by E. E. Burke
Charm hadn’t told him everything, but he’d read into what she had said, and it made him sick, and furious. She’d been a victim of the worst sort of man. No wonder she didn’t trust his kind.
He tried to pace. Impossible without stepping on her clothes. Dresses and undergarments lay over the chair and bed, suitcases were open, spewing their contents onto the floor. The room seemed a reflection of her state of mind and situation—confused and messy. He liked order. Keeping things tidy gave him a sense of control. A false sense, of course. Few things were in his control, and Charm wasn’t one of them.
That didn’t change the fact she needed his protection. Even more than he first thought. He couldn’t force her to accept him. She had to come to the decision of her own free will. In order for her to get there, she had to perceive the benefits of marriage. He would have to rely on the wisdom of others who’d been much smarter about relationships.
“My grandfather once told me, People live in each other’s shelter.”
“Another Irish saying?”
“Aye, we’re very wise people. Where do you think Solomon got his proverbs?”
Her guarded expression dissolved into a smile. One barrier down. He didn’t dare go over there and sit beside her, or he would have her in his arms and they would be right back where they’d started.
Needing a distraction, he kept his hands busy, picking up a child-sized boot with jet buttons down the side and searching out its mate. “We supposed to help each other, is what it means. I make my shelter next to yours...” Holding the shoes, he lifted his arms to demonstrate. “You make yours next to mine, and we form a bigger shelter. Get twice the benefit.”
“Or one shoe each,” she quipped.
“Keep your shoes. They won’t fit me.” He placed the tiny boots near the end of the bed.
Good, she was smiling and bantering with him, an improvement over suspicion. “I understand the basic principal, and it’s a nice image, but you’re the only one building a shelter, as far as I can see.”
“That’s not true. I give you my name and the protection marriage affords, and in exchange, you help me keep the saloon.” He hated how selfish that sounded. But after being so hard on her for deceiving him, he refused to be dishonest. What he said was true, just not the only reason he wanted her.
“Keep the saloon?” She propped her hands on the side of the bed, regarding him with puzzlement. “I didn’t know you were in danger of losing it.”
“The brother of the man who sold me this place is contesting my claim. The railroad’s policy gives married men priority. If I’m married, I’ll stand a better chance at keeping my land.” He bent down and moved the suitcase so he would have room to walk around.
Charm slid off the bed. She picked up a dress and walked over to the line of pegs near the door. Reaching high, she hung it up. Was this a sudden outbreak of neatness, or had he embarrassed her by tidying up? The last thing she needed was more guilt.
He grabbed the chair and pulled it over, straddled the cane seat and folded his arms over the back. No more picking up, and the chair would offer a wall of protection she might feel like she needed. “You’ll be helping me, Charm. This isn’t a one-sided deal I’m offering.”
“Why me?” She picked up another dress and hung it by the first. “Why not ask one of the other women if you don’t care who you marry.”
“I do care—” He stopped his tongue before he blurted out just how much he cared. That would send her running because she didn’t share his feelings. At the same time, he didn’t want her to think his intentions were purely mercenary. “It wouldn’t be fair to marry a woman who wants more than a marriage of convenience.”
Charm had her back to him while she fiddled with arranging the dresses on the wall pegs. “Yes, you’re right. They deserve more than that.”
So do you. Patrick clamped his teeth shut to keep from blurting it out. That would give her an excuse not to marry him.
“What’s your reason for not wanting a...a real marriage?” Her voiced sounded strained, but he couldn’t see her face to read her emotions. He refused to talk to her back.
He set the chair aside. Aching with the need to comfort her, he cupped his hands on her shoulders.
She stiffened.
God, he longed to kill the man who’d hurt her and made her afraid.
“It’s all right. I’m not going to do anything, I just want to show you something.” With gentle insistence, he guided her to the window.
“You want to show me the view?”
