Three Weddings And A Kiss

by Kathleen E. Woodiwiss, Catherine Anderson, Loretta Chase

  He was standing with his back to the sun, and his Stetson cast a shadow over his burnished features. Even with the lack of light, however, his smoky eyes had a lustrous glow. As he drew his gaze over her, she felt powerless to move and wasn’t certain she wanted to. As she’d noted last night, there was something about Clint that captivated her. What or why was a true puzzle, but the moment he looked at her with those warm, gray-blue eyes of his, she felt sort of, well, boneless. But that was just plain silly.

  Grasping her elbow in a large, capable hand, he helped her step up onto the porch. “We would’ve cleaned up if we’d’ve known company was comin’.” As though to emphasize the point, he gave the flour sack a kick. “With the ranch demandin’ so much of our time, things here at the house get sort of neglected.” He led her to the door, then leaned around her to boot it open. “Not that I’m sayin’ you should think of yourself as company, Rachel. Consider this to be your home.”

  With that, he swung the door open on a kitchen so cluttered and disorganized it defied description. An unusually long plank table, the surface of which was buried under piles of mercifully blurred clutter, dominated the center of the room. If it hadn’t been for the occasional dirty dish mixed in, Rachel wouldn’t have believed anyone actually used the table for eating. “Oh, my…”

  Clint’s hand tightened on her arm. “The boys and I will help you get things cleaned up,” he assured her. “And on down the road, maybe I can put up some planed wooden walls. I know ladies are fond of hangin’ wallpaper and pictures and such.”

  Rachel squinted to see. The interior of the house seemed unusually dim, probably because the log walls had darkened with age. The kitchen, one half of which was partitioned off from the back of the house by a wall, opened into a parlor area at the unpartitioned end, creating an L-shaped living area over which a large loft loomed.

  If Clint’s brothers were going to help her clean up, Rachel hoped they came bearing broad-blade shovels. On second thought, even shovels might not do it. In every corner, as far back into the house as she could see, there were piles of junk. Old newspapers, empty food tins, dirty laundry, school books, slates…It looked as if someone had tossed all the contents of the house onto the floor, given them a stir, and then kicked the mixture out of the way to create traffic paths. Never, not in all her born days, had she seen such a horrendous mess.

  From out of the rubble, an ebony-haired little boy suddenly appeared. Rubbing one eye with his fist, he surveyed Rachel from his other.

  “Who’re you?”

  As he drew close enough for her to see him clearly, Rachel thought she’d never clapped eyes on a cuter little fellow. She guessed him to be about six, and he looked exactly how she imagined Clint must have at that age, compact and wiry, with burnished skin and an unruly shock of pitch-black hair.

  “Well, hello,” she said, crouching to greet him at his eye level. “My name’s Rachel. What’s yours?”

  “Cody.” When he drew his fist from his eye, he had to blink to get his sooty eyelashes untangled. She noticed that a streak of dirt angled across one of his cheeks. He regarded her for several moments, his expression more serious than a child’s his age should have been. With a pronounced lisp that distorted all his S’s, he added, “I’m almost seven.”

  “Not for nine more months,” Clint corrected. “And what are you doin’, sleepin’ in the parlor, tyke? Not to mention it’s nigh onto noon.”

  “Nobody woke me to go upstairs last night.” Cody dragged a suspender strap up over his shoulder. “And don’t call me ‘tyke,’ Clint. I’m too old for little kid names.”

  Rachel couldn’t suppress a smile. “I thought you were at least eight,” she fibbed. “You must be very tall for your age.”

  Cody rewarded her with a pleased grin that revealed large gaps where he was missing front teeth. “Clint says I’m only knee high.”

  “Yes, well, considering how high his knees are, that’s rather tall for someone your age,” Rachel observed diplomatically. “I think lofty stature runs in your family.” She glanced up at Clint. “You didn’t mention having a brother so—” She nearly said “little” but stopped herself.

  “Grown up?” he inserted quickly.

  Rachel smiled and pushed to her feet. “Exactly.”

  He flashed her a meaningful look. “Like I said, I have my reasons for wantin’s a wife.”

