Marianne's Marriage of Convenience

by Lynna Banning

  *

  Late that morning Marianne flew down the stairs waving her notepad. “Gentlemen,” she announced. “I am calling a business meeting.”

  Lance and Sammy looked up from the table of calfskin pieces in front of them. Abe gaped at her, his hammer poised over a three-penny nail.

  “Provided, of course,” she quickly added, “that this is a convenient time to discuss a business plan?”

  Abe’s tack hammer thunked on to the table and he straightened. “What kinda busyness plan, Miss Marianne?”

  “One that’s going to make lots of money for Collingwood Boots.” I hope, she added silently.

  “Okey-dokey, let’s hear it.”

  Lance and Sammy moved closer to the bottom step where she stood. Lance had an odd, patient look on his face, the kind of look he used to give her at Mrs. Schneiderman’s when she asked him to fill the wood box for the third time in a single afternoon.

  “Yeah,” he said quietly, “let’s hear it, Marianne.”

  She unfolded a sheet of paper from her notepad and scanned the numbered items. “First, we need to increase production. Of course—” she directed a smile at Sammy “—I see that task is already well under way.”

  Sammy grinned.

  “Second, Abe and Sammy will draw wages in proportion to our profits. And third…” She paused for effect. “The third part of my plan is word-of-mouth advertising.”

  She waited. Lance and Abe stared at her as if she had a watermelon balanced on her head. Sammy’s eyes just looked puzzled. “You mean,” the boy ventured, “we’re just going to talk about what we’re doing?”

  “That is it exactly, Sammy.”

  “I dunno, Miss Marianne,” he said. “I already talk plenty when I drive people around or deliver stuff. None of them ever orders a pair of boots.”

  “First things first, Sammy. You start by noticing things about your customers.”

  “Oh. I notice lots of things when I’m carrying freight around the county. Thad MacAllister is planting twice as much wheat as last year, and Wash Halliday is getting his daughter a pony for her birthday, and Mrs. Panovsky, the schoolteacher, orders a box of books every week and…” His voice trailed off.

  “Sammy, your observations are very valuable,” Marianne said. She turned to Abe and Lance. “You do see the opportunities here, don’t you?”

  Abe snorted. “What opportunities, Miss Marianne? Miz Panovsky don’t own a horse and she don’t wear riding boots.”

  “But Mr. Panovsky does.”

  “No, he don’t, ma’am. Ivan Panovsky works at the sawmill and—”

  “The sawmill!” Marianne clapped her hands in delight. “A perfect place for another way to advertise. And then there’s—”

  Lance suddenly came to life. “The newspapers! The Smoke River Sentinel and the Lake County Lark publish newspapers twice a week on different days.”

  “But the best thing of all,” Marianne announced with a smile, “are Abe’s dime novels!”

  Abe jerked. “Huh? What’s my novels got to do with sellin’ boots?”

  “Advertisements,” Marianne answered. “This morning I looked through that book Lance is reading, and I learned something important.”

  “Yeah? What’d you learn about rustlers and sheriffs, Miss Marianne?”

  “I learned that every single book has at least one advertisement for something, horse liniment, saddle soap, boot polish, even horseshoe nails. We should definitely advertise Collingwood Boots in those novels.”

  “How much does it cost to advertise in one of those books?” Lance asked.

  “I don’t know yet,” she admitted. “But we can find out. Those novels are published by Brooks and Cassidy in Philadelphia. Tomorrow morning I will send the publisher a telegram.”

  The men looked at each other and then studied her with doubt written all over their faces. “And,” she continued, “we could also put advertising posters in all the businesses in town, including Ness’s mercantile, the barber shop, even the sheriff’s office and the dressmaker’s.”

  “Beggin’ yer pardon, Miss Marianne,” Abe interjected, “but ever’body here in Smoke River already knows about Collingwood Boots.”

  “Yes, they do, Abe. But the information in an advertisement at the barber shop will reach not only all the customers who come in for haircuts, but their wives, and their friends, and their relatives in Montana or back in Missouri or down in Arkansas or wherever. I think word of mouth might be a powerful advertising force. Don’t you, Lance?”