“Best in town.” He made the quip without feeling humorous. He hadn’t practiced what he would say, only knew he had to lower his barriers so she would lower hers. Telling her about his failed marriage might not convince her to give the institution a try, but she’d risked honesty. Painful honesty. He owed her the same.
“The depot wasn’t here when I first arrived three years ago. Neither was this building. My wife had to live in a sod house.
She turned her head sharply to look up at him.
“Surprised to hear I was married?”
“No, most men marry young...and you aren’t young.”
He laughed, more amused than offended by her blunt remark. When she decided to be honest, she didn’t hold back. “No, I’m not young. But I’m not old, either, unless you consider thirty ancient.”
“I’ll be there in seven years, so no, I don’t consider it old.” Her gaze turned troubled, questioning. “You were telling me about your marriage.”
“After the war, I wed a girl from New York, Kathleen Dooley. Her brother was in my company, one of the few who made it back...” Patrick paused at a wave of melancholy that blew in like dark clouds whenever he thought about the war. “Before we married, I told her of my plans to move west. She was excited, said it’d be a big adventure...”
“What happened to her?”
“She got out here and found she didn’t like adventure. Hated the soddy, hated cooking over an open fire and washing her clothes in a creek. She was scared of the Indians and the wild creatures. She pined for her family and for her friends, and for the nice things she had when she lived in the city. Being her father’s only daughter, she was used to being spoiled, and I didn’t spoil her enough, or so she said. I promised her as soon as the railroad arrived, I’d build a place. But she wanted me to take her home. She didn’t want to live in Kansas. I told her if we went back, we’d never have much. We’d be poor. The opportunity was out here, if she’d just be patient. She wasn’t. She wanted her old life more than she wanted her new one. I took her as far as St. Louis and put her on a train. Six months ago, she wrote to tell me she had our marriage annulled. Claimed I couldn’t give her children.”
Charm put her hand on his arm in a comforting gesture “I’m sorry she left you.”
He hadn’t told her this to gain her sympathy. “She didn’t leave. I let her go. I put her on the train instead of trying harder to make our marriage work. That’s a mistake I won’t make again.”
The soft look in Charm’s eyes encouraged him. He took a chance and reached for what he wanted. She allowed him to draw her into his embrace, and even put her arms around him. He buried his fingers in soft curls and pressed her head against his chest. To have her as his wife, the risk would be worth it. She might never come to love him. One day, she might decide to leave.
He wouldn’t let her go without a fight. “We can be each other’s shelter. Marry me, Juliette DuCharme.”
She backed out of his arms. “I’m not that person anymore.”
“All right, then, Charm...” He got down on one knee, an awkward position because of the pressure on his hip. Nevertheless, he’d do this properly, no matter how painful. “Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”
Her cheeks turned rosy. She tightened the sash on the quilted wrapper and nervously brushed loose hair out of her face. “I’m not dressed for a proposal.”
“Put on a burlap sack, I wouldn’t care.”
; Amusement eased the strain around her eyes and mouth. “You must be very worried about that other claim if you’re willing to take me in a burlap sack.”
He’d take her wearing nothing at all. Probably not the right thing to say.
She gazed out the window, deep in thought. “If I married, I’d want to maintain control over my money.”
In light of what she’d told him, the demand wasn’t surprising. Money wasn’t the issue so much as trust. No matter what he said, she would doubt him, unless he gave her the proof she was looking for.
“We can sign an agreement that says your earnings are your own.”
“You’d do that?” Her incredulous expression told him he was right about her lack of trust. She wouldn’t believe he’d offer such a thing without a fair exchange.
“If you promise to stay with me....” Forever. No, he couldn’t ask her to make a vow she wasn’t ready to keep. “At least until I settle the claim on my land.”
That would give him time to work on getting her to consider forever.
She hesitated. Then, with a look of determination, stuck out her hand. “We have a deal.”