  Now that Rachel had met Cody, she could understand Clint’s willingness to do nearly anything to ensure the little boy’s happiness, even playing groom to her bride in a shotgun wedding. The problem was, his feelings were bound to change, if not when he learned she was half blind, then when he saw her in spectacles. Given the severity of her eye problem, her glasses had unusually thick lenses that would have detracted from her looks even if she’d been the most beautiful woman in the world. Rachel had learned the hard way that handsome men wanted to be with equally handsome women, which she definitely was not when she had spectacles perched on the end of her nose.

  Before Rachel could stand back up, an older boy came tearing down the loft ladder into the kitchen. In the process of buttoning his blue jeans, he froze when he spotted Rachel. “Well, dammit, Clint!” The youth hurried to get his pants fastened. “You could’ve hollered out that we had us some company.”

  “Meet Daniel,” Clin said by way of introduction, glancing first at Rachel, then inclining his head at the boy. “Fourteen, goin’ on eighty. Excuse his language, but I ran low on soap.”

  Since soap was clearly a commodity in short supply, Rachel had no difficulty believing that. Daniel’s undershirt, which had once been gray, was now more of a brown. Still hunkered in front of Cody, she bestowed a friendly smile on him. “Hello, Daniel. I’m pleased to meet you.”

  He inclined his head. “Same here.”

  Good manners, it seemed, were another area Clint had neglected. She stood and surveyed the kitchen, feeling overwhelmed. Clint had gone along with marrying her because he needed a woman around the house; he’d made no secret of that. He was, in short, offering her a life here in exchange for her skills as a housekeeper and cook. It was just that simple.

  Most women, Rachel knew, would be insulted. They wanted a man to be attracted to them for their looks, to love them for their personalities, to marry them for reasons of the heart. But Rachel had learned long ago not to expect any of those things. She wasn’t insulted by Clint’s offer. To the contrary, she was titillated, not to mention sorely tempted to take him up on it.

  There was just one problem. A rather big problem. Since the death of Rachel’s mother when Rachel was four, Mrs. Radcliff, the housekeeper her father had hired, had seen to the running of the Constantine household. A woman who resented any interference whatsoever, she had not encouraged Rachel or Molly to assist her with any of the chores. Consequently, Rachel’s knowledge of homemaking was limited. By closely following a recipe, she could cook simple dishes, and she figured common sense would see her through most of the housecleaning chores. But laundry? She’d rinsed out her ribbed cotton hose a few times, but other than that she’d never washed, starched, or ironed a single garment. As tempting as she found Clint’s proposition, she wasn’t at all sure she was equal to the challenge.

  On the other hand, this was her chance—probably her one and only chance—to have the thing other girls took for granted, namely a handsome young husband who made her pulse race and her skin tingle. For so long now, Rachel had been resigned to settling for second or third best. Marrying Lawson. Playing, the role of a minister’s wife. Pretending she didn’t want or need any excitement in her life. Now, through a quirk of fate, she had a chance for more. So much more. Every time she remembered the kiss she and Clint had shared, she fairly shivered with anticipation.

  Madness! She should know better than to get her hopes up like this. Hadn’t she learned anything the last time she’d gotten her heart broken? Was she really so foolish that she was willing to risk that kind of pain again? It wasn’t as if she could keep he
r poor eyesight a secret from Clint and all his brothers permanently or even for any length of time at all. Sooner or later, one of them would catch her wearing her spectacles, and Clint would discover the truth—that she was half blind and, to rectify the problem, had to wear horribly ugly glasses. Once that happened, there’d be no more spine-tingling kisses. He would probably make up any excuse he could think of to get rid of her.

  Unless…maybe…oh, God, it was crazy to even consider it. But she’d heard tell of other marriages that had started shaky and ended up just fine. Why, even her own father had admitted once that her mother hadn’t been all that crazy about marrying him at first.

  Of course, Mama hadn’t been blind as a bat, either. Still—what if she could keep her eyeglasses a secret? The only time she absolutely had to wear them was to read, and she could try to avoid doing that in front of anyone. If she was careful, really careful, it might be months before Clint learned the truth, and maybe by then he would like her so much for herself he’d on longer care if she wore spectacles.

