by Tanya Hanson
Or would he shirk her? Would it be merely a business arrangement after all? Her hands trembled against both sides of her face.
“Cordy, everyone loves a story with a good ending. Even Muybridge. We are fine. Our marriage is believable, particularly with everyone attending the wedding.” He glanced at her with such tender eyes her spirits tickled. Shirking seemed less than likely. “Which, by the by, Reverend Satterburg told the congregation to gather at the church after supper. What time would that be on a clock?”
Somehow, he was so adorable she laughed. “Around six. The lamplighters will be finishing up by then.” But it was already three. Nerves rattled again. “Let, uh, let me freshen up. I agree. I should take your arm for a stroll. As newlyweds ought.”
“Yes, we’ll act the lovebirds.”
Yes. Act the part. Disappointment clanged anew. She stared down at her fingers, pocked with needle pricks. Oh, where were her gloves? Her heart smacked her ribs, and her eyes started tears. Why couldn’t it be real? With her head high, she broke from him and headed to her room. If she could feign grief over Clancy, yes, she could feign love for a cowboy she’d fallen for in some other life.
Although in this life, it had really happened. She wasn’t pretending at all.
In her room, she splashed cold water on her face to hold down the heat just the thought of Hawk brought upon her, decided to leave her hair down. It seemed more bridal somehow, since she’d have no veil. Her Black Watch woolen dress would do fine for a public promenade. Her mother had taught her how to dress with an East coast cachet, and her style, while not costly, would quite fit with her well-bred fiancé’s.
Despite her flowing hair, she stabbed a pin through a straw flower-pot hat and smirked at its artificial violets. Would she even have a wedding bouquet?
Wedding. The word started to terrify her more with each heartbeat. And thrill her, too.
She breathed slowly as she left her room, but he stole it anyway. By the front door he waited, holding out her burnoose, so gallant, so handsome…she had never felt more alive.
“You look beautiful.”
Shy, pretending he meant it, she spread her hands across her skirts. “Oh, it’s all just everyday.”
“No. Your hair. It’s perfect.” Hawk ran a finger down it, and she trembled. What…what might those fingers do to her elsewhere? Then she shut her thoughts. It wasn’t a real marriage, after all. They’d not even kissed.
He took her hand. “Let’s go show you off.”
Something struck her and it was akin to panic. “My gracious, Hawk. Am I to become Lady Shockley?”
He bowed with little nod. “But only in England. Here you can be, can be Mrs. Shockley.”
Her heart leaped into her throat. That sounded real at least.
Outside, Paradise moved around her like she’d never seen it before. As if the air had somehow grown clearer. As if her life was starting anew once more. False-front buildings and here and there, one of brick, framed themselves against a blue sky. Clouds scudded by like fat sheep leaping through the air. It was a pretty little burg, although a man from London must think it hopelessly humble. Lady Shockley? She shivered. Clancy had ridiculed Paradise constantly, and he’d never even made it to Montpelier.
She grasped Hawk’s arm, and felt a spark even through the woolen sleeve of his duster. A few housewives had gathered, but from the shouts on the air, most of the action was indeed occurring past the livery and down First Street. But one of the women caught her eye and turned her back. Cordy shivered with more than a tuft of cold wind. With more than Hawk’s handsomeness. Mrs. Albert Schneider was notorious for her tittle-tattle. What had a Meeker done now?
Their footfalls matched each other in rhythm. The wind was cool, but the streets dry. She prayed for good weather during the exhibition. But another thought pressed harder.
“Hawk, I do want to help you, and I’m going through with it.” Her steps slowed and she gazed up at him. Oh, he was lovely but… “But marriage isn’t so simple for me. It takes away everything. Good heavens, Lady Shockley? And you’ll be owner of my boardinghouse!”
“Which, by the way, will have no vacancies this evening.” His warm smile wrapped around her, and she snuggled into his shoulder as their speed deepened. “Our plan is already working, Cordy. Soon we’ll have the finances we both need. Yes, every room’s been let.” His smile pittered through her heart.
But she pulled away as the reality frightened her. Could they pull off both a fake marriage and a fake wedding night? With a full house of lodgers, she couldn’t very well skulk in her housemaid’s room off the kitchen with its narrow bed. Everyone would soon know. The gossip would be murderous if Paradise’s latest lovers already had trouble.
