Pretending to Wed

by Melissa Jagears

  She went back to her scribbling, her plate still full beside her. Maybe the success she’d had after saving those chicks last week had inspired her and she didn’t realize she was ignoring him. “I like how honest you are.”

  She glanced up.

  “And how free you are with your thoughts. I’ve come to expect that of you. I’ve missed it this past week, actually. You’re really intent on what you’re working on.”

  “I’m sorry.” She shut her notepad and pushed it away. “I’ve been rude.”

  “That’s all right. Could you tell me what you’ve come up with so far?”

  “I’d rather not. I’m not certain they’re any good yet.”

  “Maybe I can help you figure out which ideas have potential? I could at least tell you if I’d be interested in buying them.”

  “Perhaps.” She pulled her notepad back toward her. “But I don’t think it’ll help me at the moment.” With that, she ate a spoonful of beans and took her plate to the sink.

  Was she not going to eat the rest of her supper? “Won’t you wait for me? I’ll walk you to your cabin.”

  “No need to inconvenience yourself. I’ll take Mickey with me.” She wiped off her hands and made for the back door. “Check on my chicks if you would.”

  Then she shut the door behind her.

  He sighed at what was left of his food.

  Why was she shutting him out? They’d talked so freely before. Maybe she was worried she’d told him too much about her past, but he couldn’t think of anything he’d done to push her away.

  He stared at Corinne’s empty place setting, shook his head, and ate the rest of his beans. He’d given her permission to invent to her heart’s desire—he’d not told her she could only do so if he wasn’t feeling lonely.

  After finishing his meal, he cleaned up. Picking a piece of notebook paper off the floor, he checked it before throwing it away. The page had three sketches and a lot of scribbling. He squinted at the words, clearly not written for others to read. Funny to find a woman’s handwriting worse than his.

  In the upper right-hand corner, he made out enough words to figure out he was looking at a chicken waterer. He stared at the sketch again. The way the cover was drawn, he could easily imagine it would keep chickens’ dirty feet out, yet wouldn’t hinder them from drinking. Ingenious. Chickens could muck up water as fast as a pig.

  He glanced at the next drawing. A wire basket with hay? Studying the slanting words, it seemed she thought it’d keep nests from getting moldy. Would that sell? It was easy enough to swap out nasty straw with new.

  Even if it wouldn’t sell, she should get a patent on both. Beyond that, should they do anything with her ideas? He hadn’t the money to put her inventions into production or buy advertising to sell it. And even if he did, doing so would take time away from the ranch. But what if…?

  Uncle Matthias could help. Or at least he could tell them how successful each product might be. What if this chicken waterer could bring in more money than he could ever hope to make ranching? Since Uncle was in charge of sales for most of the Northwest Catalog’s salesmen, he’d have plenty of people to ask whether this would be worthwhile to produce. And he’d know which factories would be the best to approach. And unlike Matt, Uncle Matthias was trustworthy.

  But Uncle likely wouldn’t give these inventions a second look if he knew they were Corinne’s. Taking her paper to the parlor, Nolan noted the three chicks were huddled in the corner of the crate farthest from the fire, so he pulled them several inches away. Crouching down, he reached in to feel how warm they were, then pulled them back another few inches. He picked up the striped one, which was quick to wriggle from his grasp and rejoin the others trapped in the corner because of the heat.

  “I know how you all feel.” He grabbed one of the yellow ones, which was much calmer, its eyes droopy with sleep. “I’m sort of stuck in a corner, too.”

  The chick’s eyes opened and closed rhythmically as Nolan petted its downy head with his thumb.

  “Do we ask Uncle Matthias about these inventions? We should. But with Corinne thinking they’re not good enough, I doubt she’d agree. What do you think?” He pulled out the drawing, but then shook his head at the absurdity of asking a chick for advice. He set the chick down, but continued talking. “Uncle knows business, and he’s not responsible for Matt’s incompetence—not directly, anyway. Poor parenting doesn’t mean he can’t help us.”

