She thought of Brett, of him vying to marry one of those women, and she thought of what he’d said last night, that we all make mistakes.
“I’d had every intention of putting you and the boys up in the hotel like the town had the rest of the women, but that morning before you arrived, before the others got married, I got scared. I knew your arrival was going to start the ruckus all over again, and I just wasn’t ready for that. So before the weddings, I hauled the extra bed that was in the back room at my house—I slept down there more often than I did upstairs in the summer—over to the house the town built. It wasn’t right, but I thought I could hide you there for a few days. Only until things calmed down. It was foolish thinking on my part. An eligible bride in Oak Grove is more sought after than money or gold.”
He’d stopped near the edge of her bed. “So, you see, it’s nothing you’ve done. It is truly all my fault, and it’s something I need to correct.”
“How?”
“I can start by no longer pointing a finger at you for every little thing, can’t I?”
He was acting so sincere, so kind, she could see that underneath his pompous attitude, he was human. A man who had made a mistake and was genuinely sorry for it. “Yes, you could,” she agreed, “but will it help?”
“It will help you.”
“I won’t pretend that your attitude or behavior has made me like you very much.”
He chuckled. “It shouldn’t have.” Patting her hand, he said, “I am sorry for the way I’ve acted.”
Being a touch skeptical after all that had happened, and having heard that the men had demanded a meeting yesterday, she asked, “Did the town council point all this out to you?”
“Some of it, yes, but some I’ve known since you arrived.” He crossed the room and then pulled the chair closer to the bed before he sat back down. “And some I didn’t realize until I heard Abigail question you. I’m afraid I let my frustration out on her this morning. Tried pointing the blame at you and Brett.”
Fiona’s heart shot into her throat so fast. She almost choked and held her breath to keep from coughing. Yet she knew she had to ask one more thing. “Why did you tell me Brett was a drinking man when he’s clearly not?”
He shook his head. “Fear again. That is my only excuse. I’ve known Brett Blackwell for years, and he is a good man. Well respected. I owe him an apology too.” He sighed. “Brett had purchased several bottles of Maggie Miller’s tonic. Her sister, Mary, was brewing it out at Steve Putnam’s place and Maggie was selling it. I can’t even begin to tell you what sort of problems that was causing. As the mayor, I had to put a stop to it. And I did. I confiscated all the bottles and dumped them in the river. But having Maggie arrested—”
“You arrested Maggie?” Fiona hadn’t meant to interrupt him, but the idea of Maggie being arrested was unfathomable.
“I didn’t. The sheriff did. She was selling her tonic without a permit. Things are different out here than they are back east. A town needs law and order. If not, it’ll fill up with ruffians pretty quick. Some people don’t understand how much work, how much time and effort, it takes to make sure Oak Grove remains the solid, respectable town we’ve created. I take my job as mayor very seriously.”
Coming from a place that wasn’t as friendly or generous as Oak Grove, she had to admire his dedication. It was honorable and dissolved many of the misgivings she’d unjustly labeled him with.
Leaning forward, Josiah took a hold of her hand. “I do still want to marry you, Fiona.”
It was as if a waterfall of disappointment washed over her. “You do?” Despite all he’d said, or perhaps because of it, she’d thought he’d say he couldn’t marry her. An outlaw’s widow.
“That is the reason I invited you here. I’ve already spoken to Connor Flaherty, and he’s agreed to perform the ceremony this Saturday. And upon speaking with Jackson Miller, I’ve decided the attic of my place will not be suitable for the boys to sleep in, so I will make arrangements to purchase the house next door and have the furniture from my house moved there—”
Fiona pulled her hand out of his as the idea of living next door to Brett for the rest of her life hit her. “No!” The startled look on Josiah’s face had her saying, “I mean, won’t that be extremely expensive?”
“Don’t worry about that,” he said, taking a hold of her hand again. “A man needs to take care of his family. That’s what you and Wyatt and Red are. My family.”
“Rhett,” she corrected and then repeated something Rhett has said over a dozen times the past couple of days. “It rhymes with Brett.”
“Rhett.” Josiah laughed and shook his head. “I thought he said it rhymed with bread. Well, I won’t make that mistake again. I’m afraid I wasn’t listening any clearer than I was thinking. I do apologize for that too.” Squeezing her hand, he asked, “You do accept my apologies, don’t you, Fiona?”
Her throat constricted so tight, she couldn’t speak, or even nod.
Chapter Thirteen
Brett hadn’t gotten much work done. He’d been too busy watching his house, and counting the number of people going in and out. They were all familiar, mostly ladies from Martha’s quilting club. Abigail White had entered too, but she’d left soon afterward. Josiah hadn’t. He’d been there for over an hour before leaving.
A number of thoughts as to what might have transpired between Josiah and Fiona crossed his mind, but not a one stayed put. If Fiona had told Josiah she didn’t want to get married, the mayor would have stomped right over to the blacksmith shop.
He hadn’t. When Josiah had finally left, he seemed in good spirits and had merely waved while walking past. Brett had returned the gesture. Only because he had to. There was no one else in the vicinity that Josiah could have been waving at.
