A Bride Idea

by Yvonne Lehman

  “Great,” Neil said with a force that caused Carter to give him a questioning look. “I mean, I’ll be tied up the rest of the day.”

  Carter shrugged. “This is Saturday, you know. My day for doctoring. Like you always say, ‘Don’t call on me unless there’s a dire emergency.’ ”

  Neil nodded. “A couple of women are to meet me here later today. Just wanted to let you know.” He left the office and walked back through the waiting room and outside to unhitch Sally. There was a “dire emergency,” and this doctor wasn’t sure what to prescribe for it. But he had to quit questioning this. When he picked up Miss Kevay at the clinic, where Mrs. Kevay would bring her—fixed up—he could change his mind before anything became legal.

  Yes, that made sense, even if nothing else had since he’d put that ad in the paper. Upon arriving at the inn, he rode Sally out back along the cobblestone path and to the stable where Bart was tending the horses. “Hey, Bart,” Neil said. “I’m going to need the buggy in a couple hours. Can you make sure it’s ready? And see that Sally is hitched to it.”

  “You don’t mean the doctor’s buggy?”

  “No,” Neil said. “This is something personal.”

  “How personal?” Bart said with a gleam in his eye.

  Bart had worked for Neil’s grandfather and his dad and had been a pretty good substitute after they’d died. “You’ll know soon enough. Just practice being on your best behavior.”

  “I’m always on my best behavior.” As Neil walked away, Bart called, “But I can’t say the same for Hedda.”

  Neil could agree with that. Not openly, however, and as soon as he entered the kitchen from the back door, gray-haired Hedda began her interrogation. “Where’ve you been all day?”

  “Where am I most of the time?”

  She put her hands on her ample hips. “Out doctoring, even on your days off. That’s all you do. You had anything to eat since that biscuit you swiped this morning?”

  “Not a thing. Are there any left?”

  “None of my biscuits are ever left,” she said proudly. She went to the cupboard, took a tea towel off a basket, and handed him a muffin. “Blueberry,” she said. “You want coffee?”

  “Maybe after I’ve cleaned up. I suppose Grandmother is resting.” She usually did after lunch.

  “Yes, she was outside this morning. But she didn’t stay out long. She’s just not herself anymore.”

  “I know,” he said. Since her stroke, she seemed to have given up on life. “Hedda, if she’s not awake before I leave, would you tell her I might be bringing a guest home this afternoon?”

  “A guest?”

  “Hedda, it’s not certain. But I’d appreciate it if you’d make tea, then serve it in the parlor. Oh, and include some of those little cookies.”

  She was nodding with a sly grin on her face. “I’ll be here. I wouldn’t miss it.”

  Neil mentally reprimanded himself for feeling like a nervous man about to meet the woman to whom he might become engaged. He felt both bad and good about Mrs. Kevay’s saying she knew how to dress her daughter appropriately, but no amount of dress could make up for those grotesque spectacles. Maybe he could ask her to remove them. If she couldn’t see, she could take his arm. He hoped Mrs. Kevay wouldn’t clothe her daughter in the kind of revealing attire some young women wore. But he felt he needn’t worry—that wouldn’t fit with quiet Juliet who hadn’t even looked him in the eye.

  No, this wasn’t going to work anyway, was it?

  Finally, running out of time, and since this was an afternoon affair, he decided to wear casual tan slacks, a white shirt, and a brown vest. With his wavy hair still damp, he peeked into the parlor, which was empty.

  Neil tapped on the bedroom door, and his grandmother called for him to come in. He stepped inside and went over to the bed where she was propped up against pillows. She laid aside a magazine and smiled at him. Yes, she looked more rested than she did most days. “Looks like your being outside in the sunshine was good for you, Grandmother.”

  “I feel fine,” she said. “But what’s this about you bringing home a guest?”

  “I may be bringing a young woman home for you to meet.”

  Her mouth opened and her eyes widened. “Oh, Neil. Who? Where did you meet her? Why have you not said anything?”

  Not wanting to be any more Machiavellian than necessary, he stated as much truth as he could. “I met her in Canaan Valley.”

