His Substitute Wife

by Dorothy Clark

  Her uneasiness, carried since Linda had stormed out of their house, swelled into a band of tightness around her chest. She’d seen Linda’s prospective husband only a few minutes when Linda had come home to get her jewelry and withdraw her share of their inheritance, but something in his eyes had made her uncomfortable. She’d taken an immediate dislike to him. That wasn’t like her. Of course, that could be because he was the reason Linda had broken her promise to marry Blake—if she had ever intended to do so.

  She closed her eyes and rubbed at the ache in her temples. Maybe things would have turned out differently if their father were still alive. Or if she hadn’t challenged Linda to do the right thing and marry Blake that day. Perhaps if she’d been less ardent in defense of Blake’s expectation, she could have talked Linda into at least coming West to see Blake again before she married another.

  Oh, what did it matter? It was done. Thinking about it would change nothing. She would simply have to live with her guilt. And Linda—She gasped, lowered her hands to press against her chest. Linda did not know she’d come to Whisper Creek! And she was the one Linda relied on since their parents had passed. How would Linda find her if she needed help? Oh, everything was such a mess! And she couldn’t even confess to Blake about the letters. It would only deepen his hurt, and make their situation untenable.

  “Dear Lord, please watch over Linda and keep her well and safe. And please help me to be all that Blake needs me to be until he finds a solution to save his store. Help me to play the part of a newlywed well in front of others—to atone for writing those letters. And help Blake’s heart heal. Oh, Lord, please don’t let Blake suffer because of Linda’s selfish ways and my imprudence. Let him heal and find love with another, I pray.”

  Tension thrummed along her nerves. Some planner she was. She hadn’t thought beyond the point of marrying Blake to save his inheritance. Now she was caught unprepared. Play the part... What did that mean? How did a loving bride act? Thanks to John’s betrayal, she’d not had a chance to learn about being a bride. An image of Linda’s friend Carolyn Rogers clinging to her new husband’s arm and cooing love words at him flashed into her head. Surely Blake would not expect such behavior from her. He could barely stand the sight of her. And she didn’t blame him.

  Tears surged, but she swallowed them back, refusing to cry any more. What was done was done. She couldn’t change it. All she could do now was to help Blake save his store.

  She thrust aside her troubling thoughts and hurried to her satchel inside the large wardrobe Blake had made to hold Linda’s many gowns. She couldn’t bring herself to place her grooming aids on the lovely dressing table he had bought for Linda, or to use the products he had provided for her sister. Thoughts of the White Rose paste for teeth, the Pears’ soap and the lovely milk glass Crème Simon jar alongside the tin of Gillette safety razor blades and the jar of Swiss Violet shaving cream on the shelf above the washbowl in the dressing room sent a tremble through her. The sight of those items had brought Blake’s longing to wed Linda home to her as nothing else had. They were so...intimate, sitting there side by side.

  Her stomach churned, threatened to empty. Blake resented her for coming to Whisper Creek to marry him, even if it was for his benefit. And he regretted yielding to her arguments and going through with the marriage. That had been clear in that angry ceremonial kiss. And in the obligatory polite way he had treated her last night. There had been no evidence of the casual friendship that had existed between them when he was courting Linda. She sighed and opened the satchel. As uncomfortable as her position was for her, it had to be unbearable for Blake. He loved Linda. And her mere presence, here in the home he had built for the two of them, had to remind him of her sister. All she could do was try to be as unobtrusive as possible when they were alone.

  She coiled her long wavy hair into a thick figure eight at the nape of her neck and secured it with hairpins and the pearl hair comb that was a bequest from her grandmother. A quick glance in the long mirror affixed to the inside of the wardrobe door revealed wispy curls lying against her forehead. She smoothed them back and closed the door. Linda’s blond curls looked lovely resting on her forehead. Her own red curls just looked messy. But the room was neat.