Lovers? She shivered in a way she never had before. Did she want a real wedding night after all? Or was it impossible, sharing the bedroom of a man who couldn’t deign to kiss her?
“Perhaps I should stay in and start supper.” She rushed to say, surprised her voice made sounds. “I’ll need a stop at the mercantile.”
Hawk smiled. “I will help with everything.”
Breath hitching, she smiled back. That he would, she knew for sure. Not at all a namby-pamby dandy, his years at a ranch in the Wild West without valets and butlers had taught him much self reliance and expertise with everyday tasks. He’d told her of greasing wheel axles, preparing meals from a chuck wagon. Even rinsing dirty stockings.
His lips brushed the top of her head. “And not to worry.” Cordy trembled to her toes. “I consulted with Mrs. Hackett. She has delegated various women to bring a dish or two to the boardinghouse.”
“Oh. A potluck.” Goodness, Hawk had thought of everything. His hand tightened over hers, and her heart burst. Despite knowing him but a day, could they possibly have a chance? Mail order brides wed unknown men all the time. And in his circles, arranged marriages were expected. At least she and Hawk were both were eager for the Wild West and starting anew. And—her pulse jumped. Her husband had heated her blood from the start.
Yet doubt waggled in her mind again. Was she to go through it all once more? Was Hawk like Clancy, ever in a pickle—needing something, usually at her expense? Even now, in a marriage proposal that should have been a moment of love and passion, Hawk merely needed her.
But no one stirred her like Hawk Shockley. He’d made a serious mistake in his younger days, just as she had with Lambert. They already had that in common.
And she didn’t dare take the chance that someone might kill this magnificent creature. She laid her free hand over their clasped ones, and tightened her fingers around his. Like she’d never let go. He smiled down at her just as one of his henchmen trotted town the street toward them. Both feet off the ground.
“Hawk. Hawk. We need ya to check the frame. Gunnar’s claiming he knows best.”
Gunnar? Cordy chuckled, doubted it. “You are needed elsewhere. The biddies have all noticed us. Now go check the progress.” She tried to sound married, then sighed. “Here’s Katie coming at me like a tornado anyway, and I’m in for a big scolding. Hawk, I’ll find you in a bit.”
Fire in her eyes, Katie Haynes grabbed Cordy’s arm and dragged her to a bench in front of Graybill’s. They’d have some privacy behind the shoemaker’s public water trough. “Honestly, Cordy? Three hours ago, you rail at me about love and Charlie and marriage, and can’t bother to mention you, yourself are getting married. Today?”
Cordy heated with embarrassment. “It’s complex, Katie. It’s quick, but there are good reasons.”
“So you knew him back in Vermont? And he suddenly shows up and…” Katie’s eyes narrowed. “Does it have something to do with your foreclosure?” Her face softened. “Did Mr. Shockley come to town to get you out of trouble?”
“Well, the exhibition is his idea.” Guilt pummeled her, but tried to shrug off Katie’s concern anyway. “We’ve made some arrangements.”
“Oh, I see.” Katie hissed, fingers tightening even more. “You’re
marrying him for his money.”
“No. No, Katie. Honest. I’m not keeping secrets. Hawk is a second son and needs money, too. But that’s not why I need to marry him.”
Sudden doubt clobbered her. How did she know? The wire had been cryptic at best. How did she even know EM was Eadweard Muybridge? How…? She gulped. How, in spite of his fancy Lucchese boots, did she know Hawk was even a nobleman’s son?
Nerves rustled the back of Cordy’s neck. The sensible nature that had allowed her a cross-country move to start up a business at only twenty clanged its warning bells now. Maybe he was a swindler or confidence man. Or worse, an outlaw. What had she done, allowing herself to be turned by a handsome head? And her heart stolen as well.
Cordy shivered. Was her trust, her love, misplaced? The wind had turned cold.
