Mail Order Bride Collection (A Timeless Romance Anthology Book 16)

by Stacy Henrie

  “You don’t need to do that,” Thomas said. “Remember, I can’t pay—”

  “I want to help,” Marilyn interrupted. “It’s the least I can do to repay your generosity.” She smoothed back some stray wisps of hair and added, “Besides, I’d rather like to see what life on a farm is like. My only experiences are from the big city— a lifestyle quite different from yours, I’d wager.”

  “Indeed.” Thomas eyed her, wishing that he knew what made her tick. She pulled out a hairpin, adjusted the twist, and slipped it back in to hold the hair in place. With her arms raised so, he had noticed something on her right wrist. She lowered her arms, but he walked over and gently reached for her right hand. She flinched slightly but didn’t pull away. She hardly seemed to breathe as he turned her hand over, revealing a dark bruise around her wrist. Now that he looked closely, he could see that it went all the way around. He traced the purple and green marks gently with a finger, but she still sucked air in through her teeth.

  He looked at her, searching her face for an answer to the question that made him feel both protective of her and furious toward whomever had laid a hand on her. “Who did this?” he asked quietly.

  For several seconds, she avoided his gaze and even tugged at her hand briefly, but then stopped, as if she didn’t really want to free herself. Slowly, she raised her eyes from their hands. Their gazes met, then held, for several seconds, during which they ignored Harry’s rendition of “Cotton-Eyed Joe” and made the cat dance in his lap to the beat. Marilyn’s face had paled, and she looked away from him, her face a mask of pain and fear.

  Thomas softened his tone further and tried again. “Marilyn. Please. Tell me who did this to you.”

  She didn’t answer at first. But eventually, she licked her lips and nodded toward her carpetbag. “I’ll show you.”

  She waited, then looked down at her wrist, still in his gentle grasp, until he came to his senses and released her arm. She rubbed her wrist then went to her bag, returning a moment later with a folded newspaper.

  “I found Harry’s ad in here the same day that I was threatened by another man.” She laid the paper on the table and pointed to a dark circle drawn around an article.

  Thomas leaned over to read it— a short notice about the suspicious death of a man. “I don’t understand,” he said. “Did you know him?”

  “No.” She smoothed her skirts, lifted her chin, and went on. “A man named Victor Hallows demanded that I marry him, and I refused.” Her gaze drifted to the newspaper. “He and Mr. Fletcher knew each other in some capacity— something illicit, no doubt.” She shuddered slightly then went on. “Victor claimed to have evidence to implicate me in Mr. Fletcher’s death.”

  “What evidence did he have?” Thomas asked, certain even without hearing the words that Marilyn was innocent of any wrongdoing.

  “A tin of arsenic that he would claim belonged to me,” she said. “I’ve never purchased arsenic for anything. I’ve used it at the bakery to get rid of mice, but that poison belonged to Gerald and Ruth, and—”

  “You didn’t kill anyone,” Thomas said.

  She looked up at him in wonder. “How can you be so sure? You hardly know me.”

  “I don’t know how I know,” he said. “I just do.” Thomas crossed his arms and leaned against the counter. “I suppose this Victor is responsible for killing Fletcher?”

  “I believe so,” Marilyn said. “Though I have no proof. I simply couldn’t marry a murderer. But Victor said that if I refused him, he would have me arrested and tried for the murder.” She reached for the table and turned the paper over so the article lay face down, as if that would somehow keep Victor Hallows at a distance. “He has connections in business and government,” she continued, hands clasped so tightly that her knuckles turned white. “And I don’t know where else. He is highly respected, so his word, unfortunately, would have been believed over that of a poor orphan girl, especially if he had managed to plant a tin of poison in a place that I could have had access to.”

  So many thoughts and emotions rushed through Thomas— among them a desire to find one Mr. Victor Hallows and throttle the very life out of him. But that didn’t seem like the right thing to say now. “That’s horrible,” he said instead.

  “But then I found Harry’s advertisement on the same page,” she said. “So fortune smiled on me and gave me a way to escape.”

