A Bride in the Bargain (11 page)

“Now, you must keep the tides in mind when at the end of Commercial Street,” he continued. “We had a newcomer once pull up in his canoe just as the tide was going out. He was stuck on a bed of ooze for hours in the sun and rain until the tide returned to release him.”

“And do you get much rain here, Mr. Denton?” Anna asked.

“Yes.” He didn’t turn to her when he answered, just kept walking, then bent close to Mrs. Wrenne. “Now, you may have occasion to see an Indian.”

Bertha’s eyes widened.

Patting her hand, he smiled. “No need to worry. They’re civilized and their language is very simple to learn.”

“So the relations with the Indians are friendly?” Anna asked.

“Yes.” Again he kept his voice clipped and his back to her. “There’s a confectionery across the street, Mrs. Wrenne. May I interest you in a sweet?”

She nodded.

“I’d heard you had a war with the Indians,” Anna persisted. “Did it last long?”

“Lasted one day.” After stepping into the street, he took both of Mrs. Wrenne’s hands, then helped her off the boardwalk. As soon as her feet touched the packed-dirt road, he led her across the road, never once offering assistance to Anna. He didn’t even glance back to see if she followed.

Sighing, she stepped down, resigning herself to silently tag along behind the couple until her
employer
was ready to leave town. Her refusal of his marriage offer had clearly stung his pride. Well, she couldn’t care less. What concerned her now was his motive for parading Mrs. Wrenne through town.

The mismatched couple disappeared behind a glass door with the words
Charles C. Terry, Candies, Fruits & Nuts
.

Anna let herself in. The smell of fresh pastry, ripe berries, and ginger soothed her frayed nerves. Jars of marmalades and candied fruits lined the shelves behind a beautiful mahogany counter. The elegant platters and gallery trays decorating its surface held a variety of tempting cakes and tarts.

She judged the man behind the counter to be somewhere in his thirties. He had a head full of dark hair, wide-set eyes, and a ready smile.

“Morning, Joe.” Wiping his hands on his apron, he eyed the two women. “Who do we have here?”

“This is Mrs. Wrenne and Miss Ivey. They came over with Mercer. Ladies, this is Mr. Terry.”

The bell on the door jingled. The blacksmith with soot covering his face and clothes entered the establishment, bringing the smell of his shop with him. He gave a shy smile and nod.

Anna nodded back.

“What captures your fancy, Mrs. Wrenne?” Denton asked, perusing a list of confections painted on a board behind the counter. “The molasses bread pudding is always good. How does that sound?”

She nodded.

“Make that two, Charlie,” Denton said as the baker lifted a lid off a warming pot.

The smell of molasses, vanilla, and cinnamon filled the small shop. Anna’s mouth watered, and she tried to remember the last time she’d had bread pudding. Hoke hadn’t allowed his cooks to sample the desserts. Sugar was at too much of a premium.

Taking the two bowls Mr. Terry offered, Denton turned, caught sight of Anna, and hesitated. “Oh. Would you like something, Miss Ivey?”

Refusing to give him the satisfaction, she didn’t so much as glance at the bowls he held. “I’m fine, thank you. Had a rather large breakfast.”

“Shall we have a seat, then?”

Guiding them to a nearby table, Mr. Denton smiled at Mrs. Wrenne and helped her into a chair. The woman might be old, but she wasn’t dead. Her entire countenance glowed from the attention.

The smithy saw to Anna’s chair, then quickly stumbled back to the counter.

Mr. Denton didn’t seem to notice. After finishing off his dessert in three big bites, he leaned back and gave Mrs. Wrenne a devastating smile. “Do you like it?”

She touched the corner of each lip with her napkin and nodded. The pudding required no chewing—and no teeth.

After she finished, he gave a quick glance at the baker and blacksmith, then scooted forward. “I received word from Mercer that your Mr. Boynton is no longer in the market for a bride.”

Mrs. Wrenne jerked her chin up.

He swallowed, his Adam’s apple jumping in his throat; then he lowered his voice. “So he has assigned you to me.”

Anna stiffened.

He took Mrs. Wrenne’s bent hand into his large, callused ones. “Would you, ma’am, do me the honor of becoming my lawfully wedded wife?”

Mrs. Wrenne’s beady eyes widened beneath the folds of skin above them. “You want to marry me?”

Mr. Terry’s pastry tongs clattered to the floor. The blacksmith whipped his head around.

Anna didn’t know what to do. Every instinct she had screamed at her to interfere. But she knew that her friend wanted nothing so much as a husband, and Mr. Denton certainly needed a wife.

“I would be very honored, ma’am,” he said, his face warming at the sudden quiet in the room.

“Mrs. Wr—”Anna started.

“Yes! I would be happy to be your bride, Mr. Denton.”

After a slight pause, his smile was full, bright, and genuine. Straight white teeth. Deep lines of twin dimples. Hazel eyes sparkling with pleasure.

She answered his smile with a plethora of lines on each side of her mouth and a gaping hole in between.

He stood. “Shall we go find the preacher?”

“Right now?”

“Yes. Let’s not wait another minute.”

Her smile slowly collapsed.

He sank back into his chair. “What’s the matter?”

She cleared her throat, then lowered her voice to a whisper. “Would you mind if we waited until I had some teef made?”

He hesitated. “Mrs. Wrenne, I own a logging company and must get back to it today. I’ve been away too long as it is.”

Her eyes watered. “Please?”

He rubbed his jaw. “I really can’t afford to keep coming back and forth to town. I’d rather just go to the preacher now. Today.”

She pursed her lips together in a pout. “Are we habing our foist fight?”

A slow line of red began to creep up his neck.

“I don’t see the harm in waiting, Mr. Denton,” Anna interjected. “After all, it will only take, what, two weeks?”