“You make so little sense.” Katie’s prettiness turned to a glaring frown. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”
Love for Hawk flickered, but so did doubt. And how could Cordy continue to lie to her closest friend in Paradise? She tapped nervous toes against the boardwalk. “Oh, Katie, I didn’t know Hawk until yesterday. We both needed a quick financial venture.” She coughed into her palm, mortified. “I made it up, us knowing each other before, so I didn’t sound quite so, so half-rigged. And now he’s convinced me to marry him! And I agreed. With my whole heart.”
Katie wrapped Cordy close. “Well, he is beautiful. And smart. I can understand why you’ve gotten swept away. Your eyes glow with dreams.”
“But dreams aren’t real.”
“You can make them real.” Katie brushed her fingers through Cordy’s long hair. “You remember my mama was a mail-order bride who married the wrong man. But she fell for him straight away and soon, convinced him it wasn’t a mistake.”
“I know. And yet…”
Katie stopped, stared deep into Cordy’s eyes “You know, you haven’t struck vows yet. If you’re doubtful, you can put it off for a while. Or change your mind entirely if you’ve got cold feet.”
“I know that.” Cordy’s heart sank at the reality. Her guests had all paid in full. She had enough money now to settle at the bank and leave town. “But I don’t want to. Katie, what if the threat is real? What if his life is truly in danger? And more than any of it, I want him. I want him so.”
Chapter Eight
In the corner of Hawk’s eye, Cordy and her friend chatted like magpies by the cobbler’s, so he turned his attention to the framework. It stretched across a muddy yard between the livery stables and the large building behind it and appeared half-complete. Donations of old clapboard and leftover fencing had greatly eased financial concerns and avoided a credit account at the lumberyard. Hawk’s posse and several men he did not yet know hollered and swung their hammers in greeting. He pulled off his Stetson and waved it at them, lest they forget he was, at heart, a man of the west.
“Hello, my good gents. I mean, howdy.” He called out in emphasis. In truth, he had no idea quite how the tangle of boards should appear. Although he’d dug fence posts, ranch work, not construction, was his specialty. But he pretended authority at the very least, and eager participation at the very most. With Gunnar’s thumb bleeding from a dreadful mispounding, Hawk took the hammer from him. Pounding nails, now, that he could do. “Let me get on with it. Go rest your wound.”
“No, my lord, it’s your wedding day.”
“Please. No milord. It’s Hawk.” He tried to grin, but his heart hammered along with the nail he began to pound. His wedding day. The beautiful Cordy, bride to be. Would there be a wedding night? Or were they to be business partners all the way through? Oh, he wanted her. As wife, partner. Lover. All the way through. His breath raced.
Forever and ever. Amen. His blood rushed to match the heat burgeoning in his loins.
“Oh, yes, the holy wedding day.” An ugly little voice scraped the crowd, interrupted the luscious daydreams of his bride.
“What?” Hawk held his hammer in the air like Thor. Everyone stopped like a music box run out of winding. Not a voice could be heard over the brisk wind. Hawk turned. The skinny runt who had broken Cordy’s heart with the foreclosure stood, chest puffed out, like a gamecock.
“And you are, sir?” Hawk coughed over the sir and, still gripping the tool, maneuvered to face the crowd.
“Percival Pelikan of the Farmland Bank.” He spat but it was more like baby dribble. “And we know why the wedding is so hasty.” Behind spectacles, Pelikan’s eyes were as hard and dark as olive pits.
“You know nothing.” Hawk had no idea where the man was going, but he’d survived worse. He had made an honorable proposal to a woman who had accepted—a woman he was falling in love with, he realized, and everything about the flying horse exhibit was above board. He had Sheriff Pelton’s word on that.
The runt pushed through the posse to stand in front of Hawk although he stumbled over a board on the way over. “I am on your side, Lord Shockley. I brought Cordelia Meeker the news just yesterday about foreclosing on her inn. Perhaps she failed to mention her predicament.”
Hawk’s fingers tightened around the handle of the hammer, and he counted to ten else he’d nail the man’s head. Whatever Pelikan’s bent, Hawk needed to protect Cordy’s reputation, as well as his own as entrepreneurs.
“If you are on my side, Mr. Pelikan, then you’d enter the exhibition. As has every true man for many miles.” Hawk had no need to stand taller; his height was at least eighteen inches beyond the banker’s. “And of course I know of the foul difficulties your bank has delivered to her. An honorable proprietress.”
