by Cassie Hayes
“I’m not worried about that at all,” Dermot said, with a grin he knew showed off his deep dimples. “Women go crazy over a man in red serge.”
He’d never had trouble attracting ladies. If anything, he’d had to fight them off. Since joining the Mounties, it had become even worse. When he’d visited his parents in Vancouver once, notes poured in from his many female admirers. Apparently they all thought as Nanny had — that he was a catch.
“Sure they do, when they don’t have to live out in the middle of the wilderness without a single modern comfort in sight. Aren’t you worried Isabelle won’t like it in the Yukon? It’s not an easy life, especially for a lady.”
“It’s not easy for a man either.”
Dermot had grown to appreciate the stark beauty of the territory to which he’d been assigned after completing his training, but he was a city boy at heart. Vancouver would always be home. The bustling streets, the wide array of shops, the culture. He missed civilization, and for the first time, he wondered if his future bride would too.
Jonathan turned from the fire to face him. “Mind if I ask why you joined up in the first place? I mean, what with all your father’s money and the ladies hanging off your every word?”
His father’s money was exactly why Dermot had joined, but he’d guarded that secret carefully from the minute he shipped off for training. The truth would be too humiliating. For two years, he’d practiced his answer to this very question so often, he had it down pat.
“Mounties are heroes,” he replied with a wink and a smile. “That includes you, my friend.”
Dropping his chair back onto all-fours, Dermot slapped Jonathan on the back, before saying goodnight and heading for home. Sunset came early in the northern latitudes this time of year, so though it was only seven or so, the night was pitch black, which made the trail even harder to follow than usual.
Star nickered softly when he rubbed her neck as he untied her. He’d learned to ride as a child of course, but that had been almost exclusively for sport. On rare occasions, his father would invite him along on an easy ride, but Dermot had invariably embarrassed the man in some way, either by showing off or falling behind. It almost seemed as if he couldn’t do anything right, where his father was concerned. In fact, joining the Mounties had been just about the only thing he’d ever done that had earned even a modicum of respect from Claude Strickland.
Since finishing his training, Dermot had only been home once, and he’d made sure to enter the house in his handsome new uniform. He’d been eager to see the pride shining in his parents’ eyes, to revel in their newfound respect for him. What he’d received instead was a snide sniff from his mother as she passed by with a sloe gin fizz in her hand, and a cool appraisal from his father.
“Never thought you’d make it this far,” Claude had said, then poured them both a brandy. It was about as close to a compliment as Dermot had ever received from the man.
When he’d received his orders to the Yukon, Dermot had been relieved. Five years without living under the strict rules in his family’s mansion overlooking the city. Five years of not having to endure his father’s reprimands. Five years of being his own man. It sounded like heaven.
Then he’d arrived in Moose Lick and realized he was doomed to five years of loneliness, hard living, and dangerous work. Mistake or not, this was his life for another three years or so. Then everything could go back to normal.
Star stopped abruptly, startling Dermot out of his reverie. The darkness was too complete to make out any features of the terrain, but one thing was certain: they were no longer on the trail back to his cabin. Even worse, he had no idea where they’d veered off it. They were lost.
Sighing heavily, Dermot dropped his forehead onto Star’s mane. “Not again!”
Chapter 2
“Next stop, Moose Lick!” called the conductor as he strolled through their rickety, rocking car.
Isabelle would have thought it impossible for a town name to get much worse than Squirrel Ridge Junction — the town Tilly and JoAnn lived in — and here she was pulling into Moose Lick, of all places. Moose Lick!
Visions of moose — or was it meese? — wandering around town licking people made her shudder. Then she took a deep breath and wondered if it would be that much different from a horse licking you.
She’d grown up riding, naturally, so it wasn’t that she was afraid of large creatures, but she didn’t imagine moose would be groomed as well as her family’s stable of pedigreed horses. And of course, they were unpredictable, wild animals.
