Deserted him. Ran off without a backward glance.

  I don’t know that. She said she broke their engagement before she left. That eliminated any obligation she had to tell him she was leaving.

  At least, that’s what she said happened. But how could he believe her?

  Though the storm raged around him, Noah plunged through the forest, splashing through rivulets and puddles that formed on the ground. A tightness formed in his chest, whether from exertion or from some other cause, he dared not consider. Instead he pushed onward until he was running almost blindly up the ever-sloping terrain, breath ragged in his chest.

  Somewhere along the way he realized where he was going, and he almost stopped then. Why return to his valley? There was nothing for him there. Not now.

  When he topped the final ridge he halted, panting, heart thudding so hard he felt it even in the soles of his feet. Rain fell from the dark sky, swelling the stream until it overflowed its banks and lay below him like a bloated gray snake. He backed up against a tree and slid down the trunk, heedless of the wet ground. He was already so wet it didn’t matter anyway.

  Was he the worst judge of women who ever walked the earth? He must be, else why did he keep having his heart ripped open and handed back to him? Or maybe he just kept falling for the same type.

  No. Evie was nothing like Sallie. No way could he have misjudged her so thoroughly, especially not when he’d been on guard against her from the beginning.

  The thought struck him with force, and he sat back against the tree. He had been suspicious of her from the moment they first met in the San Francisco greengrocer store. Not because he detected any dishonesty on her part, but because his heart was still wounded from Sallie’s harsh treatment. In fact, he treated her coldly and kept her at arm’s length for weeks. She had not been deterred in the slightest, but only become more determined to accomplish her goals. Not at his expense, but in spite of his suspicions and refusal to help. In a man, that determination would have earned his respect.

  Was it possible that he was mistrustful of Evie now not because of her behavior, but because Sallie’s lies still hurt so deeply?

  He rubbed at his face, wiping away water as he tried to clear his thoughts. Evie didn’t exactly lie to him, not in so many words. But she had certainly withheld the truth. Wasn’t that the same thing?

  The downpour slowed, and within a few minutes the rain dwindled to a light drizzle. A break in the clouds directly overhead held promise that the worst of the storm was over. But the storm inside Noah raged on.

  Today on the trail, Evie said she planned to tell him about her fiancé—former fiancé—but the arrival of the ship prevented her. When she said that, he didn’t believe her. The timing was too convenient.

  What if Evie had only been waiting for the right time?

  He raked a hand through his rain-soaked hair, scrubbing at his scalp as if by doing so he could clear his thoughts. A ray of sunshine warmed his face, and he looked up to see the clouds beginning to recede, pushed by a breeze that stirred the treetops. As he watched, shadows covering the land below him gave way to light. He lost track of time, watching sunlight chase gloom from his valley until finally the sky showed almost as much blue as white.

  The mountain, which had been hidden from view, appeared. Dense vapor still clung to the sides, wrapping the ascent in a blanket of fluffy white, but the snow-capped peak reached triumphantly above the clouds. Sunlight glittered on the distant snow like icy fire.

  As his eyes feasted on the brilliance of that dazzling pinnacle, a fog lifted from Noah’s thoughts.

  Evie rose early in the morning after a second night spent wrestling with her thoughts and wetting her pillow with tears. She’d finally reached a decision, though she had
agonized over it. After the sun rose, she would go down to the dock and arrange for return passage to San Francisco on the Commodore. Then she would go to Arthur Denny and ask to borrow enough money to see her safely home. She would beg if she must, and of course the attorney’s letter was proof that she would soon have the means to repay him in full.

  Lucy was an unmoving lump beneath the covers on the cot beside her, and Ethel’s soft snore from the direction of the other gave evidence that she still slept soundly. A not-so-soft snore from the bedroom told her Mrs. Coffinger too slept on. Moving quietly, Evie donned her dress and climbed down the ladder to the restaurant below.

  The room was warm from the still-burning fire in the big iron stove. Too warm, in fact. When she stoked the coals and the breakfast customers crowded in, the heat would become stifling. She crossed to the front window and pulled aside the heavy curtains to let some of the cool early morning air inside.

  The sight that greeted her froze her hand in place. Not again. Three long poles leaned against the side of the restaurant, their tops propped against the frame of the window. Hadn’t Chief Seattle instructed his people not to court the settler women? Or had he lifted his prohibition after yesterday, when he saw that Noah was no longer interested in her? Her heart twisted, but she ignored the pain and opened the door. If she saw any Duwamish braves hovering around, waiting to see which pole she chose, she would tell them in no uncertain terms that their romantic attentions were not welcome.

  When she exited, she came to a halt and her jaw dropped. Resting against the side of her restaurant were not three poles, but at least a dozen. No, more like two dozen. The entire front of the building, end to end, was covered with poles.

  At a noise from the forest, she whirled. Her head went light when she saw Noah striding across the glade toward her. A desperate hope rose in her heart when she caught sight of his tender smile. She covered her mouth with both hands, not trusting herself to speak without sobbing.