A Bride for Noah (37 page)

He smiled then, a gentle curving of his lips, and gestured with his hand toward one of the huts. When she turned, she saw a man ducking out of the low opening.

Noah.

Her throat constricted and she stumbled toward him, nearly blinded by the rush of tears that filled her eyes. He did not move, and she stopped just short of throwing herself into his arms.

“Evie, what are you doing here?” He glanced around. “Did you come alone?”

Not trusting her voice, she nodded.

He let out a sigh. “Come on. I'll take you home.”

When she would have protested, she became aware of their surroundings. A good-sized crowd had gathered to watch, their expressions openly curious. Perhaps they didn't understand English, but she didn't relish being observed as she humbled herself. Nodding, she allowed him to escort her back through the camp in the direction she came.

He was silent as he led her through the trees, his shoulders stiff. Would he subject her to silence the whole way? With many hard swallows and deep gulps of air, she managed to get control of her tears by the time they stepped onto the wider trail that led to Seattle. At least then she could walk by his side and see his face instead of staring at his rigid back.

When she was certain she could speak, she blurted the words that were foremost on her mind. “I'm sorry I didn't tell you about James. I was going to, right when the ship arrived. I promise.”

He walked on a few paces without answering. When he did, he didn't look at her but kept his gaze fixed ahead. “Tell me now.”

Taking an unsteady breath, she told him of their engagement, of how she had come to realize that she didn't love James and to suspect that he didn't love her either. How when Noah's letter arrived and she'd overheard Miles reading it aloud while she cleaned…

“Wait.” He glanced at her then, a quick flicker of the eyes that lasted only a moment. “You
worked
for Uncle Miles and Aunt Letitia?”

“Yes,” she answered quietly. “I was their housemaid.”

A few more steps. “So you lied when you claimed to be his business partner?”

“No! I was his business partner. Am,” she corrected herself. She lowered her head, watching her feet walk down the trail. “I didn't want you to discount me as a servant. I wanted you to respect me as a businesswoman.”

“I respect honesty.”

The word sliced into her misery, and she could only nod. The rest of the journey she spent desperately casting about for some way to convince him of her honesty. They arrived at the restaurant, her thoughts still in turmoil. When they stepped off the trail into the glade, Noah stopped.

Evie looked up at him. “Will you come inside? I have more to tell you.” The attorney's letter and all its content entailed, burned like a coal in her pocket.

Staring up at the top of the totem pole, he shook his head. “I don't think so. I've heard enough for one day.”

Panic stirred to life inside her. Was he casting her aside, then? “But you don't understand. My uncle died, and I've inherited his estate. At first I thought I would go back to Tennessee, but I could
stay here. I can sell the house and the property, pay off the loan, and have enough left over to build the boardinghouse we talked about.”

He did look at her then. “Why should I continue a partnership with someone who isn't honest with me?”

“Because I've told you the truth.” Sobs threatened to rob her of a voice, but she plowed ahead. “All of it. I have no more secrets.” Desperate, she put a hand on his arm. “And I love you, Noah.”

She searched his face for a sign, a glimpse of something that would give her hope that he still loved her, still cared for her. But all she could see were gray eyes clouded with doubt.

Slowly, she removed her hand. He didn't love her after all. If he did, then surely he would forgive her. The air around her darkened, and at first she thought the cause was the anguish of her thoughts. Then a heavy raindrop splashed against her cheek, followed quickly by another.

With an upward glance, Noah finally spoke. “You'd better go inside.” The softness in his voice held not love, but farewell. He turned and strode away.

Evie watched until he disappeared inside the trees. Numbly, she stumbled to the restaurant and threw open the door. When she stepped inside, the storm broke. The heavens opened, and rain poured from the sky. She sank onto the nearest bench, put her hands over her face, and gave in to tears.

Twenty-One

E
thel was at the logging camp's cookhouse arranging a surprise for Evie when the rain started. The paltry amount of supplies the
Commodore
brought wouldn't keep the restaurant going more than a couple of weeks, and Mr. Coffinger had purchased all the wrong things, besides. Who could make a decent supper out of turnips and cabbage?

“Here we go.” Cookee backed out of the storeroom carrying a wooden crate. “Them's canned peaches. I kin make a cobbler that'll stick to yer ribs with no more'n a can a peaches and a handful of wheat flour.” With a thud, he set the crate beside the others on the rough slats that served as a table for the lumberjacks when the camp was in operation.

Ethel eyed him with disbelief. “I know my cobblers, and it takes more than peaches and flour to make a decent one.”

The little man chuckled. “Well, I might throw one or two other things in there.”

“Such as?”

The smile faded and he narrowed his eyes. “That there's mine to know and yours to find out. A fella can't go around givin' away all his secrets, can he?”

Cackling, he stomped back into the storeroom. Ethel gave a grunt of disgust, taking care to make it loud enough for him to hear. She saved her grin for when his back was turned. Wouldn't do to encourage him, after all.

He returned with another crate of peaches and plopped it beside the rest. “That there's the last of it. Don't know what the pusher will say 'bout handing all this over to a woman, though.”

