Pretending to Wed

by Melissa Jagears

  Nolan closed the newest copy of The Prairie Farmer—which pain and sheer exhaustion had kept him from focusing on anyway—and tossed the periodical on the floor. “I’m heading upstairs.”

  He hesitated a moment before pushing himself out of the chair. He did need help with his leg … but just couldn’t ask. He took up his crutches and bid her a soft goodnight.

  She’d been right earlier—he needed her. But at no time during her impassioned speech had she mentioned needing him.

  She had said she needed to earn her keep, but now that he knew how smart she was, she would’ve figured out how to save the laundry on her own. Once she sold one of her inventions for good money, she’d realize she didn’t need him at all.

  And yet, he’d still need her.

  At the top of the stairs, he paused for a short rest.

  Dad had been wrong to force him into a marriage to be sure someone was there to take care of him. Hiring a nurse, as he’d always insisted, would’ve worked much better. Because a wife? She’d be around forever. And he didn’t want to be her burden, her project, her patient.

  After getting ready for bed, he attempted his stretches as best he could.

  A light tap on the door made him pause. Was that a knock?

  “Nolan?”

  He sat up on the mattress and slipped under the blankets. “Yes?”

  She pushed the door open, the glow of the lamplight golden amid her loose blond hair.

  She was too pretty by half.

  “Leah told me the Hendrixes have been out of state, looking at polo ponies.”

  He froze.

  “Which means you haven’t had anyone do your stretches for a week now. Why didn’t you ask me?”

  He crossed his arms and sighed. If Dad were still alive, he’d have been right behind Corinne, arms crossed like his, calling him out for being stubborn.

  Was Corinne right? Had Dad forced him into marriage, not because he believed him incompetent, but because he loved him?

  Dad could’ve just simply said so. Although Corinne’s theory might explain his father’s crazy will, that didn’t make it true. If Dad had only once told him he loved him, once said he was proud of him—maybe he could believe the man had forced him into this because of love.

  Corinne stood in the doorway, clearly exasperated with him.

  Love didn’t drive her either, profitability did, and his wellbeing was a part of that. Craving love from his father had only made him miserable, so he shouldn’t do the same with Corinne.

  “All right.” He huffed. “Would you please help me with my leg?”

  Considering he’d nearly fallen asleep taking off his boots, her hands shouldn’t have an effect on him.

  “Good.” She slipped into the room and closed the door. Yet, she didn’t come closer. Why did she appear conflicted all of a sudden?

  After a few moments, she walked over. “You need to lie back and come out from under the covers.”

  He did as instructed, pretending he was answering to Mrs. Ellis in one of the doctor’s rooms lit by noonday sun rather than in his bedroom filled with candlelight while Corinne looked like an angel at his side.

  The moment she touched him, he closed his eyes and imagined himself flat on a hard examination table.

  Ouch! He tried his hardest not to flinch. Her fingers were about as unforgiving as Doctor Ellis’s. She’d evidently paid close attention to his instructions, and now that her hands were feeling better, she must be able to press harder than the last time.

  Though the doctor always insisted it was better if he relaxed, his every muscle tensed. He breathed through his teeth to keep from making any noise that would make him sound weak.

  After about twenty minutes, he was trying to calculate how many days were left until Jacob’s return. He’d been much, much gentler.

  Either that, or he’d been too easy on him and had done him little good.

  With one final push, Corinne lowered his shortened appendage and covered it with his blanket. She patted his leg lightly. “How does that feel?”

  He kept his eyes closed. His leg was in more pain than it had been in all day. But it was a good pain, hopefully. “It’s fine. Thank you.”

  She moved to sit beside him. “Nolan, I…”

  He took her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “If it seems I’m hurting more than I did earlier, don’t worry about it. After the doctor gets through with me, I feel just like this. It takes some time.”

  She fidgeted. “What I wanted to say was I’m sorry I got angry at you earlier about being stubborn. Since you’ve been so good to make sure I can do as I please, I want to be sure you can, too.”