  Unfortunately, Uncle Matthias would look down on these ideas simply because they were a woman’s. One of the things he had in common with his son was his opinion that males were superior to females.

  What if…?

  Grabbing another piece of paper, Nolan worked at copying the sketches. He could ask if these might sell and whether investors would be interested without letting Uncle know who these inventions belonged to. If he didn’t think anyone would be interested, he could tell him how much they’d have to put toward these projects in hopes of seeing a profit.

  If Uncle could advise him on these inventions’ potential, he’d know if he should push Corinne to patent these or just let her continue inventing for the joy of it. He’d hate to get her excited about selling something only to learn it wasn’t as good as he thought. He didn’t want to pile more discouragement upon her than what she already heaped upon herself.

  He’d certainly buy one of these chicken waterers if it worked though, and surely others would, too. And if Uncle agreed they were good, he’d help them know how to proceed.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Rubbing her temples, Corinne tried to relax her jaw. She’d been sitting at her cabin’s worktable for hours. Her headache was likely from too much reading, or maybe lack of sleep. She dragged out her timepiece. Not as late as she thought.

  The past two weeks, she’d hustled to help the men after finishing household chores. Then after feeding everyone dinner, she ran out to the cabin and tinkered until she was certain Nolan had turned in. Except for meals, she’d found every reason to be somewhere Nolan wasn’t—even if it meant she stayed out later than her normal bedtime.

  She flipped through her notebook and folded down corners, marking projects that held promise. She double-folded the page detailing her improvement to the stepladder. She’d already made a rough prototype. Timothy had been impressed, trying to swap her ladder with his every time she wasn’t looking as they hammered shingles onto the newly extended coop roof.

  She made a note to ask the mercantile owner if she could flip through his catalogs to see if stepladders with similar folding abilities and safety latches already existed. She’d waste no more time reinventing things if she could help it.

  Closing her notebook, she looked at the leg replica she’d finished for Nolan yesterday. Though it looked nearly the same as the one in the brochure, appearances weren’t everything. What if Nolan put it on and abandoned it the next day?

  She shook her head. It either worked or it didn’t. Prototypes were made to show whether an idea had merit or not. Failure happened.

  And yet, she didn’t want to fail him. But no new ideas were coming to her on how to improve it. Time to give it to him.

  Whether it ended up making walking easier for him or not, he’d be grateful. He’d likely show it off proudly, just like this morning when he’d taken an unexpected visitor to see the improvements she’d made to the coop. He dropped compliments about her in front of others without the slightest hint of flattery or patronizing.

  He acted as if his pan were overflowing with gold because he’d married her, but he wasn’t the richest one in this partnership. When had Randolph ever made dinner so she could spend an extra hour on her own projects? Nolan wasn’t even exasperated with her—like Kurt had been—when she spent time tinkering instead of cleaning.

  When had her father ever excused her from a chore because he could tell she needed a rest? Granted, she had a doctor’s excuse now, but even if she didn’t, Nolan would probably still take over the evening cleanin
g to give her a break if he thought her tired.

  He was the type of man who’d voluntarily take every other dirty nappy.

  Corinne rubbed against her itchy eyes.

  She liked to tell herself her disastrous relationships had been a godsend because she’d not gotten herself stuck in a marriage that would eventually turn cold. But why didn’t that knowledge make her feel better right now?

  Oh, to dream about what it would be like with Nolan—but those dreams could only be dreams. She could not survive being found disappointing again, especially now that she was actually married. Oh, they could “separate,” but she just couldn’t live with taking money from a man who didn’t want her. They would be happier in the long run if they remained business partners.

  She needed to subdue these impossible longings, but she’d forgotten how strong attraction could be. She stood and shook her hands, as if she could rid herself of her desires by shaking them out through her fingers.

  After tidying up, she grabbed Nolan’s leg and marched out the cabin door and toward the house. The sun was setting, making the horse tied near the well house a fuzzy black silhouette.

