Almost a Bride (The Bride Ships Book 4)

by Jody Hedlund

  Zeke smiled much too smugly. “It’s my tale. I can finish it the way I want to.”

  “Well, it’s my sketch, and I want a happy ending.” He’d pulled her into his story so thoroughly that she’d started to grow attached to the little fellow.

  “What if I prefer realism?”

  She sat forward on the edge of her chair. “Then find a way to make it both realistic and happy.”

  “Does such an ending really exist?” His expression lost some of the sparkle.

  She suspected their conversation had somehow taken a shift, that Zeke was referring to life and not the story. She pondered his question, wanting to take her time with her answer, needing to give him the truth without it being too preachy.

  “God doesn’t promise this life will be easy, Zeke. In fact, Scripture warns that we shouldn’t be surprised or think it strange when we face fiery trials.”

  “Fiery?” Zeke released a mirthless laugh.

  “We live in a sinful, broken world. Bad things happen to us and to those we love. But through it all, we can’t give up hope, because ultimately, someday, we will get our happy ending—if not in this life, then in the next.”

  Zeke leaned his head back and closed his eyes.

  Had she said too much? Even if she had, she couldn’t hold back the truth that the way to make it through those fiery trials wasn’t by giving up on God but by pressing into Him further.

  She closed her sketchbook, tucked it under the chair, and placed her pencil on top. Then she rose and started across the room.

  “Kate?” His voice was tired and weak.

  She paused.

  “I’ll come up with a different end to the story.”

  She wanted to ask him if he’d think of a different end to his story too. But instead, she mustered a smile. “Thank you, Zeke. Cari deserves it.”

  Zeke did too. She could only pray one day he’d see that.

  THIRTEEN

  FROM HIS SPOT in bed, Zeke strained to see out into the hallway where Kate was talking to Doc. But no matter how he positioned himself, he couldn’t get a view of the two, which sent his frustration climbing to new heights.

  For the past week, he hadn’t been able to put any pressure against the burns that raged up and down the back of his body. Not only hadn’t he been able to don clothing, but he hadn’t been able to move off his stomach—at least not without excruciating pain.

  Today, for the first time since the explosion, Zeke finally had permission to sit up. With his leg in the cast, the pain there had begun to ebb. If only the agony of his blistered flesh would subside.

  At least nothing had worsened, except his ability to tamp down his desire for Kate. The more time he spent with her, the more he craved her. If only she would show some interest in return.

  He’d been doing as Mr. Peabody had suggested and made the most of the hours he was able to spend with her. They’d never wanted for topics of discussion. Sometimes, when she was drawing, he’d pester her long enough that she’d show him her sketches, and then he made up stories to amuse her. Other times, they’d reminisce about childhood escapades, things they loved about life in Manchester, and funny happenings at school.

  During the long stretches when he’d been in too much agony to talk, she read to him from a few classics she’d borrowed from a miner who’d once been a schoolteacher. The tales took his mind off his pain.

  While he’d grown restless, ready to get back to normal life, he also hadn’t wanted the undivided time with Kate to end. He’d been half-afraid today Doc would tell him he could get up and move around without any help. Then he’d no longer have an excuse to have Kate’s assistance.

  The doctor’s laughter wafting in from the hallway was proof of just how easily men caved to her charms. Doc never laughed. Never even smiled. But every time he came, somehow Kate made him like her a little more. And now today, after a week, he was practically falling all over her.

  “Kate!” Zeke’s tone was testy, but he didn’t care.

  He’d gritted his teeth during the last few minutes of Doc’s exam, hardly able to keep at bay caustic remarks about how Doc was old enough to be Kate’s father and had better not think about courting her. But he couldn’t hold back any longer. He wanted the doctor to get on out and maybe never return.

  “Kate, are you coming?” he called again.

  At the sound of the front door closing, Zeke breathed easier, expelling tension.

  She stepped back into the room, bringing with her the sunshine in her smile. With her fair hair pulled up into a loose knot, the flyaway strands only softened her face, making her more beautiful. “Well, I guess this is my last day here.”