Brett had ventured to the house then, to question Fiona, but hadn’t made it past Martha, who had been rolling out dough on the kitchen table and said Fiona was resting. He’d considered coming up with an excuse to go into the bedroom, but something in Martha’s eyes, a knowing glint, had said that was exactly what she’d expected. Therefore, he’d simply said he needed the shovel out of the shed and left again.
He had enough shovels at the feed store, but in light of the excuse he’d come up with, he’d gotten one out of his shed, taken it back to the shop and sharpened the end of it. It had needed that. And standing at the workbench had given him a direct view of his house.
“Quite a pickle, wouldn’t you say?”
Setting down his sharpening file, Brett stood the shovel next to the bench before turning around. “What are you doing here?” he asked Teddy. “I’d think you’d be cranking on that old press of yours, getting out the news about the meeting yesterday.”
“So you heard what happened?”
“From just about every bachelor in town.” The feed store had been packed with men first thing this morning, but nothing that had been said had been news to him. Wally had filled him in on how the meeting had gone yesterday. Josiah had stuck to his story, that Fiona wasn’t one of the brides brought to town for the Betterment Committee and that, being the mayor, he’d made an executive decision about letting her stay in the house. There had been lots of grumbles and arguments, but according to Wally, it had all remained peaceful and had broken up with no real changes made about much of anything.
“Josiah says the wedding will be this Saturday,” Teddy said. “I confirmed that with Reverend Flaherty of course. I can’t have any misprints.”
“Did you confirm it with F—Mrs. Goldberg?” Brett asked.
“No.” Teddy had crossed the room and leaned one hip against the workbench. “How long is she going to be at your house?”
“I don’t know,” Brett answered, tossing a log into his firebox just for something to do. “Until she’s healed. Martha Taylor has women lined up to take car
e of her day and night for the next several days.”
“And that puts you in a pickle, doesn’t it?”
“Why do you keep saying that? I’m not the one in a pickle. I’ve got plenty of room.” He was trying to sound dismissive about the entire situation and hoped Teddy wouldn’t see through that.
“Because...” Teddy said, stretching the word out much longer than necessary.
“Because...” Brett copied his friend but also shrugged.
“Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten.”
Brett hoisted his leather apron over his head. “Forgotten what?”
“That your new wife is due to arrive soon,” Teddy said. “Could be tomorrow, could be the next day. Could be...”
Brett stopped listening as his insides turned cold. He hadn’t forgotten. Pulling enough air into his lungs to fill a set of bellows, he silently cursed himself. When he’d sent that telegram, he’d thought any woman could become a wife. His wife. He knew differently now.
“Midweek means—”
“I know what midweek means,” he told Teddy.
“Think she’ll like another woman staying in your house?”
As his gaze settled on Teddy, an understanding formed. The excitement in Teddy’s face was there for a reason. “You’re hoping she won’t,” Brett said.
Teddy shrugged. “An unmarried woman in this town will make several men happy.”
“Including you.”
“I asked you to have your mother send two. You said no.”
Brett was wishing he’d said no to one. That was a secret he needed to keep. “Hand me that poker, will you?” After Teddy did and Brett had stirred the coals into flames, he said, “I’m sure she’ll understand once she hears the circumstances. Besides, with so many women at my house, she can move right in.”
“Damn,” Teddy muttered. “I didn’t think of that.”
“That, my friend,” Brett said with a grin, “is why your sister writes the newspaper and you only print it.”
Teddy laughed. “Could be. Abigail says I never think things through.”
“I never thought I’d agree with your sister on anything.”
“You heading over to the hotel for lunch?”
“No,” Brett answered. “Martha said she’ll have lunch ready by noon. I do have to go collect Rhett and Wyatt soon. They’re over there playing with Rollie’s boys. Let me finish this brake handle I’m repairing for Jules and I’ll walk with you.”
“Good enough,” Teddy said. “I’ll go visit with Wally for a few minutes.”
It didn’t take Brett long to straighten out the handle and pound it back in shape, then he dipped it in water and set it aside to cool. All the while, his mind had been making full circles. From Fiona to Hannah Olsen and back again. Teddy was right. It was a pickle. And not a sweet one.
That conclusion didn’t help at all. How could he go from having no wife to having two? One he wanted to marry and one he’d promised to marry. That was the gist of it. He wanted to marry Fiona and had to find a way to make that happen.
A short time later as they walked toward the hotel, Teddy, who obviously had been researching the subject, explained how many days a train ride from Wisconsin should take, given the variable routes. Brett knew how long it should take. He’d traveled there and back a couple of time over the years. By his calculation, and Teddy’s, Hannah could very well arrive on the train tomorrow. That was, if she got on the train on Monday morning. Thursday if she didn’t get on the train until this morning.
That didn’t give him much time. Along with everything else circling his mind this morning, he’d decided to talk to Hannah about marrying one of the other men in town. Teddy was an option. He was a good guy. But then there was Abigail. Brett couldn’t imagine she’d be very welcoming to any woman Teddy took up with.
Brett collected the boys, and not even their chatter about how much fun they’d had playing with Kade and Wiley could get his mind off the situation at hand. Not marrying Hannah would upset his mother, and that didn’t settle inside him any better than everything else.