  A visitor? That could be good. She could sneak inside, zip upstairs, and put Nolan’s leg on the bed rather than endure his praise in front of their guest. And if she acted at all like she wasn’t worthy of being thanked, he’d peer into her eyes in an effort to convey his sincerity. He’d likely gaze long enough that the gold webbing behind the intricate green lacework of his eyes would steal her breath away.

  She pushed the back door open slowly, which only made the whine last longer. She should have greased the hinges.

  Unfortunately, Nolan’s guest was in the kitchen with him—Matt.

  No escape.

  Nolan’s face brightened. “Have you finished?”

  She resisted the urge to hide his leg behind her back. “I think so.”

  Matt glanced between the leg Nolan wore and the one she held. “Did you buy another?”

  “No, Corinne made it.” Nolan’s relieved countenance likely had nothing to do with her project being completed, but getting out of his conversation with Matt.

  “She made that?” Matt’s expression was more like what she expected of men—disbelief, suspicion.

  “I told you she was talented. You should see what she’s doing with the coop.”

  Which was harder to endure? Matt’s spitefulness or Nolan’s pride? She could not let herself like her husband any more than she already did.

  Nolan handed Matt the replica leg as if presenting a prized gun or knife.

  Matt frowned as he turned it over in his hands. “So this is what she’s been wasting her time doing in that cabin?”

  She blinked. Who’d complained to him about that? Not Nolan—at least not in such a dismissive tone. And though the men knew she was out there a lot, why would they have talked to Matt? They all seemed to share an aversion for Nolan’s cousin.

  “What’s so special about this leg that it wouldn’t be easier to order a new one?” Matt handed Nolan the leg, not even glancing at her.

  “Well, it’s—”

  “It’s a replica.” She stepped between the two men, arms crossed. “An attempt to save money.”

  Matt’s usual smirk settled into place between his ostentatious muttonchops, fluffed to their fullest this evening. “I’d gotten the impression people thought you were an inventor.”

  “She practically did invent this.” Nolan pointed the leg at his cousin. “Before I showed her the illustration, she’d created one almost like it. And she has a whole notebook full of ideas neither one of us has enough imagination to dream up.”

  Matt’s brows rose as if Nolan was spinning yarns. He gave her a sidelong glance, then spied the notebook in her hand.

  She put her work behind her back. The desire to shove illustrations under his nose and dare him to dismiss her ideas had to be resisted. If any man would steal an idea of hers and try to pawn it off as his own, it’d be Matt.

  “I consider myself more of a tinkerer,” she breathed, congratulating herself for sounding civil.

  “But—”

  “Go.” She gestured for Nolan to head upstairs. “Put it on and show him how well it works.” So much for being a humble tinkerer.

  As he headed for the stairs, she crossed the kitchen and pulled down the tea service to put some space between her and their visitor. “You want tea?”

  “Nolan already offered.”

  Guess that meant no. “Hope you don’t mind if I make myself a cup.”

  He didn’t respond, but instead, tipped his head as if inspecting her. She turned her back to him. Maybe he’d take himself off to the parlor.

  “So you’re spending a lot of time in that cabin inventing.”

  Since he wasn’t asking a question, she acknowledged him with a shrug, and poured hot water over her strainer.

  “I find that odd.”

  “I realize most men believe women’s brains are incapable of thinking of anything other than babies and housekeeping.”

  “That’s not what I meant. Rather, I find it strange a newlywed bride spends most of her time doing something other than making her new husband happy.”

  She forced herself not to react to what he couldn’t know was more perceptive than his usual self-serving observations.

  “What kinds of things are you inventing other than legs? Teacups that hold your pinky out for you? Pretty curtain rods?”

  She swallowed her sigh. “Projects that would appeal to both sexes and would actually be useful.”

  “Like what?”

