The 12 Brides of Summer Novella Collection #2

by Mary Connealy

  “When can I see what you’ve done?” Gideon asked, trying to keep his thoughts from the lovely young woman who should be standing behind the counter helping customers decide whether to buy white or pumpernickel.

  Though a bakery was an unusual place for an artist’s studio, no one in Cheyenne seemed to care that Jeremy Snyder painted in a corner of his wife’s bakery rather than in a studio of his own. His talent had made him one of the city’s premier artists, and that was all that mattered.

  Jeremy nodded as if he’d expected the question. “Another week. I promised it would be finished by June 10, and it will be. Don’t worry, Gideon. Your mother will have it before the Fourth of July.”

  “Thanks.” Gideon realized he’d never told Jeremy the reason he had commissioned his portrait at this particular time. “Mother’s been pestering me to go back East to celebrate our nation’s birthday ever since I arrived here. For some reason she won’t believe me when I tell her Cheyenne has its own celebration and that it’s a fine one. The painting is my attempt to placate her. I figured if she couldn’t have me, she could have my likeness.”

  As he mixed paints on his palette, Jeremy nodded again. “If she’s like many of the women I know, she’ll want her friends to see both her son’s likeness and the house he’s built.”It had been Jeremy’s suggestion to include Gideon’s home as part of the background, and he’d spent hours sketching the three-story mansion on what was being called Millionaires’ Row.

  Gideon still marveled at how he’d parlayed a small investment and a lot of hard work into a sizable fortune. There was no doubt about it. The grasslands of eastern Wyoming were the ideal spot to raise cattle. His had thrived to the point where he was now considered a cattle baron.

  Gideon wrinkled his nose. He wasn’t certain he liked that term, but he did like knowing that his mother could no longer claim that he was wasting his life. As the oldest of four sons, Gideon had been expected to follow his father’s example and join the family law firm, but the law had never appealed to him. For as long as Gideon could recall, he’d wanted to spend his days outside. And now he did.

  “Would you like some coffee and a piece of cake?” Esther Snyder asked as she approached her husband’s studio. Though it consisted of nothing more than two stools and space for Jeremy’s easel, the studio’s location next to the tables where customers enjoyed cakes and cookies gave them the opportunity to see an artist working and had led to both additional commissions for Jeremy and more sales for Esther.

  Esther laid the tray on the closest table and removed two plates of cake and a pair of coffee mugs. “It looks like Jeremy’s ready for a break, and I suspect you are, too.”

  It was true that Gideon looked forward to the breaks, but the reason had little to do with the food. It was Naomi’s company that made them special. “Did Naomi make the cake?” Perhaps she was merely running errands for Esther and would soon return. Though decorum dictated that he not mention her increasing girth, Gideon knew that Esther and Jeremy were expecting their first child before summer ended and that Naomi had been hired so that Esther could rest occasionally.

  Esther shook her head. “Not today. She had to take her mother to the doctor this morning and asked for the whole day off.” Esther gave Gideon an appraising look, as if she realized his question had been more than casual. “She’ll be back tomorrow.”

  “Good.” He wouldn’t insult Esther by telling her that Naomi was a better baker. It might not even be true. After all, it was possible that the stories Naomi told while she shared cake and coffee with him were what made the baked goods taste so delicious. All Gideon knew was that he had no appetite this afternoon.

  He rose and stretched, then looked at Jeremy, who had wrapped his brush in a cloth. “If you’re finished with me today, I’ve got some business to attend to.” It wasn’t a lie, but the simple truth was that Gideon wanted to be anywhere but here where Naomi’s absence weighed on him.

  Once outside, he headed north to Twentieth Street, then walked two blocks west to Ferguson. He’d built his house on the corner next to Barrett Landry, the man some said would be one of Wyoming’s first senators once the territory gained statehood. Gideon didn’t care about that today. Today he didn’t care about much, and that wasn’t normal. Ever since he’d discovered Naomi wasn’t at the bakery, Gideon had been disgruntled. Surely that would improve once he was home.