  “What?” Panic burst through him.

  She began to gather the art supplies she’d left scattered about the room. “The doctor said that since you’re sleeping well, Mr. Peabody doesn’t need to monitor you at night and can resume your care during the day.”

  Zeke pushed up, grabbing the blanket to keep himself covered. “Mr. Peabody needs your help so he can keep up with all his other duties.”

  The scent of freshly baked baguettes drifted into the room, choosing that moment to prove how busy Mr. Peabody was.

  She hesitated. “But the doctor—”

  “Doc ordered my care in the first place.”

  She was quiet, as though digesting his reasoning—either that, or thinking of another excuse. “I can’t go on living with Becca without earning my keep.”

  “I’m paying you.” He blurted the first thought that came to mind. “Aye, I’m paying you to be my nurse. Didn’t you know?”

  “I’m not helping you for money.”

  “You’re my employee, just like Mr. Peabody. I’ll have Wendell issue your wages today.”

  Worry glinted in her eyes. “But I want to help you.”

  “I know that, Kate. You’re a generous person with a big heart. But I’d have to pay someone else to nurse me. Please let me pay you.”

  Her lips pressed together in a half frown. “But you don’t need me any longer—”

  “I’ll always need you.” The words were out faster than water sliding from a sluice pan.

  “I don’t want to take advantage of your kindness, Zeke.” She resumed tidying and stacking her pencils and paints, thankfully unfazed by his ardency.

  “You won’t be taking advantage of me.”

  “But you already employ so many people.”

  “I can afford to hire you.”

  “I just don’t feel right about accepting a wage from you—”

  “Kate, I’m really rich. Rich enough to hire a dozen nurses if that’s what I wanna do.”

  Her mouth stalled around her response. In the silence, Mr. Peabody in the kitchen broke out into song, his voice rising on the strains of an opera aria.

  “My gold mine is one of the most profitable in British Columbia. It’s made me a millionaire several times over.” All along, he’d wanted to impress her with who he was and not his money. But he didn’t give one whit about that anymore. If his wealth would help gain her affection, then he planned to use it.

  “I could see you were successful.” Her voice contained a hint of accusation. “But I didn’t realize you’d done so well.”

  “I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to win you that way.”

  “You should know by now I don’t see people for what they have or don’t have. That’s not important to me.”

  “Then my ability to buy or give you anything you want doesn’t change your feelings for me?”

  “Not in the least.”

  A sliver of disappointment lodged in his chest. So much for thinking his prosperity would sway her. “What if I told you I’d build you a mansion that rivaled the biggest houses in all of England?”

  “No. It wouldn’t matter. I don’t want a house like that.”

  He paused. What did women want? Clothes? “What if I told you I’d hire a seamstress to create a new wardrobe for you with as many gowns as you
want?”

  She smoothed a hand over her skirt. “I don’t need any more gowns. The ladies in Victoria gave us some nice ones.”

  “Jewels?”

  “No.”

  He held back a sigh. “What about all the best art supplies?”

  “I’m getting by with what I have. But thank you for the offer.”

  If he couldn’t sway her with promises of luxury, then how could he win her? “At least let me offer you wages for being my nurse.”

  She finally smiled. “I see what you’re doing.”

  “What?”

  “You’re going to a lot of trouble to get your way.”

  He arched a brow.

  “The first day I was in town, you told me you wanted to help me. And because I wouldn’t accept your offer, you went and got yourself hurt so that I had to come here and be with you.”

  He relaxed against the mattress, his nerves unwinding. “Aye, you figured me out.”

  “You didn’t need to use such drastic measures.”

  “I suppose I didn’t.” He always enjoyed jesting with her. “And now if you don’t give in, you’ll force me to go out and blow myself up again.”

  She chuckled as she started out of the room again.

  He sat forward. “You can’t leave me yet.”

  “I’m not leaving,” she said over her shoulder. “I’m just getting you a bowl of the soup Mr. Peabody made.”