As the train lurched to a stop in front of a tiny shack perched on a platform she assumed served as the station, Maryanne clutched Isabelle’s shoulder from the next row back. “Thank you again for giving me this beautiful outfit, Isabelle. I can’t imagine anything prettier to be married in!”
“It’s my pleasure, Maryanne. It suits you perfectly.”
“Are you excited about meeting Dermot?”
Isabelle tried to smile. “Sure.”
Not for the first time since moving into Miss Hazel’s house, she wondered if she was doing the right thing. When she’d told her parents of her decision to marry the Mountie Miss Hazel had found for her — “You’re perfect for each other,” the old matchmaker had said — their disapproval had thrilled her. She’d spent her entire life doing what was expected of her, so to rebel so brilliantly excited her beyond measure. But now that the time had come for her to honor her commitment to marry a man she’d never met, her hands turned suddenly clammy.
What if he was as despicable as Rodney? What if he was cruel? What if he was poor, or worse yet, ugly? No matter what his letter said, she didn’t believe for a moment he was half as handsome as he claimed. That was just propaganda.
Once the train stopped moving, Miss Hazel stood and waved her hands to get the attention of her four brides, which wasn’t all that easy, since they were all staring out their dusty windows at the vague forms of red-suited Mounties on the platform. “Ladies, quit gawking and follow me,” she said, then turned on her heel and marched up the aisle, accidentally knocking one man back into his seat with her ample hip.
Isabelle took a deep, steadying breath, trying to calm her nerves. She hadn’t been this anxious when Rodney had proposed! Of course, she’d known it was coming, and had already prepared her acceptance speech — a very simple, solemn “Yes” — but still…
Cool, thin fingers wriggled into Isabelle’s hand. “I’m nervous,” Lisa whispered in her ear from behind.
When they’d first met, Isabelle had been shocked by Lisa’s cerebral palsy. She’d led a decidedly sheltered life, where people who were different or damaged were hidden away. But she’d quickly warmed to Lisa’s kind and loving nature. Those traits had been lost on her family, though her old nanny had—
No! For the six-thousandth time, she pushed the thought of Nanny Biggs out of her head and her heart. This was no time for maudlin thoughts. This was a time for excitement and adventure.
Isabelle gently squeezed her friend’s hand to reassure her. “Me too,” she admitted, and it wasn’t even a lie. The butterflies in her stomach had grown more and more active the closer they drew to Moose Lick. But she understood why Lisa might be even more nervous than the others.
“What if he changes his mind?” Lisa asked.
“He won’t.”
“But what if he does?”
Isabelle stopped at the top step of the train car and turned to Lisa. “If he does, then you’ll come live with me until we find a man who’s worthy of you. It may take a while though, because there aren’t that many wonderful men in the world.”
Lisa sighed. “You’re such a good friend, Isabelle.”
A pang of guilt over her initial reaction to Lisa stabbed Isabelle in the heart. “Not as good as you deserve, but I promise to keep trying.”
“Don’t be silly!”
Lisa’s little dog, Sophie, yipped her agreement.
“See?” Isabelle said as sh
e turned back to disembark. “Sophie agrees with me.”
Clutching her travel satchel tightly as she stepped onto the platform, Isabelle scanned the four men waiting for them. One stood slightly taller than the rest, but that was the least remarkable thing about him. He was far and away the most handsome of the bunch, with tan skin, broad shoulders and chiseled features. He held his broad-rimmed hat in his hand, showing off his wavy blond hair, and the moment his sparkling blue eyes lighted on her, he smiled and dimples dug so deeply into his cheeks, Isabelle could almost see China. His strong, square jaw jutted out proudly and ended in another deep dimple on his chin.
For a split second, Isabelle nearly lost her balance at the sight of the man. Then she sent up a silent prayer. Please be Dermot, please be Dermot, please be Dermot.
“And you must be Dermot Strickland,” Miss Hazel was saying as Isabelle and the other brides approached the group. “I’d like to introduce you to your bride, Isabelle Rochester.”
