A Bride at Last (20 page)

Yes, why indeed had he not thought about marrying Kate until now? His breathing quickened as he tightened his hold on the railing.

Surely he ought to provide a mother for his son, but who would he marry back home? Though Lucy had left him in limbo—not knowing if he was a widower or not—he’d not allowed himself to become attracted to any of the single women in Salt Flatts. And though his friend Everett’s mail-ordered marriage turned out to be the best thing to happen to the older man,
he’d
never feel comfortable attempting it again. . . .

So why not Kate?

The acid in his stomach churned, and his head swirled as if he’d had too much to drink. When his brain clouded in a liquor haze, his decision-making couldn’t be trusted. Except he’d not put anything stronger than coffee against his lips today.

Could he ask her? His innards wrapped around themselves just like the time he’d shoved aside his fear and penned his proposal to Lucy. Not a pleasant memory considering his stomach had remained in knots until he’d received her reply—and he’d certainly not gotten the happy marriage Everett had.

But Kate wasn’t rich like Lucy had been, and she was alone,
just like him. The only person she was attached to was Anthony . . . and he was leaving with him for Kansas.

She looked over her shoulder and caught his gaze as if she’d felt him staring. He tried to drag his eyes off her but couldn’t. His lungs wouldn’t even inflate at the moment.

She tipped her head and quirked the corner of her mouth in that charming way she did so often.

He’d always wanted a happy family, and seeing Anthony tucked into her side, talking and smiling . . . What he wouldn’t give to see that every day.

But would she make him happy? She definitely wouldn’t sulk and pout and run away like Lucy. Kate would likely tell him he’d messed up and get in his face until they’d resolved their issues. If he allowed his mind to think about Kate as more than the woman attached to his son, united as one with him . . .

Yeah, that wouldn’t be a hard thing to imagine at all.

Oh, Lord. I’m going to ask her.

The sound of a faraway whistle blew.

I don’t even have time to think about it anymore. It’s ask or not.

At least he wouldn’t have to face her again if she said no. He only hoped the sting of rejection wouldn’t last too long.

He licked his lips and looked down the tracks. The locomotive slowed around the final curve, its engaged brake scraping his ears. He’d have maybe fifteen minutes before the train left.

Thrusting his hands into his pockets, he pushed off the railing and walked toward her, each step leaden as he forced himself forward despite his heartbeat trying to ram him back. When Anthony caught sight of him, he sighed dramatically and wilted against Kate. She appeared equally pitiful. The sheen in her eyes made him want to scoop her up right then to test the feel of her in his arms.

Anthony’s mouth opened, seemingly ready to protest, but
he must have seen something in Silas’s face to make him stop. The boy kicked his trunk. “I’ll miss you, Miss Dawson. Maybe even more than I miss Mother.”

Kate pulled him against her and kissed the top of his head. “You’ll be all right.” But the deep creases around her mouth indicated she wouldn’t be. “I wish you didn’t have to go already, but we want you safe.”

Was Anthony and Kate’s desire to be together worth marrying without love?

What was love anyway? Sacrificing oneself for another, right?

Silas cleared his throat and glanced between them. “Son, do you mind if I have a moment with Miss Dawson?”

Anthony shrugged and shuffled over to sit on the bench beside the man feeding pigeons. Silas turned toward Kate, but kept Anthony in his sight. He cleared his throat again.

The gold in Kate’s hazel eyes glittered above the small, sad smile she gave him. “Keep him safe for me.”

Silas pulled off his hat and ran the brim through his fingers, still rough and callused, though he’d had a month off from his farming chores. “Anthony needs you.”

She cocked her head. “I told Anthony I’ll write. My guess is he’ll tire of writing me long before I’ll tire of hearing from him. He’ll—” The train whistled to signal its approach. “He’ll want me to stop poking my nose into your lives probably sooner than later.”

“But all boys need a ma.”

“I suppose both of us would’ve been better off with parents, but I’m sure he’ll get himself a mother one day. You’re far too . . .” Her gaze ran from his head to his toes, then away. A flush stained her cheek. Did she think the train huffing to a stop kept him from hearing what she’d almost said?