Seeing the grass stains on Rhett’s and Wyatt’s pants and the dirt on their faces made him think even more of his mother. And theirs.
Stopping at the well in his yard, Brett told the boys to wash up before going into the house. They did so without complaint, which didn’t surprise him. Fiona had done a good job teaching them to mind their manners and listen when spoken to.
It didn’t surprise him to see Otis in his kitchen either. The barbershop always closed over the lunch hour and it was his wife cooking lunch for the lot of them.
“I remembered what good eaters you boys are,” Martha said as they entered the house. “I made enough chicken and dumplings to fill you up clear to your eyeballs.”
The boys laughed at that, and then Wyatt grew serious. “How’s Ma doing, Mrs. Taylor?”
Martha grinned as she walked over to kneel down in front of Wyatt. “She’s doing mighty fine, young man. Mighty fine. You can run on in and see her before we sit down to eat if you’d like.”
“Thank you, ma’am,” Wyatt said, sounding like he was seventeen instead of seven. “We will. But we won’t stay long enough to tire her out.”
“You go on ahead, then,” Martha said, patting his head before she stood up. “That woman has done a right fine job with those boys. But that doesn’t surprise me none. She’s a hard worker.”
“Worker?” Brett glanced at the door. “She should be resting.”
“Don’t go getting all flustered, Brett,” Martha said. “She’s been in bed all day. Since I knew I’d be here all day, I brought along some sewing and Fiona insisted upon helping me.” Martha walked to the stove while continuing, “She’s sewing the lace on the new dress I’m making for Patty Owens. It’s a secret, though, so don’t tell anyone. Gayle Owens asked me to make it for Patty for her birthday. It’s a replica of the one Charlotte Larson bought for her daughter Violet while in Denver last month. I’m sure you saw it. Violet wore it to the weddings last Saturday.”
Brett hadn’t noticed any dress on any of the women at the weddings on Saturday. He’d been too focused on not being one of the grooms. He didn’t have that problem now. A tiny tingle coiled itself around the base of his neck, in the exact spot his mother would take a hold of when she wanted him to listen to what she had to say. It had almost always been important, and over the years, he’d come to admit that her advice while gasping his neck had been good, something he’d needed to hear.
He should have remembered that on Saturday. His mother had always told him to be careful of what he prayed for in case, someday, he got what he asked for and it turned out to be more than he’d bargained for, more than he was ready for.
His gaze returned to the bedroom as his spine stiffened. One kiss didn’t mean Fiona wanted to marry him, but he sincerely wished it did.
“How those two girls, Patty and Violet, can be best friends is beyond me,” Martha was saying as she elbowed him aside to set plates around the table. “They’re as different as toads and frogs. This will be Patty’s first party dress, a long one. All the way to the floor.” Martha slapped his shoulder and then gestured toward the bedroom. “Go on, take a look yourself. And tell those boys I’m about to put the food on the table.”
Brett crossed the room but stopped just outside the doorway. Rhett had climbed up on the bed and sat with his arm around Fiona’s neck. Wyatt stood at the side of the bed, listening intently to whatever she was saying.
Brett hadn’t seen her since last night, when he’d kissed her, and for a moment he couldn’t move. She was by far the prettiest woman he’d ever seen. Smiling and speaking softly to her boys, her face glowed and her eyes shone, and his heart started drumming all over again. He was looking at exactly what he wanted. Not just a wife. Not just a family. Love. T
hat was what he’d been missing since leaving home, and that was what he longed for.
“Hey, Brett,” Rhett said. “Ma said we could ride Hickory and Birch, so long as it’s all right with you.”
He stepped into the room. “I wouldn’t have offered if it wasn’t all right.” His eyes shifted to Fiona, and he hoped she felt that same way. That she wouldn’t have kissed him back last night if it hadn’t been all right.
She closed her eyes for a moment and licked her lips before she told the boys to go eat lunch while it was hot. As Rhett climbed down, she said, “You too, Mr. Blackwell, go eat while it’s hot.”
“I will,” he said, ruffling first Wyatt’s and then Rhett’s hair as they walked past him. “First I want to know why you’re sewing when you should be sleeping.”
“Because I slept all night,” she said.
He knew that wasn’t true yet nodded. “How’s the leg?”
“Hardly hurts,” she said. “We’ll be out of your hair in no time. I promise.”
“You aren’t in my hair,” he insisted quietly while stepping up beside her bed.
She glanced around, almost as if she didn’t want to look at him. “Well, I feel as if we are.”
“You sure seem to have a lot of feelings about things,” he said. “And none of them are good ones.”
The click of the door made them both glance that way. Glad Martha had thought of giving them some privacy, Brett continued, “Why is that?”
Not meeting his gaze, she said, “Perhaps because they’re the only feelings I’ve known for a long time.”
“Then isn’t it time you changed that?”
“We can’t all be like you, Brett,” she said. “Every woman who’s walked into this room today has told me how kind and generous you are. What a big heart you have. How you’ve helped them out, one way or another, at one time or another.”
“What’s wrong with that?”
Winning the Mail-Order Bride Page 16