  “Then you’ll be my nurse and let me pay you?” He fought the need to jump up, grab her, and hold her back.

  “I’ll be your nurse,” she called as she disappeared into the hallway, “but I won’t let you pay me for it.”

  “Then I’ll pay Lee Chung for your rent.”

  “Maybe.”

  He leaned his head back and closed his eyes. Weariness pulsed through him, but it was overshadowed by a strange sense of contentment that he’d just won a small battle.

  Winning Kate’s heart wouldn’t be easy. Good thing he wasn’t afraid of a challenge.

  During the next week, Zeke sat up in bed for longer periods each day. He also made himself stand with a crutch and walk short distances before weakness and pain forced him back to bed.

  “Don’t worry.” Mr. Peabody tucked Zeke’s legs back under the covers. “You’re getting stronger. Before you know it, you’ll be moving around with no trouble.”

  Zeke wiped a hand across his brow to dry the perspiration that had formed there after just the few moments of exertion. At daybreak, the summer morning was already warm, and his bedroom was stuffy. Though the window was open, the air was muggy from the rain that had fallen most of the night.

  The light cotton shirt Mr. Peabody had helped him don was sticking to the wounds on his back and chafing him, as were the light linen underdrawers.

  The front door squeaked opened, and Zeke’s pulse sputtered in anticipation of seeing Kate. He wished he didn’t want to see her so badly first thing every morning, wished he could put her out of his mind. But from the moment Wendell or Mr. Peabody walked her home to the laundry in the evening, he missed her and thought about her until she returned.

  He ran his fingers through his hair to comb some order to it. “I should have shaved,” he whispered, rubbing his scruffy jaw.

  “She doesn’t mind,” Mr. Peabody whispered back as he tugged the sheet up. “It’s clear she cares about you just as you are.”

  “She tolerates me.”

  Mr. Peabody brushed a hand over Zeke’s hair, smoothing down a strand. He needed to shoo Mr. Peabody away and tell him to stop fussing. But for some reason, he didn’t have the heart to say anything, not when Mr. Peabody meant well by it.

  The older man stood back and examined him. “Maybe you need to get busy and just kiss her.”

  “Kiss her?” The words came out strangled, and Zeke glanced to the bedroom doorway, praying Kate hadn’t heard his meddling housekeeper.

  Someone coughed loudly in the hallway just outside the door, a distinct throat-clearing that belonged to Wendell. “I don’t recommend kissing Miss Millington,” he called.

  As Wendell stepped into the room instead of Kate, Zeke sagged against his pillows, relieved she wasn’t there yet to hear Mr. Peabody’s suggestion.

  “I’m gonna stick to your grandfather’s advice.” Zeke winked at Mr. Peabody.

  “That’s a good boy.” Mr. Peabody patted Zeke’s cheek.

  “I wouldn’t listen to him this time, boss.” Wendell was impeccably dressed in his usual suit and bow tie, with his blond hair slicked back with pomade. “This time his advice could be deadly.”

  “Morning to you, too,” Zeke said wryly. “Aren’t you a bright ray of sunshine?”

  Wendell, in the process of formulating another sentence, stopped and peered out the window as though expecting sunlight to break through the gloom. “With the cloud covering at about ninety-nine percent, we have a miniscule chance of sunshine this morning.”

  If Kate had been there, they would have shared a private smile over Wendell’s quirks. As it was, Zeke tried to keep his mirth to himself.

  “What new development do you have in the case?” Mr. Peabody asked. “You may as well spit it out before Miss Millington gets here. We wouldn’t want to scare her now, would we?”

  “No, and this is quite scary.”

  Wendell would have been scared of a cricket’s shadow, but Zeke refrained from saying so and waited for his assistant to elaborate whenever he was ready.

  Wendell had been updating Zeke over the past two weeks on any leads regarding who was responsible for the explosion at the mine. After questioning nearly every man in town, Wendell was no closer to solving the crime than he’d been on the first day of his investigation.