Chapter 8
The wedding took place the next morning in the saloon in front of an itinerate preacher. Constantine and Rose Valentine stood as witnesses. The ceremony was blessedly brief. Afterwards Patrick poured a round of drinks, whiskey for the gentlemen and wine for the ladies.
Charm couldn’t keep her hands from shaking. She was glad to have Rose beside her, even if her statuesque friend outshone her. Rose didn’t put on airs. She didn’t have a prideful bone in her body. Her husband adored her, as he should. Their courtship and marriage had been like something out of a fairy tale. Charm entertained no such fantasies. She had struck a deal with Patrick that was favorable to both of them, for as long as it lasted.
She took a sip of wine to calm her nerves.
Val raised his glass. “A toast to Patrick and Charm...to a lifetime of happiness.”
A drop of wine trickled down her windpipe. She choked, and then coughed uncontrollably.
Patrick pounded her on the back. “Here now, you got to wait for the toasts before you start guzzling.”
She narrowed her eyes. Her husband found her discomfort amusing? If she could catch her breath, she’d let him have it. The false vows they spoke in front of a Man of God, not to mention their best friends, were no laughing matter.
Rose took Charm’s wine and exchanged it for water. “Take a sip, it’ll help.”
“Thank you,” she choked out. While Patrick looked on—still smiling, the smug devil—she took small amounts of water. He’d probably put something in the wine. Some of Mr. Childers’ deadly concoction.
“Let me add my congratulations, Mr. and Mrs. O’Shea.” The Reverend Elijah Stillwater lifted his glass. “Good health, and a long life together.”
“Hear, hear!” Patrick agreed heartily. He tossed back his drink.
Charm merely nodded her head. She still couldn’t speak.
Her husband circled his arm around her waist and leaned in, kissing her cheek. “Better now?” he asked solicitously.
No, she wasn’t better, and she wouldn’t be better until everyone stopped talking about a long, happy marriage. Theirs would be neither.
Somehow, Patrick had convinced her that marrying him was the right thing to do. The argument had sounded rational at the time. Now, she wondered if she might’ve lost touch with reality. She likened being a wife in a temporary marriage to acting a part in a play. Soon, he would secure his land and she would have enough money to move on, and then the show would be over. Only, she’d gotten caught up in the illusion, speaking her vows as if she meant them. At least she hadn’t worn the white dress. Her hypocrisy didn’t extend that far.
“Give me a moment...” She walked away from her husband, needing a moment alone to clear the confusion from her mind.
Rose came over to check on her. “Are you all right?”
“Yes, I’m fine. I just needed to clear my throat.” The lie seemed to reassure her friend, and it was better than telling Rose the ceremony had been a farce.
“Aren’t you wishin’ we could kick up our heels?” Rose began to hum and sway to the music in her head, her leaf green skirt swirling around her feet. “You should’ve asked that nice Mr. Childers to bring his fiddle. He played at the last barn dance. Nobody sat down...”
“If Mr. Childers showed up, Patrick would put the fiddle over his head,” Charm muttered.
“That’s very funny. He’s got no cause to be jealous with the way you look at him. Like he hung the moon...” Rose executed a twirl without spilling her wine.
Charm shook her head. Being in love had affected Rose’s vision, as well as her good sense.
“I think it’s romantic, how you and Mr. O’Shea met.”
“Romantic?” Charm rolled her eyes. “Juliet’s balcony scene is romantic. I applied for a job and had to force him to let me audition.”
“He said you leapt into his arms.”
“In a manner of speaking...” She supposed that might be considered romantic if they had fallen in love, which wasn’t the case.
“Do you recall the day I married, and you loaned me garters?”
“I told you to keep them until the next marriage...” Charm turned her back on the men and drew up her skirt to reveal a red garter. “I didn’t think I would be the one wearing them.”
Rose lifted her glass. “To the Order of the Garter. You said we would stand by each other, come what may. Do you remember?”