  “Well, sure, Marianne. Advertising for a business is always a good idea.”

  “Could be Miss Jessamine at the Sentinel would print up some of them posters for us,” Abe suggested.

  Sammy’s eyes snapped with excitement. “I could spread them around everywhere I go in the wagon.”

  “And,” Marianne said, directing a special smile at Lance, “we could start composing these ads right after supper tonight. We will work all night if we have to.”

  Abe and Lance exchanged a pointed look. “All night, huh?” Lance said under his breath. “Like hell.”

  “Damn right,” Abe muttered.

  Sammy looked from the older man to the younger and a perplexed expression crossed his face. “What’s wrong with working all night?”

  Abe coughed. And Lance couldn’t suppress a groan.

  Chapter Fourteen

  That night Marianne cooked Lance’s second favorite supper, fried chicken and mashed potatoes, and topped it off with a lemon cake with burnt sugar icing. It was a lucky man who ate at Marianne’s table, he reflected. Nothing beat her cooking, unless maybe it was the steak at the restaurant.

  Nothing beat her sense of duty, either, he thought with a groan. The instant supper was over, she whisked all the dishes off the table and had them washed up in a trice. Lance picked up a dish towel and was leisurely drying a plate when Marianne jarred his sense of well-being.

  “Hurry up, Lance. We have to start composing our advertisements.”

  He dropped the towel on the counter and turned to face her. “We don’t have to do anything, Marianne.”

  She blinked at him and opened her mouth to protest, but he reached out, placed his hand on her cheek and nudged her jaw closed.

  “Marianne, do you know what I’d like?”

  “No,” she said suspiciously. “What?”

  He curved his hands around her shoulders. “I’d like you to stop giving me orders like I was some damn soldier in your own private army.”

  “Oh,” she said quietly. “I did it again, didn’t I?”

  “You sure as hell did.”

  “Oh,” she said again. “I guess I’m so used to… I didn’t realize what I was doing.”

  “Well, maybe it’s time you did realize it. You and I are not master and slave. We are equal partners. For better or worse, if you remember.”

  She didn’t reply for so long he thought she hadn’t heard him. Then, in a very small voice, she said, “I do remember, Lance.”

  “Old habits die hard, I guess,” he said with a wry smile.

  She nodded and then suddenly looked up at him. Hell and damn, he could see tears shimmering in her eyes. He cleared his throat. “How about I give you an order for a change?”

  “All—all right. What is it?”

  He reached out and pulled her toward him. “Kiss me.”

  Her eyes opened wide, but he drew her so close the ruffles on her gingham apron brushed his chest. She hesitated, then closed her eyes and tipped her face up to his.

  Yes! he sang inside. He bent his head and covered her mouth with his. She didn’t flinch or jerk away as he feared she might. Instead her hand crept up to his shirt collar and she opened her lips under his. Double yes!

  His brain spun. Maybe Marianne actually liked kissing him? Not only liked it but wanted more?

  He deepened the kiss and felt something catch fire deep inside. After a long minute he lifted his head. “You are a lot of things, Marianne. And no
t all of them are admirable.” He felt her head dip in a nod. “Some of them,” he added, “aren’t even likable.”

  Her head moved in another slow nod.

  “But,” he continued, his voice growing hoarse, “you are the most enticing female I’ve ever known.” Her breath jerked in, but he didn’t stop. “Touching you, kissing you, blows the top of my head to kingdom come.”

  They stood in silence for another long minute, both of them short of oxygen. “Abe has been married four times,” he whispered at last. “That’s three wives too many.”

  “Lance, what are you trying to say?”

  “I’m saying that getting married once is plenty for me, and I plan to make it stick.” He pressed his lips to her forehead. “And I’m saying that I damn well plan to have it mean something.”

  Again he felt her head dip in a nod. “Do you remember when you kissed me at the wedding?” she asked.

  “Yeah. I’ll never forget it.”

  “I was scared. Could you tell?”

