He frowned, tried to slip Linda into Audrey’s place and failed. He couldn’t imagine Linda doing any of those things. Or baking biscuits to bring him customers... Or helping him in the store...
The wind rose. He scrubbed a hand through his hair and scowled into the darkness. He may not be able to sort out his emotions, but one thing was certain—he would never eat another biscuit without picturing Audrey, neat and determined in her gray gown, walking out of his store carrying that basket of biscuits for Asa Marsh and the conductors. It was another smell he would forever associate with her—biscuits. Roses and biscuits...
Chapter Eight
The train whistle echoed down the valley. Audrey’s pulse quickened. Would her efforts bear fruit today? Would the conductor tell the passengers about the store?
She glanced from the mound of bread dough on the table to the window, pushed a curl off her forehead with the back of her hand and resumed her kneading. Fold, push, turn. Fold, push turn. Fold, push, done! She placed the dough in the bowl, turned it so the greased side was up, tossed a towel over the bowl and slid it in the warming oven. Now for the rolls.
She sprinkled more flour on the table, kneaded the next lump of dough, pressed it into a rectangle and smeared it with soft butter. A liberal sprinkling of sugar, another of cinnamon and she was finished. She rolled the rectangle into a log, sealed the edge with a bit of milk, sliced the roll into even pieces and placed them in a baking pan.
Two quick blasts of the whistle rattled the windowpanes. The train was at the station! The conductor would be swinging down, pulling the steps in place... She threw a towel over the rolls, slid them into the warming oven to rise and hurried to the sink to wash her hands. Cleaning the worktable could wait.
She dipped her fingers in the hand cream, rubbed it on her hands and ran to the window. A woman, garbed in green, appeared in the passenger car door, took the conductor’s hand and descended. A man, woman and child followed. Soldiers filed out and gathered on the platform, their blue uniforms unmistakable even over the distance.
Her plan didn’t work. And she’d been so certain it would after the way the conductors had received her gifts of biscuits. She breathed a long sigh, swallowed her disappointment and went back to clean the worktable. Perhaps she could think of another way to—No. She had interfered in Blake’s life enough. She would simply play her part as a stand-in bride until he found the solution to saving the store and his inheritance. And he would. Blake was a very intelligent, resourceful man. And thoughtful...and kind...and strong...and—Audrey Elizabeth Prescott, you stop thinking about yesterday!
She carried the dirty utensils to the sink, grabbed the sharp knife and scraped the stuck-on dough and flour loose from the worktable and into the slop pail. Was that a bell? She paused, listened, then shrugged and wiped the table clean, thinking about dinner. She’d been avoiding the deer meat Blake told her was in one of the packages in the refrigerator. She wasn’t familiar with deer meat—had no idea of how best to cook it. Perhaps she could call on Mrs. Ferndale for advice. She played with the idea, thinking of the benefits and drawbacks of an unscheduled visit. She didn’t want to appear rude. On the other hand, she didn’t want the meat to spoil, and Mrs. Ferndale had invited her to come anytime. She would go. But first, she needed to tell Blake what she was going to do and get his approval. She had forged ahead on her own too much since arriving.
She brushed the clinging flour from her apron and started down the stairs, paused at the sound of the bell on the door. Was a customer coming or leaving? She didn’t want to interrupt Blake when he was doing business. She walked through the storage room to the connecting door, stopped and stared. Blake was behind the counter waiting on the family she had seen getting off the train. Soldiers roamed the store or stood in line waiting for service. The woman in green was choosing notions from the dry goods section. It had worked! The conductor had told the passengers about Blake’s store. She caught her breath to keep from laughing and crying and shouting, pivoted to go back upstairs.
“Excuse me, miss. Do you have this needlepoint yarn in a lighter blue?”
She turned. The woman in green was coming toward her clutching a handful of yarn spools. “I’m sorry, madam, but I don’t—”
“Audrey...”
She shot a glance at Blake.