  “I understand. I’ll try not to be so hard-headed about it in the future.” He squeezed her hand again and closed his eyes with a contented sigh. She was indeed the perfect wife.

  “Goodnight, Nolan.” Her free hand pressed against his chest, and then her lips lighted upon his.

  His eyes startled open for a second, his body frozen.

  She pulled her other hand from his grasp and placed it against the side of his face. With the same tenderness he’d kissed her with weeks ago, she moved her mouth against his.

  He relaxed and combed his hand into her hair, letting himself enjoy her sweet kiss.

  Maybe he wasn’t just another one of her projects. Maybe one day she’d not offer to endure making love to him. He only had to be patient.

  When she broke away, he smiled, his hand still entangled in her curls. “Goodnight, sweetheart. And thank you.”

  She didn’t reply, but leaned back down and kissed him again—and this time, sweet was not the word to describe it. Her lips and hands explored with a hunger.

  His heart rate ramped, his lungs worked double time, and his hands took on a mind of their own.

  Then she got closer—much closer.

  She didn’t pull away until he was drunk on the feel of her.

  How were they supposed to live under the same roof after that? “I want … more,” he breathed, unable to suppress a shudder.

  Though she responded without words, he was left in no doubt she wanted more as well—much more.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Nolan’s breathing had slowed, deepened, and now rumbled with the soft rattle of sleep.

  With imperceptible movements, Corinne wriggled herself closer to the edge of the bed and out from under the covers. Sitting up, she let her head sink into her hands.

  What had she done?

  Gathering up her clothing, she held them against her and slipped out of the room.

  After walking down the hallway and closing her bedroom door as quietly as possible, she sank onto her bed and let silent tears fall.

  What a fool she’d been as a young woman. Kurt had declared his undying love without the commitment to prove it true, and she’d fallen for it. He’d promised her the world and never delivered in any way. She’d played wife in every sense, trying her hardest to make him happy until her heart couldn’t take it anymore. Once she’d let her dissatisfaction be known, Kurt was done.

  From then on, he’d felt free from trying to make her happy. Finally taking the easy way out by looking for someone who’d be happy without asking for more than he was willing to give.

  But Nolan? She’d married a man who’d committed to her without a profession of love. And in one night, he’d proven he loved her. Not by successfully making her body react as she’d once hoped it would, no—that hadn’t happened. But because he’d spent time trying.

  Even now, her body felt warm with the memory of the gentleness of his caresses, the wonder in his eyes, the time he’d taken to express how lovely he thought she was.

  She wrapped her arms tight around herself.

  Despite the pain wracking his leg, despite the fact he could’ve taken what he desired and gone to sleep—Nolan had spent time doing what she could only describe as cherishing her. Without saying a word, it was clear he loved her.

  Did he realize it yet? Or wa
s he trying to honor her wishes by not turning this marriage into a romance?

  Perhaps she was no good at determining whether a man loved her or not—she’d once thought Kurt and Randolph had. Though whatever Nolan felt for her right now was ten times closer to love than whatever those two had shown her.

  And yet, though she’d told herself not to expect anything other than what she’d experienced with Kurt, she had hoped things would be different when she’d climbed into bed with Nolan. Her mind, her heart, her everything longed to sing, but like so many years ago, her body’s reactions did not match up with her desire to enjoy a man’s—and this time an honest-to-goodness husband’s—intimate embrace.

  She had nearly cried at the disappointment. Her heart might’ve been moved by his attentiveness, but her body had been frustrated, like a child who’d finally been taken to the fair only to realize she wasn’t allowed to do anything but sit behind a booth and watch everyone else have fun.

  If her heart had been broken after Kurt’s kind of love had grown cold after he’d realized she didn’t respond to his touch…

  She burrowed under the blankets on her bed and pressed her face deep into her pillow. She couldn’t stay up all night trying to figure out what to do when there wasn’t anything she could do. She’d learned that full well when she’d done everything she could to respond as Kurt had wished all those years ago.

