His Substitute Wife

by Dorothy Clark

  Her gaze lifted, the uneasiness that had shadowed her eyes replaced with a hint of the friendliness he remembered. “As you wish.”

  “Then we’ll need another cup and saucer.” He grabbed the dishes from the dresser and carried them back to the table. “We’ll have a cup of coffee to toast our...er...partnership in saving my store. Thanks to you, I will have the time to come up with a plan to do so. And we need to discuss how we will make this charade work meantime.” The thought soured his stomach.

  “That sounds like the sensible thing to do.” She gave a delicate sniff, glanced toward the stove. “Excuse me, I don’t want the coffee to boil.” She took a dish towel out of the drawer in the worktable, gripped the coffeepot and set it down toward the back of the stove. “That’s better—it’s not as hot there.” She placed the towel on the worktable and gave him another of those tentative near smiles. “It will be a few minutes until the coffee is ready. Shall we begin?”

  He dipped his head. “Ladies first.”

  “Very well.” She brushed her palms down the front of her long skirt, then raised one hand and gave a small all-encompassing wave. “I am not concerned about cooking or household matters. Since Mother passed away, I have cared for our house and for Father and Li—” She caught her lower lip with her teeth, looked down.

  Linda. Pain flashed. He clenched his hands, took a breath and nodded. “That’s good to know. We should know about each other’s lives, should someone ask us.” He ignored the ache gripping him and pressed on. “One question I’m certain will be asked us is how we met.”

  Her head jerked up. “What would you have me say?”

  “The truth. That we met while I was courting your older sister.” The vein in his temple throbbed. He moved to look out of one of the windows that bracketed the dish dresser to avoid the compassion in her eyes. “The problem is, Mr. Ferndale knows Linda is...was...my fiancée. I often spoke of her by name.” He scrubbed his hand over the nape of his neck, ignoring the knot in his gut. “We’ll have to think of something to explain why we married. And it would be best to stay as close to the truth as possible so we don’t get our stories confused.”

  A train whistle sounded, echoing down the valley.

  “That’s it!”

  “What is it?”

  “The train.” He pivoted, met her confused gaze. “We’ll tell people we corresponded, and when...Linda...wed another, you came out of friendship to tell me in person.” The constriction in his chest tightened. He fought for breath to continue. “I think it would be best if we not mention the store, so I will tell Mr. Ferndale when you stepped off the train and I saw you again, I realized my feelings for you had deepened beyond friendship. That I had fallen in love with you through your letters. That we talked, I confessed my feelings for you and you...professed a fondness for me, and agreed to marry me.” He stepped closer, studied her face. “Are you all right with this, Audrey? You look pale.”

  “I’m fine...only a trifle uneasy. I’ve never been good at...at dissembling. The coffee’s ready.” She snatched up the towel and turned to the stove.

  He watched her lifting the hot brew. Guilt reared. What depths had he sunk to, putting his need to save his fortune ahead of his honor? He squared his shoulders. “Forgive me, Audrey. It’s wrong of me to put you in such a position. There is a train going east early this afternoon. I will put you on it, then go and tell Mr. Ferndale the truth.”

  Steam spiraled from the hot pot, misted the air between them. “Thank you for your consideration, but I’m not going home, Blake.” She walked to the table, poured the hot coffee into their cups and returned the pot to the stove. “And you did not put me in this position—I did. And I would do it again. It’s only right after what my sister did to you.”

  The hem of her skirt swished across the floor, a quiet accompaniment to her firm words. He studied the resolute look on her face. A different Audrey than he’d ever seen. She’d always been so acquiescent to Linda’s wishes.

  “And what you said about me is true. I did come in friendship to tell you what had happened. And we did talk. And I did agree to marry you when you asked me—well, that’s backward, but it’s close enough. The...conditions...of our marriage will remain our private knowledge.” She moved to the refrigerator and opened the door, glanced inside. She closed the door again.

