Marry Me Page 14

  “They smell good, though, don’t they?” Infinitely better than the simple rations she’d been fixing for herself. A man, she reflected, had more uses than she’d previously given him credit for. “Speaking of which, I’d better start on the rest of supper or the birds’ll be done before the biscuits are even begun.”

  “So your husband”—there was an emphasis on the word husband that Emily didn’t like at all—“will be home for supper?”

  “Of course he’ll be home for supper.” I hope. Or Emily would be scrambling to invent an excellent reason why not.

  “Where’s he been all afternoon?”

  Dark, bitterly fragrant water dripped back into the bucket as Emily wrung out the rag. She climbed to her feet, flipped the rag over a windowsill to dry, and poured the liquid over the ledge and onto the ground while she considered her answer. “I don’t know about you and Dr. Goodale, but I do not feel it critical to know every detail of my husband’s daily activities.”

  Hot color spiced Kate’s skin. “Such a brief time married to him and you’ve already learned to be so snippy? It doesn’t bode well, Emily.”

  “Maybe you never gave me reason to be snippy before.” And then they stared at each other, both startled and unsettled at how quickly they’d begun verbally pricking at the other when they’d never been anything but kind before. Had this always been there, just carefully contained? Or had their world, their relationship, changed so completely without either of them noting it along the way?

  “Kate, I thought I’d make a sponge cake, would you like to help? I—”

  “Oh, there he is.” Kate looked beyond her, out the window, and Emily turned to follow her gaze. Jake rode up on Reg, dragging some sort of sledge behind, piled with a high stack of clean, long, tied-down lumber. “What’s he up to now, d’you suppose?”

  Emily didn’t have time to come up with an appropriately vague but informative answer before Kate went on, “Never mind, I’ll ask him myself.” She popped off her chair and went through her prebattle checklist: hair, clothing, a pinch of color in her cheeks.

  Oh, Lordy. She couldn’t unleash her sister on Jake. He might consider himself prepared, but he’d never seen Kate in action. “Hold on, just let me check the oven, and I’ll come with you.”

  “Heavens, no need for that. I know you’ve got all sorts of culinary details to attend to. Wouldn’t dream of interrupting.” She smiled with enough glee to worry Emily all the more. “Don’t fret. I’m perfectly capable of keeping your husband company for you. And I’m quite sure he’s equally able to keep me entertained for a few moments.”

  That’s exactly what worries me, Emily thought. “Kate, I don’t mean to impose on you, as you are a guest, but I could use your help. If you wouldn’t mind.”

  “As if I’d be of any use in a kitchen.” Kate waved off the absurdity. “I’m sure you’ll be ever so much more efficient without me.”

  “Don’t be silly. I can teach you to separate eggs in no time.”

  “Do you know, Emily,” Kate said, deceptively light, “that, if I didn’t know better, I’d think that you’re afraid to let me speak to your husband alone. But whyever would that be?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” Emily said, even while her heart set up a worried thud.

  “That’s good.” Kate called over her shoulder as she sailed out the door. “I can’t wait to hear all about how the two of you met. Men’s versions of such matters are always so vastly entertaining.”

  Emily resisted for all of two minutes. Then she opened the oven door so the birds wouldn’t char too quickly, put aside her bowls, took up a prime eavesdropping position, and started practicing her excuses for charging in to the rescue.

  The only thing that remained to be seen was how long Jake would manage to hold out.

  Chapter 11

  Jake heard her coming. Quick light steps, the swish of exuberant, overflowing silk through grass, a cheery trill of “Hello” as she rounded the corner.

  He muttered a dozen curses beneath his breath. After avoiding women for over a year he was now beset by them at every turn. He didn’t run, though he was tempted, instead measuring out a length of string from the wall of the shack, marking the borders of the lean-to he planned, deliberately taking his time.

  “I said hello.”

  “Heard you the first time.”

  “You didn’t answer.”