  “Good afternoon, sir,” Preble said as he opened the door. In his midforties, Preble was tall, thin, and distinguished, the perfect butler. “I put the mail in your office.”

  The small frown that accompanied his statement made Gideon ask if anything was wrong.

  “I’m not certain, sir. You have a letter from Mrs. Carlisle.”

  No wonder Preble was concerned. Gideon’s mother was as reliable as the Union Pacific, writing one letter each week, and that letter always arrived on Friday. Today was Tuesday.

  Gideon nodded and handed his hat to Preble. “I’d better see what she has to say.” Seconds later, he stood behind his desk and slid the single sheet of paper from the envelope. His eyes widened as he read the few words she’d inscribed. No! Not that!

  Chapter 2

  Gideon stared at the paper, unable to believe the words now engraved on his brain.

  “Bad news, sir?” Preble stood stiffly in the doorway. Even though Gideon had told him there was no need for formality when they were alone, Preble had firm ideas of a butler’s role and was not inclined to bend them.

  “I suppose that depends on your definition,” Gideon said. “My mother is planning to pay me a visit. It appears she doesn’t believe my tales of Cheyenne’s Independence Day celebration and wants to see it for herself.” When Preble nodded, Gideon continued. “She’s arriving on June 18 and will be here for two weeks.” Or longer, if Gideon failed to meet the condition she’d outlined.

  “I don’t understand, sir. That sounds like good news to me. Surely she will be impressed with the city.”

  “If only that were all.” Though Preble was privy to most of Gideon’s business dealings, he would not tell his trusted butler some things, including his mother’s determination to see him married.

  It’s time for you to wed, Gideon. If you can’t find a bride in Cheyenne, I’ll order one for you. Gladys Fowler’s son sent for one by mail, and she’s already a grandmother three times over.

  “My mother is a stubborn woman. Once she makes up her mind, there’s no way to change it.” As distasteful as the prospect was, Mother would be here in less than three weeks, fully intending to set her last living son on the road to matrimony.

  Preble inclined his head slightly. “I can assure you the house will be spotless and the meals excellent.”

  “I hope that will be enough.” But it wouldn’t. The sole thing that would satisfy Mother would be a bride or at least a fiancée.

  There had to be a way out of this predicament, Gideon told himself as he paced the floor, ignoring the pot of coffee and plate of sandwiches Preble had brought him. Mother might be stubborn, but so was Gideon. No matter what she said, no matter what she threatened, he would not marry simply because she believed it was time. There had to be another way.

  “What’s wrong, dear?” Esther asked as she measured a spoonful of peppermint leaves into the teapot. Though the bakery’s owner was normally in the kitchen hours before Naomi, today she’d gone to Fort Russell to visit her niece and had left Naomi in charge. Within minutes of her return, Esther had turned her attention from the cakes Naomi had made to Naomi herself.

  “Nothing’s wrong.” It was a lie, but Naomi didn’t want to distress the woman who’d been so kind to her. Not only had Esther given her a job when she needed one, but she’d become more friend than employer, sharing both her kitchen and her clothes with Naomi until Naomi had saved enough to buy the simple skirts and waists that Esther deemed appropriate garb for the showroom part of the bakery.

  Esther shook her head again and pulled two cups and saucers from the cab
inet. “Your face tells a different story.” She touched her expanding waistline. “You needn’t coddle me, you know. Having a baby is perfectly natural, even at my advanced age.”

  Though Esther’s lips quirked into a wry smile, Naomi knew she worried about being too old to be having her first child. She’d confided that both she and Jeremy had believed them-selves beyond the age for marriage and had felt blessed to have discovered love. Learning that Esther was with child soon after their wedding had brought them both unexpected happiness and worries. Perhaps that was the reason Esther felt the need for the soothing comfort of mint tea.

  “You and Jeremy aren’t old,” Naomi said firmly. Jeremy was just over forty, and Esther had yet to reach that age. “You’re going to be the best parents any child would want.”

  “With God’s help.” The way Esther touched her stomach told Naomi the baby was kicking. “And with God’s help and a cup of my peppermint tea, whatever is bothering you will lessen. Now, sit down, drink the tea, and tell me what’s wrong.”

