Heartbreak Creek

by Kaki Warner

  Bagley nodded. “The nigger.”

  Edwina started forward again, then stopped abruptly when Declan turned and looked at her. He didn’t speak. Just looked. But his expression was one she had never seen on his face before, and it sent a shiver up her back. She retreated a step, then another. “I’ll wait outside,” she mumbled, then whirled and fled the shop.

  But she didn’t go far, and as soon as the door closed behind her, she edged back, positioning herself so she could watch them through the front window.

  There wasn’t much to see. Declan did most of the talking. Cal Bagley did most of the nodding. By the time her husband turned and waved her back inside, the shopkeeper was sweating like a field hand and wearing a sickly grin.

  As she approached the counter, Declan looked around and asked the shopkeeper if he had any dolls in the store.

  “Dolls?”

  “My wife wants to buy one for Brin.”

  “A doll? For Brin? What for?” A nervous laugh that quickly faded. “Bottom shelf.” He waved them toward the back wall. “Or I have another jackknife like the one she broke last Christmas.”

  Astonished, Edwina looked back over her shoulder at Declan as they headed toward the rear of the store. “You let a six-year-old have a knife?”

  “Just get the doll,” he muttered, using his bulk to herd her down the aisle.

  “How many stitches did Joe Bill end up needing?” Cal Bagley called after them. “Must have been half a dozen.”

  Declan didn’t answer.

  There were only two forlorn rag dolls that must have been gathering dust on the shelf for over a year. Edwina picked the less faded and went on to select a shirt for each of the boys. After Declan paid, they finally made their escape, Declan loaded with her parcels as well as his.

  “What a nasty little man,” Edwina muttered, trying to keep up with her husband’s long stride.

  “He’s just a wad of hair with teeth stuck in it. Harmless.”

  “Tell Pru that.”

  He glanced over at her from beneath the brim of his hat. “You seem more upset than she was. You’re protective of her, aren’t you?”

  Edwina shrugged. “She’s very dear to me. Can we slow down?”

  He did, and after a moment Edwina was able to catch her breath. As they neared the hotel, she slowed even more and finally stopped. “Is there someplace we could talk, Declan? Somewhere other than the hotel?”

  “Talk about what? If this is about me running you out of the store—”

  “How about over there?” she cut in, pointing across the street to a bench outside an empty storefront with a giant tooth painted across the cracked window.

  With ill-concealed reluctance, he led her through a maze of horse droppings, then up onto the opposite boardwalk. Once she and the parcels were settled on the bench, he leaned a shoulder against a post supporting the overhang and thrust his hands into the back pockets of his trousers . . . an action that pulled the shirt so tight across his chest the top button of his collar slipped loose to expose a sprinkle of dark hair.

  Edwina thought of Shelly’s hairless chest and looked away.

  For a moment, neither spoke. Then he said, “If this is about that comment last night . . .” He let the sentence hang.

  Not wanting to make it easy, she simply raised her brows and waited.

  “It’s a small house,” he went on when she didn’t speak. “Hardly room for the kids, much less Thomas and the other men.”

  She continued to smile and wait.

  “Besides, I didn’t know what shape it would be in. As it was, took us over an hour to clear out the mouse nests and spiderwebs.” When that still got no response, he pulled his hand from his back pocket, rubbed a knuckle under his jaw where the barber had nicked him, and sighed. “You’re part of the family, Ed. You and Miss Lincoln, both. I didn’t mean to make you think you weren’t.”

  Not much of an apology, but then, he was a man. “Thank you, Declan.”

  With a look of relief, he straightened from the post.

  “And now,” she said, “there are some things I need to discuss with you, if I may.”

  He groaned. Not aloud, but she knew him well enough now to hear what he didn’t say almost as clearly as what he did. Settling back against the post, he folded his arms over his chest, crossed one ankle over the other and waited.

  Now that she had his attention, nerves almost overcame her. But this was important, so she took a deep breath, exhaled, and jumped in. “My first marriage was a failure. I blamed myself for that, convinced the reason my husband couldn’t love me properly was because he found me unattractive. Which apparently, he did, but not in the way I thought.”