  “Nope. You didn’t seem scared to me, Marianne. You seemed sweet and soft and you were so beautiful my throat got all tight.”

  “Oh,” she murmured. “Do you remember when you told me that we didn’t like each other very much? Before we came out to Oregon.”

  He closed his eyes and bit back a groan. “Yeah, I remember.”

  “I think maybe you were wrong, Lance.”

  His heart stuttered. “Yeah? How much wrong?”

  She gave a soft laugh. “Just a little bit wrong.”

  Suddenly he knew for certain that he wanted more out of this marriage of convenience arrangement. A lot more. God help him, he wanted everything. All of her!

  “Dammit, Marianne, how much ‘wrong’ is ‘a little bit wrong’?”

  She looked up at him. “Lance, what exactly are you asking?”

  “Marianne…” He closed his mouth, then opened it again. “Marianne, I’m asking if we could not just sleep next to each other. Maybe—” he gave her a hopeful look “—maybe we could sleep with each other? You know, maybe we could touch each other, just a little bit?”

  “Maybe.” Her voice had a smile in it, but he didn’t know what to make of it.

  “What do you mean ‘maybe’?”

  A long silence fell. “I don’t know,” she breathed. Her cheeks turned pink. “I have never…been with a man before.”

  “Yeah, I guessed that. Tonight, after we do all this advertisement thing, I’m going to reach over to your side of the bed and touch you, okay?”

  She dipped her head again, but she didn’t say a word.

  “And,” he continued, wondering why his throat was feeling so tight, “if you…um…like it, you could—”

  “Reach over to your side and touch you,” she finished.

  He chuckled. “You’re a quick study, Marianne. There isn’t a day that goes by when you don’t surprise me all to hell.”

  She laughed softly. “Is that good?”

  “Yes, it’s good. No man wants a boring wife.”

  Slowly they pulled away from each other, and Lance purposefully laid the notepad and all seven sharpened pencils on the kitchen table so they could get down to the business of composing ads. He had to work extremely hard to keep his gaze from straying to the bed.

  They worked until long past midnight, suggesting one wording and then another, moving phrases around, trying out different verbs and richer adjectives. After the first hour Lance felt his body start to ache with wanting her. It got so bad he had to recite multiplication problems in his head to keep from slapping down his pencil and dragging her into his arms.

  Finally, finally, Marianne reached across the table and laid her hand on his. “Lance,” she said quietly. “We have done enough for one night. I think it’s time we got some sleep.”

  Lance pushed back his chair and stood up, then held out his hand. When she came to stand next to him he laid his forefinger under her chin and tipped her face up to his.

  “I’ve been thinking about this all evening,” he murmured.

  “You were supposed to be thinking about our advertising posters,” she said. But she smiled when she said it, and he thought maybe she wasn’t being her usual work-until-you-drop self. She was at least thinking about something else besides business.

  A spark of hope warmed his chest. Very slowly he folded his hands about her shoulders and pulled her into his arms. When he lowered his mouth to hers she didn’t pull away; instead, she brought her hands to his chest, so he went on kissing her.

  A buzzing began in the back of his brain. Excitement, he guessed.

  But she didn’t move away, and somewhere deep inside of him a hot bubble of joy began to swell into an aching need. Some instinct told him he needed to slow down or he’d scare her off, so he tried the multiplication table again.

  Didn’t work.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Marianne just about melted when Lance kissed her. His lips were gentle and a little hesitant, and then his kiss turned into something else, and a sweet hunger bloomed in her body.

  His tongue touched hers, withdrew to trace her lips, then explored her mouth with slow, insistent strokes, asking her something, inviting. The feelings he incited were exquisite. Dangerous, even. It was frightening, and at the same time it was also thrilling. A rush of sensation swept through her, and after a while she could no longer think.

  He lifted his mouth from hers. His breathing was uneven. “Is this telling you something?” he murmured.

  “Yes.” She whispered the word into his ear causing a sweet frisson to shiver down his neck. “It tells me you like kissing me.”

  “Yeah, I do like it, Marianne.”

