Olivia's Obligation (The Alphabet Mail-Order Brides Book 15)

by Peggy McKenzie

  She waited for him to return to his chair before she took her position across from him on the settee. “Look, what we have here is a business deal, Mr. Garrison. Strictly business. I’m here to rear these children and give them a soft place to land while building and running the new school. Your brother is—was—its benefactor much like Madame Wigg was at the school where I grew up. She was a mother to me when I could barely remember my own just as I shall be the mother to these children.”

  Olivia stopped to gauge her adversary’s attitude toward her statements. When he said nothing, she continued.

  “I am in charge of these children, not you. I will see to their day-to-day physical needs as well as their emotional needs. For all intents and purposes, I am their mother. Are you clear with that fact or shall I ask Mr. Hanover to come over and re-read Christopher’s will to you?”

  “That’s not necessary, Miss Palmer. I’m not an imbecile.”

  The look of sadness in his eyes made her pull the verbal punches she was preparing to throw. It’s impossible to start a war with someone who refuses to fight and she didn’t have the energy to waste on such nonsense. She had obligations—pressing obligations that must be tended to. August was only two months away and she had much to do before school would be ready for the children.

  “Very well. I understand that I must come to you when I need money and you understand that the children are my responsibility. That does not mean you are banned from them. They need their uncle to love and nurture them as well. Can you agree with these terms, Mr. Garrison? Because if you can’t....”

  She let her words dangle. Her unsaid threat hung between them. She had no idea what she was going to threaten him with. She watched the man struggle with his answer. Was it that hard for him to give up control to a woman? Perhaps he wasn’t used to women who thought with their brains and not their emotions.

  “I can agree to those terms, Miss Palmer. For now. I’m not certain what Chris was thinking when he put this crazy idea to paper, but he did do it, nonetheless. I’m not the heartless ogre you may think of me—”

  She blew out a very unladylike snort. His eyes rose in surprise and he laughed. It was a molten sound that poured over her like warm honey. Chills covered her skin in goose pimples. Olivia wanted to rub them away but she didn’t want to call attention to her reaction to him.

  “Okay, maybe I have been acting unreasonable. Somewhat.” He rose and paced in front of the fireplace. She had seen him do this once before and she had come to recognize it as his way of sorting things out much like she did when she needed to come to an important decision.

  “I arrived on the train yesterday with the pre-conceived notion that a woman by the name of Olivia Palmer was stealing money from my dead brother’s orphans with no one left on this earth to care what happened to them but me.

  “I couldn’t fathom what that must be like, you know, not to have someone to care about what happens to you, that is, until my brother died. Now, his children are my only living relatives, and I theirs.”

  Olivia breathed in a sigh of relief. “I understand exactly what that feels like. Perhaps that’s why your brother chose me to help guide these children.”

  He turned and looked at her. “Yes, John told me you were—”

  Olivia grinned at him. “An orphan? It’s not a curse word. You can say it. Orphan. And yes, I was raised at the school I spoke of for the last twenty years of my life.”

  Chance sat and watched his new wife explain what it had been like to be an orphan. He had no idea what that would feel like. He and Chris had grown up in a loving home with two parents who doted on them.

  He slipped a look down at the ring on his finger. His father’s ring. He wished his father were still alive. He had a lot of questions for the man who had died much too young.

  “Again, perhaps I’ve misjudged you, Miss Palmer,” he admitted without taking his eyes off his father’s ring.

  “We could both be guilty of that, Mr. Garrison.” He heard her skirts rustle as she rose from her chair. He looked up and saw her walk to the window and peer out. After a few moments, she turned to him and said. “I have an idea, Mr. Garrison. An idea I hope you are agreeable to—for the children’s sake.”

  “I’m willing to listen, I suppose. What is your idea?”

  “First, why don’t we call each other by our first names. I think it plausible if we continue addressing each other by Miss this and Mr. that, the people of Creede will become suspicious that our marriage is a farce and that wouldn’t bode well for the children nor my reputation as a teacher.”