  She released another sigh and looked around. There was no sign of her being there. She could not sleep in that bed with its pristine blue-and-white coverlet, so she’d sat in the rocker and dozed when she wasn’t pacing and worrying last night away. And she’d made certain there was no sign of disturbance to the dressing room when she’d washed and prepared for the day.

  The room was getting lighter. She glanced at the brightness filtering through the shutters. Dawn came quickly in the mountains. Should she go to the kitchen now? She tiptoed to the bedroom door and pressed her ear against the wood. There was no sound, only silence. A frown tugged at her eyebrows. Had Blake finally fallen asleep? He’d been stirring in the next bedroom all through her long sleepless night. Perhaps he’d risen when she dozed off after coming back from the dressing room.

  She stepped back, nibbled at her lower lip. What should she do? When did he breakfast? Were there provisions in the kitchen? Surely there were provisions! He’d said there was no restaurant in Whisper Creek, so he had to cook—didn’t he? The questions streaked through her mind, adding to her indecision. The only thing she was sure of was that she did not want to presume for her own use the things that Blake had provided for Linda, or in any way add to his hurt from Linda’s betrayal.

  She listened at the door again, heard nothing and turned back into the room. It would be ill-mannered of her to rise first; she would wait until she heard Blake leave his bedroom. She moved to the window, opened the shutters and watched the sun climbing above the mountains. How foolish Linda was to throw away the love of a man as thoughtful and caring and faithful and...and passionate in his feelings as Blake.

  * * *

  Blake stood with his hand on the doorknob, torn between his desire to leave the confinement of the bedroom and his reluctance to face the agony of the day ahead. He’d been looking forward to Linda’s excitement over all of the things he’d bought for her comfort. How could he face Audrey in his beloved’s place? How could he watch her in the kitchen, using the utensils and pots and pans and stove he had bought for Linda, while she prepared and then shared what should have been his first breakfast with his wife?

  Wife. The word stabbed deep. He sucked in a breath and glanced at the light slipping through the window shutters. Morning was breaking. He had no choice but to live through this day. And neither did Audrey. He released the doorknob and massaged the tense muscles in his neck and shoulders, then drew his knuckles along his freshly shaved jaw. Audrey had tried her best to act undaunted last night. But she hadn’t been prepared for the reality of a marriage—even a pretend one. It was obvious when they came back to the store last night that she hadn’t thought beyond the ceremony. There was an unworldliness...an innocence about Audrey. He’d sensed it during their short conversations when he’d courted Linda, and it was strongly in evidence last night. And now he was responsible for her.

  His face tightened. He never should have married her—wouldn’t have if he’d had time to think beyond his shock at Linda’s betrayal and the urgency of the moment. But then he would have lost the store. He owed Audrey his gratitude and respect for saving it for him, but—Linda. The ache swelled, burst over him like a wave. He bit back a moan, set his jaw and reached for the doorknob. The sooner he faced this day, the sooner it would be over. He gripped the cold metal, fighting the anguish that had become a part of him. “God in Heaven, help Audrey, I pray. And please help me to hide my feelings. She doesn’t deserve any of this.”

  A quick twist of his wrist opened the bedroom door, and he walked down the hallway into the kitchen. Light from the windows gleamed on the new furnishings. The sight of them fueled his determination. He strode beyond the worktable to the stove, o
pened the firebox, struck a match and lit the kindling he’d readied the day before. He’d choke down breakfast somehow.

  “Good morning.”

  Audrey. His hand tightened on the damper. He finished adjusting the draft on the stovepipe, turned and pulled his lips into a facsimile of a smile. “Good morning. It looks like it’s going to be a nice day.” A bald-faced lie. It was a wretched day. He should be taking his wife in his arms—

  “Yes. It was beautiful watching the sun come up over the mountain. Though it was quite misty.”

  Her return smile was shaky. So was the hand she lifted to push back the curl dangling on her forehead. An image of Linda smiling up at him while she twirled a curl around her finger flashed into his head. His chest constricted. Thankfully, Audrey didn’t have blond hair and blue eyes or Linda’s coquettish ways—he couldn’t have borne that. He nodded, turned to the coal box on the floor and scooped up some black chunks.