“Then of course, you understand her immediate need for money.” The gamecock’s face reddened, and the wind chilled further.
Hawk cleared his throat, boots firmly on the ground. “Yes. Therefore, we designed this exhibition.”
“Pooh! This folderol?” Pelikan snorted and kicked at the lumber he’d nearly tripped upon. “You’ll end up with injured men and horses that must be put down. Flying horses? This snake-oil demonstration must be of her doing. With her fancy New England airs.”
Hawk’s pique rustled, but he grabbed his manners. “The demonstration has been tried and proven in California. And the participants here in Paradise are eager to show off their horses.”
As if on cue, the livery owner Nathan Moulton, on a fine chestnut quarter horse, started a run down the street. Of course, the shadows had no screen on which to project, and ideally the sun should be in the east, but at least the man was proving enthusiasm for the exhibition. Nathan saluted Hawk, who warmed at the support.
The gathered spectators, entrants, and workers, who had paused in anticipation, shouted in admiration, thereby halting Pelikan’s diatribe. As soon as Nathan’s ride concluded, Pelikan peered above his glasses at Hawk. The angle was so preposterous the fool’s eye sockets must ache, and Hawk hid a smile.
“And of course she’d compromise a rich man under her roof.” Pelikan blew on his fingernails, then buffed them against his scrawny thigh. Looking at no one in particular.
“What are you saying?” Hawk raised his chin, eyes trained on Moulton, petting his horse’s neck.
“I’m saying what all hereabouts are thinking.” Pelikan rubbed his hands together like a villainous child. “She needs money and has seduced you to force you into marriage.”
The gathered crowd gasped in horror.
Hawk could hardly find words to reply. He held down a fierce urge to wield the hammer. “You insult my wife.”
Pelikan smirked. “Ah, Miss Cordelia Meeker. Not quite your wife. All alone with you last night. All night. And today, a sudden wedding. What a strumpet we have here in Paradise.”
“You filthy…” Hawk shouted. The outraged comments of everyone thudded onto the air. Wrath as red as blood swam before Hawk’s eyes. Marquis of Queensbury be damned. He dropped the hammer and knotted his fists. But Pelikan danced away on feet no larger than a child’s. Hawk unclenched his fingers, for this was a battle better won wi
th words. For one thing, the fool wore spectacles. “You are a miserable, measly worm to insult such a fine woman.”
“As I say, good sir, I am on your side.” Pelikan brushed a splotch of mud from his black trousers. “What did she do?” He began, casually. “What? Did she ply you with her brother’s leftover whiskey? Or merely her wiles?” Across the group, Pelikan waved his arms like scrawny wings. “An English gentleman like Lord Shockley would never, ahem, attack a lone female. But with no other guests to prevent her perfidy? Her seduction? What else can we expect from a Meeker?”
Pelikan’s voice rose above the shocked crowd like a missionary threatening souls with hell. “What else can we expect? That twin brother of hers was scum of the earth. Born in the same womb. What can we expect?” He hollered.
“You lie!” He yelled with gritted teeth.
“No, milord. My Percival is right. She’s sullied.” An older woman amongst the spectators hissed loudly, and Hawk withered a glance at her. “You all know my son speaks the truth. What you’re all thinking. Cordelia Meeker has always been too fancy to walk about with my son. High and mighty Vermonter. Putting on airs. Using big words. And now, compromising this fine lord?”
Ah, the fool’s mother. Hawk saw clearly. Retribution upon Cordy for rejecting her silly son. Hawk had to consider his options. He did have the exhibition to present, and he must remain above board. Yet how could he allow Cordy to be maligned? Bride or not, no innocent woman deserved such cavalier gossip.
Suddenly he understood Pelikan’s point and knew exactly what to do. He grabbed the fool by the collar and lifted him off his feet to stare him down. “Her brother’s sins are not hers. And her refusal of your company shows what an intelligent woman she is.”
Gunnar and the rest of Hawk’s posse thundered from their building project.
“Ought to shut your mouth, Pelikan…” Gunnar warned.
“Pelikan sure is a worm,” somebody called out.
“Worse than a worm.”
“Never liked him,” Gunnar again.