  He sighed and straightened with his hands on his hips to survey the area he’d marked on the ground. Yeah, that looked about right. “Guess the wind’s blowin’ just right. Carried the words away.” He shrugged. “Happens out here sometimes. But you wouldn’t know about that.”

  “Hmm.” She took up a position in the shade of the shack, just beside the window.

  “Wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

  “Do what?”

  “Lean up against the house like that in that dress.”

  She jumped away, twisted around like a puppy chasing its tail. Black flakes of dirt and disintegrating tar paper clung to the amber silk. “Oh, would you look at that!” She whacked at the bits, leaving gray, palm-sized smears in their place, and he felt his mood improve. Nice to know that Kate wasn’t always coldly perfect.

  “It’s a pretty dress,” he allowed. Might as well make nice, he decided. “Looks good on you. Really good.”

  Kate was distinctly unimpressed by his compliments. “Yes, I know.” She sighed and gave up on repairing her skirts. “Oh well, this would only do for another three months at most anyway. I expect the silhouette to be much narrower by next spring.”

  It was hard to believe this creature was Emily’s sister. A few resemblances echoed the relationship: their noses had the same precise slope, and sometimes they tilted their heads at an identical angle. But other than that…Emily’s smile was more ever-present, far less calculated. He tried to imagine this elegant and contained creature swinging her hoe in a field and found it impossible. She looked as out of place there as a perfect china doll in a jumble of broken, well-worn toy soldiers.

  “Never mind. So.” She walked over to the pile of lumber and inspected it. “What are you making?”

  “Lean-to.”

  “How lovely. The…house is a tad small in its current state.”

  “You think so?” He lifted his brows at her. “Seemed plenty big to me. At least until a few days ago.”

  He had to hand it to her; her pleasant, interested expression didn’t flicker. Well, he really hadn’t thought she’d be that easy to discourage, had he? She had to have a few things in common with her sister.

  He caught a flutter of movement in the window. Emily’s head popped out from behind the drape of curtain, her expression fierce. She mouthed, Be nice at him, and just as quickly disappeared again.

  “Oh, you can smile!” Kate said. “I was beginning to wonder.”

  “When the occasion warrants.”

  Kate paced off the perimeter he’d staked out. “So you’re making me my very own bedroom, is that it? So very kind of you.”

  “You mean you won’t mind sharing space with the press? That’s right cooperative of you, Mrs. Goodale.”

  “Press?”

  “Newspaper press.” He pointed at the tent that, until last night, had served as his bedroom. “Got it in there temporarily, but it’s rusty enough as it is, and I’d best get it inside before it sticks up permanently.”

  “Newspaper press,” she repeated. And then added, with enough doubt in her voice to be down-right unflattering, “Are you a newspaperman, Mr. Sullivan?”

  As casually as he could manage, he edged over, giving himself a viewing angle into the house, to where Emily lurked behind the curtain, wondering if he’d discover shock on her face as well. But she was simply listening attentively. “I am now.”

  “I can see how there’s a lot of call for a newspaper out here. Such a population center. And undoubtedly just brimming with news demanding to be printed.”

  He wondered if Kate was so skeptical o
f all men or if he was just the lucky one because he’d had the gall to marry her sister. For all that Emily had described Dr. Goodale as no prize, he could almost pity the poor guy. “Ever heard of a proof sheet, Mrs. Goodale?”

  She appeared to give the matter due consideration. “I can’t say that I have.”

  “Part of the requirement of homesteading is that you’ve got to publish proof of intent to make claim. Five bucks apiece.” He indicated the infinite sweep of grasslands. “Any idea how many claims there are out there? And how little time any of those people have to trot off to the nearest newspaper office?”

  He told himself he wasn’t pleased by the glimmer of respect in her eyes. And he wouldn’t let himself look over at Emily again to see if it was echoed there.

  If he’d thought that it would end Kate’s inquisition, though, he’d been highly overoptimistic. He jogged over to his old encampment to grab a shovel and she was still there when he returned, making no pretense of doing anything but waiting for him.

  “So you’re trained as a newspaperman?” she asked as he began digging a hole for a support post.

