by Jo Noelle
Bernard was a handsome man, tall with broad shoulders. Her heart thumped madly in her chest. She had never dared hope to have his attention past their friendly conversations. His steel-gray gaze was often intense, but she noted a softness in it when he looked her way. His jaw flexed when he was restaining his temper, as he’d done when he offered for her, but then relaxed when he spoke to her. If things were different, he might have been the kind of man she would have dreamed of marrying.
“This ain’t over, Newell,” Arlo shouted from across the street.
Bernard stepped in front of Clara. She knew he did it to protect her, but who would protect him? She wouldn’t let her brother harm Bernard for trying to save her.
“They’ve been standing there since they left,” the bailiff told Bernard, pointing toward the restaurant.
Clara shivered. It had been a true miracle that Bernard had stepped in when he did. Julianne and Millie had told her about Quint. He’d ridden into the crowd at the Nugget Saloon with Dougal and Wade and drummed up the fighting that became the Cookie Brawl. He was always stirring up trouble. Then she looked to where the bailiff pointed just as Bernard did. She saw Hugh and Edwin standing at the ready to help him if needed. One had a child, and the other was expecting his first in a few months. She was putting two families in danger because of her rash decision.
“You can’t sell people, Arlo,” Bernard replied. “Your sister is free to choose a husband. I’ll only tell you once—stay away from her and from our home.”
“She ain’t my family no more. And don’t be bringing her around to gather her things. They belong to me. I paid for them.”
Bernard patted Clara’s hand. “Let’s head over to the mercantile and see what you’ll need. I’d much rather have my wife wear clothes I bought.”
Clara cringed. She realized that he might expect her to be a real wife in every way. She couldn’t. She wouldn’t. “I don’t want to cause you any more trouble. You’ve already done too much for me.”
“Let’s just have a look.” He tightened his hand on hers that rested on his sleeve. “I’m your husband. It’s part of what I do.”
Toria Jackson met them at the door. A sly smile curved her lips, and her eyebrows were raised as Clara entered on Bernard’s arm. “It seems you two have some big news to share.”
Before Clara could think of what to say, Bernard said, “Yes, Mrs. Jackson. Clara agreed to be my wife. We’d like to buy a new wardrobe for her and wondered if you’d help her out.”
It sounded so easy when Bernard said it, as if it had been planned all along instead of him stumbling into the whole mess not ten minutes ago. Still, she was grateful he had.
“Oh, my, yes.” Toria linked arms with Clara and led her away. “Congratulations, Clara. I’m so happy for you.” Her face must have given away her doubts because Mrs. Jackson then said, “Don’t you worry. Marriage takes some getting used to. And some time to pass before you feel completely together. Just get to know each other. It will all work out. You’re both good people.”
Clara felt like a boulder was rolling around in her gut. The last thing she wanted was for Bernard or anyone to know what her life had been like before. As bad as it had been since arriving in Creede, it had been like living in a nightmare before. She wanted to bury all memories of her previous marriage and the sorrow that had nearly driven her mad. No, it was best if she and Bernard didn’t get to know each other.
“Do you need everything from the inside out?” Toria asked.
Clara wanted to say no, but she definitely needed underclothes as well. She hadn’t really left much behind. She was wearing one of the two dresses she had, and neither of them were in good condition. It was the same for her small clothes—she only had one to wear and one to wash. “Yes, just a few things,” she answered. She wanted to cause the least trouble possible while she was with him.
“You’ll need a couple of night dresses as well,” Toria said over her shoulder as Clara followed her.
What was she going to do about night? She didn’t know what Bernard’s expectations were, but she knew husbands had expectations. Her arms crossed over her stomach, trying to hold herself together.
Toria moved around the back corner of the store with precision, collecting items and making a pile on a table. “Vivian Morgan makes these dresses,” she said, pointing to an array of silks and satins. There were even cotton dresses in the mix, but they were anything but plain. “I’m sure we’ll find some to suit you.”
At times, she held a dress up to Clara’s back to check for size and other times to her cheek to check the color. “You wear blue and green equally well, and this rose-colored dress is very striking with your complexion.”
Clara ran her hand over the dresses to feel the quality fabric and fine laces. She’d never worn such beautiful clothes. “Maybe one of these will do,” she said, pulling her hand away from the paisley skirt as if she were burned. There was no cause to go putting on airs. None of these could be worn while working at Hearth and Home.
“Try this on for size,” Toria said, handing her a white shirt and black skirt. “Just through there.” She pointed to a little door.
Clara did as she was told. She had a difficult time removing the dress she was wearing. It was caught somewhere in the back, and she couldn’t reach it.
“Let me help you with that,” a woman’s voice said. “I’m not good with dresses, but I’ll figure out the problem.”
Clara yelped and scooted away from the woman who had just appeared in the room. She felt the wall behind her.
“You’re a skittish one. Reckon I am a big surprise, though. I’m here to help you.”
Clara had no idea what she was talking about, who she was, or even how she got in there. The woman in the room was young and pretty but looked tough. Her hair was braided and pulled over her shoulder, and a leather cowboy hat hung behind her. She was dressed like a man with a long-sleeved shirt, dungarees, and tall boots. But most interesting was the gun belt slung across her hips and the pistol handles that pulsed with light.