  “Oh, tell me all about her.”

  He lifted her hand, conscious of how cold it felt, and warmed it with his own. “I’ll let you see for yourself. If I can’t have your blessing, then. . .”

  “Oh, Neil. You know how happy it would make me for you to marry, carry on the McCory name. Oh my.” She shook her head, and a look of pity came into her eyes. “It’s about time you got over pining away for Kathleen.”

  He didn’t think he’d exactly “pined away.” Kathleen had been everything an up-and-coming young doctor could want. She was blond, beautiful, fun, educated, and the daughter of a prominent doctor in Wheeling. “Well, Grandmother, you know Kathleen wasn’t the kind of woman to live here and manage the inn. It’s my home, and I couldn’t leave it. That’s why this young woman is coming here—to find out if this is the kind of life she can live. I’m bringing Juliet—”

  “Juliet?” Her eyes brightened further. “What a beautiful name. Oh, she must be lovely.”

  He lowered her hand to the afghan she had spread over her. “Haven’t you taught me that looks aren’t everything?”

  “That’s right. But it’s. . .something. Is she unattractive?”

  “Well, no. But she sort of has a. . .an eye problem.”

  “Crossed?” She chuckled.

  Come to think of it, he wasn’t sure. Maybe her eyes were crossed. That would explain why she hadn’t looked directly at him—she couldn’t. He had that throat-clearing problem again. “I’ll let you judge for yourself.”

  “Well, I’ve had only one grandchild, and he turned out to be the most handsome man around. I’ll be happy if my great-grandchildren have your looks and Juliet’s lovely insides.” She glanced up at him. “She is lovely inside, isn’t she?”

  What else could he say but, “What else but?”

  She laughed and looked happier than he’d seen her look in a long time. “I know you’re joshing with me, Neil. You’ve always been attracted to the most beautiful girls around. And they to you. I can hardly wait to see her.”

  Neil felt he could wait. But he’d invited Miss Kevay to the inn to meet his grandmother, and he’d see it through. Maybe Juliet wouldn’t like it. Or maybe his grandmother would tell him that Miss Kevay wasn’t his type.

  After all, she wasn’t.

  ❧

  At 3:00, Neil pulled the buggy up to the side of the clinic where he had told Mrs. Kevay he would meet them. He parked in the spot reserved for his doctor’s buggy. Either the wagon next to him belonged to Mrs. Kevay, or they were running late.

  He hitched Sally to the post, thinking that it wasn’t just the midafternoon sun that made him sweat. He pushed open the door, telling himself that a doctor shouldn’t be having that kind of throat problem. But the kind of remedy he’d need didn’t come in a little brown bottle one could buy off the shelves at the pharmacy.

  He closed the door after entering the waiting room. Ap-parently the Kevays were running late. Carter was talking with two women. They must be new in town.

  Then Carter turned, his eyes wide as saucers and his smile reaching from ear to ear. “Neil,” he said. “I’ve just met your friends.” His head was bobbing, and he seemed to have lost any other words that might be forthcoming.

  Friends? Neil looked at the two women.

  “Neil, you have a fine clinic here,” the middle-aged woman said. “And Dr. Carter has made us feel right at home.” She extended her gloved hand, and he had no choice but to take it and plant his lips on it. She had the same voice and brilliant green eyes as Mrs. Kevay, but her hai
r was short, curly, and red. There were no circles under her eyes nor a mole on her cheek.

  “Oh, I’m so sorry. You probably don’t recognize me, fixed up and all. Wigs are the in thing, you know.”

  Oh, so the red hair must be a wig. But it made her look more. . .citified than she had this morning. Her dress with a jacket seemed fitting for a stylish, yet conservative mother. He was almost afraid to look at the younger one who had stepped aside as if she, too, were reluctant.

  “Juliet,” he said with effort, taking the opportunity to catch a glimpse of her. She didn’t extend her hand, and his hands were rubbing themselves together in front of his vest.