  Chance felt the pinch of his guilt when she mentioned concern for her reputation again. It made his plan to deliberately sabotage her good name appear as mean-spirited and small-minded, but how else could he return to Boston with the children? His new wife had made it clear she had an obligation to keep and she had no intention of leaving town.

  He had to give the woman credit in the practicality department. She thought like a man. He liked that. An impulsive gaze down her form reminded him she might think like a man but she was put together like a woman. All woman. He raised his eyes to her lips—the ones he had just taken advantage of and he found himself resisting the urge to do it again.

  The memory of her hand across his cheek put a halt to that idea. He was a man, but he wasn’t a stupid man.

  He looked up to meet her eyes and the faint blush on her cheeks told him she knew exactly what he was thinking. Perhaps he needed to take a walk down the street to the Holy Moses Saloon—just to get some distance and perspective from this surprising little miss who was now his wife, especially if he had any hopes of resisting her charms while setting his plan into motion. He had to admit the lure of sending her packing didn’t hold quite the joy it had before her candid admissions.

  “I think that idea has merit, Miss Palm—Olivia. And you must call me Chance.” He stood and watched her eyes round in anticipation. Did she want him to kiss her again? He inadvertently rubbed his cheek. No, she hadn’t acted like a woman who wanted to be kissed, but women could be coy. He needed some space to think.

  What the hell was he thinking? This was not a real marriage and this woman was not his wife. He wasn’t certain what she was, but he was going to work hard to find out. If she had a game, he would find out exactly what it was and put an end to it—for his nieces’ and nephews’ sakes.

  “I will give you some privacy.” He gave her a stiff bow and walked toward the door.

  “You’re leaving?” he heard her voice call to him.

  “I have some business to attend to and I thought you could use some...privacy,” he repeated.

  “Yes, I suppose you are right. It’s been quite a week for the both of us,” she agreed. “When will you be back, Mr.—Chance?”

  Something about her simple question irked him. He wasn’t accountable to this woman. Hell, she should be the one accountable to him and yet, Chris had tied them together like two warring mules harnessed to the same cart.

  “I’ll be back when you see me walk through the door. Any other questions?” He knew he was being snide but he had to get some clarity to this unbelievable situation before he lost his mind.

  Chance watched the shock on her face morph into red-faced anger. Good. The more they hated each other the faster he could push her into running back to wherever she came from and he could be rid of her once and for all. He would take the children back with him to Boston and place them in one of the most prestigious boarding schools back East. The same one he and Chris had attended.

  He pushed another pinch of guilt out of his mind and grabbed his hat and coat. Chris had hated that school. Truth be told, so had he, but Mother and Father had said it was what was best for them and so they went. Sometimes, children didn’t know what was best for them. That’s why they had parents.

  He left the house without a backward glance, stepping off the covered porch and heading downtown toward the saloon. Chance hoped a few shots of good whiskey and a ca
rd game or two would relax him a bit. He had been wound tight ever since he boarded the train in Massachusetts.

  He shuddered when thoughts of a very public scene he’d had with a certain determined debutante came to mind. Her derailed plans to trap him into marriage had nearly been the end of both their reputations and his bachelorhood.

  Women. They were such clingy things. Granted, they had their charms, but Chance had learned long ago that women dangled those charms in front of a man much like a fisherman dangles bait in front of a fish. Once the fish took the bait, they were hooked. He shuddered at the thought.

  His marriage to Olivia was a charade. That was the only thing that kept him from running back to Beacon Hill with his brother’s children in tow and the law chasing him with an arrest warrant. He had enough high-priced attorneys on his company’s payroll that he could keep this woman tied up in court for years. And since he held control of her purse strings, that wouldn’t be hard to do.

  No, he wasn’t worried about Miss Palmer. He was worried about Hiram Hanover. He knew the legal genius well enough to know that the man would not rest until he saw justice done, and he had made it crystal clear he would fight to see Christopher’s wishes realized.