“Are you all right in there, Clara?” Toria called out.
Before she could answer, the doorknob turned, and the door cracked open a few inches, revealing Toria’s face. Light flashed, and a crack of thunder rattled the room. The door didn’t move anymore, and neither did her friend just outside. She seemed frozen in place.
“That’ll give us a minute to talk,” the lady gunslinger said.
Clara looked between her and Toria, trying to figure it out.
“As I was saying,” the gunslinger said, “I’ve been sent to help you.”
Clara held her hand up to her friend’s face and waved it. Toria didn’t even blink.
“Don’t worry. She’s stopped. Well, everything is but not for long,” the woman said.
Stopped?
“I’m your guardian angel, and you’re going to need me later on. I thought I’d just dip in to introduce myself.” Clara could fell a deep, warming love in the woman’s voice as she continued. “It’s better to get the little surprise over before you need my help.” The gunslinger pulled her away from the wall. “Turn around.”
Clara did as she was told. Her legs obediently moved, but her mind whirled with wonder. Guardian angel? Could it be so? She wanted to believe, but she’d already had one miracle today. How else could you explain the lady just appearing that way? And things don’t just stop like that. For a moment, she dared to believe. Soon, she was wearing the new clothes.
“This is your time to transform your life and become who the Lord wants you to be. This is His gift to you. Clara, you’re more than who you believe you are.” She smiled at her.
Then the woman was gone. Clara couldn’t believe her eyes. She squeezed them shut and popped them open. All right, then. She’d believe a little longer.
“Are you done?” Toria asked, peeking in the door.
Clara still felt a little shaken, not understanding what had just happened but found her voice a
nd answered, “Yes. It’s a perfect fit. I’ll be right out.” The clothes she wore were simple enough, but she felt like a princess. She wanted to twirl and dance and listen to the swish of the crisp taffeta skirt.
“No need to change. Just wear those home, and I’ll put your other dress in the box for you.”
Before leaving the changing room, she lifted her arms and twirled in place. The skirt billowed outward. She had never owned anything so fine. She would care for this garment as if it were made of silver. When she came out again, Bernard was speaking with Toria.
He seemed to have forgotten his conversation because his eyes turned toward her, and his mouth dropped open a bit. He caught himself and nodded to her with a smile. She felt taller and smiled in return. She doubted she’d ever caused that reaction in a man before.
“Just a few more decisions, and you’ll be all set. A coat and new boots.” Toria helped her with those and added them to the piles on the counter. Mr. Jackson arranged for payment with Bernard. Clara followed Toria to the other side to look at gloves.
Clara felt the buttery soft leather on one set of gloves. “I really don’t need these.” She pushed her fingers inside another pair and felt the delicate rabbit fur that lined them. “It isn’t winter quite yet, and that coat has deep pockets. I’ll be fine.” She’d seldom ever owned gloves and then only knitted mittens.
“I’m afraid you must choose one. Your husband is very specific about what you’ll need.”
Her husband. Clara’s heart expanded. If she had been so lucky as to fall in love with such a man when she was young, what a different life she might have had. Then again, could even Bernard have ridden out the disappointment of each of her failures?
“He’ll be good to you, Clara. I’m happy for you.” Toria hugged her.
She was right. Bernard had already proven to be a courageous and generous husband. She chose the rabbit gloves. When the women joined the men, Clara noted the large box being filled with women’s clothing. He was buying it all? There were at least a dozen dresses.
Toria must have sensed her surprise and whispered to her, “He’s an important man in town, and now you’ll look like the wife of such a man.”
But I’ll only look like it.
Bernard arranged for the purchase to be delivered before they left.
They stepped from the store. Clara noticed that the wind had picked up since they’d begun shopping. In fact, it was now nearly lunch as they began the short walk back to Hearth and Home. “I left work rather sudden like, and they probably have no idea what happened,” Clara said. “I’d like to keep working there. I believe I need to talk with Mrs. Fontaine and Mrs. McRae.” She never knew when she might need the work and money in her future. She’d rather not burn that bridge.
She could tell Bernard was considering what she said, but it took him several steps before he replied, “You don’t need to work, Clara. I can take care of us.”
“But I want to. I like working with Millie and Julianne. They’re dear friends to me.”
They stopped outside the doors to the restaurant, and Bernard answered, “I don’t see a problem with that, but I also want you to know that when you decide not to work, be assured that I’ll provide for you.”
Clara had never heard such respect in an answer. He considered her desire without questioning her about it. It was enough that she wanted it. Her heart seemed to crack a bit, just enough to breathe him in but not settle him there. Her mind relaxed as well. She would enjoy the short time they’d have together.
Bernard held the door and waited for Clara to walk inside. Julianne rushed to Clara and threw her arms around her. “We wondered where you’d gone. Are you all right?” Then she turned away and yelled toward the kitchen. “Millie, Clara’s back.” Without another word, Julianne pulled her toward the kitchen door. “We were so worried about you.”
Before she entered the kitchen, Clara saw Bernard settle in to the table where he usually did his work. She’d have to tell them straight out.