  Not allowing more than a lingering glance, he, however, had the impression her white blouse had rows of lace in front and lace at the high neck and long sleeves. Kathleen dressed much fancier, but he was not looking for another Kathleen. He wasn’t one to keep up with women’s latest styles but thought Juliet was dressed modestly but quite acceptably for a young lady’s daywear.

  He dreaded looking at her face, but when he did, he felt like a weight had lifted. She was not wearing the spectacles. Her hairstyle looked quite pretty—parted in the middle and fastened in a roll from the sides of her head and curved to the back of her neck. He didn’t think those little tendrils had fallen along the sides of her face this morning, but he couldn’t be sure. What he wanted to see was her eyes, but she kept her eyelids lowered. He felt sure she was cross-eyed. As long as she didn’t look straight at people, she’d be acceptable. He reminded himself that no one was perfect.

  After Mrs. Kevay’s exuberant good-bye to Carter and Juliet’s quiet one, Neil nodded at Carter, who winked at him and grinned like some kind of hyena. This morning they had decided Mrs. Kevay would meet them at the Sunrise Restaurant after Juliet’s visit to the inn.

  When they walked around to the side of the clinic, Mrs. Kevay spoke seriously. “Neil,” she said, “I’ve thought about this and decided I can’t simply let Juliet ride away with you. After all, you are a stranger to us. We don’t even know that there is a Sunrise Inn.”

  That shocked him. But he saw her point. “Please, Mrs. Kevay, along with your daughter, accept my invitation to the inn.”

  “I’d be delighted. Shall I leave Not-to-Be here?”

  “Not-to—? Oh. You mean the horse? We wouldn’t want to chance a horse thief coming by. You and your daughter—”

  “Juliet,” she corrected.

  The throat again. “Juliet. You and she could ride behind me in the wagon, or she could ride with me, if you feel that is proper.”

  “I believe it is proper for a man’s fiancée to ride with him. I’ll follow.”

  Neil took hold of Juliet’s arm just as she stepped up to get into the buggy. Her foot seemed to slip slightly, but she recovered immediately. Had she been startled by his touch? That was the gentlemanly thing to do.

  “Do you have any questions, Miss. . .um, Juliet?” He thought she might ask about the town they were driving through, or his clinic, or the inn, or his grandmother.

  “No, sir.”

  The clip-clop of Sally’s hooves on the cobblestone street sounded unusually loud. So did the silence. After driving a bit farther, he thought a little instruction might be in order. “You do know you should address me as Neil when we get to the inn.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He noticed she looked back a few times, as if making sure her mother was following, in spite of the obvious clunking of wagon wheels against the road.

  He attempted conversation again. “You don’t talk a lot, do you?” He glanced over at her.

  She seemed pressed against the side of the buggy, as if afraid of accidentally touching him, and her gloved hands lay on her lap, one over the other. She did not look at him but spoke in that clear tone he had noticed that morning. “Since the job calls for me to be a companion for your grandmother, do you think she would like for me to talk a lot, or should I be less than verbose?”

  Verbose? Well, she had said she went to college. Maybe she was trying to sound educated. “Just. . .be yourself,” he said.

  He turned his head toward her as he turned the buggy to his right. She turned her head away from him.

  Yes, Juliet. Just be yourself. Your quiet, retiring, less than verbose, cross-eyed little self.

  seven

  Be myself?

  Olivia wished she had a script to read, telling her just who “herself” was. Only a couple of days ago she’d been Olivia Easton, a motherless girl looking for a job so she could become an actress.

  Now she’d become an actress before getting the job. She must be Juliet Kevay, who had a mother named Stella Kevay. Her job was to marry a stranger and pretend to be his wife but not really be his wife. So she would be pretending to be pretending to be his wife since she’d be married under the name of Juliet Kevay. They would not be legally married.

  If she had anything to feel good about, that was it.

  And if this doctor, who carried a Bible around with him, thought this was all right, then it must be. He was trying to give his grandmother the best year of her life by giving her hope of a granddaughter-in-law who would give him children and carry on the name of McCory.

  She was doing this for a good cause, too—to make money to go to acting school so she could do what she’d been born to do. If she didn’t like the grandmother, or the inn, or didn’t want to go through with the marriage, then she could simply take the stand that Dr. McCory’s former fiancée had taken and say that she preferred city life or felt she couldn’t manage an inn.