  “Sorry, I got meat and butter, but forgot about milk.”

  “That’s all right—I can drink the coffee black.”

  A real smile tugged at his lips. “That shudder you just tried to hide says different. I have some Eagle Brand in the store. I’ll get it.”

  * * *

  Audrey listened to Blake walking down the stairs, every step driving his words deeper into her conscience. That I had fallen in love with you through your letters. It wasn’t true, of course. Blake didn’t love her and he didn’t know she’d written the letters. But still, it was a plausible explanation. The warmth of Blake’s letters had drawn her. And she had responded to that warmth—though as Linda, of course. Still, the attraction was sincere. But then, she’d always enjoyed her conversations with Blake...

  She eyed the steaming cups of coffee, picked up hers and took a cautious sip hoping to settle her churning stomach. All she achieved was a scalded tongue and a shudder at the bitter taste. Tears filmed her eyes. “Father God, You know I’m sorry for helping Linda deceive Blake. I was wrong not to have warned him she was fickle when he began courting her, but—No. No excuses... Please help me to make amends. Please help Blake—”

  Footsteps on the stairs halted her choked words. She blinked her eyes, wiped her cheeks and ran on tiptoe to look out of the window over the coal box beside the stove. A muted hammering came from the raw structure next door. The hotel. He’d written to Linda about—

  “Here’s the milk. I’ll open it for you. These cans are hard to puncture, even with a can opener.”

  Blake’s thoughtfulness brought another surge of tears. She was too tired and too unnerved by their situation. She nodded and blinked, struggled to get her emotions under control.

  “There’s some ground sugar in the bowl—if you use it.”

  He’d ground sugar for Linda. “No, only milk.” It was another way she differed from her sister. Linda used spoonsful of sugar in her coffee or tea. She swallowed hard and jerked her thoughts from Blake’s love for her sister before her guilt overwhelmed her and she blurted out the entire story. It would only hurt him more. “I can hear them working on the hotel.”

  “You know of the hotel?”

  Her stomach flopped. She shouldn’t know about the things he’d written Linda! She groped for a way to cover her error. “Linda shared the things you wrote about Wyoming Territory and Whisper Creek with me.” It wasn’t a lie. Not really. It was only...misleading.

  “I see.” His voice was flat, terse.

  Another mistake. She shouldn’t have mentioned Linda. She hurried to the dish dresser for the creamer and poured some of the milk into it. “Thank you for opening the can.” Blake nodded and put the can in the refrigerator, but she’d seen the taut line of his mouth, the shadow of pain in his eyes. Her hands tightened on the creamer and spoons she carried to the table. “To continue our discussion—I will need to know your routine in order to plan my household tasks, when to prepare meals and such.”

  He held her chair for her, then took the chair across the table and bowed his head. “Thank You for Your provision, Lord. Lead me—us...through this day, I pray. Amen.”

  Us. The word hung in the air, awkward and uncomfortable. She stared down at her cup, swirled milk into the hot dark brew and watched the color lighten, knowing Blake wished it were Linda sitting in her place. So did she.

  “This is good coffee.”

  Was he being polite? “I can adjust the amount if—”

  “Nope. It’s perfect as it is.” His s
mile looked forced. “About my schedule... I really haven’t established one yet as I’ve only just opened for business. Until now it’s all been orders from those building new homes or businesses. That number has been very few, but it’s growing. Still, having only a few residents in the town limits business.” He took a swallow of coffee, glanced over at her. “I’m up at dawn, so I open the store at seven. The first train comes through at seven ten and I’m hoping the passengers will come in and buy things they need—though none have as yet.”

  “That’s not surprising.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  She stopped stirring and looked up. “The conductor on my train told the passengers there is no food or drink available in town and advised them not to wander away from the station as Whisper Creek is a short stop for refueling and taking on water only.”

