Chevonne: Bride of Oklahoma (American Mail-Order Bride 46) (11 page)

“
D
ang it
!”

Trey poured the test liquid he’d concocted into the glass jar that held his other rejects. It was his fifth attempt in three days to perfect his concoction, and they had all failed miserably, probably due to his lack of sleep and his distracted thinking.

He rubbed his hand over the stubble on his face. He was overtired and living on just sponge cake, rhubarb pie, pudding and bread, lots of bread, with butter, everything Chevonne had left ready in the kitchen for them.

He was making no progress with his project. Nothing had gone right since Chevonne left. He hadn’t been able to concentrate on his project because his every waking thought had been of her. Everywhere he looked he saw things that reminded him of her.

The food he ate reminded him of her and their meals together. The well-equipped kitchen made him think of her. The sunrise made him think of her arriving in the kitchen each morning with the colored rays illuminating her in the doorway. The sunset made him think of her lush, copper hair. The birds chirping morning and evening sounded like her delightful laugh. Every curtain in the house smelled of her floral scent, and it made him dizzy with desire.

He missed talking to her. He missed seeing her across the breakfast table. He missed sharing his eggs with her. He missed everything about her.

He’d spent the nights tossing and turning thinking about her. Was she a traitor? The truth was, he’d never stopped to ask her about her actions. Maybe Phinneas Gulch had forced her to spy on him and mail the Patent Office.

She never said much about her life before Oklahoma, the life that had her living in boarding houses with views of brick walls. All he knew was she had loved her late grandmother and that she had no other family. But maybe the truth was that there was someone and Gulch was threatening them. Or maybe she was beholden to him somehow.

He should at least have given her the benefit of the doubt and asked what was going on. Instead he went off half-cocked, throwing her out of the house. That was not the act of a gentleman and Trey was ashamed of himself, especially when he thought that he might have frightened her the way he’d barged into the house and banged on her door.

The memory of the man he didn’t want to be drove him out of his stuffy study. He needed fresh air, but his escape to the front door stopped in the foyer. The flowers in the Mason jar were dead. Even the flowers knew that the house wasn’t a home without Chevonne. In that instant he knew what was in his heart. He wanted her back. To heck with his project or whether she was planning on stealing his ideas—he wanted her back more than he cared about any of that.

Where was she now? He had no idea.

“Arggh!” In a fit of frustration, he swept the glass jar off the table. It smashed to bits against a wall, scattering dead flowers, broken glass and water all over the floor.

How could he find her? Would she write him when she was settled like he’d asked so they could get the divorce? If she did, he could go to her then. When would that be? How long would he have to suffer like this?

Luke. When Luke had tried to talk to Trey the next day, Trey had cut him short. Had Luke seen her purchase her ticket? Did he know her destination? It was a start.

He barged out the front door then stopped short. A buggy was approaching the house. No, not now! It was his mother and his sister, the last two people Trey wanted to see. It would mean more lies.

He’d lied to Celia when she’d come looking for Chevonne. He’d been too embarrassed to admit what had really happened. And he didn’t think he could ever admit to his family that their marriage had be a lie, too. He felt like a heel for how he’d behaved toward them.

Maybe he could duck back in the house... But it was too late. They’d seen him. He returned his mother’s wave and waited for them to pull up in front of the house.

His mother got down from the buggy, a dark scowl on her face. “Trey Garner, you tell me just what is going through that dang fool head of yours!” She climbed the steps, planted herself in front of her son, and tilted her head back so she could look him in the eyes.

What did she know? Trey hugged her tightly. “Hi, Mama. Celia. What brings you two out here?” His fake smile faded in the face of the two women’s disapproving glares.

“I think you know what brings us out here, Son. What in heaven’s name are you doing having a fight with that beautiful bride of yours?”

They knew? How could they possibly know about the fight? Had Luke told them? Luke, who barely said two words to anyone? Trey ran his hands through his messy hair. What did it matter now? Chevonne was gone and there was probably nothing he could do about it. “It’s true, Mama. I found something out about her and ... well ... I guess my temper got the better of me.”

Celia crossed her arms and demanded to know, “So, when I came out here yesterday, Chevonne had already left, and you lied to me, your sister.”

“Yes.” Trey’s head drooped to his chest then snapped up again. “How do you know she was gone then?”