  “The mist rises from the snowcaps.” He slid the coal off the shovel onto the kindling, closed the door and adjusted the draft. Audrey’s skirt whispered against the polished wood floor. He tensed, glanced over his shoulder. She was walking toward him, her hazel eyes shining.

  “What a beautiful stove.” The words were a mere whisper. She wasn’t talking to him. He watched her brush her hand across the gleaming cast-iron cooking surface, then raise it to touch the blue porcelain doors on the warming ovens above it before lowering it and resting her fingertips on the chrome handle of the oven door. “Just beautiful...”

  It was the exact response he had hoped for—but from the wrong woman. He clenched his hands, reminded himself of what he owed Audrey and cleared his throat. “I’m glad you approve of it. I wasn’t sure—”

  “Oh, it’s wonderful! Just look at that spacious oven! Why, I could bake—” She caught her lower lip with her teeth, stepped back and slid her palms down the front of her skirt. “I mean—any woman would love to have this stove to cook and bake on.”

  “I’m glad to hear it, because any man likes to eat.” The attempt to ease the awkwardness of this first morning with humor bore fruit. She lifted her head and gave him a tentative smile.

  “Would you like me to fix you some breakfast?” She glanced around the kitchen. “Are there provisions...?”

  Trapped. Now he had to eat. His stomach clenched at the thought. “There are supplies in the refrigerator, and in the cupboard beside it. If you don’t find what you need, just ask. I will likely have it in the store.” He turned back to the coal box, scooped up more chunks and moved to the corner.

  “What is that?”

  Fabric rustled. Her dark blue skirt hem floated into sight at the corner of his eye. He glanced up. She was standing in front of the tin-lined sink cupboard gazing toward the column in front of him.

  “It’s a water heater.” He opened the door of the firebox and dumped the coal onto the glowing embers.

  “A water heater?” She leaned closer, her eyes sparkling with curiosity. “There’s no spigot. How does it work?”

  “The water comes from outside into the bottom of this reservoir...here.” He touched a pipe that came up through the floor. “The coal heats the water and it rises to the top. Then the hot water from the top of the reservoir flows out through this pipe—” he raised his hand to a pipe midway up the tank “—into the washbowl and bathing tub in the dressing room.”

  “Oh, I see.” She glanced his way and smiled. “I wondered where that wonderful hot water came from.” Her gaze slid back to the water heater. “What are those other pipes for? Does that one—Oh, my!” She leaned forward, peered over the end of the cupboard. “That one comes to this sink!”

  He grinned, caught up in her enthusiasm. “That’s right. It brings the hot water here—” he stepped closer, stretched out his hand “—to this spigot. And this one—” he touched another pipe that ran along the wall to the sink cupboard “—brings in the cold water from outside.”

  She straightened and looked up at him, her hazel eyes shining bright with gold flecks he’d never noticed before. “And the wastewater?”

  “You dump it into the sink and it flows down this screened hole through a draining pipe to the outside.”

  “Truly?” Her gaze dropped to the sink cupboard. She gave a soft sigh and slid her fingers along the wood cabinet. “I never would have thought a kitchen in Wyoming Territory would be more luxurious than ours in New York.”

  Ours. The thought of Linda took him like a fist to the stomach. He sucked in a breath, looked away. “I wanted the best...”

  “Yes, of course.”

  She sounded stricken. He glanced back, saw the knowledge of his hurt in Audrey’s eyes. She’d understood what he’d left unsaid. He’d have to do better at hiding his emotions, but how? It was as if Linda stood there between them. He took refuge in honesty. “I’m not really that hungry, Audrey. Coffee will do for me. There’s a bag of Lion’s—freshly ground—in the pantry.” He dipped his head toward the large floor-to-ceiling cupboard at the other end of the stove.

  She met his gaze for a moment, then nodded and moved back to the stove. He set his jaw, watched her lift the new coffeepot from the cooking surface, set the insides on the worktable, then turn to the sink cupboard and reach for the tap.