  The chiming of the clock downstairs marked off the half hour, and she willed herself to fall asleep before the hour chimed again.

  After two hours passed, her pillows, despite being plumped and re-plumped and flattened and rolled, were simply unbearable.

  She stared out the window, waiting for the subtle glow of orange and pink to take over the black of night. A few times her eyelids felt heavy enough to win the war, but her brain kept pestering her back into consciousness.

  The moment the shadows lightened enough to outline her furniture, she tossed her blankets and punched her arms into the sleeves of her dressing gown.

  She could shut off her mind better if she were cooking breakfast, polishing silverware, organizing spices, making lots of coffee—something other than lying here trying not to think.

  At least one good thing had come from not sleeping, she’d be downstairs before Nolan awoke and realized she hadn’t stayed beside him.

  In the kitchen, she tied back the curtains despite the lack of sunlight, fired up a few lamps, and looked at the clock. She couldn’t start breakfast now or it’d be cold by the time the men came in. Since Nolan tended to sleep longer than most, the men did lots of chores before eating.

  Sitting down with the silverware, she began to polish. She placed them in piles as noiselessly as possible so as not to wake Nolan.

  When dawn overtook the sky, she caught sight of Timothy leading his horse out of the barn, the dog at his heels. She packed away the triple-polished utensils and forged out into the crisp morning to get eggs and cream for breakfast.

  When she left the cellar, the muffled voices of Rascal and Abel in the barn, mixed with the nickering horses, initially drew her attention, but then the subtle clomp of hooves and the crunch of wheels made her walk to the barn’s other side to see who was traveling on the road this early in the morning.

  In the rosy eastern light, a buggy was silhouetted against the sun, now shining horizontally across the expanse of swaying prairie grass.

  Hopefully Matt wasn’t returning with his fiancée. But who else drove a buggy this far out of town? A neighbor would be riding up fast this early on a lone horse, possibly a wagon, but not a buggy.

  The horse and conveyance rolled up to the house, and a hefty man who somehow seemed familiar stepped down as he muttered to his horse.

  She’d definitely not met this man before, but yet something…

  She walked toward him, tying her wrapper tighter. She should be better dressed to greet their visitor, but she wasn’t about to let this stranger out of her sight.

  The morning light was enough to make out his fine suit, shiny shoes, and watch chain. His hat looked stiff and new.

  A lawyer Matt had sent up from Denver?

  Her heart fluttered. What other possibility was there?

  The man brushed his suit and turned, startling upon seeing her. “Oh, good morning. I didn’t see you come out.” He straightened his shoulders and looked her up and down. “I’d heard Nolan married, but I’d not expected you to be as good looking as you are.”

  She narrowed her eyes at him. “I don’t think we’ve met.”

  “Matthias Key, Sr. at your service.” He came forward and tipped his hat, his well-tailored suit coat stretched across his broad chest. “I’m your uncle.”

  Hadn’t Nolan said Matt’s father liked him more than his own son? Yet this man had been surprised Nolan had married a decent-looking woman. Maybe Nolan had more than one uncle. “Are you Matt’s father?”

  He stiffened, his smile disappearing. “Yes.” He sniffed and looked up at the house. “Is Nolan up yet?”

  “No.” She gestured to the front door. “We can go in and wait for him, if you’d like.”

  “That’ll be fine.” His confident steps indicated he’d indeed been here before.

  She tried not to scowl at his back as she followed him through her own house. It was obvious now where Matt’s high-handed manners came from. Matthias Key, Sr. hadn’t even asked her name.

  When they entered the kitchen, she skirted around him to set down the eggs and cream. “Shall I get you coffee?”

  He shook his head while taking a seat at the table, leaning back in the simple chair as if it were cushioned.