“We heard all it.” Iona settled in for a long lecture. “Chevonne is a smart girl. The two of you are perfect for each other. But you have to let her be her own person. She’s not the kind of gal that’s gonna be happy just hanging around the kitchen and ranch house. She has her ambitions. You have to let her see them through. And she has some wonderful ideas of her own, Trey. Why shouldn’t she try to protect them?”

He settled his hands on her mother’s shoulders and looked her in the eye sternly, stopping her lecture before it was done. “How do you know all this?”

“Why, we talked to her. How else would know?”

“Where?”

Iona didn’t react well to his sharp tone of voice. Her lips tightened into a pucker and she refused to answer his question.

Celia smiled a knowing smile then answered the question, “In town. She’s staying at the Grand Avenue Hotel.”

Chevonne was in town! Trey jumped off the porch and up into the buggy. “I need to take your buggy.” He lifted Celia in one swoop and deposited her on her feet on the porch steps. “You can use mine. Luke will set you up.” He snapped the reins and sped off without a backwards glance.

T
he Grand Avenue Hotel’s
desk clerk’s eyes widened in apprehension when he saw the look on Trey Garner’s stubble covered face.

Trey raced across the hotel lobby and demanded to know of the man, “What room is my wife in?”

When the clerk hesitated, Trey leaned over the counter and said gruffly, “It’s an emergency. I must talk to my wife.”

“She’s in room two-one-two,” he sputtered. “Top of the stairs, to the left.”

Trey bolted for the stairs and took them two at a time to the second floor. Two paces to the left, he found the room. He raised his fist to pound on the door then stopped, haunted by visions of himself only days earlier frightening Chevonne by pounding on her bedroom door. He suspected those memories would haunt him forever.

He tapped lightly on the door and asked softly, “Chevonne. Please open up.” He held his breath when he heard shuffling in the room, then the lock clicked and the door opened.

She looked more beautiful than ever. Her peach dress made her skin glow and her green eyes melted his heart. Those eyes looked up at him quizzically.

“May I come in?” he asked. He searched her eyes, but did not see any fear to his relief, only surprise and defiance.

She stepped aside to let him in then closed the door and stood with her back against it, her arms crossed over her chest. “Well?”

Now that he was here, Trey had no idea what to say. He rubbed his hand over his chin, the stubble making a scratching noise. He could have cleaned up first. Too late now. He stammered, “I ... well ... I was wrong.”

Chevonne’s left brow ticked up. “Really? About what? About letting me use my brain and have my own business?”

“Sure, if that’s how you think of it. I don’t care about my project. I just want you back. I don’t care if you were spying on me on your own, or if Phinneas Gulch put you up to it.” Trey stepped forward and took her hands in his. His eyes pleaded with her as he said, “None of that matters, as long as we can be together.”

“Stealing your ideas? Working with Phinneas Gulch? What are you talking about, Trey?”

“The patent. You wrote to the Patent Office. Were you working with Phinneas?”

“Never. He stole ideas from my Gram. I’d never work with that thieving-- what ideas you are talking about exactly? I wanted to patent
my own
ideas and Gram’s. You know, the ones that you didn’t want me to use because you wanted to keep me in the kitchen cooking.”

“What are
you
talking about? I don’t want to keep you in the kitchen, though I do like your cooking.” He flashed his smile, the one that always seemed to make Chevonne soften to him.

“Isn’t that what you were mad about? You didn’t want me to be an independent, forward-thinking woman.”

“I love that you’re that kind of woman. I thought you were going to patent my ideas before I could get to it.”

“You thought I would steal your ideas? What kind of person do you think I am?”

Trey laughed. “I don’t think you are that kind of person. I thought Phinneas Gulch put you up to it. He’s been known to do that before. So you wrote to the Patent Office to patent your own ideas?”

“Yes. Mine and my grandmother’s.”

“You never told me you were working on anything.”

A twinkle came into Chevonne’s eyes. “Maybe I would have if you weren’t so busy in your room downstairs with your pet goat.”

Trey laughed again, louder than before. “I shouldn’t have kept what I was doing from you. When I sent away for a mail-order bride, I never dreamed she would be interested in what I was doing. I never dreamed she would be as intelligent as you.”

“Oh, well ...” Chevonne’s voice trailed off.