“If you wouldn’t mind—there’s a small box of yarn there in the storage room. It’s on the shelf to your left.” He went back to tallying the family’s order.
She looked at the woman and smiled to hide her inexperience. “One moment, madam...” She found the wood box, pulled out a spool of blue wool the color of a summer sky and took it to her. “Will this suit?”
“That is exactly the color I need. Thank you, dear.”
She smiled and turned back toward the storage room.
“Do you have peaches in a tin, miss? And tooth powder? I’m partial to cherry flavor if you have it.”
She glanced at Blake, now busy writing up the woman’s order, then back to the soldier waiting for her to answer. She took a breath and plunged in to help as best she could. “Yes, of course. The peaches are there on that shelf. I’ll get the tooth powder for you.” She slipped behind the counter, found a tin of cherry toothpaste and offered it for the soldier’s inspection. “There is no cherry-flavored tooth powder. Will this do?”
The soldier nodded, fished coins out of his pocket. “How much will that be?”
She smiled and indicated the short line in front of the counter. “Mr. Latherop will take care of your payment.”
“Please, Papa...”
Ah, she recognized that coaxing tone. She smiled at the memory of the anticipation of getting some candy when she went to the store with her father, glanced over the counter at a young girl of perhaps five years of age, then shifted her gaze to the father. Oh, dear, he looked unyielding.
“Please let her have some candy, Tobias. It helps to keep her stomach settled on the train.” The mother looked down at the daughter, gave a conspiratorial wink.
“Very well. For her stomach, Penelope. But you will ration them out to her. You’re spoiling the child with your largesse!” The father noticed her behind the counter and waved an imperious hand toward the jars of candy. “Give me a nickel’s worth of candy in a mix of lemon, peppermint and horehound.”
She bit back a desire to remind him of his manners, tore off a small piece of paper, twisted and tied one end and smiled at the little girl. “Do you prefer one flavor over another?”
“Lemon, please. It makes my tummy feel better.”
“I gave you your instructions, miss. Mix the candy as I ordered. And be quick about it!”
She kept her gaze down, lest the father read her opinion of his arrogant attitude in her eyes, and pressed her lips together to keep from responding. She took candy from the jars, adding extra lemon ones as a gift for the child, twisted the open end closed and tied it with string. “Would you like to carry it?” She leaned over the counter and held it down to the little girl.
“My wife will take the candy.” The father scowled, slapped a nickel on the counter. The man’s imperiousness was too much. She gave him a polite smile. “If you will step into line, Mr. Latherop will take your payment, sir.”
“Now, see here, miss—”
She jutted her chin, gritted her teeth behind her polite smile. “I am only helping Mr. Latherop serve his customers, sir. I do not accept payment.” She caught sight of Blake’s raised eyebrow from the corner of her eye. He’d overheard. Her stomach sank. She handed the paper twist to the woman and smiled down at the little girl. “Enjoy your candy.”
“Thank you for your service, miss.” The woman glanced at her scowling husband waiting to pay, leaned close and whispered, “He’s not used to being made to wait in line.” The woman smiled and placed a nickel on the counter. “For the extra lemon
drops.”
She shook her head. “Those are a gift—”
The woman pursed her lips, touching a finger to them. “I know, dear, but your kindness in adding those extra lemon drops is worth much more than that coin. And so is that!” She glanced in her husband’s direction, smiled again and took hold of her daughter’s hand. “Come along, Susan. Father still has to pay, and we don’t want to miss our train.”
She watched the mother and child walk away then looked down at the nickel. It was too much money. She caught her lower lip with her teeth and slid the coin toward Blake.
“We’d like to buy some biscuits, miss.”
“Yeah, we heard they were powerful good, not like those rocks they give us at mess.”
Two soldiers stood at the end of the counter, hats in their hands, a hopeful look in their eyes. “I’m sorry, but—” Disappointment clouded their eyes. Guilt smote her. “It will take a moment for me to get them. Wait here, gentlemen.”