His chest cinched up tight. Did she find him attractive, nice, what? “No other woman would love him as much as you.”

“Are you trying to make me cry, Silas?” Her throat garbled his name, or maybe it was the steam engine’s chuff, but it sounded as if . . .

She took a step back and gave him a curt nod, her gaze stuck to the boards at her feet, but then she peeped up at him for just a second, her eyes sad—or longing? “We should bid each other good-bye now.”

“But wouldn’t you want to be his ma? To . . . to marry me and be his ma?”

Her head snapped up, and her eyes went wide, but not with longing. Had what he said insulted her?

He cleared his throat again. Why couldn’t he get words out? “I mean, he needs one—”

“Oh no.” She looked off into the distance, her head shaking, her mouth slightly agape. “Please don’t tell me you’re asking me to marry you just for Anthony’s sake. Once he grows up, where would that leave me?”

How could she think she’d be unneeded? “I still wish I had a mother.” The steam engine’s hiss escalated, and he spoke as loudly as he could without yelling. “If Anthony stays around Salt Flatts, there’d be grandchildren, and a farm’s work is never done. If you took over the house chores—”

“Stop.” She held out a hand, and her tongue ran between her lips. “I’ll not give up my job to be a maid.”

“I didn’t mean that’s all I’d want you for.”

She raised her voice to be heard over the train. “Then what good would I be once Anthony leaves?”

Was she daft? “Do you think that after years together we’d stay strangers?”

“Strangers, no.” Her lips pursed, and she pointed at his chest as if she would poke him. “But I want to be happy, even if I have to remain a poor spinster to be so. I want love. It’d be too hard—”

“Well, of course I want you to be happy.” He slapped his hat against his leg. “This hasn’t come out right at all. I hadn’t enough time to think of how to say this proper.” But he couldn’t promise love before he actually felt it, could he?

“Exactly, you haven’t thought it through.” Her throat worked, and her eyes turned moist. “I understand you’re worried about taking on a boy you hardly know who hasn’t warmed up to you, but you can’t ask me to give up my entire life because you want help for a few years. What do you even know about me, about what I want? If it wasn’t for . . .”

The train’s brakes’ long hiss drowned out her words, but her mouth kept moving. The more she argued, the harder it was to look away from her full bottom lip, the subtle dip in the top one.

What did she mean he didn’t know about her? They had a lot in common: their orphaned background, their love for Anthony, their ability to work hard. What else did they need to build on?

Whatever was special between a man and a woman.

All of a sudden, she pressed her mouth shut. Her chest heaved right along with the hissing and heavy chugging that had grown so loud behind them she must have realized he couldn’t hear a thing she said.

He felt something for her, sure. Many a man felt something when the shape of a woman and the details of her face were as delectable as hers. But she needed to know if he could feel more.

They couldn’t become certain of such through letters—his past was proof of that.

The train’s hiss ended, and a mechanical
pop
made her jump. She crossed her arms, her expression transforming from anger to hurt. “Clearly, you aren’t—”

He caught her waist faster than he could lasso a sleeping calf and cut off her words with his mouth. Her sharp intake of breath, and her eyes darting off to the side reminded him of
Anthony and the disembarking passengers, so he brought his hat up to shield their kiss from view.

But that was the last logical move he made.

He’d expected some sizzle—either from her fists or her lips—being the firebrand that she was, but the magnetic draw was an unexpected shock. The second his lips touched hers, his free hand cupped her long neck, which arched backward to accommodate his height. His thumb ran along the smooth curve of her throat as his body closed the gap between them. He dropped his hat to bury his fingers into her hair and pull her closer.

She put a hand against his chest, but she didn’t push him away.

He needed to be pushed away! He was far too close, consumed with the same insatiable thirst that came when he pressed a liquor bottle to his lips. But no short kiss would tell them much of anything they needed to know. . . .

Her fingers dug into the fabric of his shirt and dragged him even closer.

