Harper's Bride

by Alexis Harrington

  "I have four girls myself, and they're quite a handful, I can tell you!" From the hallway came the sound of muffled giggling. "Of course, they know if they don't behave," she went on in a louder voice, "their chores will double for six weeks."

  A scuffling in the hall was followed by the sound of feet pounding up the stairs.

  "I'm sorry," Mrs. Keller said. "They're really good girls most of the time, but they tend to be a bit too exuberant. But enough about us—let me show you the house. It's just next door."

  She followed Sarah Keller outside to a house of identical design just to the right of her own. Leading Melissa on a tour of the unfurnished three-bedroom dwelling, she pointed out its recent improvements, such as wallpaper and new paint.

  By the time they were back in Mrs. Keller's parlor, sipping coffee, Melissa had fallen in love with it. It would be hers—well, perhaps not hers in the sense of ownership, but she would shop for some modest furniture and put her own identity into it. She and Jenny would have peace and quiet. A baby carriage—she could buy a baby carriage and take Jenny for strolls to the park. They would be warm and snug on winter nights by the stove or the fireplace, and she would teach Jenny her ABCs. The only thing missing from the picture in her mind was Dylan. If he were with them, it would be perfect. For a moment she felt such a wave of grief and loneliness for him, it was almost as if he were the one who had died. Oh, God, she knew she'd never see him again.

  "Mrs. Logan? Are you all right, dear?"

  "What? Oh, oh yes, I'm sorry. I guess I was just remembering . . ."

  Mrs. Keller sat back in her chair. "I understand. There are some losses that nothing can make up for. But having good friends will help."

  Melissa looked at her and gave her a watery smile. "I guess you're right."

  At least she hoped so.

  *~*~*

  "Dylan, I can't tell you how good it is to see you again. I'm so glad you agreed to have dinner with me." Elizabeth directed him to the dining room table and went out to the kitchen. It felt odd to be treated like a guest in the house he grew up in.

  He plucked the linen napkin from his plate, and memories of a thousand tense mealtimes at this very table came crowding back. "I agreed to it because I want you to tell me what's been going on around here, Elizabeth. Why is the place so run down?" He gestured to her as she carried a roast chicken to the table. "And what happened to Ada and the rest of the help? Are you living here alone?"

  "Oh, we can talk about that in a minute. I want to hear all about the Yukon. Was there a lot of gold up there? We heard reports, of course, but they must have been exaggerated. They talked about millions of dollars. Isn't that silly?"

  "There are millions of dollars in gold up there. I wouldn't have stayed if I weren't making money." He was fully aware of what she wanted to know, and he didn't mind baiting her a bit. Especially when they were discussing a subject so dear to her heart. "Now tell me about this place."

  "Oh, my, where to begin," she sighed prettily, toying with one of her earrings. "Well, after you left, Scott and I married. Of course, you know that." She had the decency to look embarrassed, and poured each of them a glass of wine. "Oh, Dylan, it really was a dreadful mistake." She dropped her breathy pretense and sounded earnest. "I know he was your brother, and my husband, and now he's gone, but . . . I never should have listened to my father. He was the one who insisted that Scott and I marry."

  His stomach knotting, Dylan put down his fork. He didn't want to hear any of that, not now, not if he was going to sit at the same table with her. "Elizabeth, never mind about that. What happened is in the past, and nothing is going to change it. I want to know about this property. In town I heard the taxes haven't been paid."

  She dropped her gaze. "No, they haven't. There's no money to pay them."

  "Why not?" he demanded. With every minute that passed, he felt he knew less and less.

  She didn't answer.

  "Damn it, Elizabeth!" Losing his patience with her coy game, he pounded his fist on the table, making her jump and the glassware rattle. "You own only half of this place. I own the other half, and I want to know why I'm about to lose it!"

  "You don't need to shout at me," she said coldly.

  "It seems I do—"

  "I only wanted to spare you the pain."

  He shook his head and gave her a sardonic smile. "Why? You didn't before."

  "Dylan, I tried to tell you about that. I loved you. My father—"

  "Not now, Elizabeth."