  “I didn’t know the conductors did that.” He frowned and set his cup back on the saucer. “I’m sure some of those soldiers on their way to their postings farther west would come in for tobacco and other sundries if they knew of my store. Not to mention the civilians. At the moment, my store is the last chance for them to purchase necessities and small luxuries before they continue on their journey.”

  She sipped her coffee, weighed the idea that had popped into her head. Would he think her forward if she mentioned it? A foolish worry. How could he think her any more forward than he already did for suggesting they marry? “Perhaps a sign would help.”

  He gave her an odd, sort of surprised, quizzical look, then shook his head. “The Union Pacific does not allow signs on their property. I’ll speak to the stationmaster, ask him to tell the conductors that my store is open for business so they can pass the word along to their passengers.”

  Her pulse quickened. His descriptions in his letters had made her curious about Whisper Creek, but she’d been too nervous last night to pay much attention to the buildings and surroundings. She took another sip of coffee to keep from asking to accompany him, certain he would prefer to be alone.

  The hammering from the building next door grew louder. Blake glanced toward the window. “It will be expected that I take you on a ‘tour’ of Whisper Creek—such as it is. Would that be acceptable to you?”

  She grasped at the chance to be away from this home he’d hoped to share with Linda. It would be good for both of them to forget how Linda had altered their lives—at least for a little while. “Yes, of course. I would enjoy seeing the town—‘such as it is.’” She set her cup on its saucer and took a breath, spoke what had been on her mind all morning. “But, before we do, I’m concerned about, that is, I’m not certain I know how to play the part of a newlywed, Blake. What do you want me to do?” The muscle along his jaw jumped. Pain sharpened the planes of his face. She looked away, stared down at her coffee. “If you’d rather wait—”

  “No. We’ll take the ‘tour’ now. As for how to act—just follow my example. And bear in mind that I, too, will be acting my part. Don’t flinch away if I should...touch you.”

  The vein at his temple was pulsing again. She nodded, hid her clenched hands in her lap. “I’ll be ready as soon as I clear the table.”

  “I’ll await you downstairs in the store.” He rose and slid his chair under the table. “You may need a wrap of some sort. Early mornings are cool in the mountains.”

  She stared after Blake as he strode from the kitchen, then sighed and carried their cups and saucers to the sink cupboard. Don’t flinch away if I should...touch you. Why would he say that? She’d never had men swarming about her the way Linda did, but it wasn’t as if she’d never had a beau. And he knew she’d been promised until John Barker decided Alicia Blackwell’s sudden inheritance was the wiser move for his future and broke off their betrothal to court the spinster. She frowned and dumped the rest of her coffee into the sink. It was only that this odd situation made her nervous. She wrested what comfort she could from that thought, then set herself to act the part of a new bride.

  Chapter Three

  “I’m ready.”

  Blake pivoted toward the door to the storage room and was struck again by Audrey’s neat, trim appearance, and how well it matched her personality. Linda would be swathed in ruffles and lace that drew a man’s eye to her curves and—He jerked his mind from the conjured image of his beloved and stepped forward. Audrey moved slowly toward him, her gaze sweeping around the store before coming to rest on him.

  “Your store is larger than it seemed las—in the dark.” She stopped by a display of Bull Durham tobacco sitting beside piled boxes of ceramic doorknobs on the counter and looked up at him. “There are so many choices. How do you decide what to stock?”

  The question halted him. How like Audrey to try to distract him from their ridiculous circumstance. He’d forgotten how kind she was. Her intelligence demanded a well-considered answer. He gathered his thoughts. “I try to think of what will be required to build the town and then keep those items in stock for the men doing the work. Right now, that’s mostly foodstuffs, tools and hardware and other construction needs, along with tobacco products and a smattering of household items.”

  “Oh, I see...”