“Mr. Denny doesn't need these supplies right away, not with the logging camp temporarily closed.” Ethel made note of the tally, marking two crates of peaches carefully on her paper. “By the time he's ready to start up again, Miss Evie will have made enough money in her restaurant to pay him back or replace them.”

He folded an arm across his middle, propped his other elbow on it, and stroked his scraggly beard with two fingers. “Well, I'll give 'er one thing. That gal's got a lot of spunk for a Tennessee girl.”

Ethel drew herself up, eyeing him down the length of her nose. “And what's wrong with Tennessee girls?”

“They's ignor'nt, for th' most part.” He gave her a pointed look. “And pigheaded.”

“Huh!”

She turned her back on him and marched to the open doorway. Rain fell from the sky in a true deluge. She could barely see three yards into the camp. The ground would be a muddy mess in a matter of minutes.

“Reminds me of the day we arrived,” she commented without turning.

He came to stand beside her. “I remember. You and the other wimen looked like river rats and howled like a pack of banshees.”

Ethel twisted her lips. “I did not howl.”

“Yessiree, you did. You was cryin' like you's afraid a little rain's gonna do you in for good. And shoutin' for tea like you'd marched into a fancy restaurant or somethin'. I knew right then you was cantankerous as all git-out.”

He chuckled, and though it galled her, she couldn't deny the accusation. She never had been pleasant when denied her tea.

The chuckle faded, and Cookee cocked his head to look at her sideways. “I always liked me a cantankerous woman.”

Ethel looked at him. Had she heard correctly? Was that a compliment he'd just paid her? She couldn't tell from the way he was watching her. “It would take a cantankerous woman to put up with the likes of you.”

“That'd be true,” he admitted. “I speak my mind, I do. I need me a woman who ain't afraid to speak her mind right back.” He peered at her, as if watching closely for a reaction.

A funny feeling commenced to tickle Ethel's stomach. Was Cookee trying, in his bumbling way, to tell her he had feelings for her?

“She'd have to be pigheaded too,” she replied cautiously.

He threw his head back and laughter filled the cookhouse. “That she would.” When the laughter died, his grin remained. “What say ye, then? You 'n' me'd have quite a time together.”

At the sight of his grin, the tickle became a flutter. Her and Cookee? Well, and why not? He irked her to no end, with his brusque manner and know-it-all attitude. But he made her laugh, and in an odd way, she enjoyed spending time with him. Half the time she wanted to slap him silly, and the other half she spent laughing till her sides split. Could that become the basis of a romantic relationship? She took a new measure of him. Not a bad-looking man, if he would shave and wash his clothes every so often. The top of his head came barely to her eyebrows, and of course she outweighed him by a few stones at least.

“We'd look like Jack Sprat and his wife,” she said, with a dubious frown.

“Aw, who cares? I like me a woman with some meat on her.” He waggled his scraggly eyebrows at her. “Give me a nice plump hen over a scrawny ol' chick any day.”

A blush warmed Ethel's cheeks. One thing was certain. Marriage
to Cookee would not be a quiet, tame life. It would be full of eruptions and spats and making up.

“One thing I insist on.” She narrowed her eyes. “You may not call me ignorant ever again.”

He jumped to attention. “Ye have my word on that.”

“In that case…” She inclined her head like a queen granting a favor to a knight, though Cookee was the least likely knight she knew. That was all right, though. She was the least likely queen in all of Seattle. “You have my permission to court me.”

The joyful whoop he gave set loose a grin she couldn't have held back if she'd wanted to.

Lucy was still at the dock arranging for the supplies to be transported to the restaurant when the rain started. Barely had the crew of the
Commodore
set the last box on the shore when the first fat drops landed on the top of her head. She craned her neck back. Though the sky had been overcast all day, the section directly overhead was now dark and brooding. She'd seen clouds like this a few times since her arrival in Seattle.

“Rain's coming!”

She didn't wait to see if the men who were on hand to tote the supplies up the trail took note of her warning, but dashed toward the closest trees. The deluge began while she was still ten feet outside of the dubious shelter of the forest, and she was soaked to the skin in a matter of seconds. Blinded by rain running from her hair into her eyes, she stumbled toward a tree trunk.

“Come farther in.”

She heard the shout over the roar of the downpour and a moment later something was thrown over her shoulders and she was led several more yards into the forest.

“Thank you.” She raised a hand to wipe the hair from her eyes so she could see her rescuer.

Her heart slammed against her ribcage, and her step faltered.

“Be careful,” said James. “You'll be mud from head to toe if you fall now.”

With an arm around her shoulders, he guided her to a place where a stand of cedars grew more closely together than the others, and their leaves far above provided a bit more cover. Rain still reached the forest ground, but not nearly as heavily as in the clear area by the dock. Lucy allowed herself to be led, her pulse skipping unpredictably while she tried to untie her tongue.

“There.” He looked toward the treetops. “Hopefully this will blow over soon. Not sure, though. It doesn't rain like this very often back home.”

“I'm from Tennessee too.” She could have bit her tongue in two. Must she blurt out everything that popped into her head without thinking?

He looked at her, surprise apparent. “How do you know I'm from Tennessee?”

“Everyone does after yesterday.” She ducked her head. “Everyone who was there when the
Commodore
arrived, anyway.”