  “No.”

  “I didn’t think so.”

  “Oh?” He jammed the shovel into the ground. The Bright sisters were really motivating to have around when one was digging, he reflected. “What’d you think I was, then?”

  “I’d assumed you were a farmer. Why else would you homestead?”

  “Why else, indeed.”

  “Aren’t you a farmer?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Sort of a big gamble, isn’t it? The homestead, and now printing? Shouldn’t you stick to things you already know how to do?”

  “I’m good at figuring things out.” He tossed a spadeful of dirt in her direction, just close enough that a few specks of dirt spattered her skirt and she took a couple of quick steps backward. Not exactly mature of him, but satisfying just the same. He planted the shovel in the ground—better not to be tempted, no guarantee his throw wouldn’t be a bit too strong next time—and leaned against it. “And just what do you envision me doing?”

  “Oh, I don’t know.” She studied him. “Something that requires brute strength, I’d guess.”

  “I’ve done that, too.” And damn proud of it, as proud as he was of all the good marks in philosophy he’d ever earned. It took as much out of a man, if in a different way, to support himself with his muscles as his head.

  “Still, you’ve chosen well if you aspire to be a newspaperman. Emily’s clever with words. I’m sure she’ll be able to give you a hand with the articles. Her grammar and spelling are excellent. I’m sure she’d be happy to assist.”

  She was deliberately baiting him. Knowing that didn’t help him resist rising to the bait. “I’m sure she would. But I think I’ll be able to struggle through. My writing skills were good enough for my professors, so I imagine I can scribble an article or two without much trouble.”

  Emily came out of the house at a dead run, no doubt to rescue him from Kate’s interrogation. She stopped in her tracks, ten feet behind Kate, so suddenly her hair and skirts swirled forward as if a brisk wind had come up behind her.

  “Your professors?” Kate asked.

  “Northwestern University. First in my class.”

  “You graduated from Northwestern University?”

  “Didn’t graduate. One semester short.”

  “Hmm,” she said. “Why’d you quit so close to the end? Especially if you were first in your class?”

  He could no more keep his gaze from fixing on Emily than he could keep the words from coming out of his mouth. “I got married.”

  “Married?” He heard Kate’s query, dim and distant. But his eyes remained on Emily, on the rich sympathy in her eyes, the warm and sad curve of her smile. And the words, I got married, which would have brought him to his knees a few weeks ago, only echoed hollowly, a dull ache rather than roaring agony. “But how did you—you just met,” she stammered, “how can you have quit, and come out here, I mean—” She stopped, whirled on Emily. “Did you know he had a wife?”

  “Yes,” Emily said softly, still looking at him, “I knew he had a wife.”

  “But—” She spun back, like a child’s whirligig toy. “What happened to her?”

  Aw, hell. Why’d he ever start this? Just to wipe the superior smirk off Kate Goodale’s face? It wasn’t worth it. He couldn’t make those words come out of his mouth. She died. He couldn’t say them. Never had. Was sure that, if he did, hell would crack open and claim him. The words would be irrevocably real.

  And then Emily stood beside him, her small hand firmly in his. “She died,” he heard her say, and she squeezed his hand, sending warmth up his arm that seeped through him, took the brutal edge off the hurt. Grateful, he looked down at her, let himself fall into the comfort she offered. “She died,” he repeated, and the sky didn’t open up, the earth didn’t shake, the lightning didn’t hit him. One more hurdle passed, the hardest one since he’d put down the whiskey bottle for the last time and taken his first sober steps out of the saloon door. A step away from Julia, he thought sadly. A step forward. A step toward…what?

  He couldn’t look away from Emily. Couldn’t see anything but her face.

  “But—”

  “Let it rest, Kate,” Emily said. “That’s enough questions for one day. Let it rest.”

  “It’s okay,” he told her.

  “Are you sure?” she asked, and he knew that she would have grabbed and muzzled her sister if he’d needed it. She would have done that for him.

  “I’m sure,” he said, and to prove it, he smiled at her. A real one, a grateful one, and it didn’t hurt a bit.