  Her gaze slid toward the back corner. A frown formed a small line between her delicately arched eyebrows. He glanced at the tables that sat there, a large one covered with piles of denim pants and cotton shirts, a smaller one covered with a few bolts of cloth and some small baskets of buttons and other notions. “Is there a problem with my dry goods section? I know it’s small. But until your...arrival, there were only two women in town—Mrs. Ferndale and Yan Cheng, the laundress.”

  She looked up, met his gaze full on. “Do you want my honest opinion?”

  Probably not enough ribbons and lace to suit her. Still, if she was nice enough to pretend interest in the store, he should humor her. “Yes, of course.”

  “Very well.” She took a soft breath. “I understand your reasoning—and it makes perfect sense to cater to the majority of your customers. But, if you are hoping to sell to the women passengers on the trains passing through, then—in my opinion—you should bring your dry goods forward out of that dark corner.” She crossed to the table and touched the basket holding ribbons. “It is hard to see what you have displayed here. And the dim light afforded by the overhead lamps does not show the fabric or trimmings in a true light. It is most frustrating to buy a piece of fabric or trim and find when you get it home that it is not the right color at all.” She turned back to face him. “Also, women will not like walking through an entire store of men’s tools to find the few items of interest to them.”

  He stared at her, taken aback by her sensible detailed answer. “I see.”

  Pink spread across her cheekbones. “Forgive me, Blake. I got carried away—”

  “Not at all. I appreciate you explaining a woman’s thoughts on such things to me.” He shifted his gaze away from her face. Linda had never blushed like that. It was surprisingly touching. “I will move the dry goods. Where would you suggest?”

  “Me?”

  He nodded at the gasped word. “You must have had a place in mind.” The shock on her face turned to dismay.

  “No, I didn’t. Truly! I only noticed the darkness of the corner. I wasn’t trying to—”

  “But you would place the dry goods at the front of the store?”

  “Well...yes. But—”

  “Where?”

  She stared at him a moment, then walked to a tool-covered table situated at the left front corner of the room. “I would put them here—in the natural light from the window. And—” Her teeth caught at her lower lip. She glanced at him, then looked away and gave a small, dismissive wave of her hand.

  “And what?”

  “Nothing. I’m sorry, Blake. Please forgive me for being so bold as to offer you advice on your store. I have no experience as a shopkeeper.” She
smoothed her skirt, looked toward the door. “Shall we go now?”

  “Not yet. I’d like to hear what you were thinking.” The dismayed look returned to her face.

  “It was nothing of importance. I only thought...” Her shoulders squared. She waved her hand toward the window. “If you feel you could spare the space, you might want to put a bolt of fabric and a basket of notions, ribbons and such in the window.” She glanced toward the shelves behind the long counter. “And perhaps one of those large ironstone pitchers... And a pewter candlestick... And perhaps a crock of that marmalade...” She met his gaze again. “My thought was—with only tools and hardware items in the window—how are the women passengers to know the store sells things they may want or need?”

  “How indeed?” He pushed aside his shock at her astute suggestions, focused his attention on the window. “You make excellent sense, Audrey. A few household items in the display would draw a woman’s eye. I believe I will make those changes before I—we go to the depot to talk to Asa.” He strode to the back table, lifted the bolts of fabric and carried them to the counter. “Which would you suggest for the window?”

  Her expression brightened. She hurried to his side, touched a rose silk, an apple-green organdy with a delicate white embroidered flower trim at the edge, then sighed and shifted her hand. “This blue taffeta. Most women are partial to blue.”

  He stared down at the taffeta the color of Linda’s eyes, fought back memories of her gazing up at him through her long lashes and shook his head. “I’ll use the green.” The words came out more brusque than he’d intended.

  Audrey withdrew her hand, stepped back. “Forgive me, Blake. I—I didn’t think about—”

  “No reason why you should.” He cleared the gruffness from his throat, looked over at her and read the understanding in her eyes. “What happened, happened, Audrey. You had no part in it, and you’ve no reason to keep apologizing because of my...feelings. I’ll get over them.” He headed back to the dry goods table.