Poppy: Bride of Alaska (American Mail-Order Bride 49) (2 page)

“You Mr. Turner?”
 

Startled out of his waking nightmare, Matthew spun to his left only to see the first person who’d disembarked. She’d made an impression by practically leaping out of the last passenger car and moving rapidly across the platform, clearly on a mission, before being swallowed up by the crowd.

While he’d dismissed her as a candidate for his incoming bride, he hadn’t failed to notice her fine features and thick auburn hair twisted up in a disheveled bun. A perfectly pink Cupid’s bow mouth, set in a determined pout, sat under a pert little nose. Milky skin covered high, proud cheekbones, and nestled above them were the most vibrant blue eyes he’d ever had the pleasure of gazing into.
 

The faded blue and white striped skirt and dark blue bodice she wore were hopelessly out of style, not to mention cheap, and if she was wearing a corset at all, it was much looser than fashion dictated. Of course maybe the poor, emaciated woman didn’t really need a corset to make her waist smaller — she looked as if she’d spent the better part of her life in a constant state of hunger. Only recently had he discovered what that particular malady felt like, and pity welled up inside him at the idea of enduring a lifetime of it.

“Turner?” she asked again, her brow furrowing in the most fetching — and disorienting — way.
 

She was a good foot or so shorter than him, a wisp of a thing, really, but her presence on the platform was larger than life. Several passing men turned to drink in her rare beauty, and that didn’t settle well with Matthew. Heat burned in his chest and cheeks as he glared down the nearest ogler, who quickly turned his head and scurried away.
 

Naturally, he had no interest in Miss Adams romantically, but they would have to maintain the rouse long enough to fool old Mr. Horton, and a pack of drooling men following her around wouldn’t do. No, that wouldn’t do at all.

“Miss Adams, I presume,” he said, willing his most charming smile to his lips. He’d used it many times to great effect back in Boston, but the thing that really got the ladies sighing was when he batted his impossibly long eyelashes at them. For the first time in memory, though, the object of said batting seemed completely unfazed.

“I suppose you should call me Poppy,” she said, shoving a hand at him. By instinct, he took it as he would a man’s, and her callused grip was just as strong. Never in his life had a woman shaken his hand like that. It was unthinkable in better circles, but he could tell by her accent, not to mention clothing, that she came from different stock.
 

If given half a chance, he would have done the gentlemanly thing and kissed the back of her hand but she’d taken him by surprise. As he returned her firm shake, he wondered what her warm skin would have felt like against his lips.

Shoving the errant thought from his head, he said, “And you may call me Matthew. I have a justice of the peace waiting for us. Are you ready?”

Poppy eyed him carefully, her keen gaze resting for a fraction of second too long on the worn edges of his shirt cuffs and the small hole on the left knee of his trousers. Matthew shifted under her scrutiny, clearing his throat pointedly.
 

“Right down to business, huh? Just need to ask you a couple questions first,” she finally said. At his nod, she continued. “Why are you doing this?”

Matthew rocked back on his heels. That was none of her business! Any warmth he’d been feeling toward Miss Adams evaporated like so much steam.
 

“The why of my situation is irrelevant. What you really want to know is if I will honor our agreement, and I will. In fact, I will guarantee you an annulment after my business in Sitka is concluded.”

Her observant cerulean eyes narrowed into a squint.
 

“And you won’t expect me to warm your bed, right?”

Matthew flushed red at the suggestion. Again, no woman he’d ever met would dream of speaking to him so plainly. It was shocking and scandalous and…rather fascinating.

“Of course not! You have my word, Miss…um, Poppy. This is purely a business proposition. I expect nothing from you except to sign our marriage certificate and to meet with the director of the YMCA, Mr. Horton.”

This seemed to catch her off-guard, but she quickly recovered. “Good, because I grew up in a rough part of Lawrence, Massachusetts, and I know how to hurt a man in places he doesn’t want hurt. Understand?”

