A Bargain For A Bride (Westward Hearts Book 8)

by Blythe Carver

  “That’s funny.” He chuckled under his breath, pulling the blankets over her. “I was just about to tell you not to worry. You are right, of course. There is no reason in the world why you would not go visiting a friend in need, even if your husband’s parents were here for a visit. Leave it to me.”

  She smiled up at him, keenly aware of the intimacy of this moment and suddenly wishing it would go on forever. He stood over her while she burrowed beneath the blanket, her head resting on a pillow thick with goose feathers. Half of his face was cast in shadow, the rest barely revealed by the dying fire’s light.

  If this were one of the novels she loved so well, and if he were the sort of man who behaved in such a way, he might ravish her. It was his right as her husband, was it not? He could easily behave like a beast and use their marriage license to explain away his behavior.

  To her surprise and dismay, her heart raced at the thought, and not out of horror or panic, but something else. Something she’d never felt before.

  She, who believed herself so attuned to the wide range of human emotion, had never felt this before.

  “Sweet dreams, Cate.” He bent down, and for a moment she thought he was going to do what she’d vaguely imagined. That he had darker intentions in mind.

  The breath caught in her throat. Her mouth went dry.

  When his lips brushed her forehead, his stubble tickling her skin, she was both relieved and slightly disappointed.

  He tiptoed from the room, closing the door with nothing more than a whisper.

  Leaving her thoroughly perplexed and not at all certain she was the young lady her mother had raised.

  “It is a beautiful day!” Hermione crowed upon entering the morning room. “Why, I nearly threw open the windows to let some of this unusually warm air into the house.”

  Indeed, it felt more like spring than mid-December outside. That, plus a healthy amount of sleep, left Cate feeling bright and cheerful that morning.

  She tried to tell herself those few sweet moments with Landon had nothing to do with her disposition.

  Cate held Violet out to her grandmother, the baby cooing happily when she rested in Hermione’s arms. “Her little neck is so strong! Look at her holding her head up with so much confidence. Yes, she is a fine, strong girl.” Hermione covered her cheeks with kisses and stroked the silky, blonde hair which covered her head.

  Suddenly, she frowned. “Is blond hair a trait in your family?” she asked.

  Would there be no end to these sudden surprises? “Blond hair?” Cate stalled.

  “It’s only that Oliver and Landon are black of hair, and mine is brown like yours. It strikes me as strange…”

  “Oh, my hair was golden as a child. All of our hair was,” she lied. “It darkened over time. My mother was fair-haired.”

  “Was she? How marvelous. Perhaps our Violet will remain fair. What do you think, sweetheart?” she asked, bouncing her gently.

  Cate let out the breath she was holding, glad to have avoided another possible trap.

  Until…

  “We ought to take the baby for a stroll! It would do her good to be out in this wonderful fresh air. I don’t think I’ve ever smelled air so fresh.”

  Cate gulped. A stroll? Through town? “Are you certain it would be good for her? After all, it could turn cold at any moment…” Where in the world was Landon when she needed him?

  “She has a perambulator, does she not?”

  “Yes, she does,” she had to admit. It was one of the items Phoebe had suggested they add to the list.

  “With a few extra blankets, she ought to be right as rain. What do you think, dear?” Hermione held her up, lifting her high into the air until she squealed and giggled.

  She was a darling, and Cate fell more deeply in love with her all the time. What would she do once there was no reason for them to be together any longer?

  She supposed if she wore a muffler, warmer weather or not, she might hide the lower part of her face. That could help. They need not walk the length of Carson Street more than once, and on a day such as this, there would be plenty of people out and about. They might blend in more easily that way.

  So long as they avoided lingering near the jailhouse…

  It was clear Hermione would not be refused, so Cate dragged her feet up the stairs and set about dressing herself for a morning stroll.

  She heard Landon preparing himself for his day in the next room and knocked on the connecting door.

  He opened it, his face half-covered in shaving lotion, still in his nightshirt. “What is it?” he asked when he noted the horror on her face.

  Whether she was horrified by his mother or by the ease with which he revealed his private life to her, she could not say. Perhaps he was better accustomed to being free and easy with young ladies.

  Perhaps that was what had gotten him into this mess, to begin with.

  “She wants to take the baby for a walk throughout the town!” she hissed. “What am I to do? You know I can’t dissuade her when she gets a notion in her head.”

  He looked stricken. “You might walk me to my office, and then come home. Tell her your head aches or something of the sort. She will believe there is plenty of time in which to take a stroll, and we can hope for frigid weather after today.”

  Yes, that would have to do. Except…

  “Where is your office?” she asked. “You never told me.”

  He gaped at her, open-mouthed, before chuckling with a rueful expression. “I suppose it’s just as well. It isn’t as if my father would expect you to have any understanding of what I do, so he would never bring it up to you.”

  She bristled at this, biting her tongue to hold back a sharp retort. “Well? Where is it?”

  “At the bank. I am vice-president.”

  Her eyes went perfectly round before she backed away, now trembling all over. “No.”

  He came to her, puzzlement written all over his half-masked face. The shaving lotion had now dried, and cracks had begun to form, giving him the look of a broken piece of pottery. “What is it?”