She whirled and ran upstairs to the kitchen. The biscuits in the bowl were from dinner last night, but they were still good. She hurried back to the store, slipped behind the counter and tore off a piece of paper. “There are six biscuits. How many—”
The train whistle blasted its warning of departure. The few people browsing about left the store.
“We’ll take all six, miss. No need to wrap ’em. Grab ’em, Jonsey.” The soldier with a stripe on his sleeve dug in his pocket and pulled out a coin, slapped it on the counter and ran for the door on his buddy’s heels.
“Wait!” Blake grabbed a coin, started after them. “You’ve paid too much!”
“Give me more biscuits my next time through!”
The door slammed behind them. The bell jingled. Footsteps pounded across the porch and down the steps, faded into silence. She took a breath then looked up at Blake.
“I’m sorry—” Their words collided.
“Ladies first.” Blake stepped back behind the counter, made a notation in his ledger and slipped it on the shelf. “What’s this?” He picked up the nickel.
“It’s the reason I need to apologize. That man—”
“The arrogant one reluctant to buy candy for his daughter? The one you handled in such a cool, polite manner?”
So he had noticed. “Yes. I know I should have been more patient, but—Why are you laughing?”
“I thought you were going to choke! Or he was.”
“That’s not funny, Blake! He was your customer and I—”
“Handled the matter exactly right. You never have to accept rude treatment from one of my customers, Audrey. You send them to me, and I’ll take care of them. I’ll put this nickel right here by the cash box to remind you.”
He’d been pleased with her work. Pleasure spurted through her. “Are you saying you may want me to help you in the store again?”
He nodded, stepped close. “Would you be willing to help me when the trains come? I wouldn’t ask, but there is no one else in town I can hire. And if this morning was any example, I will not be able to handle all of the customers from the trains by myself. Twenty minutes is too short a time for me to take care of everyone. I’ll pay you, of course.”
So he wasn’t pleased with her work. It was only that there was no one else. And he thought so little of her he offered payment for her help—as if she were a stranger. She swallowed hard against the sudden lump in her throat, lowered her head and smoothed the front of her apron so she didn’t have to meet his gaze. “I will help you whenever you need me, Blake. But without pay.”
“No, Audrey. I insist on paying you a fair wage.”
The constriction in her throat swelled. She took a breath, drew back her shoulders and looked up at him. “I’m well aware that I am only a pretend wife, Blake. But you would not pay your real wife to help you, and you will not pay me. If you insist on doing so, I will not help you.”
He frowned and shook his head. “That’s not fair to you, Audrey.”
Neither is what Linda did to you with my help. “It is our arrangement. A deal is a deal.”
He stared down at her, scrubbed his hand across the back of his neck. “You are the most frustrating, stubborn woman I’ve ever known.”
Silence.
“All right, I yield. I’m in no position to argue. But I also have a condition as to your employment as my clerk.”
“And what is that?”
He lifted his hand, gently brushed it over the curls at her forehead. “No more waiting on customers with flour in your hair.”
Heat flowed into her cheeks but didn’t compare to the warmth that spread through her when his fingers touched her face. She caught her breath, pulled her gaze from his and hid from the sensation with conjured anger. “I was setting bread dough before I came downstairs. You might have told me sooner!” She lifted her hems and hurried toward the safety of upstairs.
“Audrey, wait!” His hand wrapped around her upper arm, brought her to a halt. “I didn’t notice the flour in your hair until just now when we were talking. It was barely visible. Truly. I was only teasing.”
He was so close she could feel his warmth on her back. She glanced at his hand holding her arm, so strong yet gentle, and held her breath against the quivering in her stomach, the ache in her throat. Please make him let go of me, Lord. She blinked to ease the pressure of tears stinging her eyes and cleared her throat. “I know. I was only having a...a ‘redhead’ moment.”
“Then I’m forgiven?”