  There. That wasn’t so hard. Although judging by her husband’s expression, she might not have explained it as well as she should.

  She took another breath. This time when she exhaled, she felt a bit steadier. “But that’s all in the past,” she went on. “I’m wiser now. My expectations are more realistic. So I’ve decided to put aside my doubts and give this marriage a real chance.”

  “Doubts about what?”

  “You . . . know.”

  His expression said he didn’t.

  She cleared her throat. “Consummation.”

  “Consummation?”

  “What I mean is—”

  “I know what it means, Ed.”

  “Well then.” She shifted on the bench and tried to ignore the unladylike sweat dampening her gloves. “Toward that end, and before we . . . you know . . .”

  “Commence consummation?”

  “Yes, that.” She smoothed a wrinkle on her skirt. “I’m hoping you might answer a few questions for me. Just to be certain we’re compatible, of course.”

  “Of course.”

  His tone brought her head up. “Don’t you laugh at me, Declan. This is serious.”

  “I can see that. Ask your questions.”

  “There are only a few.” Pulling from her skirt pocket the list and a stub of pencil, she spread the paper on her knees, careful not to smudge the script with her rampant perspiration. With pencil poised, she read off item number one. “Do you have feelings for anyone else, man or woman?”

  “Feelings?”

  “Amorous feelings.”

  He straightened off the post. “For a man? Is this a joke?”

  She glanced up, saw the thunder in his eyes, and felt more perspiration gather under the brim of her black horsehair bonnet. “Well, no. But I’ve seen how close you are to Thomas and—”

  “Good God.”

  “I’ll mark that as a ‘No.’ ” Which she did with a shaky x. Now for a hard one. Putting on a bland smile, as if it wasn’t the most audacious question she had ever put to a man, she asked, “Are you attracted to me?”

  He blinked.

  “I know I’m rather thin. And my, um, attributes are not as fulsome as one might hope, but—”

  Deep laughter cut her off.

  “Please, Declan. Don’t make this harder for me than it already is.”

  He sobered. “Your attributes are fine, Ed.”

  She let her shoulders relax. “You’re sure? Truly?”

  He gave it some thought. “I guess to be truly sure I’d have to see them first.” And the wretched man actually looked at her breasts as if expecting her to expose them for his perusal.

  Restraining the urge to kick him in the shin, she breathed through her nose and strove for serenity. “I think not.”

  “Perhaps later, then.”

  What? Later? Later when?

  “Do you find me attractive?” he asked.

  Forcing her thoughts away from all the lurid imaginings the word “later” had conjured, she made a shaky offhand gesture. “When you smile, perhaps. You have a lovely smile, Declan. You should use it more often.”

  “I’ll remember that.” He relaxed back against the post.

  A cool gust of manure-scented air swept over them. The followme-boys streamers hanging from her hat f
luttered and stuck to her damp neck. “Number three. Do you want children?”

  “I better, since I have four.”

  “What I mean is, do you want more children. With me. Us. Together.” She waited, her cheeks burning, the pencil stub poised.

  Again, he didn’t answer. When she looked up to see why, she found his amused expression had been replaced by something else, something she couldn’t define.

  “I’m guessing you don’t,” he finally said.

  “Well, no.”

  “I see.”

  It saddened her to watch that shutter come down again. “No, Declan, I don’t think you do.” She had hoped to avoid telling him this, but he had a right to know the truth, and if this marriage was to work, there must be no secrets between them. “The thing is, I’m fairly certain madness runs in our family.”

  He didn’t seem surprised, which was a little insulting.

  She pressed on anyway. “And although I love children and would have liked to have my own, I don’t want to pass down tainted blood.”

  “Who’s mad?”

  “My cousin Tremont for one. He’s partial to ball gowns. Aunt Queenie giggles constantly, and another cousin carries a stuffed cat with him wherever he goes. And perhaps my mother.” Then because she didn’t want to discuss the cruelties of her childhood, she quickly moved on. “One last question and we’re done. It’s not really a question, I guess. More like a request. A stipulation, if you will. Or perhaps a—”

  “Just say it, Ed.”

