A Bride in the Bargain

by Deeanne Gist

  “Mr. Boynton doesn’t.”

  “Boynton? Don Boynton? Was he the one Mercer assigned to Mrs. Wrenne?”

  “I’m not certain of his Christian name, but it did start with a D.”

  He sighed. “Well, please accept my apology on his behalf.”

  She tried to read his expression but could find no artifice. “What about her hotel room?”

  “I imagine the Occidental will give her credit until she finds a husband. If not, then let me know and I’ll see to that as well.”

  “In exchange for nothing.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Because Seattle takes care of their own.”

  “Correct.”

  His reasons may or may not be genuine, but she could tell his offer was. And, at the moment, that’s all that mattered. She allowed herself a slow smile. “Thank you. She’ll be so relieved.”

  “It’s my pleasure.” He pulled away from the railing. “Now that that’s settled, I was wondering if you’d mind getting an early start tomorrow?”

  “Not at all.”

  He nodded. “I appreciate it. My home’s a half-day’s ride away, so it wouldn’t be wise to dally.”

  “You don’t live in town?”

  “No. I run a lumber company several miles north of here. Didn’t Mercer tell you?”

  “He mentioned you were in lumber. I guess I just, well, I didn’t think. It makes sense, though. Of course you live out in the lumber camps.”

  If it was a half-day’s ride away, she’d have to board at the camp as well. She schooled her features, hoping to hide her disappointment.

  “It’s not a big lumber camp,” he said. “Not like the kind they have back east. It’s a small operation right now. Though it’s growing.”

  “I see.”

  A burst of laughter from the crowd inside filtered out through the window. She adjusted the jacket on her shoulders, releasing another whiff of cedar. With its warmth, the crisp outside air felt good against her cheeks.

  He shifted his feet. “Is seven in the morning too early?”

  “Not at all.” She wondered if she should mention the fifty dollars, then decided against it. Tomorrow would be soon enough.

  “Good. I’ll pick you up then. Be sure to have all your belongings ready to go. We’ll have breakfast and then, then . . .”

  “I understand. I’ll be ready.”

  He blew out a puff of air. “Thank you. And, I just wanted to say, well, you’ve been a pleasant surprise.” He sucked in his breath. “I mean . . . What I was trying to say was . . . I don’t want you to think—”

  “It’s quite all right, Mr. Denton. I’ve been pleasantly surprised as well.”

  “You have? Oh.” He cleared his throat. “Yes. Well.” He tugged at his collar. “I, um, I guess I’ll see you in the morning, then.” Touching the brim of his hat, he stepped off the veranda and hurried down the boardwalk.

  The darkness had swallowed him and the sound of his footsteps when she realized he’d forgotten to take his jacket.

  CHAPTER

  FIVE

  Most of the boys took their breakfast at Yesler’s Cookhouse. Not this morning. It was standing room only at the Occidental’s dining hall.

  Joe hesitated at its threshold.

  Alvin Sprygley gave a slow whistle. “Well, would you look at who’s all slicked up and raring to go this morning?”

  “When you making the jump, Denton?”

  “The preacher says Joe and his sewing machine are saying their words this morning.”

  Doc Maynard whacked him on the back. “You sure aren’t wasting any time, are you?”

  Somebody from across the room answered for him. “I wouldn’t be either if I had a petticoat like Miss Ivey wanting to hogtie me with matrimonial ropes.”

  “Yeah. I bet she’ll put some flavor in his grub.”

  The ribbing continued, each taunt a little cruder than the last, until Joe was afraid Miss Ivey might overhear when she came down the stairs.

  The thought had barely formed when she appeared in the doorway and a hush fell over the room.

  She was wearing the same brown, travel-worn dress she’d had on yesterday. And from the looks of it, she’d done some hard living in it. Still, he noted she’d brushed it clean, pinned a piece of jewelry to her chest, and had taken special care with her hair.

  No loose tendrils this morning. Everything was all tucked up, secure and tidy. Color filled her cheeks as she hovered at the entrance, scanning the room.