The bell on the door jingled. “Of course. Now, I have bread waiting to be baked, and you have a customer...” She stood quietly, waited for him to release her arm. Boot heels struck the plank flooring in the store, drew closer.
“You back here, Latherop?” Garret Stevenson strode through the doorway, came to an abrupt halt. “Oh, sorry, Mrs. Latherop, I didn’t mean to intrude.”
Blake’s hand fell away from her arm. She felt him take a step back—no doubt embarrassed to be seen by his friend in what could be interpreted as an intimate moment with her. She turned to rescue him. “Not at all, Mr. Stevenson.” The only thing you intruded upon is my foolishness. “I was on my way upstairs to bake some cinnamon rolls—perhaps you would like some when they are done?”
A grin spread across the young man’s face. “Mrs. Latherop, I’d trade you my hotel for some of them! I haven’t had any fresh-baked bread or rolls or such since I came to Whisper Creek.”
She managed a small laugh. “That won’t be necessary, Mr. Stevenson. And, since you are Blake’s friend, please feel free to use my given name of Audrey.” I’m not Mrs. Latherop. I’m only a pretense.
He dipped his head. “It will be my pleasure, Audrey.”
Not for long. “If you’ll excuse me, gentlemen, those rolls are waiting...”
“Of course, dearest.” Blake placed his hand over hers on the banister. “I’ll join you upstairs when I’ve taken care of Garret and sent him on his way.”
Her heart skipped at the warmth in his voice, the look in his eyes. Stop it! It’s only an act. She nodded, lifted her hems and started up the stairs, watched Blake stride over to Garret Stevenson.
“I forgot about your bride, Blake. I’ll confine myself to the store from now on.”
“No need, Garret. Now, what can I do for you?”
No need. None, indeed. What if—No. No silly imaginings. Blake loved Linda, and that was the end of it. This pretend marriage was simply that—pretend. And she knew, as well as anyone, that reality was never like foolish dreams.
* * *
Two doorknobs... Two sets of door hinges... Four pounds, six-penny nails... Blake listed the purchased items in his ledger and looked up. “Anything else, Garret?”
“Your wife, Audrey...” Garret Stevenson popped a peppermint drop in his mouth and leaned his elbows on the
counter, his eyes alight with curiosity.
He gave Garret a mock scowl. “She’s not for sale.”
“Funny.” Garret’s eyes narrowed. “I thought your betrothed’s name was Linda.”
“That’s right.” He gestured with his pen toward the items on the counter. “Is that it for today? Or have you other purchases?”
“Knobs and hinges for six cupboards.”
“Any preference?” He stepped from behind the counter and strode to the hardware display to get the needed items.
“The ones on the left. So what happened?” Garret turned and leaned against the counter. “Where is Linda?”
“In San Francisco with her husband.” The bitterness was in his voice, but it didn’t burn in his gut—not like before. He must be getting used to the idea of Linda’s betrayal. He carried the knobs and hinges to the counter, placed them beside the other items and picked up his pen.
“Sorry, Blake. I’m not meaning to pry into things that are none of my business. I was surprised over Audrey’s name is all.”
“You and John Ferndale.”
Garret stopped loading his purchases into his pail. “Ferndale had a problem with your bride being Audrey instead of Linda?”
“At first. But he came around when I explained—”
“Why should Ferndale care who your bride is?” A scowl knit Garret’s dark brows together. “The contract I signed only says we have to be married and then live here in Whisper Creek with our wife or family for five years. Ferndale has no say as to whom we marry! Or why! We owe him no explanation for our choice of bride!” Garret shoved the remaining items in his pail, lifted it from the counter and strode out the door.
Blake stared after him, the words ringing in his head drowning out the slam of the door and the jangle of the bell. He dropped his pen onto the counter, shoved his fingers through his hair and glanced up toward the ceiling. In all the turmoil, he’d forgotten about that living-in-Whisper-Creek-for-five-years part. Now how was he going to free himself and Audrey from this sham of a marriage?
His Substitute Wife Page 11