  “You work for the bank. Now I understand everything. How could you?” she hissed. “You wanted to keep me here. You want me to lose the ranch, for my sisters to lose the ranch. It would go to the bank, and that’s what the bank wants. How could I have been so blind?”

  “Wait, wait!” He went to the door leading to the hall, looking out as if to be certain they were alone before closing it again and turning to her. “Keep your voice down, please. I don’t know where you got this idea from. It must be the strangest of all you’ve shared with me until now.”

  “I would thank you to keep your opinions to yourself, you treacherous thing.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Cate, this is not one of your plays. I am not some dastardly villain. In fact, none of us are. I do not know where you got that idea from. This has nothing to do with your ranch, and no one is trying to take it from you.”

  “Then why did you never mention before you were the vice-president of the bank?”

  “How did you think I found you? Why did you think I was at the bank that day?”

  “People go to the bank all the time! I assumed you were there doing some other sort of business!”

  He shrugged, sighing heavily. “I suppose we both assumed a bit too much. Once again, we had no time to straighten these things out. I did not deliberately keep it from you. We simply never discussed it. My position at the bank has nothing to do with your ranch, and I frankly would rather see your sisters maintain ownership.”

  She eyed him with deep suspicion. “You would?”

  “Yes. I have nothing to do with that. This is all I care about right now; my family, my parents, my child. I would never be part of some scheme to keep you away from what is rightfully yours. I mean this as kindly as I can manage; you must learn the difference between what happens in real life between two people and what happens in a play or a novel. You allow your imagination to run away with you and look how
worked up you have allowed yourself to become over nothing at all.”

  She hated to admit that he was right about this, for she had indeed worked herself up into quite a state. She went to the washbasin on the stand and splashed her face with cold water in hopes of bringing her color back to a more normal hue. “Forgive me. I did get away from myself, and that was unfair to you.”

  “All is forgiven. Now, hurry. Mother will wonder what is taking you so long to appear.”

  To her horror, his words brought to mind a number of images which might explain her lingering upstairs with her husband while Hermione tended the baby downstairs. Her cheeks blazed once again, and she splashed them after he had left the room to return to his grooming.

  She had flown off the handle for no reason. Landon had not given her any reason to doubt him up to this point, had he? He did not seem the type to use another in so callous a manner.

  And the odds of seeing Rance or Mason or even Rachel as she drove to the ranch were slim, were they not? Nearly non-existent, really. This was nothing more than a tempest in a teapot.

  Perhaps Landon and the girls were all correct, and she did need to bring her imagination to heel. It did tend to run away with her at the most inopportune times.

  Within twenty minutes, with Landon enjoying a quick breakfast while standing at the table in the morning room, the four of them were off. “Father says he intends to spend the morning catching up on correspondence,” Landon explained as they descended the front stairs, all of them breathing deep of the fresh, unseasonably warm air.

  Hermione merely shook her head, clicking her tongue disapprovingly. “I had so hoped he would get a bit of rest on this trip. It seems he never stops working.” She turned to Cate then, casting a knowing look her way. “I suppose you had best become accustomed to that, as well.”

  Cate frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “It’s merely that the men of this family tend to place work very highly on the list of things they believe are important.”

  Landon wound his arm around his mother’s with a fond smile. “Father’s work is very important. You of all people should know that.”

  “Yes, but I fear it took him away from us too frequently. I do not profess to know all there is to know about what he does, but there were many times…” She did not continue, her voice catching at the end.

  Though she knew she ought not to allow her imagination to take flight, Cate could only imagine how Hermione had needed Oliver in the days after the loss of their children. Perhaps that was what she referred to. Perhaps he’d not been as available to her as she would have liked. Perhaps she had no one to turn to.

  Cate decided then and there that if she ever were to marry, she would want a partner. Someone who would not only support her in her times of need, but who would allow her to support him and then give credit where it was due.

  While Oliver did not seem an entirely bad sort, and she could admit her original opinion of him might have been made in haste, she still had the feeling he was the type too blind to see just how much of his current success was possible because of his devoted wife.

  She could not think about that any longer, for they were nearly at Carson Street. Her hands tightened around the perambulator’s handlebar as she pushed it before her. At least Violet seemed to be enjoying herself, looking around in wonder at everything they passed.

  “What an impressive building!” Hermione marveled as they neared the bank. “To think, my son is vice-president of this bank. We are so proud of you.”

  Though Landon tried to hide it, his pleasure was evident. It meant a great deal to him, knowing he could impress his mother and make her proud. Cate tried to imagine what it would be like to hold her parents’ entire lifetime’s worth of hopes and dreams on her shoulders.

  “Have a nice day,” Cate said as they came to a stop. It was more important than ever to avoid notice, and she could not help but cast one worried look after another in the direction of the jailhouse. All she needed was for Rance or Mason to step out and find her there, pretending to be the happy wife and mother she was not.

  “Well?” Hermione asked, looking from her son to her daughter-in-law.

  “Well…?” Landon looked her way, confused, and she shrugged.

  Hermione chuckled. “You might give your wife a brief kiss on the cheek. After all, you will not see her until this evening. I would not mind.”