Trey got down on one knee and gently kissed the palms of her hands. “I never really considered that my wife could be a partner in more than the bedroom.” He loved how she blushed deep red at that thought. “Chevonne, I want you to come back to our home to be my real wife, my partner in every room of the house and beyond, if you’ll still have me.”

C
hevonne’s heart
melted at Trey’s words and the pleading look on his face. Had she really misunderstood the whole argument? It sounded like he really did want a wife with brains and ambition. His eyes were full of emotion, hope, anxiety, uncertainty, the same emotions Chevonne was feeling.

There was one more emotion that she wanted to show him she was feeling. She leaned down and kissed him. Trey managed to stand up without stopping the kiss. He even managed to improve on his previous kiss, which was asking a lot.

She wanted to believe they could be partners and have a real marriage, but there was one thing that she knew all partnerships were built on: trust.

Chevonne gently pulled back and explained herself, “If we’re going to be partners, we can’t keep things from each other.”

“I agree. I was actually going to tell you everything about my project that very day.” His eyes clouded over. “But then I ran into Sarah in town--“

She put her hand over his mouth to silence him. The last person she wanted to think of at that moment was Sarah Perkins. “So, are you going to tell me exactly what this idea you thought I was trying to steal is?”

Trey took Chevonne’s hand from his mouth and turned toward the door. “I’m going to do better than tell you. I’m going to show you.” His face turned worried and he stopped, looking down at her. “It’s not yet perfected. Will you show me the idea you’re working on?”

Chevonne realized that she’d like nothing better than to share her grandmother’s secrets with Trey. She loved the idea of them working together on it. She glanced around the room where she had piles of lace, bows and material laid out.

A blush crept into her cheeks. The thought of showing Trey the scanty underwear designs right here in a hotel room caused a rush of unfamiliar feelings. Her gaze stopped on a pair of knickers in his favorite color blue.

Trey’s gaze followed hers. “Is that your design?” he asked eagerly.

Chevonne ran over to the bed and stuffed the knickers in between a pile of uncut material and stuffed it all into the lace bag. “It is but it’s not yet perfected either.”

A look of profound understanding covered his face, an understanding between inventors. “First things first. Let’s get you packed up and back home where you belong.”

Together, they had her trunks repacked in no time at all. A generous tip to the hotel’s desk clerk ensured that the hotel’s wagon carrying her trunks was right behind their buggy all the way to the ranch.

Luke was in the porch rocking chair when they stopped before the house. He touched his hat brim and nodded a silent greeting to Chevonne. She beamed back at him, sure she saw a hint of a smile around the edges of his mouth.

“Your mother and sister took the buggy,” Luke growled.

“We swapped.” Trey stepped down from the buggy and indicated the wagon that came to a stop behind them. “Chevonne’s trunks--“

“Got ‘em.” Luke sauntered over to the wagon then called back, “To
her
room?”

Chevonne reached out for Trey to lift her down from the buggy. “No, to
our
room.”

Trey took her by the waist and lifted her, but he didn’t set her down. He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her passionately.

“About time,” muttered Luke, followed by a gravelly chuckle.

Excitement bubbled up inside Chevonne as Trey pulled her into the house and down to the study. “I’ll show you now, even if it isn’t ready.” He fished a key out of his pocket and unlocked the door.

“Wait.” Chevonne cried out. She set down her Gram’s bag and put her hand on his. “You’ll disturb the goat.”

“Huh? Oh.” Trey laughed. “I had to come up with something to explain the crash.”

“You, Trey Garner, are a terrible liar. And I love you all the more for it.”

He bent down and kissed her again. The door swung open and the horrible scent of chemicals hit Chevonne. She saw clearly for the first time the long work tables filled with copper tubing, beakers and test tubes. A small bed was in the corner.

Chevonne opened all the windows and raised all the shades. “Keep these open at all times. I don’t want you getting sick from these smells.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

She bent over the potbellied stove and looked inside one of the pots on it. A pungent chemical aroma assaulted her nose and she drew back quickly. “What, exactly, are you doing in here?”

T
rey’s chest
swelled with pride as he described his ideas to Chevonne. He took care to show her his exact process, pointing out what each beaker was for and showing her the chemicals he used to try to perfect the adhesive solution.