  Naomi blinked back the tears that had been so close to the surface ever since she’d heard the doctor’s diagnosis, knowing she might as well tell Esther what had happened. One way or another, the older woman would get the truth from her. “It’s Ma. Doc Winston says she’ll be blind before Christmas unless she has surgery.”

  “Is she afraid of it?”

  Naomi shook her head and took a sip of the steaming tea. Esther was right. Both the aroma and the flavor of the tea were soothing. Unfortunately, tea would not resolve Naomi’s problem. “No. She’s willing to take the risk, but we can’t afford the doctor’s fee.”

  “Don’t worry.” Leaning across the table, Esther put her hand on top of Naomi’s, her touch as reassuring as her words. “Jeremy and I will help you.”

  If only it were so simple. Naomi’s eyes filled with tears again as she told Esther the amount and watched the blood drain from her friend’s face.

  “Oh, my dear. We don’t have that kind of money.”

  “I know. No one does.” At least no one she could ask for a loan.

  If rumors were true, Gideon Carlisle had more than enough money to pay for ten surgeries, but though Naomi spent half an hour with the man on the days when he came for his portrait sitting, listening to tales of his adventures as a cattle baron and sharing stories of her decidedly more prosaic life, she could not possibly ask him for money. A lady simply did not do that, no matter how kind the man appeared to be, no matter how often the lady’s thoughts turned to him. Naomi couldn’t ask Gideon any more than she could approach a banker for a loan, not when she had no way of repaying it.

  Esther was silent for a moment, her expression so peaceful Naomi knew she was praying. Then as the sound of men’s laughter drifted into the kitchen, Esther rose and put her arm around Naomi’s shoulders, giving them a quick squeeze. “God will provide,” she said. “He always does.” Moving to the other side of the room, she pulled a tray from one of the cabinets.

  “Right now you need to provide for Gideon Carlisle. I never saw the man as disgruntled as he was yesterday. I offered him spice cake, but he wouldn’t eat it because you hadn’t baked it.”

  The thought gave Naomi her first smile of the day. “That’s silly. You’re a better baker than I am.”

  “Not according to him. Now, pour his coffee and take him a piece of that chocolate cake you made with the lemon filling. You know how he likes that.”

  “Of course.” Naomi brushed the tears from her eyes before patting her hair to ensure that no strands had come loose. It might be foolish to be primping like this, but she wanted to look her best. Gideon Carlisle wasn’t simply a customer; he was. . . She paused, trying but failing to find the correct word. All she could say about Gideon was that he was special.

  When she entered the bakery’s main room, he was in his normal spot, his back to the room as he posed for Jeremy. His blond hair was as unruly as ever, the curls refusing to be subdued even by macassar oil. Though she couldn’t see them, Naomi knew that his eyes were the deep blue of a summer sky and that his nose tipped ever so slightly to the right. Gideon Carlisle wasn’t the most handsome man she’d ever seen, but his face was one she could not forget.

  Normally he waited until she had placed the tray on the table before he moved, but today he turned at the sound of her footsteps and rose from his stool.

  “I’m glad you’re here,” he said. Surely she only imagined the strain in Gideon’s voice. He gestured to a chair. “Please sit down. I have a proposition for you.”

  Chapter 3

  Aproposition?” Naomi couldn’t imagine what Gideon meant, but this was neither the time nor the place for a serious discussion. Over the course of the weeks Gideon had been sitting for his portrait, he and Naomi had discussed many things, but with the exception of God—a subject on which they had a decided difference of opinion—they normally focused on lighter topics. Judging from Gideon’s expression, this proposal—whatever it was—was serious.

  As if he recognized their need for privacy, Jeremy laid down his brush and headed for the kitchen, leaving Naomi and Gideon alone in an unexpectedly empty bakery. At least now no one would overhear whatever it was Gideon planned to propose.

  He took the chair on the opposite side of the table, ignoring the coffee and cake she’d laid at his place. That simple action confirmed Naomi’s belief that today was not an ordinary day. Normally Gideon assuaged his thirst with a slug of coffee before he spoke.