He could feel the crowd scurrying past them, but when she started to move her lips against his in a way Lucy’s never had, his mind closed off, as if they’d been transported to a place where not a single soul but God knew what they were doing.

And then she moaned.

Heaven help him—

Wheeeeeesh!

They jumped apart at the train whistle’s blow, alerting passengers to get on quickly for the scheduled short stop.

They blinked at each other for what seemed like forever, red-faced and short of breath.

Oh, there was certainly that special feeling between a man and a woman bouncing off of them all right. They had it in spades.

Her hand flattened against his chest, which dragged in such
exaggerated breaths he was hard-pressed not to look down and take in every inch of her. He’d not really lingered over her feminine curves the past few weeks, but at that moment he wanted to rather badly, though what mattered was in her eyes.

He found his breath first. “Would you come with us?”

“Now?” She put her fingers against her mouth. “This is too sudden. I can’t . . . I can’t leave my job unless I’m absolutely certain you won’t back out on me. You said you haven’t even thought this through. Another hasty marriage proposal—”

“
I’m
not the backing-out kind.” That description would belong to his late wife, his mother, the foster parents who’d given him back after only a handful of weeks.

No. Backing out was what the people who were supposed to love him did, not what he did.

“I . . . I don’t know.” She shook her head, but her eyes dropped from his and onto his lips. Not her feet, not elsewhere . . . She was still glued to him though the physical contact had broken. “I promised myself I’d never again make a decision like this so quickly. Yet you’re asking me to decide now.”

But she hadn’t slapped him, hadn’t run away, was still looking at his mouth.

He’d married a stranger once, and he’d thought he’d felt something for Lucy after looking at her picture, after taking her home.

That something was as cold as a blizzard compared to the heat still in his body and the fire flushing Kate’s freckled cheeks.

His heart had been so focused on Anthony while he’d been living in Breton, he must have been completely ignoring his body. He looked at Anthony, who darted glances between them.

No warning bell clanged in his mind. She’d be perfect for his every need—their every need.

And he liked her. More than liked her. But he couldn’t handle her coming to Kansas, then changing her mind. Not after that
kiss. Not knowing how Anthony’s heart would break if she didn’t follow through. “I won’t beg, Kate. If you come, I’ll give you the best wedding I can afford.”

“All aboard!”

He stooped to grab his hat, then stood. “Looks like we’ve run out of time.”

She started to shake her head, and it was all he could do not to grab her and kiss her again so she wouldn’t say a word.

They didn’t need another kiss though. He already knew exactly what that would tell them. “Was Richard wrong about you feeling something for me?”

Her lips flattened as if she was trying not to flat out tell him she hated his guts. Yet she didn’t say anything.

“Please think about it.” He gestured for Anthony to pick up his bags.

How did one say good-bye after kissing a woman like that? He laid a hand on her stiff shoulder and let his palm run down the length of her arm until he cupped her elbow, his eyes locked on hers. He stared at her for a moment. Was she going to say something?

She dropped her gaze from his, seemingly struck dumb.

“All aboard! Last call!”

“Write me, Kate.” He let his fingers trail down the rest of her arm, then tucked a loose wisp of hair behind her ear.

She looked up and blinked. He wasn’t sure, but he thought she nodded.

He turned to grab his luggage and shuffled it over to the freight car where Anthony was the last person hoisting his things into the porter’s hands.

Over his shoulder, Kate only stared at them, both hands now pressed against her mouth.

He hopped onto the passenger car’s back platform as the locomotive’s pistons started their first hard, slow chug.

He waited for her to take a step forward, hold out her hand, widen her eyes with regret—anything to tell him whether or not he’d hear from her soon. But she only stood transfixed.

When the train depot’s platform and Kate’s slender figure disappeared, Silas laid a reluctant hand on Anthony’s back and guided him into the car. Anthony slid across the cushioned bench seat and looked out the window.

Silas closed his eyes and let his body rock with the train’s gentle swaying. Was it his imagination, or had she responded to his kiss as if . . . as if she’d been pining to kiss him all along?

But then she’d said no to his awkward proposal.

So which was it? What was he to hope for?

Time. Time was what they needed.