  She lifted her wineglass and took a big, unladylike swallow. "Scott and your father made some bad investments. When they ran through their own money, they solicited other investors to put up more, and lost that too. My own father lost everything. This house and the land are all that's left."

  Dylan slumped back in his chair and laughed. He laughed until his side ached and tears came to his eyes.

  She stared at him as if he'd lost his mind. "My God, how can you laugh? What can you possibly find in this that's funny? It's a tragedy!"

  Throwing his napkin on the table, he snorted. "Tragedy—if I believed in divine retribution, that's what I'd call it. Griffin Harper made his money by taking advantage of other people, calling their notes, throwing them out of their homes. And Scott followed right behind him. I'm not glad they were killed, but I'm not surprised by the way this is ending."

  "Well, I can tell you that unless some miracle occurs, this place will be sold by the county for the taxes. I've just been scraping by here. I can't ask my family for help—they're worse off than I am. Ada comes by sometimes out of the goodness of her heart, but I can't pay her. The rest of the help left right after the funeral. I've had to do the housework and even my own laundry. It's so degrading."

  Laundry. Dylan thought of Melissa washing clothes for dozens of miners while she sang to Jenny, handling those heavy flatirons, working harder than Elizabeth had ever dreamed of even in a nightmare. On top of that, she'd taken care of a baby and done the housework too. And through it all, she hadn't lost courage, she'd gained it. She had never complained when she had every reason in the world to do so. Some inner grace, he thought, must have sustained her through a hard childhood and her life with Logan. A grace that Elizabeth would never have because money couldn't buy it. It wasn't her fault—she'd led a soft, spoiled life and now couldn't adjust to the loss of luxury. He almost felt sorry for her. Almost.

  "It's getting late, and there's no moon tonight to see by," she added, taking another drink of wine. "Will you stay?"

  Drinking his own wine, he replied, "Yeah, why not? I'd hate to end up like Scott and the old man."

  *~*~*

  Dylan lay in the darkness on a feather tick, thinking that the last thing he'd ever expected to do was sleep under this roof again. The bedding was scented with lavender, and the furniture was expensive. It all was a far cry from a handmade bedstead and wolf hide blankets.

  It was at times like this, late at night, when he missed Melissa the most. It had started on the trip down from Dawson. He could imagine her singing, sweet and clear, as she worked or rocked Jenny, and an aching emptiness swelled in his chest that made him feel like crying. Damn it, anyway, he thought impatiently, he had to get over this. Grabbing the other pillow, he wrapped his arms around it and rolled to his side, trying to shut out her image. But it was hopeless. She was burned into his heart, and she would remain there always, even if he lived to be a very old man. And someday, he might find himself giving advice to another man, just as Rafe had tried to advise him. If that man was smarter or luckier than Dylan had been, he'd listen.

  He thought he wouldn't be able to sleep, but soon he found himself in the misty world between consciousness and slumber, where half-formed dreams came to life. Melissa was with him then, lying soft and warm against his bare body. He felt her hand sliding up the inside of his thigh as she whispered his name and rained soft, moist kisses down his back. When her hand closed over his erection and quickened him with long, slow strokes, he groane
d and rolled slowly to his back.

  "Melissa, Melissa . . . oh God, honey, I love you." He reached for her soft, fragrant flesh, and she smelled like roses—

  Dylan was awake in an instant. "Elizabeth, damn it, what the hell do you think you're doing?"

  Pushing her hand away, he fumbled with a match and lit a bedside candle. She lay beside him propped on one elbow, naked, her long wavy hair flowing over her like black satin. "Don't send me away," she pleaded. "It was always good between us, Dylan. Scott couldn't make me—I mean, he—you were the only one who knew what I needed."

  He sat on the edge of the mattress and stared at her, incredulous, wondering if he'd ever really known her. "Don't you realize that there's nothing left between us? I don't care what your reason was—you broke off our engagement to marry my brother, Elizabeth, for money. There are some pretty ugly words for women like you."

  "Oh? And who is Melissa?" she demanded, flipping her hair behind one shoulder. "Your wife?"