  “Lance,” she whispered. “We’re both tired. I think maybe we should…get some sleep.”

  A chuckle escaped him. Guess she didn’t want to come right out and say “go to bed.”

  She stepped away from him and disappeared behind the screen in the corner. After a moment he heard the soft thud of her shoes dropping on to the floor, and then she draped her blue skirt over the top of the screen, followed by her striped shirtwaist and then a white petticoat and an embroidered camisole.

  Lance tore his gaze away, quickly stripped down to his drawers and stretched out on the bed. After a few moments Marianne appeared wearing her white nightgown; she floated across the room and crawled under the quilt.

  He rose up on one elbow and leaned over her. “When I kiss you does it feel nice?”

  She didn’t answer for so long he thought maybe she’d fallen asleep.

  “Marianne?” he pressed.

  “Yes, Lance, when you kiss me it does feel nice. It feels frightening and sunshiny at the same time.” She gave a quiet laugh. “That doesn’t make much sense, does it?”

  “It makes sense to me,” Lance said softly. “Would you, um, like me to kiss you again?”

  “Yes,” she said softly. “N-no. Well, I do want you to kiss me again, Lance. But what I really want is for you to stop asking me all these questions and continue on with it.”

  Her answer sent a hot arrow into his chest. He would bet a thousand dollars Marianne had never in her life uttered words like that, words that were so bold. Arousing.

  So he kissed her again.

  And then he found himself at a crossroads. If he kept on kissing her maybe he could seduce her completely. But if it pulled her into something maybe she wasn’t quite ready for, it would be a mistake they might both regret.

  Suddenly he was the one who was hesitant. He wanted to taste her, swirl his tongue over her breasts, but something held him back. He didn’t want to just physically seduce Marianne. He wanted to be close to her in a way that wasn’t purely physical.

  With a groan he rolled sideways and pulled her against him. Her hair smelled like violets and something lemony, and he closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. She nestled her head under his chin and he felt something flutter underneath his breastbone.

  He worked to steady his heartbeat,
which was hammering away in his chest, and when she fell asleep, he just went on holding her. Lying in bed with Marianne in his arms made him happier than he could ever remember.

  *

  The next morning when they came downstairs Abe was bent over his leather-cutting table. He glanced up and stared at them for a long moment, and then his face cracked into a smile. “Glory be,” he murmured, trying to hide his grin. “You two look plumb wore out, like you’ve been up all night.” He set down his leather shears and waited.

  Marianne suddenly felt tongue-tied. It was Lance who finally broke the silence. “We spent most of the night working on the Collingwood Boots advertisements.”

  “Ya did, huh?” Abe’s amused eyes held his. “I sure do want to hear all about it. Yessir, that shows real…dedication. Real…” He coughed politely. “Uh…hard work.”

  Marianne thought Abe’s grin spread so wide his face might split.

  “Well,” the older man said, “let’s hear about yer plan.”

  She stepped forward and cleared her throat. “This morning I am going to send a telegram to the publisher, Brooks and Cassidy, in Philadelphia and inquire about their advertising rates. Then I…” She shot a quick look at Lance. “That is, I mean we will take the advertising copy we composed last night over to the editor of the Sentinel and have some posters printed up.”

  “And on Tuesday,” Lance added, “I will personally deliver a stack of posters to every business establishment in Smoke River.”

  Abe nodded encouragingly. “Might take some to Gillette Springs, too,” he suggested.

  Marianne agreed. “And then, we will just stand back and watch the orders pour in.”

  Abe propped his hands on his hips. “Miss Marianne, I’m real sorry to say this, but we ain’t hardly ready for a lot of orders to pour in. It’ll take some time to teach Lance and Sammy here what they gotta know about this boot-makin’ business. It ain’t simple, like bakin’ cookies. Ain’t quick and easy ’til ya know what yer doin’.”

  Unperturbed, Marianne nodded. This morning she felt so filled with sunshine she would agree to anything and she would worry about how they would fulfill the orders once they came in. She gathered up the pages of advertising copy she and Lance had written, flashed him a smile, and set off for the newspaper offices.