  “Wait!” Too late.

  Water gushed, hit the rim of the pot and splashed onto Audrey’s hand and blouse. She gasped and jumped back. He reached to turn off the deluge and their hands collided. She jerked hers away, grabbed her blouse and tugged at the wet spot, flapping it to make it dry. “That water is freezing cold!”

  Her uneasiness at his touch was plain on her face. Guilt pricked him. She had come all this way to help him. The least he could do was show some appreciation and try to make her as comfortable as possible under the circumstances. He tugged his lips into a slanted grin. “Sorry. I tried to warn you. The water is melt-off from the ice cap piped in from the waterfall. There’s a lot of pressure.”

  “I noticed.”

  He chuckled at her dry tone.

  She looked up, an uncertain smile playing at the corner of her lips. Their gazes met and she looked down, opened the tap slowly and ran water into the pot. “How do you like your coffee?”

  “Strong and black.”

  She nodded, set the pot on the worktable and moved to the pantry. “Father liked his coffee that way. Two spoonsful for every cup.”

  “You made it for him?” The stovepipe crackled. He turned the draft down for a slow burn.

  “Every morning.” There was sadness in the smile that curved her lips. “I’m an early riser—like Father was. There’s something special about shar—” Her lips clamped closed. She carried the bag of coffee to the worktable. “Where are your spoons?”

  “Here in this drawer.” He stepped beside her and pulled a drawer open while she placed the insides in the coffeepot. “There are towels and things in the drawer in front of you.”

  She accepted the spoon he handed her, opened the bag and peered inside, then tipped it from side to side, probing the coffee with the spoon handle.

  The rich aroma rose to tempt his nostrils. “Looking for the picture card?”

  She stopped searching in the ground beans and glanced up at him with a self-conscious little laugh. “Force of habit.”

  She saved them? Linda wouldn’t bother with a picture card. She was too sophisticated and worldly for such things. Obviously more worldly than he’d known. His lungs constricted, cut off his breath. The muscle along his jaw twitched. “I tossed the card away when I ground the coffee.” He moved to the water heater, pretending to adjust the damper on the firebox door.

  “It’s of no matter.” The spoon clinked against the coffeepot. “As I said, it’s only habit. I save them for Lily Chaseon—the daughter of our neighbors back home.”

  Where she wou
ld be had she not come West to help him. His hand stilled. Why would she do that? She was not responsible for Linda’s behavior. He watched Audrey place the coffeepot on the stove, fold down the top of the bag and carry it back to the cupboard, her movements neat and precise. Everything about Audrey was neat—her hair, her appearance in that plain gown...even the way she arranged her thoughts into a sensible argument that had left him no room for disagreement—except on an emotional level. He frowned, shoved his fingers through his hair and determined to stop acting like a graceless boor. At the very least, he owed her good manners. “Audrey...”

  “Yes?” She moved to the step-back dresser displaying blue-and-white-patterned dishes and lifted a cup and saucer off the shelf.

  “I want to apologize for my behavior last night.” Her posture stiffened. She glanced at him then started for the table.

  “There’s no need for an apology, Blake.”

  “I think there is. I had no right to kiss you like that—to take my anger out on you. Or to treat you in such an unwelcoming manner after you came all this way to—”

  “Please stop, Blake. I realize how...difficult...all this is for you.” The cup rattled against the saucer. She set it on the table and clasped her hands. “I’m so sorry for...everything.”

  “You’ve nothing to be sorry for, Audrey. It is—” his tongue refused to speak the name of his beloved “—your sister who broke her promise to me. You’ve come to help me. And I recognize that that was very hard for you—as is this farce of a marriage in which we find ourselves. And I appreciate what you are doing for me—though my behavior toward you last night did not, in any way, reflect my gratitude. I’m sorry for that. I hope you will forgive me.” He cleared his throat and moved to stand beside her. “It’s early. Dawn has not yet fully given way to the day. Shall we start again?”