  As crazy a plan as it was, one glance at Clint cemented it in Rachel’s heart. He was, without question, one of the handsomest men she’d ever met. To a girl like her, who’d long since given up on dreaming, his offer was irresistible. She had to take a chance. If she got her heart broken again, so be it. At least she wouldn’t go to her grave wanting to kick herself for never trying at all.

  Her decision made, Rachel quickly assessed the mess that surrounded her. Everywhere she looked, there seemed to be stacks of dirty dishes. She had an awful feeling that her ability to balance a book on her head while climbing a flight of stairs might not come in very handy around the Rafferty place.

  “I, um, don’t know quite where to start…” She turned to look at Clint. “Did you say you had chores to do?”

  “Only a few,” he assured her eagerly. “This bein’ Sunday, we set aside most of the day for indoor chores. As soon as I finish, I’ll come back inside and help.”

  “Have you any bread baked?” Rachel prayed so, for she’d never turned out a loaf of bread in her life.

  “No. We usually make up enough on Sundays to last us the whole week. Like I said, Sunday’s our indoor day.”

  Rachel’s stomach tightened. “I hope you have a cookbook. I don’t know the ingredients for bread by heart.”

  “No cookbook, exactly. But we do have a collection of recipes my grandma and ma wrote down over the years. Nothin’ fancy, just loose sheets of paper in a wood recipe box my pa made.”

  “Do you have one for bread?”

  “Sure do. Otherwise, I’d be lost. I don’t know the ingredients by heart, either.”

  Rachel relaxed slightly. She’d be successful enough at culinary endeavors so long as she had recipes to follow. The cleaning would be a simple matter of following her nose. The main problem she would have was with the laundry. Then she would definitely need help. Maybe if she did passably well at all the other things, Clint wouldn’t mind that too much, though.

  So unexpectedly that it startled her, Clint yelled, “Everybody hit the deck up there! It’s nigh onto noon! Time to get to work!”

  From the loft came the sounds of mattress ropes creaking and feet hitting the planked floor. In less than a minute, one dark head appeared at the top of the loft ladder. Then another. Before she knew it, four indistinct young men were standing above her. Taking turns, they came down to join ranks with Daniel and Cody.

  With the arrival of each one, Clint called off his name and age. “Cole, seventeen. Jeremiah, twenty-four. Joshua, nineteen. Zack, twenty-two.”

  As each young man was introduced to her, Rachel smiled and inclined her head. When Clint wound down, she said, “I’m pleased to meet all of you.”

  “Not all,” Cody corrected her. “Matt ain’t here. He’s twenty.”

  “Oh, yes, Matt,” Rachel said cautiously. “How could I have forgotten?”

  Cody wrinkled his nose and regarded Clint speculatively. “You didn’t say how old you are,” he reminded his eldest brother.

  To Rachel’s surprise, Clint stepped up beside her and draped an arm over her shoulders. “I’m twenty-seven, scamp, which makes me plenty old enough to settle down, and that’s just what I’ve decided to do. This morning, Rachel and I got married.”

  “You what?” “Why didn’t you tell us?” “I thought I was gonna be your best man!” “Jumpin’ Jehoshaphat! You’ve gone and done what?” “I thought Lawson Wells was her beau.”

  “I beat Lawson to the draw and asked her first,” Clint said. “Let it be a lesson to you. Don’t leave a pretty girl footloose and fancy free for too long a time, or the first thing you know, she may marry some other fellow.”

  “I didn’t even know you knew Rachel that well,” Zach said.

  “Why didn’t you tell us you were thinkin’ about marryin’ her?” Joshua demanded.

  “Oh, wow!” Cody cried excitedly. “You mean she’s gonna stay here?”

  Clint held up a hand. “Yes, she’s gonna stay,” he assured Cody. Then to the older boys, “As for all your questions, we just decided to get married, that’s all. I’m countin’ on all of you to make Rachel feel welcome.”

  “You’re sure enough welcome!” Cody assured her. “Especially if’n you can bake cookies like the kind Clint brought home from the church social last year.”

  Rachel blinked. Cookies? “Of course I can bake cookies,” she assured him. “As long as there’s a recipe included in those loose papers Clint mentioned.”

  Marginally less enthusiastic, but warmly all the same, the older Raffertys expressed welcome, Jeremiah, the next oldest to Clint, finishing with, “We’ll be proud to call you sister, Rachel. Welcome to your new home.”