  He jumped forward.

  Her big brown eyes honed in on him, the full force of them making him miss a step.

  “Good morning, Miss Ivey,” he said.

  “Mr. Denton.”

  He extended an elbow. “You sleep well?”

  “For the most part, thank you.”

  Between the time he met her at the entrance and then turned back to escort her into the dining hall, a single vacant table had materialized—dead center of the room.

  They wove their way through the crowd, every man along the way tipping his hat and murmuring a greeting.

  Before Joe had a chance, Niles Embry pulled out Miss Ivey’s chair and scooted her into her spot. Joe gave him and everybody else a hard look.

  Like a gun at the start of a race, all the men returned their attention to their now-cold food and started conversing amongst themselves—a little too loudly and with a little too much enthusiasm.

  But Miss Ivey’s shoulders relaxed, so Joe took his chair. Then could think of absolutely nothing to say.

  He wanted desperately to study the little piece of frippery she had pinned to her chest. Was it a watch? A family keepsake? Or just a bit of fluff? He was sure she hadn’t worn it last night.

  He didn’t dare lower his gaze, though, for fear she might misinterpret what he was examining.

  Unfolding her napkin, she slipped it into her lap. The conversations around them dipped with her movements, then swelled back up. Joe tucked his into the neck of his collar.

  Owen Nausley, leading with his massive stomach, made his way to their table, his apron smudged with flour and grease, his brown hair sticking out in short tufts. He set two china cups of steaming coffee, complete with saucers, onto their table.

  Joe looked askance at the tiny little cups. Where were the mugs?

  Standing tall and proud, Nausley pressed his stomach against the side of the table and waited for Miss Ivey’s reaction to his coffee. Silence again fell across the room.

  Miss Ivey darted a quick look at Joe, then Nausley, then her cup. Picking it up, she brought it to her mouth and blew, her little finger sticking out for balance.

  Placing her lips on the edge of the cup, her eyes captured Joe’s across the rim as she took a delicate swallow.

  He swallowed with her.

  Setting the cup down, she pulled the napkin from her lap and touched each side of her mouth. “Delicious.”

  The noise in the hall rose to new heights. Nausley beamed, showing a set of teeth that looked like piano keys—one white, one black hole, one white, one black hole.

  Joe emptied his cup in one swallow and shoved it into Nausley’s beefy hand. “I’ll have about twelve of those.”

  But his sarcasm didn’t faze Nausley, as the cook took the cup and practically floated back to the kitchen—if that were possible for a man his size—the men slapping him on the shoulders as he passed.

  Again, Joe scrambled for something to say but could think of nothing.

  “So.” Miss Ivey cleared her throat. “Perhaps we should discuss exactly what my duties will entail?”

  The conversation around them came to a screeching halt. The boys didn’t even try to pretend they weren’t listening.

  Was she asking what Joe thought she was asking? Heat crept up his neck. He wasn’t about to discuss such a thing in front of the entire town—wasn’t even sure he could discuss it in private—but he had to say something.

  Purposely misinterpreting her question, he of
fered what he hoped was a reasonable response. “The boys who work for me only go to town on Saturday nights, then return to my place after dark on Sundays. So during the rest of the week I was hoping you’d be willing to cook them two meals a day along with packed lunches.”

  “How many men are on your crew?”

  “Fourteen.”

  She smiled. “I should be glad to do that for you.”

  He nodded, pleased. “You know how to cook, then?”

  “Quite well.”

  “Mercer had said you did, but, well . . .”

  She gave a soft chuckle. “I understand your reluctance to take his words at face value, but in this instance, he was being forthright.”

  She took another sip of coffee, her extended pinky again capturing his attention, along with everyone else’s.

  “Do you have a cookhouse or a cook tent?” she asked.

  “Neither. You’ll be using the kitchen in my home.”

  She hesitated. “I see.”