  Startled, he realized he must have called her name in his sleep. "None of your business. Look, you just get back to your own bedroom."

  Making no attempt to cover herself, she rose to her knees and looked at him with her big, dark eyes. "Dylan, think how it was between us. Don't you remember those nights I came to you in your rooms over the stables? Sometimes you were so satisfied when we finished, you couldn't move. We could have all that again. I never stopped loving you. And you loved me once—we can start over, from the beginning."

  He shook his head, hardly believing his own ears. "What makes you suppose I want you?"

  "Think," she continued as if he hadn't spoken. "If we married, we could restore this house and the grounds to their past glory. You'd have horses back in the stables again."

  "Are you crazy? This is the last house I'd want to live in. And you're the last woman I'd want to live with!" He jumped off the mattress and reached for his pants and shirt, so furious he was almost afraid to say anything more.

  "Are you leaving?" Her lower lip was actually trembling. Finally, she drew the sheet up to cover herself.

  "Yes, damn it, of course I'm leaving." He jammed his arms through his shirtsleeves. "And I've got one proposition for you, Elizabeth, so you'd better listen. I'll make a settlement on you so that you can move out of here and get a new start somewhere else. Or you can wait here and let me buy you out when the county puts this house up for sale. If you do that, you won't get a dime from me. But make no mistake—I'll get this place one way or the other."

  She clutched the sheet to herself. "But you said you don't want to live here."

  "I don't."

  She reached for his arm. "Are you doing this just to spite me? Dylan, don't be a fool. I could make you happy."

  He disentangled his arm and pulled on his boots. "Elizabeth, spite hasn't got a thing to do with it. You're nothing more than a beautiful viper. You did me a favor by marrying Scott. Christ, I actually feel sorry for him."

  "Where will you go? What are you going to do?"

  He walked toward the door to the hall, then turned to look at her. "I almost made the biggest mistake of my life a few days ago, and tomorrow night I'm going to catch a boat back to Portland to see if I can fix it. In the meantime, I'm staying at the hotel in town. I'll give you till noon to let me know your decision. If you decide to take me up on my offer, there'll be ten thousand dollars in the bank in your name by tomorrow afternoon."

  "T-ten th-thousand . . . ten thousand dollars?"

  "It'll be the best money I ever spent."

  Chapter Seventeen

  "Mrs. Logan, is this all you have in the world?" Sarah Keller gestured at the few bundles piled on Melissa's empty parlor floor. She'd brought a basket of warm bread and fresh butter as a welcoming gift. Rectangles of burnished October sun gleamed on the polished hardwood and reflected off the light striped wallpaper, making the room bright and cheerful. But there was no way to disguise its lack of furnishings.

  Melissa smiled and rocked Jenny in her arms. "I know it doesn't look like much, but I think it's safe to say that most people left the Yukon with a lot less than they arrived with. I have clothes for Jenny and a few things for myself. And of course, she has her cradle to sleep in. As soon as my new furniture is delivered, the house will look more lived in."

  The older woman gaped at her. "But what about you? Where will you sleep in the meantime?"

  "I have the bedding—at least that much was delivered. I'll sleep on the floor until the rest of the things get here." Melissa honestly didn't mind. Solitude wasn't what she'd wanted, but since it had been thrust upon her, she was determined to make the best of it now.

  "Oh, dear, no. You must come to my house and stay. I'll make the girls double up for a night or two, and you can have one of their beds."

  The memory of warm wolf hides flashed across Melissa's mind before she had a chance to push it away. If Dylan didn't stop haunting her thoughts, she worried that her heart would never heal. She put a hand on Sarah's arm. "I appreciate it, but really it isn't necessary. On the trip to Dawson, I was expecting Jenny and I slept in a tent. Everyone camped in tents. In fact, she was born in one during a blizzard, weren't you, button?"

  Jenny was far more fascinated by the tiny earrings Melissa wore than anything her mother said, but Mrs. Keller made a horrified noise.

  "Lordy, how terrible! I had no idea— But at least you had Mr. Logan with you then. It's so tragic that you lost him."