  She looked down at her hands and was surprised to see she had crumpled the paper into a twisted mess. She tried to smooth it out, smudged the writing, and gave up. This was the most difficult to say, but it was important that she make herself very clear and that he understand this was not something open to discussion. Lifting her head, she met his gaze without wavering. “You mustn’t hit me, Declan. Ever.”

  “Hit you?” He shoved away from the post.

  Sensing an outburst, she hurried on. “I don’t know—nor do I want to know—what happened in your first marriage. But if you raise your hand against me, Declan, I’ll leave you and never look back. I swear it.”

  For a moment he stood stock-still. Then with a sudden sharp inhale, he seemed to expand, grow taller, swell up like a dog raising its hackles. “You think I hurt my wife? That’s why she left?”

  “I-I don’t know, Declan. I’m just saying—”

  “I hear what you’re saying! Damnit, Ed!” He spun away, took two steps, then whirled back. “Yes, she left because of me,” he said savagely. “But not because I hit her. I would never hit a woman!”

  “Even if she was unfaithful?”

  An ugly look came over his face. “I see your friends have been carrying tales.” He bent over her, hands planted low on his belt, his lips pulled back from his teeth. “Well, here’s a new one. One that hasn’t made the rounds yet. One I’m sure your friends will delight in passing along. I knew my wife was seeing another man. I knew she was leaving me. Hell, I gave her money to do it.” He straightened. “Any other questions?”

  “Why?”

  “Why the money? So she wouldn’t take the children with her.”

  “No, why did she leave you?”

  The question sent him back a step. “Hell if I know. She cared for him. He cared for her.”

  “And you didn’t.”

  “I never hit her, Ed. Ever.”

  Edwina knew there were other ways a man could hurt a woman besides using his fists. But she had already learned more than she wanted to about the sad state of Declan’s first marriage, so she didn’t press it.

  “Now I have a question for you,” he said.

  Edwina nodded.

  “Was your husband the one who hurt you?”

  “Shelly? No. Shelly would never hurt me.”

  “Then why are you afraid of me?”

  “I’m not afraid of you.” And wouldn’t admit it if she were.

  “No? Then what?”

  She was sweating like a racehorse now, and every word out of her mouth seemed to leave her breathless, no matter how much air she gulped in. “It . . . the . . . you know . . . didn’t go well with my first husband.”

  “Consummation?”

  She nodded, her cheeks burning. Never in her deepest nightmares had she ever thought to discuss such a thing with a man.

  “And you’re thinking it’ll be the same with me?”

  She shrugged. “Perhaps. I don’t know.”

  He laughed out loud. Not in derision but in genuine amusement that such a thing could even be possible. “Trust me, Ed. You’ll like it.”

  So arrogant. Yet she liked that. She liked that he wasn’t tentative or unsure as Shelly had been. She liked that he found her attractive despite her lack of attributes. And she especially liked to hear him laugh.

  “If you say so,” she said demurely.

  Which made him laugh again. “You are by far the most confounding woman I have ever come across. You done with your list?”

  “For now.”

  “Good.” Pulling from his pocket a small wad of tissue, he thrust it toward her. “I got this in the ladies’ store. Thought you might want to wear it to the shivaree you’re forcing me to take you to.”

  The ladies’ store that catered to men? With some trepidation, Edwina took the packet from his grip. Opening the tissue, she found a long white satin ribbon embroidered with an intricate ivy design in gold thread, dotted with clusters of tiny white beads. “Why, Declan, this is beautiful. You got this for me?”

  “No, I got it for Thomas, but he decided to wear a war bonnet instead.”

  A laugh burst from her. “You’ll never forgive me for that comment, will you?” Bemused, she played the sleek ribbon through her fingers. “This is lovely.” And it was. Delicate and feminine and not at all what one might expect from such a shop.

  “You said females liked pretty things.”

  She smiled up at him, surprised that he remembered their conversation on the long wagon ride into town. “I have just the dress to wear this with. Thank you.”