  Thoughts of Chris caused his anxiety to return. He couldn’t for the life of him figure out what Chris’ intent was when he drew up this stupid marriage agreement. Was it as simple as Chris needed a nanny and the teacher needed a school? Weren’t there women in town who could fill the bill without Chris having to marry? It just didn’t make any sense. None at all.

  Chance shook off his unease and took a deep breath to calm his rising anxiety. He waved back at a couple of men who called out congratulations to him. “Getting some liquid courage for your weddin’ night?” one man called out.

  Chance nodded and smiled, then turned inside the batwing doors of the Holy Moses and took a seat at the bar. The female bartender stepped over to him and asked, “what’ll you have, cowboy?”

  “Hit me with your good stuff. I don’t want any of that rotgut you serve the regulars.”

  The woman nodded and disappeared behind a curtained doorway. She returned a few minutes later with a bottle of amber-colored liquid in a crystal decanter. She poured him a healthy portion and set the bottle under the counter without a word.

  He took a deep breath and tossed the contents back against his throat, relishing the burn as it slid down into his belly. He looked at the barmaid, her eyebrows raised in question.

  “Yep, pour me another.” He waited until she filled his glass and replaced the bottle under the counter. This time he studied the glass hoping to find answers somewhere in its amber colored depths.

  The woman continued to study him. “You remind me of someone. Aren’t you Chris Garrison’s brother?” she asked.

  “Yep. That’s me.” He choked back his emotions at the unexpected mention of his brother.

  “I’m sorry about your brother. Chris was a good man. He didn’t deserve to die so young, and with all those children of his.”

  He looked up and saw the sincerity in the woman’s eyes. “Thanks. Are you a friend of his?”

  “Yeah, Chris was everybody’s friend. He wasn’t one to judge folks much. I liked that about him.”

  Chance studied the woman a little closer. He kind of remembered her from past visits, but he couldn’t remember her name. Was her comment pointed at him? No, he didn’t think so. She didn’t know him well enough, but if she did, the shoe just might fit.

  “Tell me your name again.”

  “Charlotte.” The woman answered.

  “Charlotte. It’s nice to make your acquaintance again. And no, my brother didn’t deserve all the hardships he suffered in his life. I—I can’t believe he’s gone.” For the first time since he arrived in Creede, Chance felt his control slipping away. Tears burned his eyes, his grief threatening to overwhelm him.

  He closed his eyes, trying to push his sadness back down into his gut where he would deal with it later and on his own terms. He felt the cool slender fingers of the woman called Charlotte on his arm. His eyes opened to see her concerned look. He covered her fingers with his hand and squeezed.

  “Thank you, Charlotte.” Chance tossed the second glass of whiskey back and set the glass on the bar. “I think I’ll find a card game to take my mind off my troubles.” He stood to go, then stopped.

  “Charlotte, you were a good friend of Christopher’s, right?”

  The barmaid nodded in agreement. “Yeah, Chris came in every now and again. Maybe a little more after his wife passed away. I know that was a hard one for your brother to get over. Not sure he did, but he had the kids to consider so he kept on going. He was a good man. A decent man.”

  Chance sat back down and leaned across the bar. “So why do you think he sent for a mail-order bride from back East? Did he say anything to you about this?”

  A man came and sat on the barstool next to Chance. Charlotte wiped at the bar and smiled. “I gotta go. It’s gettin’ busy and the boss don’t like it if I stand in one place too long.”

  “But you didn’t answer my question. Did Chris say anything to you about why he would do something like this?”

  Charlotte smiled at him. “Why is it so important that you know his reasons? Isn’t it enough you know that’s what he wanted? She didn’t wait for his answer. “Gotta go.” Charlotte walked down the bar and disappeared behind the curtain again.

  Chance sat and stared at the place where she’d disappeared. Her comment set him on his heels. Could he be satisfied with Chris’s decision without knowing the reasons behind it?