  They kept circling back around and pointing the finger at Herb. But Kate’s jilted fiancé had hotly denied being anywhere near the mine on the day of the explosion. In fact, Herb appeared to have an alibi; he’d been playing cards at Kelly Saloon all evening and several men had vouched for him.

  Wendell dug into the inner pocket of his suit coat and retrieved a folded card, which he held out over the end of the bed.

  “What is it?” Zeke reached for the item.

  Wendell’s glasses slipped down his nose. He jerked the card back and used the same fingers holding the card to slide his spectacles up.

  Zeke kept his hand outstretched.

  Wendell leaned forward again, holding the card toward Zeke, only for his spectacles to once more slip down, this time, falling off one ear and hanging from the other. Wendell retracted his hand again to fix them and struggled to get them in place.

  Mr. Peabody muttered, grabbed the card, and slapped it into Zeke’s hand. “You’re an intelligent boy, Wendell, but you lack God’s good common sense.”

  While Mr. Peabody lectured Wendell further, Zeke fingered the stiff scrap of paper. Tattered around the edges, it appeared as though it had been torn from the inside of a book. He unfolded it to find scrawling print: She’s not yours. Stop spending time with her or next time you’ll die.

  A chill raced through Zeke’s veins. Someone was threatening him. Again.

  “Where did you find this?” Zeke asked Wendell, interrupting Mr. Peabody’s sermon.

  Wendell jerked his head up so once again his spectacles came loose. He quickly snatched them off, glancing sideways at his grandfather as if expecting more censure. “It was wedged in the door at the store when I arrived this morning. I knew you’d want to see it right away.”

  “Was anyone else out? Anyone suspicious-looking? Or anyone who might have seen who stuck it in the door?”

  “I’m sorry, boss. I didn’t look. I was in too much of a hurry to bring you the death threat.”

  Mr. Peabody sucked in a wheezing breath. “Death threat?”

  Zeke held the note out to his housekeeper but focused on Wendell. “Do you recognize the handwriting?”

  “It doesn’t look familiar.”

  Mr. Peabody read the card, his eyes widening with each word.
“Your attacker doesn’t want you to be with Miss Millington.”

  “That would account for about ninety-three percent of the town.”

  “I thought it was ninety-five percent?” In spite of the gravity of the threat, Zeke couldn’t keep from teasing his assistant. “Guess that means two percent decided I’m worthy of Kate after all?”

  “No. It means a group of men got tired of mining and left town three days ago.”

  “Whatever the case,” Mr. Peabody returned the note to Wendell, “a lot of men don’t like you.”

  “They never have,” Zeke replied. Ever since he’d struck pay dirt, he made more enemies than he thought possible. Now that he’d let the men in town know he wanted Kate too, no doubt they thought he was as greedy as a king.

  “Take it back to the store,” Zeke instructed his assistant, “and start comparing the handwriting to signatures in the ledgers, as well as the mail.” In handling the mail that came and went from the town, Wendell, of anyone, would be able to match it to a letter he’d seen at one point or another.

  “Yes, boss. But my suspicion is that whoever wrote the threat purposefully disguised his handwriting so the note couldn’t be traced.”

  “Then, what about checking books around town and finding one with a missing front page?”

  “What if he tore the page out of someone else’s book?”

  Zeke shrugged. “Investigate all the possibilities, Wendell. You never know what you might find.”

  “Very well, boss.” Wendell turned to go.

  Mr. Peabody stopped him with a touch to his arm. “Wait now. Someone already tried to kill Zeke once and just threatened him again. Don’t you think you need to involve the law?”

  “I’ve already sent a letter to Judge Begbie, but I’ve calculated we’ll be waiting at least twenty-three or twenty-four more days before he arrives.”

  “So, you’re telling me we can’t do anything?” Mr. Peabody’s voice rose a decibel. “That a crazy killer could attack again at any moment, and there’s nothing we can do to stop him?”

  Wendell’s Adam’s apple slid up and down. “We don’t know who the killer is, Grandfather.”

  “What about Herbert Frank? After stabbing Zeke, that’s enough evidence to lock him away.”