  “You like it?”

  “I do. Very much.”

  “Show me. Stand up.”

  Heat rushed into her cheeks. She glanced around, but the boardwalk was deserted except for two old men playing checkers outside the assay office at the other end of the street. Feeling scandalized, but deliciously so, she slowly rose from the bench.

  He came forward to meet her, stopping when they stood less than a foot apart and her forehead was level with his chin. Which put her vision in line with the faint pulse that fluttered in the hollow at the base of his throat and the crisp dark hairs that showed in the vee of his shirt that was gaping just enough that she could almost—

  “Kiss me, Ed.”

  Her gaze flew up. “K-Kiss you? Here? Now?” She glanced at the men bent over the checkerboard, then back to his smiling mouth, where the tips of white teeth showed behind lips that moved to form a word she scarcely heard until it was repeated again louder.

  “Now, Ed.”

  “But someone will see us.”

  “Then they’ll have something to gossip about, won’t they? Kiss me.”

  She stared at his lips. Dare she? Perhaps a quick “thank you” kiss. That’s all. No more.

  Astounded by her own audacity, she rose on tiptoe, lifted her face, and pressed her mouth to his. It was startling and electrifying and—

  Shocked, she jerked back. “Was that . . . did you just put your tongue in my mouth?”

  Laughter rumbled out on a rush of warm breath that fluttered her eyelashes and tickled her cheek. She smelled coffee. Barber’s talc. Declan.

  Imaginings of “later” suddenly filled her mind.

  She stepped back, her knees wobbling beneath her. It was too much. Too fast. She felt so off balance and out of breath she thought if she didn’t sit down, she might faint.

  Instead, she fled. “Pru and I will see you later,” she called back as she ho
pped off the boardwalk and into the street, barely missing a well-seasoned pile of droppings. “Eight o’clock sharp in the lobby.”

  She refrained from running. But just as she reached the boardwalk on the other side of the street, she paused and glanced back.

  He was standing where she’d left him, his weight on one hip, his hands low on his hips. Watching her. And smiling.

  Which made her smile.

  Eleven

  By eight o’clock, Edwina had received enough instruction to fill a book. How to flirt. How to charm. How to bring Declan to his knees in quivering lust. A horrifying image. Maddie’s, of course. For a proper Englishwoman, she had a rather unfettered imagination. No doubt the artist in her. Angus must have been a cold stick, indeed, to walk away from such a lovely and lively woman.

  But it wasn’t lust Edwina wanted to inspire. And she certainly didn’t need instruction in flirting; that was something at which she heartily excelled. Instead, her apprehensions all centered on what came after the flirting. That “later” part Declan had alluded to.

  And yet . . .

  Sometimes when she looked at her husband, or when he looked at her, the air all around them seemed to grow so thin she felt like she was floating above the ground in a whirlwind of confused emotion and tingling nerves and unformed wants. That was the part she didn’t understand. The part that both terrified her and pulled her closer, until sometimes just standing beside Declan made her chest hurt and her throat so tight she could scarcely swallow.

  It was absurd, really. She was far too old for such adolescent foolishness. She had certainly never felt that with Shelly or any of her other youthful beaux. And it didn’t seem entirely proper that she should feel it so strongly for Declan, who was almost a stranger despite being her husband.

  And yet, sometimes when she looked at him . . .

  “He’s here,” Lucinda said from the window, jarring Edwina’s thoughts back on track. “And looking quite smart. Are you ready?”

  For what? But if there was one thing Edwina Ladoux Brodie did especially well, it was masking her fears behind a pleasant smile, which she did now. “Yes, I’m ready.”

  “Put this on.”

  Standing patiently, she allowed Maddie to drape her shoulders with Lucinda’s merino shawl with its delicate fringe—which they had all decided was the perfect complement to her cornflower blue dress with the white trim and scalloped hem—which was the perfect complement to the ribbon Declan had given her—which had taken an hour and three pairs of hands to weave through the elaborate curls gathered at the back of her neck.