  Even if she listed off her most promising ideas, he’d still mock… And yet, she kept her face turned from him so she’d not give in to the desire to sneer at him. “Things like a coal lamp incubator, an egg candler, a stepladder.”

  He scoffed—as she knew he would. “Those things exist already.”

  “I hope to improve them.”

  Nolan’s thumping down the stairs would soon prove her abilities or make Matt scoff all the more.

  Her husband’s smile when he stepped into the kitchen made all the tension in her chest float away.

  The jaunty way he walked was a bit unnatural, but his steps seemed smoother. He paced the floor, demonstrating the knee joint’s bending ability. “It’s definitely better than my other one.”

  Matt’s muttonchops wriggled as he seemed to be gritting his teeth. “New things often hold appeal, but the test of time will show—”

  “If anyone’s qualified to decide if one artificial leg is better than another,” Nolan huffed, stopping to glare at his cousin, “It’s me.”

  Matt shrugged. “Well, if it is, I’m glad of it. Your wife can help pad the coffers by giving you things to patent. My father—”

  “No man will patent my inventions, thank you very much.” She let her sugar spoon drop onto the counter and glared at Matt like her husband was.

  Matt looked to Nolan, his brows raised, as if to ask if he was going to allow his wife to speak for herself.

  Nolan didn’t say a thing.

  “Well, I’ve got to get back to Armelle before the sun sets. Good night.” Matt snatched up his hat and left.

  The minute the front door shut behind him, Corinne let out a long exhale. “Why did he come out here? Just to pick a fight?”

  Nolan crossed over to peer out the window. “He’d heard about my oats going bad and had the gall to come out and advise me to fire my men. Said that’s what he’d do if he were running the place.”

  The oats had gone bad? “So should you fire someone?”

  Nolan shook his head. “If one of my men were responsible, I’d give them a second chance since it isn’t a recurring problem. But I have a feeling.” He put a hand to the back of his neck. “Though it makes no sense, I think Matt’s behind the oats, along with the fence cutting, though I have no idea why.”

  “How else would he know what happens around here unless he’s behind it?”

 
; “Rascal goes to the saloons on the weekends to chat. Matt might have overheard him say something.” Nolan came back to grab the tea tin. “I’m going to ask around town tomorrow if Matt’s been looking for land or just hanging around poker tables. I can’t think of how sabotaging the ranch would benefit him other than the thrill of punishing me for keeping the land from him. And if he thinks I’d sell because of a string of bad luck, that only proves he shouldn’t spend a dime purchasing his own place.”

  “Perhaps he’s doing it so he can point out to others how he would’ve run the place better?”

  Nolan pursed his lips as he poured his tea. “Possible. The man can’t stand not being better than everyone else—at least in his own eyes.”

  “Are you sure you don’t want to make him mad enough he’ll leave you alone?”

  “I can’t say I don’t occasionally think of doing so, but no. I respect his father enough not to punch his son’s lights out.” He gave her a silly smile, then stuck out his new leg. “This is extraordinary. Don’t let Matt’s derision make you doubt your abilities. He’s probably just miffed a woman can do something he can’t.”

  “Well, thank you. Though he’s right about taking time to test something before making a final judgment. Don’t shy away from telling me if it causes you pain or is difficult to maneuver. I’ve scrapped plenty of things I thought were perfect only to realize later they wouldn’t last.”

  “Fair enough. But the leg is certainly better than what he or I could’ve done.” He leaned casually against the counter with his cup of tea. “Did I hear you say you’ve designed a stepladder and an incubator?”

  “Yes.” She stared down into her cup. How awful he must feel that she’d told his puffed-up cousin more about her ideas than him. But as always, he didn’t appear ruffled.

  “Do you think your things might be worthy of that fair Annie mentioned?”

  She took her first sip of tea and winced as she forced herself to swallow the too hot liquid. “The stepladder maybe, but I’d want to build one to test it out.”

  “Shouldn’t you get a patent right away? I don’t know how any of that works.”