  “I find myself in a bit of a dilemma,” he said. “My mother is coming to Cheyenne.”

  Naomi didn’t bother to mask her confusion. She wasn’t certain what she’d expected, but it wasn’t that. “That’s good, isn’t it? I remember you saying you hadn’t seen her since you moved here.” And that had been more than three years ago. Naomi couldn’t imagine going three years without talking to her mother. Letters were all fine and good, but they could not compare to hearing Ma’s voice and feeling her arms around her.

  Gideon started to reach for the coffee, then drew his hand back. Something must be seriously wrong if he still wasn’t drinking.

  “It would be fine if her only reason for coming was to visit,” he said. “Unfortunately, she has another motive. Mother plans to find me a wife.”

  When the doorbell tinkled and a customer entered the bakery, Esther hurried out to serve her. It was an ordinary day for most of Cheyenne’s residents, but clearly not for Gideon.

  Faced with his astonishing statement, Naomi found herself at a loss for words. “A wife, but. . .” Though her thoughts were whirling faster than a tumbleweed in a winter wind, she couldn’t form them into coherent sentences.

  A small smile crossed Gideon’s face. “That was my first reaction. If I didn’t love my mother, I would simply tell her I’m twenty-eight years old and the decision of who and when to marry is mine, but I can’t do that. She’d be hurt. Besides, Mother’s a determined woman—some would call her stubborn—and she won’t give up. She really will send for a mail-order bride if I don’t find one on my own.”

  From the first day she’d met him, one of the things Naomi had admired about Gideon was his determination. Though she’d assumed he owed that to his father, who’d been a prominent attorney in Philadelphia, now she realized that it had been inherited from his mother. Today Gideon needed more than determination. He needed a wife.

  “I wish there were something I could do to help you.”

  His smile grew, and a twinkle filled those deep blue eyes. “There is. You can be my wife.”

  Naomi felt the blood drain from her face, and her heart began to pound as she stared at the man she thought she knew. Surely he hadn’t said what she thought she’d heard.

  He nodded as if he’d read her mind. “That’s my proposition.” As if pronouncing the words had returned him to his normal routine, Gideon reached for the coffee and took a sip. “I realized I don’t actually need a wife. All I need is a fiancée for the two weeks Mother will be here. I’d l
ike you to pretend to be my fiancée until the Fourth of July.”

  While Gideon spoke as calmly as if they were discussing the possibility of a late spring snowfall, Naomi’s pulse continued to race. She heard the words, but their full meaning had yet to register. Wife. Fiancée. Pretend. Those simple words had never before been applied to her.

  “It wouldn’t demand too much of your time,” Gideon continued, “though I would expect you to attend the celebrations and a few other events with Mother and me.”

  Naomi hadn’t imagined it. He was serious. “I’m not the woman you want. Your mother will expect someone like Miriam Taggert.” Not only was Miss Taggert beautiful, but as the daughter of one of Cheyenne’s premier newspapermen, she frequented the same social circles as Gideon.

  The corners of his mouth curved up as if he were amused. “I’ve met Miriam Taggert,” he said. “She may have more expensive clothing than you, but she’s only half the woman you are.”

  Gideon’s compliment sent blood rushing to her cheeks. “Clothes matter,” Naomi said, then laid her fingers on her lips. That sounded as if she were considering his proposal. Surely she wasn’t.

  “I agree. I’m also certain Madame Charlotte will be happy to create an entire wardrobe for you. At my expense, of course.”

  “That wouldn’t be proper.” A well-bred lady did not accept personal items like clothing from a man who was not her husband.

  Gideon disagreed. “The rules are less stringent for affianced couples. Besides, Madame Charlotte has a reputation for discretion.”

  Naomi took a deep breath, trying to imagine herself in one of the famous modiste’s gowns. Though Naomi had never set foot inside the shop, she knew that Élan was where all the best dressed younger women in Cheyenne bought their clothes. She’d heard several of them complimenting each other on their exquisite gowns when they stopped at the bakery for a pastry and a cup of tea.