  He realized he should have said our home, but before he could correct his mistake, Nausley appeared with plates of cold ham, poached eggs, new potatoes, hot cakes, fish chowder, hominy, bacon, fried biscuits, butter, and orange marmalade.

  Joe spent the next few minutes assuaging his initial hunger pains. Halfway into his meal, he noticed Miss Ivey had stopped eating completely.

  “Is something wrong?” he asked.

  “No, no. I’m just not used to so much.”

  He cut a piece of ham, jabbed it with his knife, and stuck it in his mouth. She might claim she could cook, but if she wasn’t used to eating decent meals, maybe that meant she wasn’t used to preparing them, either.

  “Mercer said you did the cooking for an establishment in your hometown?”

  She sat up a little straighter. “Yes, that’s correct.”

  “Weren’t those meals similar to this one?”

  She gave the fare on their table another look. “The portions weren’t this large, but we served about fifty people at a time. So the quantity of food we cooked was rather significant.”

  “We?”

  “Yes. One other girl worked with me.”

  He nodded.

  “I was wondering . . .” She looked down, smoothing the napkin in her lap.

  He took the opportunity to examine the piece of jewelry resting above her right breast. A watch. It was a spherical little thing hanging upside down from a delicate bow of gold. From her vantage point of looking down, though, he realized the face would be right-side up. The quality of the ornament contrasted sharply with her threadbare gown.

  “Yes?” he said, drawing his eyes back up to her face.

  “I suppose I’ll find out soon enough, but,” she lifted her gaze to his, “I was wondering where exactly I’ll be staying?”

  Exactly? She wanted to know exactly? As in . . . which room?

  He tried to stop the blush but could not. Inwardly cursing himself for choosing such a public place to have their first intimate conversation, he took a bite of hot cakes, trying to formulate an answer. Again, the men around them quieted.

  “I mean,” her tongue shot out to moisten her lower lip, “where do the men who work with you sleep?”

  Privacy. Of course. Being the only woman out there in the midst of all those men, she was worried about privacy. He released his breath.

  “The men sleep in a bunkhouse a mile or so from the house you and I will be staying in.”

  Her eyes widened. “You and I will be staying in a house?”

  “Well, yes.”

  “Alone?” she whispered, though everyone around them heard it and didn’t miss the rush of color touching her cheeks.

  Clapping his hands together, he indicated the untouched portions of her breakfast. “Well. Are you going to eat that?”

  She jumped. “What? Oh. No. Thank you.”

  “Would you mind?”

  She opened, then closed her mouth. “Well, Mr. Denton. I, well, actually, I do admit to being a bit concerned. I mean, do you think it proper?”

  He lifted his brows. “To finish a meal I paid for?” He smiled. “I doubt the boys will be offended. That is, unless you would be?”

  “Oh!” She fiddled with her watch pin. “Oh. My meal. No, no. Of course not. Please. Help yourself.”

  She quieted and he concentrated on eating, hoping she’d hold any more questions for later. But the longer they sat there, the more she squirmed.

  He ate faster.

  “Mr. Denton?”

  Hesitating, he swallowed the new potatoes in his mouth. “Yes?”

  She touched each corner of her lips with her cloth. “Did Mr. Mercer mention a contract I signed with him?”

  He reached for his coffee, only to find Nausley had never returned with another cup. “Well, I didn’t realize Mercer wrote one for you, but it makes sense, I suppose.”

  “You know, then, about the cost of my passage?”

  He nodded. “Yes.”

  “And you don’t mind?”

  “I’ve already taken care of it.”

  A quiet rush of air left her. “Oh. Thank you. You’ll not be disappointed with me. I promise.”

  He yanked the napkin from his neck and jumped to his feet. “Time to go.”

  He pulled out her chair, tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow, and whisked her from the room.

  Anna scurried to keep up with him, taking three steps for every one of his. Men drew their legs from the aisle to let her pass but made no effort to disguise their fascination with her. She decided she’d never watch a fish inside a bowl again.

  “Where are your things?” Mr. Denton asked as soon as they cleared the dining hall and entered the lobby.