  “I’ll go see if Nolan—”

  “Stay.” He held up a hand. “I want to talk to you before he comes down. For a woman to have convinced my nephew to marry, he’ll undoubtedly praise you to the heavens. But I’d like to make my own assessment.”

  As bossy as that had sounded, his tone was certainly less condescending than his son’s. A hint of warmth had even colored his voice, as if he expected to find her praiseworthy.

  “Do you mind if I start cooking breakfast? Have you eaten?”

  “As a matter of fact, I haven’t. Nolan makes the best biscuits and gravy, and I was hoping to catch him before he started cooking so I could request that.”

  She’d intended to cook sausage with the eggs, but it wouldn’t be too hard to change plans. “I can make biscuits, but I don’t know how Nolan does his gravy. I’ve had it twice now, and you’re right, it’s good. I’ll go get him.”

  “Don’t bother.” Matthias sat back in his chair. “We can wait. No need to rush the genius.”

  The genius?

  “Or maybe it’s you I have to thank for inspiring him. When he sent me his drawings, he wrote about them pretty humbly. Uncalled for modesty. I’ve been peddling wares for more than twenty years, and everything he sent me could potentially reap him a bundle—especially his waterer.”

  Her heart clunked to a stop. His waterer? “You said he sent you his drawings?”

  “Yes.” Matthias reached inside his suit coat and pulled a paper from an inside pocket. He unfolded it atop the table.

  She walked over somehow, barely aware of anything but that paper.

  Those were her designs—not drawn by her hand.

  “This,”—Matthias tapped his index finger against the sketch of her water cover—“should make you two a nice profit once we find someone to put it into production.”

  She scanned the paper looking for anything indicating these were her drawings, but her heart quivered, stalled, then sank to the floor.

  Her name wasn’t anywhere.

  “I don’t know what Nolan’s told you about me, but I’m in charge of distributing wares to mercantiles in the northwest. Our catalog is number two in selling farm equipment.” He smiled as he leaned back. “I’ve got connections to several investor types, but we’ve got to get things patented and produced before—”

  Chuckling, he waved his hands in fron
t of him. “I’m sorry, my dear. You don’t need to look so stricken. I should’ve realized the technicalities wouldn’t interest you. But whether or not you understand anything about business, you should turn that frown upside down. Within a few years, I suspect you’ll be able to buy all the new china and curtains you want.”

  She clenched her hands at her sides, but that was a mistake, because now she felt like punching him—and Nolan.

  How could he?

  “You might even be able to fix this place up nice enough for my son’s fancy fiancée to be jealous. Especially if Nolan has more good ideas like this, as he says he does.”

  “I—” She clamped her lips back together. She’d been about to tell him she had no desire to play host to Lilith again, but what did that matter?

  What mattered was that Nolan, a man she’d let herself care for, had stolen her ideas just like her father had, and was using it for his gain—without her knowledge.

  He must not have realized how quickly his subterfuge would be exposed. “Why didn’t you write Nolan back about these?”

  “I’m on my way to Billings. A few men I’m meeting there might be interested in something like this. We don’t have much time before final decisions are made on what goes into next year’s catalog, and I’d like some of Nolan’s things in it…”

  Matthias’s jovial chatter faded from hearing as her heart beat a rhythm of betrayal in her ears.

  She’d thought Nolan had encouraged her to make prototypes because he’d wished to see her happy.

  Instead, he’d been plotting to steal her ideas out from under her.

  Oh, he might make up an excuse about passing off her inventions as his because it’d be better for business. Or even that he intended to split the profits per their agreement. But to not even discuss it with her? To sell them out from under her?

  And he’d acted as if her father stealing her paint formula had been egregious.

  “Enough of all that,” Matthias’s words broke into her thoughts. “I can see I’ve started talking over your head again. Why don’t we get back to you?”

  Corinne nodded, but only because she couldn’t trust her voice to answer. She headed back to the counter and grabbed an onion.