  Now, this was too much.

  Cate blushed uncontrollably as she turned to her husband. He looked greatly uncomfortable, as well, but appeared willing to appease his mother if nothing else.

  He leaned down, barely brushing his lips against her cheek.

  Meanwhile, her eyes darted back and forth, as she hoped and prayed no one would see this. Were all mothers-in-law as pestering as Hermione? Perhaps next she would ask when to expect her second grandchild.

  “Good luck,” he whispered with a knowing look.

  If she did not know better, she would swear he was fleeing the scene in hopes of avoiding further embarrassment.

  All right for him, then. He could run into the bank and leave her alone to manage his mother and child all on her own. She hoped he was prepared to pay quite a lavish sum for the creation of her theater, for she deserved it after this.

  He looked up, over her shoulder, and his eyes widened as if in alarm.

  “What is it?” she whispered while Hermione fussed over the baby. “What’s wrong?”

  She turned as well, following the direction of his gaze, but all she saw were people walking in both directions and a number of buggies and wagons rolling down the center of the street.

  “Nothing,” he muttered, his voice as distant as his gaze, before turning and leaving. She watched him disappear behind the heavy doors with a sinking heart. How could she manage this alone?

  She turned to Hermione, intending to feign a headache or some other malady which would give her an excuse to go home just as she and Landon had planned, when the sight of a familiar buggy caught her eye as it rolled down the street.

  She turned her face away, her heart racing madly, her stomach suddenly threatening to surrender its contents. It was Rachel; it had to be. Or Phoebe. Or both of them, on their way home. They had seen her. There was no getting her imagination to settle down now.

  “Did Landon seem out of sorts to you?” Hermione asked when they were alone, unaware of Cate’s distress.

  “I suspect he has been under a great deal of strain as of late,” she offered by way of explanation, scrambling madly for something suitable to say. “It is quite a change for him. For both of us,” she added. “The marriage, the baby. He is still settling into his new routine.”

  “Of course, of course. My mother’s intuition is getting ahead of me, I suppose.” If she noticed Cate’s distress, she spoke nothing of it.

  “I do not feel well,” she murmured, pressing her hand to her forehead. It was not entirely untrue, as the certainty that she just been spotted by her sisters sent wave after wave of nausea rolling over her. “Do you think we could take this walk another time? I hope the good weather holds out and gives us the ability to do so.”

  “Of course! You must rest once we return to the house. I will take care of everything.” If anything, Hermione looked pleased as punch at the prospect of caring for her granddaughter.

  Yes, she needed to rest. She had to close her eyes and get her thoughts in order, or she might do something drastic—such as telling the truth and having the whole thing over with.

  As much as she wanted her theater, she began to question whether it was worth the effort and the strain she had already gone through.

  19

  It couldn’t have been her. It simply couldn’t have been.

  Cate hadn’t noticed, and she wouldn’t, since she did not know what Ida looked like. She had not noticed the golden-haired woman standing across the street, staring at them in surprise and recognition and perhaps more than a bit of dismay.

  No, she’d bee
n far too enveloped in her own concerns. That was as he supposed it should be.

  Just as it was up to him to handle Ida if she had, indeed, returned to town.

  Funny thing, that. He’d wanted nothing more for than for her to return for the first week in which she had been gone. Now, he wanted nothing more than for her to stay away, at least until this whole matter was settled and his parents were none the wiser.

  Once again, he spent the morning utterly wrapped up in his personal concerns rather than those of the bank. Letters, messages, and reports sat untouched on his desk while he stared out the window and asked himself if he had only been seeing things. While he never would have thought himself the type before this, the strain on his nerves might just have been enough to cause his overwrought mind to conjure images which were not real.

  It was roughly noon when one of the bank’s errand boys approached his office door. “Sir, there is a lady to see you.” He both looked and sounded utterly scandalized at the thought of a woman being present in the bank.

  His heart sank, though he had expected all along. He had only been waiting for Ida to decide it was time to reveal herself once again.

  He supposed he ought to consider himself lucky that she had chosen the bank, rather than appearing at his doorstep. There was no telling what might have happened had she chosen that route.

  “You may show her in,” he replied with an air of resignation. What was the use in hiding? It was always better to get such things over with as quickly as possible.

  His surprise, when the woman in question was not the golden-haired, pink-cheeked Ida he recalled, but rather a dark-haired young woman whose eyes blazed in fury, could not have been greater. He might have asked who she was, might even have demanded, if the resemblance was not so clear. This was another one of Cate’s sisters.

  And, judging from the way she clearly attempted to conceal her swelling belly, he judged her to be Molly. Molly was the one Cate was always the most worried about.

  And once she opened her mouth to speak, he could understand why. “Perhaps you could help me with something,” she said without waiting for a proper introduction. “You see, my sister has been away from home for days, after arriving at our home with a very young child in her care. She then disappeared without warning, with our brother-in-law providing at best half-hearted excuses as to why she had suddenly gone. Now, I hear she was seen with you this morning. Standing in front of the bank, baby in a perambulator, while you kissed her on the cheek. Who in the world are you, really, and what business have you with my sister?”