  “We have a chair open at the poker table if anybody wants to get in.” The dealer called out.

  Chance thought about the woman’s comment as he studied the spot where she disappeared. He loved Chris and would have done anything for him while he lived. So why was he so unwilling now to honor his brother’s wishes in death? The more he thought, the more his head spun with confusion. Or perhaps it was too much alcohol in his empty stomach that sent him off balance.

  Queasy, he realized he had skipped breakfast because his stomach had been a tangled mess of nerves at the thought of his brother’s will and unknown obligations to a complete stranger.

  Then, there was that unexpected wedding. There had been tables of food at the wedding, but he had been too preoccupied with his reluctant bride to eat. It hadn’t helped when Liam provided him with several generous pours of whiskey or the many glasses of bubbly champagne he tossed back after the wedding. These last two shots might have been too much. He stood and steadied himself against the bar. It had been a long time since he had been this deep in his cups.

  He threw two coins down on the bar to pay for his drinks and turned toward the card table.

  “I’m in,” he called out. He needed a distraction to take his mind off one particular woman he couldn’t seem to stop thinking about.

  Chapter 9

  Olivia tried not to think about her absent husband. He left hours ago and hadn’t returned. Well, that was just fine with her. She sat in front of the vanity in the master bedroom and ran a brush through her curly hair. The routine activity calmed her tattered nerves.

  She stroked her long curly hair until it shone in rippling waves down her back. The mountain air was much dryer than the humidity of New York. Summers were such a trying time for Olivia to tame her hair. She had learned long ago that curly hair did better if contained under a pound of hair pins.

  The children had been in bed for an hour or so. The quiet in the house gave Olivia time to think about the day. She glanced at her wedding dress hanging from the carved armoire by the window. Then she glanced at the gold band on her hand. She could hardly believe she was a married woman.

  Thoughts of her new husband’s kiss made her heart hiccup and stutter in her chest. Her breath caught at the memory. She glanced in the mirror to see her face flushed with...what? Embarrassment? Or could it be something else? Something she was unprepared to acknowledge
.

  Her eyes slipped from her face and focused on her lips, the ones the devil had kissed so thoroughly.

  Olivia set the brush on to the vanity top and reached up to trace the shape of her lips. She closed her eyes and relived that moment. The touch of his fingers on her skin as he held her close against his body—his scent so masculine and exotic. She compared him to the men who had attempted to court her from her past. They seemed weak and just plain boring compared to her new husband.

  Her new husband? What had she been thinking? “He is not your husband,” she told her reflection in a quiet but firm voice. “He’s your business partner. And it’s best you not forget that fact.”

  She was not a naive innocent. Well, maybe she was an innocent, because she had never been intimate with a man before. All of her attempts at courting had been under the watchful eyes of Madame Wigg or her fellow teachers, but she was most certainly not naive. At least not enough to believe this devil-may-care man-of-the-world would be interested in a poor little spinster school teacher like herself. He had made that point painfully clear to everyone.

  Olivia prided herself in being a practical person. It was the hook she hung her hat on that kept her life grounded, and she was not about to go all weak-kneed and starry-eyed over a handsome face this late in life.

  Disgusted with the direction of her thoughts, she rose from the vanity and turned down the sheets on the bed. She had no business thinking about Chance Garrison in that manner. He was the kind of man Madame Wigg had always warned her girls about. “He’ll make promises he won’t keep and leave you to pick up the pieces alone.”

  Olivia was no fool. She had seen some of her wards at the school leave under less-than-respectable circumstances. They wanted so badly to be loved by someone, they’d succumbed to the first person willing to whisper pretty words in their ears.

  The grandfather clock downstairs in the hall chimed the hour. Ten o’clock. It was getting late.

  Her thoughts wandered to the man she married today. The one who kissed her with such passion in her parlor this afternoon. And the one who would sleep at the end of the hall this evening.