“More like three,” he ground out, piercing her with his gaze.

“Well, the judge said you had seven weeks. I heard him myself.”

After several seconds of tense silence, he pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. “Very well. We’ll wait until Dr. Barnard can make . . . what is necessary.” He stood. “But as soon as he’s finished, Mrs. Wrenne, I must insist we have the ceremony.”

She set her napkin on the table. “Tank you.”

Avoiding Anna’s gaze and that of the two men in the confectionery, Mr. Denton assisted Mrs. Wrenne to her feet and escorted her out the door.

C
HAPTER
E
IGHT

The wagon rolled and swayed, jostling Anna on the seat. Mr. Denton had not said so much as a word to her since leaving the confectionery. He had simply made arrangements with a dentist to have some teeth made for Mrs. Wrenne, walked them back to the Occidental, then propelled Anna out to his wagon.

They’d been on the crude road for almost an hour and he still hadn’t said anything. Perhaps they would make it all the way to his lumber camp in peace and quiet.

“Judge Rountree holds half my property in the palm of his hand.” Denton’s growl broke the silence. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t insult him at all, much less in his own home.”

So much for peace and quiet.

“He named his children One, Two, Three, and Four,” she said. “He deserves to be insulted.”

“That’s not the point. The point is I can’t afford to alienate him and now that you are my responsibility, I can’t have you offending him either.”

“Well, who would have thought someone would do that to his own children? I thought the boy was lying, for heaven’s sake.”

“Well, he wasn’t. O.B. hates his name, and rather than saddling his kids with a name they hate, he decided to let them pick their own.”

“So he calls them One, Two, Three, and Four? That’s his solution to giving them names they won’t hate?”

“They’re temporary.”

“They’re preposterous.”

“Are you listening to me, Anna? I won’t have you insulting him.”

The outrage she felt on the children’s behalf continued to brew inside her. “Oh dear,” she said, affecting a pout. “Are we
habing
our
foist
fight?”

He yanked the horses to a stop. She’d have flown right off the seat if he hadn’t grabbed her and jerked her around to face him.

“Mrs. Wrenne is the woman I’m going to marry and I won’t tolerate you or anyone else making fun of her. You understand me, missy?”

She immediately felt contrite. She hadn’t meant to say that, but she was just so blame mad. And it wasn’t only because of the children. She narrowed her eyes. “How dare you lecture me when you’re marrying her only as a means to an end?”

He gave her a shake. “I won’t have you making fun of her. Do you understand?”

Wrenching herself from his hold, she straightened her backbone, refusing to be cowed by him. “Those are awfully strong words from a man who is
using
her.”

“No more than she’s using me.” He snatched up the reins.

All the starch wilted from her. “But aren’t you ashamed?”

“You’re the one who ought to be ashamed. Making fun of her lisp like that.”

“I am. I’m sorry I did it and I won’t do again.” She glared at him. “And you? Are you ashamed?”

He flicked the ribbons, causing the horse to pick up some speed. “Not one single bit.”

The rain started less than an hour later. The wagon’s canopy offered little protection from the moisture blowing in from the sides. It didn’t take long to penetrate Anna’s clothing, and try as she might, she couldn’t keep her shivers at bay.

Joe shrugged off his jacket and tossed it on her lap. “Didn’t it occur to you to bring a coat?”

She shoved his jacket back at him, pressing it against his side. “I don’t have one.”

“I thought it got cold in Massachusetts.”

“It does.”

He hesitated. “Well, put that one on, then.”

“I don’t want it.”

“Put it on.”

“I don’t want it.”

“Put. It. On.”

“No.”

He turned to look at her. Slowly, slowly. He really was a large man.

“Don’t make me stop the wagon again.”

“Will you hit me?”

His mouth fell open. “Will I
hit
you?”

“Well? Will you?”

His horrified expression was better than any answer he could have given. Still, she refused to be the first to break eye contact.

“For the love of the saints, Anna.” The edge in his voice dissipated. “Put the stupid thing on.”

A breeze cut straight through her wet clothing. Lifting her chin, she tucked the jacket over her shoulders. Warmth immediately encompassed her along with the now-familiar smell of cedar. He plucked off his hat and stuffed it onto her head. It fell clear to her nose.

Pushing it up she looked at him, then jerked herself straight when a rivulet of water poured off its rim and down her back.

The rain continued, saturating his shirt, his trousers, his hair, his skin. He never said a word. Never so much as wiped his face.

The farther they went, the thicker the forest became on either side of the road. Never in her life had she seen so many trees. Tall ones. Short ones. Skinny ones. Fat ones.

“The evergreens here look different than the ones at home.”

He continued to stare straight ahead, moisture collecting on his lashes.

She picked up a fallen twig from the wagon floor. “They’re a darker green. And the needles are different, too. Rounder. Fatter.”

The horse’s hooves made a suctioning noise in the mud.

“What’s your horse’s name?”

A gust of wind blew the hat from her head. He caught it one-handed, then slapped it back on her.

“Shakespeare.”

Shakespeare? Adjusting the hat, she studied the sturdy animal of a nondescript brown and wondered what the famous playwright would think about having a horse named after him.

The strain of the last few days coupled with the rocking wagon began to pull at her. Her eyes grew heavy. She allowed herself to close them for just a minute, then jerked her head up when her chin bounced.

After the third time, Denton pulled her against his shoulder. “Here.”

She stiffened.

He held her in place. “You’re going to tumble right off the wagon. Just close your eyes and see if you can get some sleep. We’re still a long way from home.”

A long way from home? She almost scoffed, but tears stacked up in her throat, blocking the sound. She wasn’t a long way from home. She was an entire continent away from home.