  Olivia was startled when the doctor spoke. She’d been lost in her thoughts and the rhythmic sound of wheels and hooves against the road. “Pardon?” she said.

  “Our property begins here,” he said and gestured toward a sign beside the road that read Sunrise Inn with an arrow pointing to the right. The horse and carriage turned to the right, and the horse gracefully clopped along the road that was bordered by stately pine and lush, green rhododendron.

  They rounded a curve, and only for a moment did the large white house beyond register in Olivia’s consciousness. Her attention was drawn to the people on the level stretch of lawn that looked like green velvet.

  A woman and young lad were watching intently while a man knelt to show a little girl how to hold a mallet. The child, who looked to be about three years old, hit the croquet ball, and it rolled a few feet across the lawn.

  A laugh of approval sounded from the doctor, and Olivia couldn’t hold back her own small laugh as she remembered her father teaching her to play croquet.

  “Look, Daddy. It’s Dr. McCory,” the lad said.

  “Whoa, Sally.” Neil drew to a stop as the family walked toward the carriage. The little girl had lagged behind, having picked up the orange and yellow ball. She held it close, as if it were some kind of treasure.

  “My friends, the Martins, who have just arrived for a stay,” Neil said. “I should introduce you.” He turned to step from the carriage.

  “Should I step down?” Olivia asked.

  “No, that won’t be necessary.” He nodded to Stella who drew up beside them on the wide driveway.

  “Samuel, great to see you.” He walked out onto the lawn, shook the man’s hand, and accepted an embrace from the smiling woman. “Melanie. And who is this tall young man?”

  The boy ducked his head slightly. “I’m Chad.”

  “Chad? My, how you’ve grown. And Mary,” he said when the man picked up the little girl. “You’re still the prettiest girl around.”

  The girl grinned, clutching the ball close to her dress, and lay her head against Samuel’s shoulder.

  Olivia watched as they greeted each other in such a friendly manner. For a long moment, she was able to look at Neil McCory’s ruggedly handsome face, the kind she preferred over the smooth, citified type. His skin was bronzed, like he spent a lot of time in the sun—the sun that now brushed his dark brown hair with gold.

  Neil introduced the famil
y to Olivia. “This is my friend, Juliet Kevay.” After their polite greetings, Neil walked them over to Stella and introduced her.

  The man and woman both looked at Neil with happy faces and excitement in their eyes. Neil had not said she was his fiancée, but the sly look in Samuel’s eyes and the wide smile on Melanie’s face indicated they thought she was more than a “friend.”

  After the family returned to their game and Neil jumped up into the carriage, the horse drew them nearer the big house. While he explained the relationship to his friends, Olivia took in the impressiveness of the Federal style house nestled against the backdrop of lush, green mountains rising into the clear, late-summer sky.

  “Samuel, Melanie, and I grew up together,” Neil was saying. “They married and settled down in Sunrise. A midwife delivered Chad, but Melanie had such a hard time she wanted me to deliver Mary. That bonded us even more. Then they sold their house and moved to the city where Samuel is now vice president of a large bank. They come back every year to visit friends and relatives, so they stay here.”

  “You seem to have a way with the children,” she said as he drove around the curved drive and stopped in front of the house.

  “Especially with those I help bring into the world.” He jumped down and came around to her side of the carriage. She already had one foot on the ground, so he took her hand as a polite gesture.

  Olivia caught the whiff of some musky fragrance, possibly a shaving lotion. She thought it rather tantalizing.

  Just then an elderly man came down from the porch and said he’d tend the horses. Neil introduced him as Bart Henley.

  The inn was slightly larger than her father’s house in the city, and it was just as impressive with its white columns that reached to a second-floor roof and black shutters that flanked the windows. Noticing one of the black rockers moving while the others were still, she knew that’s where Bart had been sitting.

  She turned to see what he would see and caught her breath. The view was a family laughing and playing on that vast green lawn that stretched to the grove of stately trees that seemed to meld with the fantastic view of mountain ranges.