  Sister. Hearing the word brought a stinging sensation to Rachel’s eyes that felt suspiciously like tears. She blinked a little frantically, convinced they would all think her crazy if she got weepy-eyed and sentimental over something so silly. It was just that she’d always wished for a brother, and now she had seven of them, four of them older than she. It was almost as though Clint had known how fiercely she’d wanted an older brother to look out for her.

  “And I’ll be pleased to call all of you brother,” she said in an oddly tight voice.

  The courtesies thus observed, Clint drew his arm from around Rachel and systematically began naming off his expectations.

  “Rachel’s gonna be cleanin’ this place up,” he started. “I want each of you to help her in any way you can. Understand? Jer, you hightail it out to the porch and bring Rachel’s grips into the bedroom. Joshua, you haul her up some buckets of water to heat on the stove. No point in her havin’ to wear herself out at the pump. Zach, you gather up all the things she’ll need: a broom and mop, clean rags, and whatever else she wants. Cole, while they’re doin’ that, you and Daniel and Cody get busy pickin’ things up and puttin’ them away. In their proper places, mind you, not just any old place. And, Cody! Nothin’ under the bed, you understand?”

  Rachel’s head was swimming by the time Clint stopped issuing orders. He drew to a close with, “Now all of you, listen up. From here on out, Rachel’s word is law inside this house. I’m sure she’ll be makin’ up some new rules around here, and I expect each of you to mind what she says, just like it was me. Got that? No sassin’ her, or I’ll kick your butts.”

  Zach, who was standing close enough that Rachel could clearly see his face, turned a solemn regard on her. After a long moment, he smiled slightly and winked irreverently. He obviously wasn’t intimidated by his older brother.

  Clint rubbed his hands together and turned to arch a questioning brow at her. “Did I leave out anything you’d like said?”

  “Only thank you.” Rachel smiled. “For making me feel so welcome.”

  Joshua piped up with, “Welcome? Rachel, it’s a wonder we ain’t on our knees in gratitude. It’s been so long since we had a decent meal around here, we’ve forgotten what good food tastes like.”

  Rachel cou
ld only hope she didn’t disappoint them. First things first, though. Before she could try her hand at cooking, she had to muck out the kitchen. Luckily, she had plenty of helpers.

  7

  Two hours later, Rachel had the kitchen cleaned up enough to start mixing bread dough. After enlisting Cody’s help in locating the recipe box Clint had mentioned, she announced to all the older boys that it was time for them to take a much-deserved rest, preferably some place other than in the kitchen.

  When they solicitously offered to help her with the cooking, Rachel waved them off, saying, “No, no! I’m funny that way, I guess. I like an empty kitchen when I cook. Too many cooks makes for oversalted porridge, you know.”

  “I never heard that sayin’,” Joshua commented.

  Neither had Rachel, but it served her purpose, which was to evacuate the kitchen so she could slip on her spectacles undetected to read the bread recipe.

  As the last Rafferty trailed off, Rachel dived her hand into her pocket for her spectacles. Something sharp pricked her fingertip. “Ouch!” she jerked her hand back out, saw a bead of blood, and frowned in bewilderment. “What in heaven’s name?”

  More gingerly this time, she reached into her pocket. As her fingers curled over the wire frames, her heart felt as though it dropped, not just to the region of her knees, which is how it usually felt when something awful happened, but clear to the floor. Her spectacles! The frames were hopelessly mangled, and as she lifted them from her pocket, she saw that both lenses were absent from their holes. Fishing more deeply in her pocket, she soon leaned why. Each lens was shattered. It had been one of the jagged pieces of glass that pricked her finger.

  Stunned, Rachel could only stand there for a moment, staring blankly down at ruined spectacles. How had this happened? She no sooner asked herself that than she remembered falling in the church last night. Evidently her spectacles had been broken then.

  As the first wave of shock subsided, she turned her gaze toward the recipe box. Panic rose within her. She quickly tamped it down. Reading without her spectacles was nearly impossible but not absolutely so. If she held the written material right in front of her nose, she could usually make out the letters. It would be tedious, but beggars couldn’t be choosers.