Isabelle’s heart fluttered at the fact she’d somehow managed to snag the most handsome Mountie here — probably anywhere. Then he bowed low, all while keeping those piercing blue eyes locked on her own, and her heart went from fluttering to thumping madly. When he reached for her hand and brought it to his soft, warm lips, her knees actually threatened to give out. Never in her life had a man had this kind of effect on her, and for the briefest moment, she wondered if he was the Prince Charming she’d asked Miss Hazel to find.
Only when he broke eye contact was she able to quickly rein in her emotions. She knew as well as anyone what men were like, and she’d vowed long ago to never open herself up to the pain she would inevitably suffer by giving her heart to one. No, she was here to find her own path and possibly have an adventure or two, but not to fall in love — no matter that her new husband was devastatingly handsome and charming.
“Rochester,” Dermot said as he stood and held his arm out to her. “I don’t suppose you’re related to Samuel Rochester. He’s a member of Parliament.”
Isabelle smiled coolly and looped her arm around his. “He’s my father, in fact.”
Dermot grinned, and Isabelle fought the fluttering in her stomach. “What a small world,” he said. “My father and yours were at the University of Toronto together. From the sounds of it, those two got up to all sorts of no good.”
Isabelle didn’t doubt it for a second, but she couldn’t say so. Instead of being pleased that they ran in the same circles, the fact her husband-to-be’s father was a friend of her own father only confirmed her resolve to remain emotionally distant. He’d no doubt imparted his devious ways to his son. The bank vault her heart lived in slammed shut, and it was such a relief.
She’d stupidly become caught up in the other girls’ excitement over marrying Mounties on the long train ride. To while away the hours and days it took to travel the width of Canada, they’d fantasized about what they would be like. Not once had she imagined hers would actually know her father. Now that she knew, she could protect herself as her mother had always taught her.
Three couples and Miss Hazel tromped down the platform’s stairs to the dirt road. Isabelle looked around for Lisa and her groom, but they’d disappeared. She glanced over at Maryanne, who caught her eye and gave her a worried frown. Isabelle smiled reassuringly, then sought out Elaine. She was smiling happily up at her Mountie.
Isabelle returned her attention to Dermot. He may never be a man she could love, but she hoped to at least like him one day.
“Do you like living here in…Moose Lick?” she asked, nearly choking on the town’s name.
Dermot laughed. “Other than the fact it’s called Moose Lick, it’s okay. As you can see, it’s pretty small, but the people are good and true, and a Mountie couldn’t ask for more than that. I’m actually stationed a few hours out of town near an Indian village.”
“Oh.” Isabelle hadn’t thought anything could be more remote than Moose Lick, but she supposed she’d better get used to surprises.
As they made their way across town — all one street of it — she took in the deplorable state of the town. There wasn’t a single stone or concrete building in sight, and not one automobile drove down the main street — only horse-pulled wagons.
Have I stepped back in time?
Hopefully Dermot’s house was tidier and sturdier than the slapdash structures lining the street. A man of his stature and wealth would no doubt have the finest home in the region — though that wouldn’t be hard to manage, judging by the thriving metropolis of Moose Lick — as well as a full staff to manage all the housekeeping. Once she’d learned her groom-to-be was the heir to a lumber empire, she’d done the bare minimum Miss Hazel required — and most of the time she’d been helped by one or another of her new friends.
The group stopped in front of a ramshackle cabin that appeared utterly uninhabitable. Miss Hazel walked right in though, as if she was expected. Everyone followed their leader, and Isabelle opened her mouth to ask what the place was when Miss Hazel stomped back out, grumbling. She was followed by an older gentleman.
“I can’t believe they got married without me,” she said, apparently speaking of Lisa and her new husband, Wesley. “There’s no room in there to fit everyone anyway, so why don’t we do it right here?”
Isabelle had never seen a less appropriate venue for a wedding. Her mother would be appalled, which made Isabelle suddenly warm to the idea.
“Pastor Wilson,” Elaine’s groom called, “mind taking us first?”
The man waved them toward him and started the ceremony.