  Remembering that awful night with vivid clarity, she said nothing. Coy had left her in the care of an Indian woman, and had gone off to gamble and get drunk. The blank-faced woman, who spoke almost no English, had been more frightening than a comfort. Melissa had been sure she would die—she'd never been so scared or lonely in her life. And she never wanted to be in that spot again.

  She shifted Jenny to her hip. "Maybe it won't be easy to make it by myself—I think the world can be very cruel to women alone. But believe me, there are far worse situations a woman can find herself in. We'll be all right. Making sure Jenny grows up in a safe, loving home is the only thing that matters now."

  Mrs. Keller gave her a searching look, then nodded. "I've survived with just my girls, so I know it can be done. I hope you won't be too lonely, though." She sighed. "Some nights are a year long."

  Melissa drew a deep breath. "But loneliness doesn't leave bruises or scars. At least not the kind you can see."

  *~*~*

  Dylan made his way back to town in the darkness, blessing Penelope for her calm plodding every step of the way. After turning her loose in Red's corral, he went back to the hotel and tried to sleep, but he only tossed and turned.

  At least he was alone in the bed, he thought sourly. If he'd held any ragged remnants of esteem for Elizabeth, she'd erased them with the little stunt she'd pulled at the house. Why he'd never seen through her before remained a mystery to him. But if everything finally went the way he'd like, he'd have just one last dealing with her.

  The single good thing that had come of seeing her again was he'd realized what a fool he'd been to let Melissa go. He loved her—and now he believed that she loved him too. She had good reason to be afraid of being dependent on a man, but he could prove to her that he was worthy of her trust. They belonged together. Somewhere toward morning, Dylan rose and sat by the window to watch the sun come up, edgy with anticipation. He had plans, great plans, wonderful plans, for the land here. He would bring Melissa and Jenny home to it yet.

  As the morning grew older, Dylan paced his room like a restless dog, waiting for word. Sometimes he'd go to the window and look down at the street, hoping to see Elizabeth approach. Then he'd go back to pacing. He must have pulled out his watch a hundred times to check the hour. At twelve-ten he flopped into a chair. Well, damn it, they could have done this the easy way—easy for both of them, and certainly less humiliating for her. But if the sheriff had to get involved, then so be it.

  Suddenly, there was a knock on the door. Dylan strode across the
room in three steps and found a boy standing in the hall.

  "Mr. Harper? Are you Mr. Harper?"

  He nodded.

  The boy whipped an envelope out from behind his back and thrust it into Dylan's hands. "A lady downstairs paid me a quarter to deliver this to you. So I went to the front desk and asked what room—"

  Dylan dug into his jeans pocket and pulled out a silver dollar. "Here, son, I'll give you a dollar for doing a good job."

  The youngster's eyes lit up as he stared at the coin. "Gee, thanks a lot!"

  "Go buy yourself some candy," Dylan called after him as he ran down the hall.

  He looked at the creamy envelope and his name written in Elizabeth's flowing script, and his hands actually shook a little. He ripped open the flap and pulled out a single sheet of vellum that smelled faintly of roses.

  Dear Dylan—

  I accept your generous offer to move from this house. I think I can be out within the month. Please believe me when I tell you I didn't want to hurt you by marrying Scott. But I have a lifetime to review my regrets.

  Love,

  Elizabeth

  "Yeah, a lifetime and ten thousand dollars. That makes it a little easier, doesn't it?" he said to her handwriting.

  By four o'clock that afternoon, Dylan had made the bank deposit and was standing on the dock, waiting to board a steamship bound for Portland. The biggest challenge of his life lay at the other end of this journey.

  He hoped he was ready for it.

  *~*~*

  Melissa stood in her parlor, critically studying the location of her new settee, and shook her head. She looked up at the two burly draymen who'd delivered it to her. "I'm really sorry, but do you think you could put it back the way we had it before? I promise this will be the last time. Really." Jenny watched everything from her cradle with an expression of solemn curiosity.

  She heard a muffled sigh, but they picked up the settee and carried it back to the bay window, turning it so that it faced the street.