  “I suppose so.” Thomas now understood why Marilyn had looked so afraid at his suggestion that she should return to New York. No wonder she wanted to stay out West, even if it meant living in a tiny room like Miss Faye’s.

  Marilyn waved a hand as if shooing the subject away and turned to face Harry. “Come along,” she told him. “We’re going outside to—” She paused to consult Thomas. “What will we be doing, exactly?”

  “Repairing a few holes in the fence,” he said, a bit confused.

  “Right.” Redirecting her attention to Harry once more, she said, “We’re going to repair a section of fence. I’m sure you can be a great help with that, right?”

  Harry nodded enthusiastically. “Yup. Let’s go,” he said, and he lumbered for the door. Halfway there, his boot caught on a knot in the wood floor; he stumbled and would have ended up landing on his face if Thomas and Marilyn hadn’t both reached out to steady him. In the process, Thomas’s hand found hers, as they both supported Harry’s back. Thomas would have been happy to keep his hand on hers indefinitely.

  “I’m fine,” Harry said, stepping forward, out of their reach, and heading outside. Marilyn exchanged a look with Thomas, smiling shyly, then followed Harry.

  The three of them spent nearly two hours in the back pasture. Marilyn asked all kinds of questions about things Thomas hadn’t given much thought to before, such as why barbed wire was shaped as it was, why cows tried to escape, and how long had it taken to build the fence. She seemed to genuinely want to know the answers, and she didn’t shy away from the work. She knelt in the dirt right next to him. She held pieces of wire as he cut, hammered, or twisted, as the case required. She found tools he needed from the bag he’d brought along. She continued to ask him questions.

  And in between all of this, she also kept Harry occupied and close by, so he wouldn’t wander off or hurt himself. She gave him assignments that he happily carried out— to gather ten stones shaped like hearts, to count the trees along a nearby mountain ridge, and to find pictures in the clouds overhead.

  Thomas worked on the fence the entire time, but he remained keenly aware of everything Marilyn did and said. He noted how she didn’t complain, even when a barb poked her finger and drew blood. How she held the wire in awkward positions until her arms trembled. All the while, she never complained about the heat or dirt and never said a word about wishing she’d stayed behind with Harry.

  Somehow, Harry had remained more well behaved and agreeable today than in any time in recent memory— a veritable miracle in and of itself. Marilyn seemed to have a way with Harry.

  Just the type of caring woman Harry needs, Thomas thought. She’d proven herself to be a hard physical worker, too. If she stays, she could be an asset to the farm.

  She was both pretty and kind. But what Thomas remembered most vividly were the times their arms had brushed against each other and how, when Marilyn’s hair had been only inches from his face, he smelled lavender.

  She’s just the type I need, too. The thought popped into Thomas’s head before he knew it. His skin almost prickled with Marilyn’s nearness. Stop it, he ordered himself.

  He finished hammering in the last nail then quickly stood and began collecting his tools in hopes of chasing off thoughts of pretty, kind, smart, and hardworking Marilyn and of what life would be like if she did stay. She followed his lead, gathering his hammer and nails as he carefully wound the spare barbed wire into a loose coil.

  She is just the type of help the farm needs. This statement appeared in his mind suddenly in a tone that almost sounded like his mother’s voice. He didn’
t chase the thought away this time. Instead, Thomas walked slowly to his leather satchel and worked there silently, packing up tools, trying to think.

  Ma, did you send her? he thought. Because if you did, you might be on to something. Maybe Miss Davis could help both of your boys— help Harry along and help me keep the farm. She works hard, and she seems to like it here. If you were around, I wouldn’t be so far behind on everything. No one could take your place, but a woman like her…

  Marilyn came over and knelt across from him. She slipped several tools into his bag then looked up at him. “What now?” she asked. “Are there more chores to do? I’ve always wanted to learn how to milk a cow.”

  “Stay,” Thomas said suddenly.

  Her brow furrowed as she seemed to be trying to follow his train of thought. “Stay here,” she guessed, “with Harry?”