Dermot looked down at Isabelle, and she found herself getting lost in his eyes for a moment. She tried to remind herself no good could come from falling in love with one’s husband, but her body paid no mind.
“Ready?” he murmured to her, his deep voice dropping low enough to vibrate in her chest.
At her weak nod, he let his arm drop to clasp her fingers with his own. The sensation that rushed through her body reminded her of the time she’d brushed against a frayed wire in a lamp. Heat and shivers, jolting her senses and leaving her speechless.
No, she wasn’t ready for this. Not in the slightest.
"Marriage is a sacred ceremony,” Pastor Wilson intoned in the middle of Wesley’s dirt-covered front yard. “Today we observe the union of these two people with the respect the occasion warrants. Holy matrimony is an honorable estate, instituted of God. It is not to be entered into unadvisedly or lightly, but reverently and soberly. What we honor with reverence, however, we also celebrate with great joy! For married life — a shared life — is a tremendous blessing.”
Miss Hazel sniffled and dabbed a handkerchief at her eyes as Jonathan married his bride, and Preston waited patiently to wed his. Dermot couldn’t recall their names offhand — he had enough trouble remembering his own bride’s name — but the men seemed enthralled by them.
“I just love weddings, don’t you?” Miss Hazel whispered to him.
“Um, I suppose. Never been to one held on a lawn before though.”
The woman looked positively euphoric. “It’s just lovely! The blue sky overhead, the birds singing, the crisp, fresh air. I feel God’s grace here today, Dermot.”
“Yes, ma’am.” It was all he could think to say.
Miss Hazel leaned forward to smile at Isabelle, who stood stiffly on the other side of him, her fingernails digging into the back of his hand. Poor thing was no doubt exhausted from the train ride, and then to be greeted by the man of her dreams… Well, any woman would feel overwhelmed.
“I have to say,” Miss Hazel continued, “I don’t think I’ve ever made such a perfect match. Of course, all my couples fall deeply in love, but you two…you two are so perfectly suited for one another, it almost scares me.”
Dermot wasn’t sure how to take that, so he decided to consider it a compliment. “Thank you,” he said with a grin.
Miss Hazel returned his smile, thought it almost looked as if she was holding in a laugh. T
hen she turned her attention back to what the pastor was saying.
“The joy you'll find as you pursue your shared lives will fuel you to face head-on the challenges you'll encounter on this Earth. On your journeys together, keep your spouse in the space of highest priority in your heart.”
Dermot glanced sideways at Isabelle — he remembered her name! — and marveled at her unparalleled beauty. He’d squired many lovely ladies around Vancouver in his playboy days, but none compared to Isabelle. Her fine features were enhanced by smooth porcelain skin and soft lips the color of salmonberries. High, pink cheekbones led to rich brown eyes, complementing her hair, which shimmered like polished copper in the thin October sunlight. The top of her head barely reached his shoulder, and with her petite frame, he guessed he could easily lift her with one arm. A true beauty.
His chest puffed out with pride that he’d been matched with the most beautiful of the women who’d disembarked the train. And on top of that, she was from a good family and, from what he could gather in just a few short minutes of conversation, she seemed quite intelligent. Heaven knew she was adventurous. How many women would board a train to marry a stranger in the wilds of the Yukon, after all?
The only quibble he had was her standoffish behavior toward him. Despite the fact she was nearly drawing blood from how tightly she squeezed his hand, she’d seemed thoroughly unimpressed with his display of charm and charisma. That had never happened before, and it irked him.
He’d just have to work a little harder to woo her. It was probably no more than most men had to do, but it would be new for him. Naturally, he had no doubt he was up to the challenge. He’d never met a woman he couldn’t make swoon — not counting his mother.
“Marriage is an ancient rite. As you enter into this union, you are choosing to take part in a historical human establishment and are pledging your commitment before the witnesses present here today to enter into that tradition with honor. As Jesus said: ‘A man shall leave his father and mother and be joined to his wife, and the two shall become one flesh’. So then, they are no longer two, but one flesh. Therefore what God has joined together, let not man separate."