“The animal and plant-based glues of today are not reliable. They dry out and won’t hold the less porous materials. They all weaken when damp. What I’m trying to make is a superior glue. Something that will bind any type of material together so strongly that it can’t be pulled apart.”

“That would have so many uses. Why, I can think of a dozen right off the top of my head,” Chevonne said.

“Remember at supper the other night when Gary’s boot sole became separated?”

“That would be a perfect application.” Chevonne’s eyes sparkled with excitement.

Trey was struck again by her quick mind. Her intelligence made her even more beautiful in his eyes, if that were possible.

He pointed to a board were the top half of a Mason jar hung, nailed up by its metal top. The bottom half was scattered in smashed pieces on the floor below it. “The problem is, it only holds the two pieces together for a short time. Then it gives out, leaving these stringy fibers behind.”

“That was the crash we heard the other night?” Chevonne asked, reaching out to touch the thin, rubbery strings that hung down from the jar.

“Yep.” Trey watched her face grow thoughtful as she pulled on a string, stretching it down, then letting go and watching it snap back up.

She tapped her index finger on her chin. “Do the strings stay stretchy like this?”

Trey shrugged. He pulled out a box full of the stringy material. He took one out and stretched it as far as he could, then let go.

Snap!

The string stung his hand. “Yep, looks like it does. These are a few months old. But I hardly think they are worth anything. They’re too thin to be of any real use. If I could just perfect the solution, though, we might have something we can sell.”

“You might have something marketable right now,” Chevonne told him.

Trey frowned. “The glue doesn’t—“

“Not the glue,” Chevonne said. “Those rubbery strings.”

Trey’s frown deepened. “Those aren’t good for anything. They’re too thin to hold anything substantial.”

“But perfect for something insubstantial, and that’s what I have in mind. I’ll show you.”

Chevonne grabbed her Gram’s bag from outside the door and dumped its entire contents onto the small bed. “My secrets,” she said.

She lifted up for Trey to see ladies’ knickers, corsets and a one piece item that looked like some sort of mini corset that only covered the upper portion of the chest. The pieces were loaded with silks and lace, fancier than any ladies’ undergarments Trey had ever seen before, and he’d seen more than his share.

“I took my grandmother’s initial designs and have been modifying them. But there’s one problem that I think your stretchy string can solve.”

“What?”

Chevonne picked up a pair of knickers that Trey noticed were shorter than most knickers. When worn, they would come well above the knee. He liked that idea. Even more, he liked the thought of seeing Chevonne in those knickers. He like it so much that he found it hard to concentrate on what she was saying.

“The waistline is bulky and I have to add extra material because of the drawstring used to hold them up.” Chevonne illustrated by cinching the drawstring on the waist, causing the material to bunch. “It’s been a big drawback for me because Gram’s idea was to have pieces that were sleek and form-fitting as well as pretty and comfortable.”

Trey nodded, the whole time picturing how the knickers in Chevonne’s hands would look on her. He shook his head to help him focus on her problem. “So where does my failed experiment come in?”

“Don’t you see? I can sew that stringy material into the waistband and
that’s
what can keep them up. No more drawstrings. If we can refine the technique, I think we can make them sleek and comfortable too. We’ll need to test the substance to see that it holds up after lots of washes, though.”

A pair of knickers in Trey’s favorite blue color lay on the bed. He picked them up to inspect the waist where she’d sewn a channel and threaded the drawstring through. If he could make his stretchy strings long enough, she could use that in the channel or like she said, sew them into the garment somehow. “I think that could work. It’s a great idea.”

Trey hugged Chevonne in his excitement, lifting her up and twirling her around, her flowery scent flooding his senses. He set her down and kissed her neck.

“When that patent guy comes, we can show him this. My glue might not be ready, but I have a feeling that
this
is something that will have widespread use.”

“I hope so. Gram wanted to revolutionize ladies undergarments, and I’d like to see her dream come true, as a tribute to her. And I think women everywhere will be thankful.”

“And men, too,” Trey said appreciatively. He nodded toward the blue knickers he’d tossed onto the bed.

His heart swelled not only with the prospect of bringing a useful idea into the world, but also with the feeling of joy that he’d found a wife who shared his inventive spirit.

Chevonne’s eyes were dark with emotion as she looked up at him. “Partners?”

“In every room of the house.” With a devilish grin, Trey took his wife into his arms and kicked the study door shut.