  He’d no idea how long they might have stood there like that, holding hands, holding gazes, if Kate hadn’t spoken.

  “We’ve got company,” Kate said, an interruption that Jake wasn’t sure if he rued or welcomed.

  “Shit.” Imbert Longnecker jolted toward them. He caught sight of them and waved eagerly, kicking his mount into a lurching trot.

  “I take it you’re not fond of this particular visitor?” Kate asked.

  “I’m not fond of unexpected guests, period.”

  “I never would have guessed,” she said dryly, but with a shade less censure than he’d noted from her before.

  Good ol’ Longnecker had dressed for the occasion, Jake thought sourly. Stiff white collar, baggy gray suit, sweaty brow, and all. He’d eyes for no one else but Emily as he rode up, grinning wide enough to show a slash of red gums.

  “Emily,” he cried and vaulted off. “I mean, Miss Bright. Forgive my impertinence and my unexpected arrival. It’s been some time since I’ve visited, however—they’re opening another three thousand acres, and the office has been inundated—and this afternoon I just up and thought, why, I must go and see how Miss Bright is faring.”

  “You’re welcome anytime, Mr. Longnecker,” Emily said with automatic courtesy. But she looked a bit queasy around the edges. “However, I must admit that this is not the most convenient time.”

  Well, damn, Jake thought. So much for keeping this simple and quiet.

  “My sister’s here visiting,” she added, and, on cue, Kate swished over into his line of sight.

  “How delightful!” he said, and then got his first good look at Kate.

  Much to Jake’s dismay, he had to give the skinny fellow credit; he hardly drooled at all, and recovered his tongue a whole lot faster than Jake would ever have figured him for.

  “Why, Miss Bright, what a delight!” He took her hand and smiled warmly. “How lovely for Em—Miss Bright—the first one, that is—that you were able to join her! And I can certainly see how the two of you favor each other. I’ll be processing applications from single men night and day once the word that there are two of you here gets out.”

  “Actually, it’s Mrs. Goodale.”

  “Of course it is. What’s that?” He cupped his hand to his ear. “Just the sound of hearts breaking all over t
he county, I’d wager.”

  “Very prettily said.” She cut her eyes toward Jake. “Would that all men could claim such manners.” She sighed. “I always assumed, when Emily chose a husband—”

  “Husband?” What little color he had blanched from his face. “You…got married? To him?”

  “I—” Jake felt Emily’s tension, the taut vibration of her body against his. From his position behind her, he couldn’t see her face, but he’d bet there was guilt written all over it. And Kate watched everything with avid interest.

  “She sure did.” He tightened his arm around her waist. For support, he’d intended, and for show, but he kept it there because he liked it. There really was nothing like having a woman in your arms. How’d he ever think he’d be able to go forever without it? And maybe he would have if fate hadn’t dropped Emily into his life. “Aren’t you going to congratulate us?”

  Imbert swallowed hard. “When?”

  “Recently,” Emily murmured. “Very recently.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  Silence. A silence that a mind as devious as Kate’s could easily read too much into.

  Deliberately he dropped a kiss on the top of Emily’s head. Just for their audience’s benefit. But for an instant he lost himself. Her hair was warm from the sun, astoundingly soft, and smelled of flowers and soap, the scent that, he now realized, had drifted through his dreams the whole night through. “It’s no secret, Longnecker.” He rested his chin on the top of her head. “We’ve just been too busy. Running around making announcements just hasn’t made it to the top of our priorities yet.”

  “Oh.” Crestfallen, Imbert backed toward his horse, his mournful expression making it clear what he thought they’d been “too busy” at.

  “There’s no reason to rush off,” Emily said. “You’re welcome to stay for dinner. We’ve plenty.”

  “No, no,” he said glumly, and hauled himself into the saddle. “I think it’d be a bit crowded.”

  “So.” Kate clasped her hands in front of her skirt. “I hadn’t realized your marriage was not yet public knowledge. How interesting.”