  “The front desk has my bag.”

  He steered her toward the counter. The clerk standing behind it reminded her of an old hound dog—saggy skin, slow movements, and big ears.

  “Morning, Joe,” he said. “Miss.”

  “Do you have Miss Ivey’s things?”

  “Sure do.” He lumbered to the end of the counter and picked up her carpetbag. The jacket she’d borrowed from Mr. Denton lay across it, looking fresh from the brushing she’d given it. “Here you are.”

  “Thank you.”

  Her seashell collection clinked inside her bag.

  Mr. Denton looked around. “Where’s her trunk?”

  “Trunk?”

  “I don’t have a trunk,” she interjected.

  Mr. Denton frowned. “You don’t have a trunk?”

  “No.”

  He looked down at the bag in his hand. “This is it?”

  “Yes.”

  “You came all the way from Massachusetts and this is all you brought?”

  She lifted her chin. “It is.”

  After a slight hesitation, he pulled some coins out of his pocket and pressed them against the counter. “Is that enough for breakfast and Miss Ivey’s room?”

  With slow movements, Mr. Collins unfolded a pair of wire spectacles, hooked them on his ears, then counted out each coin. Anna stared at the floor, embarrassed to witness the exchange of funds on her behalf.

  Mr. Denton’s large booted feet looked out of place on the beautiful burgundy and navy rug. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

  “This will cover it nicely, Joe.”

  Nodding, Mr. Denton grasped her hand and pulled her out the front door, down the steps, and to a light spring wagon with a canopy on top.

  She wasn’t about to get in it with him. Not without knowing what was what. She jerked back.

  Releasing her, he stopped. “Did you forget something?”

  “Where are we going?”

  “To the church.”

  She blinked. “The church? But it’s only Tuesday.”

  He rubbed his forehead. “Listen, I’ve been away from my work since yesterday and I really need to get back. I know you must feel rushed, and I’m really sorry about that, but would you mind if we went ahead and stopped by the chur
ch, then headed out?”

  She studied him, tempted to say no just to see what his reaction would be. She could sense he was anxious. Testing his temper now would be better than testing it on some isolated homestead where no one could come to her rescue.

  “Please?” The curls he’d slicked down with water had begun to bounce free now that they’d dried.

  In the end, she couldn’t work up the nerve to rebuff him. “I have no outright objection to stopping by the church, Mr. Denton, but I do think we need to clarify some things between us before we leave town.”

  Men from inside the dining hall began to filter out onto the porch. Some settled into the rockers it offered, others hooked a hip on its railing. All were silent.

  Mr. Denton lowered his voice. “I’ll answer any questions you have. I just don’t want to do it while every ear’s turned our way.”

  A man wearing denim trousers and no jacket stepped up to his horse at the nearby hitching rail. Instead of mounting, he flipped up the stirrup, unbuckled the cinch, and began to adjust it.

  She made herself take a calming breath. She didn’t care for their audience either, but she had one question she wanted to ask while she still had two feet on the ground and a place to run to if her employer turned violent.

  The only man as big as he that she knew was Hoke. And though Hoke had never actually hit her, he’d hit Helen. If Mr. Denton was of that same bent, she wanted to know it before she climbed into that wagon.

  She kept her voice to a bare minimum. “Very well, sir. But before we go any farther, I have a question about my sleeping arrangements.”

  His face turned bright scarlet. “You will have your own room and complete privacy,” he whispered.

  “Then it will be just the two of us in your house?”

  “I’ve no other relations living with me, if that’s what you mean.”

  “And my reputation? What will people think with just the two of us living there and no one else?”

  He frowned. “They’ll not think a thing. Why would they?”

  She tugged on her cuffs. “Why would they, indeed.”

  He cupped her elbow. “Perhaps we could discuss this on the way?”

  She hesitated. “We’re going to the church?”

  “Yes. It’s a few streets over. Normally I’d walk, but the wagon will allow us to talk without being interrupted or overheard.”