Charm released a soft laugh. Her friend must think marriage had affected her memory. “Of course I remember.”
A look of melancholy fell over Rose’s countenance. “I wish you’d invited our friends. I know you think they’ve shunned you, but I can’t believe they meant it, and I know they’ll be sorry they weren’t here today.”
She couldn’t be serious. Wait, this was Rose, who saw the best in everyone.
Charm appreciated her friend’s attempt to bring her back into the fold. In this case, however, her mother had been right. She shouldn’t expect to form lasting friendships with those outside her circle, Rose being the exception. “They won’t be sorry, I assure you. Besides, we wanted a simple ceremony.”
Rose gave her a forgiving smile. Her heart was too full of love to hold grudges or spite or even unhappiness. “I’m glad you asked us to stand with you. Val says Patrick is a good man. I think you’re perfect together.”
“Perfect? I look like a dwarf standing next to him.”
“Not a dwarf. Maybe a faery...” Rose’s green eyes shone with amusement. “Wee faeries have been known to cast spells over mortals they take a fancy to. ”
More fairytales.
“Patrick isn’t spellbound, believe me. He’s a practical man. He’s getting something out of this marriage, and so am I.”
Rose regarded her with a puzzled look.
She didn’t have the heart to tell her romantic friend that Patrick had only married her to secure his land. In a sense, it relieved her to know he didn’t harbor unrealistic expectations. On the other hand, part of her—the soft, vulnerable part she dared not reveal—wished the fairy tale could be true.
“Come back and join the celebration,” Patrick called out, and held up his glass. He gave her a smile that deepened the adorable dimples in his cheeks. The knowing looks he’d been sending her all day made her heart race and her hands tremble.
Before the wedding, he’d whispered in her ear about how much he looked forward to their wedding night. Heaven help her, so did she. She shouldn’t worry, he’d told her. He knew she wasn’t virginal, so his assurance must have something to do with his not being able to sire children. That being the case, she wouldn’t have to worry about getting with child. She should be glad they wouldn’t have that concern. So why did the thought of not carrying his child make her sad?
“Your husband is wanting you by his side...” Rose pointed out with a teasing
smile.
“It won’t hurt him to wait.”
Her friend’s smile vanished. “Is something troubling you, Charm?
Was it so obvious?
“No, I’m just a bit overwhelmed...” And fearful of what her heart was telling her, that she’d spoken vows she wanted to keep, but couldn’t.
Patrick and Val stood near the bar, chatting with the dark-haired preacher who looked to be about the same age. He’d performed the wedding ceremony for Val and Rose. Someone, maybe Hope, had told her that he didn’t have a church. Maybe he would stay and they would build him one. Centralia could use more peaceful men.
“Thank you for coming here to marry us.” Patrick shook the preacher’s hand.
“My privilege.” Stillwater looked around, as if noticing the interior for the first time. “This is a nice place. How many people will it seat?”
“We got over a hundred in here for Charm’s debut,” Patrick answered.
“A hundred?” The preacher made a quick study of the stage behind him. “Would you let me use the space for church services on Sundays?”
Charm covered a smile so she wouldn’t offend him by laughing. The only congregants were likely to men expecting to slake their thirst after a heated sermon.
“Why not? We’re closed for business on Sundays anyway.” Patrick shook hands with the preacher—who didn’t ask him to sign anything.
Her husband had offered to put their agreement in writing. She knew he’d done it solely to ease her mind. Patrick would honor his promises, regardless. His word was his vow.
Charm stared at him, stricken by a sudden realization. His vows. He’d spoken them in a firm, confident voice, swearing to honor and cherish her and to cleave to her—until death.
Her heart quivered as Cupid’s arrow found its mark. Was it possible? Did he truly love her, and that was why he’d made those vows?
She scoffed at the fanciful notion. He’d never confessed to such a thing. What, then, was his motive for wanting to keep her? Holding onto the golden goose, of course.