  Thomas shook his head to tell her no as well as to chide himself for being so harebrained in his approach. Somehow, the brother with the injured brain seemed to have more finesse in wooing women than Thomas did.

  Harry probably had help contacting Ms. Williamson in the first place, Thomas realized with a start. And then he smiled.

  “What?” Marilyn asked, leaning back slightly with a suspicious air. “You suddenly have a mischievous expression, and I’m not sure I trust it.”

  “We live in a small town without a lot of people,” he began.

  “Yes…” she said, her voice trailing off in obvious confusion.

  “News— and gossip— tend to travel quickly,” he said.

  “Yes…” she said again, her tone shifting to one of caution.

  Thomas nodded at his brother, who was blowing away the white globe of seeds from a dandelion. “If I were a wagering man, I’d bet that most of the townsfolk think Harry sent the telegraph to Ms. Williamson on an errand— that I sent him to do it.” He scuffed a rock with the toe of his boot. “They probably think that I was the one looking for a bride.”

  “That makes sense,” Marilyn said. “Although that would mean—” She stopped suddenly, and her eyes widened as if she just now understood what he was suggesting. That they make the rumor true. Matching pink spots bloomed on her cheeks.

  “Would that be so terrible?” he asked with a shrug, hoping to appear casual, though his heart was hammering in his chest. “As you said before, it could be in name only between the two of us, but a marr— that kind of arrangement— would certainly prevent townsfolk from talking.”

  Why was speaking to her suddenly so hard? He could hardly look at her for nerves as he went on. “You’d be able to stay in the house, lend a hand with the work— which would be a great help, if you’re willing— and keep an eye out for Harry.” He snuck a glance at her. While her shock seemed to wane, the lively expression in her eyes earlier had also dimmed.

  She smoothed her hair back— there was that dodgasted bruise again— and said evenly, “That sounds wise, all things considering.” Then she lowered her face and stared at her hands in her lap. “I suppose the sooner the better,” she added, “if we want to avoid gossip.”

  “Agreed.” Thomas hated that she sounded disappointed. He was offering her a permanent home and a way to remain out of Victor’s clutches, were he to ever track her here.

  I’ve been decent to her, haven’t I?

  Or am I so awful that the very thought of marrying me is enough to depress a woman, even if it means her safety?

  He waited for her to look up, so he could see her eyes again, hoping to see something in them besides disappointment. When she didn’t lift her face, he went on. “The farm always has chores that need doing. You’re welcome to help tonight. Then I’ll get some supper on, and I’ll go to fetch the preacher.” He paused, hoping for some kind of reaction. “Is that all right with you?”

  She nodded but said only, “Yes, thank you.”

  Chapter Seven

  After several more hours of work— irrigating fields of alfalfa, thinning rows of corn and carrots, mucking out the horse stall, feeding the cows— the three of them walked back to the house in silence, the Yardley brothers flanking her. For herself, Marilyn felt more bone-deep fatigue than she could remember feeling ever before, and her muscles hurt all over, many of which she hadn’t even known existed. She could only imagine how she’d ache come morning.

  And I thought that bakery work was hard because of the early morning hours.

  She eyed Thomas as he walked at her side. “I could make something to eat, if you’d like,” she offered, “so you can leave to fetch the preacher sooner.” Truth be told, she didn’t relish the idea of cooking— she had appreciated Thomas’s skill in the kitchen earlier— but she felt indebted to him, and she certainly couldn’t repay him with money. Besides, getting the marriage settled before she spent a night under the Yardley roof seemed prudent. If Thomas had guessed correctly at the town’s gossip and assumptions— and she had no doubt that he had— then the preacher would likely be expecting a visit anyway.

  “Good plan. Thank you.” He sounded perfectly mannerly and cordial.

  And therein lay the problem.

  Every minute that Marilyn had spent in town, she’d come to find Thomas more and more attractive— physically, of course, but over the course of their day together, he seemed as amazing in other ways too.

  Would that he saw something more in me than a lonely, poor woman in need of a home like a stray puppy.