Julianne guided them to a small table in the kitchen as Millie grabbed a coffee pot in one hand and cups in the other. “Where have you been?” Julianne asked, looking at the new skirt. “And why did you change? That’s beautiful, by the by.”
“I got married,” Clara replied. She clasped her hands, feeling the thick edges of the foil cigar band, and dropped them into her lap. She looked at her rough, calloused skin against the fine fabric. She didn’t match the dress at all.
Millie stopped, coffee pot in hand, and Julianne stared at her. Then they looked at each other. Then they stared at her again.
“Married?” Julianne said. “Wait! To Bernard? You came back with him.”
“How . . . had you . . . I’ve seen you talking, but I had no idea.” Millie said, placing the dishes and pot on the table.
“I didn’t, either,” Clara admitted. “It wasn’t really planned . . . and very sudden. I don’t really know how to explain it yet.”
Again, the women blinked at her without saying a word.
Finally, Clara said, “And I’d like to continue working here.”
“Of course,” Julianne said as Millie said, “That’s fine.” They sat at the table with Clara.
These two women were her best friends in the world. So much had happened today. She had to figure out what she thought about her day before she could tell them what she knew. The long pause went on while she considered it. She sipped the coffee in her cup.
“Your husband is a good man,” Julianne said.
“And he’ll treat you well,” Millie added with a bright smile. “I’m so happy for you.”
Julianne leaned over and hugged Clara. “So much has happened to us. Some very bad things and some very good things. I believe the Lord brought you two together. What else could it be? I’m happy for you. We’ll plan a party to celebrate your marriage.”
“Oh, no. I don’t want a fuss.” Clara stood and walked to the aprons hanging on the nail. “I was cleaning upstairs when this mess started.” The word mess gave her a little squeeze in her chest. Bernard deserved more. What was done was done. She tied on an apron. “I’ll be up there if you need me.” Before she left the kitchen, she said, “I love you, ladies. Thank you for your kindness.”
Millie and Julianne threw their arms around her, repeating their wishes of happiness for her and Newell.
When Clara left the kitchen, she had to walk near Bernard’s table to go up the stairs. She didn’t know if she could look at him, but she couldn’t not look at him, either. When their eyes met, he had a huge smile, and he came to his feet. Oh, my. She’d never had a man stand in her presence, and it was a grand, heady thing. She couldn’t help but smile back. She was giddy enough that she had to concentrate to climb the stairs.
Once upstairs, she went back to work. Making beds and wondering why Bernard had gone to the courtroom just then. Sweeping the rugs and floors and thinking about how grateful she’d been when he’d offered her a way out. Washing windows and considering how he’d simply accepted her and the care of her. She was sure she’d never felt such concern before. It wasn’t romantic love, but it seemed to be an abundance of love thy neighbor. She could accept that kind of love from him and give that in return.
Chapter 3
Bernard Newell
Bernard had a hard time keeping his mind on matters of law. Every time he heard a swish of skirts, he looked up to see if it might be Clara coming from the kitchen or from upstairs. Many times it was, and he was rewarded with a small smile. He was surprised how much he liked it and looked forward to the next one. Having a wife was going to be just fine with him.
When Arlo had touched Clara, Bernard was also surprised that he’d so freely considered shooting the man. In his past, he might have pulled the trigger and not have given it a second thought—protecting your family was the pinnacle of all values. Now, he wanted to avoid shooting others if he could. That violent part of him hadn’t risen its savage head in years, but his monster was
still just below his skin. He’d have to make sure it stayed there.
With the restaurant door opening and his client entering, Bernard had to focus on the law again. A few hours later, he arranged his papers and put them away in his bag. “I thought we might take our supper here,” he said to Clara. “My kitchen isn’t ready to cook in just yet.”
“I’m usually the one serving. It seems a little strange to sit and be waited on.”
“Well, then, it’s time you are. It may be a few days before we can do our own cooking. I don’t own a single pot or pan, and I have no food stores either. Besides, tonight they’re serving chicken and dumplings, one of my favorites, and they also have Millie’s Sticky Apple Cake.”
Bernard pulled a chair out as Clara said, “You might be happy to know that she’s teaching me to make it.” She sat down as the chair slid under her. She smiled up at him.
“Yes, I sure am.” He scooted his chair a bit closer to hers before he sat down, too.
They didn’t talk much during the meal. Bernard had to admit that he ate slowly, stalling the wedding night. He wondered if Clara was feeling awkward about returning to his home. He figured that by the time a man married a woman, there was usually at least a spark of passion brewing between them. She was lovely, kind, and gentle, but they were acquaintances at most.
Eventually, the food was gone, and they walked up Main Street to where he lived by the bank. The building was much larger than just what he’d need for an office. On the ground floor was a small office at the front with living quarters, a dining area and a kitchen behind it. Upstairs were four more rooms.
“This part will be used as my law office,” he said as they entered the two-story building, shutting and locking the door behind them. “The furniture came yesterday. Through this door in the back, we enter the residence.” He was glad he’d pulled the books from the floor and shelved them in the bookcases last night. The place was at least presentable.