  Thomas Yardley had proven to her that goodness ran through his very core. Many men in his shoes would have sent Harry off to an asylum, sold off the farm, and drunk the proceeds. Many men would have turned a woman like her around and sent her back east, regardless of the fate she’d face there. Instead, Thomas had welcomed her into his household and treated her well.

  He was nothing like the men she’d known in New York, who’d turned to ladies of unseemly character. She suspected he was nothing like most men in the West; she’d heard stories about brothels and such. And she knew in her bones— every bit as deeply as she now felt weary of body— that Thomas Yardley had never, and would never, do such a thing.

  He didn’t have a temper like Victor’s, either. Instead, Thomas had shown indignation over how Victor hurt her. Thomas had invited her to stay under his roof, and he’d even agreed to fetch the minister to make her an honest woman under the circumstance. Thomas had a gentleness that complemented his strength and intelligence. Put together, those characteristics created a man she could only have dreamed up before.

  She had one remaining wish: that he’d see her as more than a poor girl in need of rescuing. Her heart felt dangerously on the verge of falling headlong in love with this man. It was the fear— of living near him but not with him, of not being a part of his life and heart the way he’d already become a part of hers— that had cast a shadow over her otherwise good fortune.

  Inside the kitchen, Thomas showed her where to find pantry items, and then he headed out to saddle up his horse. Marilyn stood by the back window, looking out at the stables until he left. Only then did she turn to light the stove.

  Be glad, she thought. He’s a good man, and you came west without ever expecting your future husband to be anything close to Thomas Yardley’s equal. Stop moping and be happy.

  She made a simple meal of biscuits and sliced ham. An hour after she’d expected Thomas to return, Marilyn and Harry ate together in silence. After she and Harry had eaten their fill, she set some food aside for Thomas and did the dishes while Harry got ready for bed.

  Still no sign of Thomas. Night fell, another hour passed, and a twisting worried her middle. Where was he?

  She helped Harry get to bed. She taught him how to say prayers then tucked him in and sang a lullaby. With the sun down, the summer heat faded quickly, and a nipping chill came over the house, so Marilyn lit a fire in the fireplace. She selected a novel from the small collection on the mantel, then sat in the rocking chair, which likely used to belong to Mother Yardley. Rocking back and forth with a comforter across her knees,
Marilyn read about a boy named Huck, who sought adventure, and a slave named Jim, who sought freedom. She related a bit to both of them.

  When the fire had died down, making it hard to read, she debated whether to add more wood. Perhaps I should go to bed, she thought. What time is it, anyway? She yawned and walked over to the clock on the mantel. It was nearly eleven. Worry gnawed at her again.

  Thomas is a grown man, she reminded herself. He knew this area, and she didn’t. If something had gone wrong, she couldn’t go for help until morning anyway. So she might as well go to bed and assume that Thomas would return safely in the interim.

  But what if something had happened to him? What would she do then? She had no rights to this house, and Harry would be sent only God knew where, and…

  Marilyn went to her trunk to distract herself as she’d distracted Harry earlier. Better to keep myself moving so my imagination won’t get the better of me.

  She bent over to find her nightclothes, but at the sound of clopping hooves, she froze and listened, thinking she’d imagined the noise. There it came again— definitely horses, and more than one.

  Was it Thomas and the preacher? Or could Victor have possibly found her? She silently backed into the shadows by the stairs, snatching a poker from the fire as she passed it. She didn’t want to use the weapon, but would if the need arose.

  Now she heard voices. Definitely two men. But nighttime and distance seemed to distort them, so she couldn’t determine whether one of the voices belonged to Thomas. As the horses came to a stop and the men dismounted, she could hear them walking on the gravel outside. Her hand tightened around the poker as she waited. The back door opened, and Marilyn gritted her teeth, bracing herself.

  A man in a black suit stepped inside and removed his hat. At the sight of his priest’s collar, Marilyn leaned against the wall in relief. Thomas came in a moment later, all smiles. He hadn’t been hurt, and Victor hadn’t found her. With each realization, she felt a bit more light-headed, and realized a second too late that she’d been locking her knees. She felt herself going limp then heard Thomas curse and run to her, catching her just before she could hit the floor.