Matthew’s loud bark expressed an unsettling mix of shock and amusement. It was almost a shame that he’d be leaving this little spitfire behind in Seattle. He had no doubt she could inflict the promised pain, and what he wouldn’t give to see Vinchenko writhing on the ground. But this journey was no place for a woman, even one as tough as Poppy Adams.

“Perfectly.”

Poppy cast a sidelong glance up at her groom as the justice of the peace droned on about the sanctity of marriage and how it’s “forever” and other such nonsense. Well, what he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. There was no doubt in her mind that she would take her new husband — the word stuck in her throat like a chicken bone — up on his offer of an annulment once his business was finished, whatever that meant.
 

Matthew Turner stood like a marble statue beside her, so uncomfortable that a pang of pity zipped through her. His expensive clothes and perfectly combed blond hair made him the spitting image of an upper-crust snob from a wealthy Boston family. Except for the tattered cuffs, that is. And the fact that such a handsome man was in desperate need of a wife. To go to Alaska.

None of it really made sense but, as he said on the platform earlier, she didn’t really care about the why. Despite his blatant attempt to charm her with those disturbingly long eyelashes earlier, his promise to not attempt to bed her sounded genuine to her ears — ears that had heard so many lies that it was rare for her to fall victim to them any longer. Still, Poppy didn’t give her trust lightly. No matter what he claimed, one sharp eye would stay focused on his every move, just in case.

Her pride still stung a bit, though, at how disgusted he looked at the thought of making her his wife in more than name only. Perhaps the women he courted back in Boston were fancier, but enough heads turned when she walked by for her to know that she wasn’t a hideous ogre.
 

Stop being vain
, she chided herself. None of that mattered, except to her silly ego.

A muscle twitched in Matthew’s jaw as the justice spoke of love and forgiveness, and Poppy wondered what had happened in his life to make the man so desperate and angry. It came off him in waves, and she was almost sure he had no idea. Curiosity gnawed at her. Exactly how did a posh fellow like him fall so low as to marry a gutter rat like her?

Time would tell. Or it wouldn’t. Poppy didn’t really care. All she cared about was getting to Alaska to start her new life. It didn’t matter that she had no idea what she would do once she arrived, but she had Matthew’s promise of one month’s rent so at least she wouldn’t be left out in the cold…literally. Hopefully he would keep that promise. If he didn’t, he’d be sorry.

Visions of John Muir’s famous glacier kept Poppy entertained through the rest of the ceremony. All that solitude and peace. No one to hurt you. No one to tell you that you’re less than. Only a pure blue-white river of ice that held the promise of scouring away the sins and horrors of the past.

After the ‘I dos’, the justice pulled out two copies of the marriage certificate. “Please sign here,” the justice said, pointing to the appropriate line on each form, then handed one to Matthew. “And congratulations. You’re officially wed. You may kiss the bride.”

Poppy stiffened as Matthew turned to her, suddenly worried that she’d misread him, that he was going to take advantage of the situation, despite his promises. Lifting one knee slightly, she readied herself to make good on her promise at the depot. Relieved breath whooshed out of her when he barely brushed his warm, soft lips along her cheekbone. Strange, though, how the spot he kissed tingled.
 

Stepping out of the justice’s office, the sharp, clean odor of sea and rain and
green
filled Poppy’s nostrils. It was exactly how she thought Alaska would smell. The scent of freedom, of a new life. And if this was how Seattle smelled, she could hardly wait to discover the aromatic delights of her new home.

“You must be famished,” Matthew said, looking down at her kindly. She still couldn’t get over how tall he was. It was a good thing this wasn’t a real marriage because she would develop a permanent kink in her neck looking up at him. Of course, the view was quite pleasing…

Stop that!

In response to his question, Poppy’s stomach chose that moment to grumble loudly, as if it had heard him.
 

“Well, I guess that’s your answer,” she laughed.
 

A funny cross between amusement and embarrassment flashed in his warm, hazel eyes, a look she’d seen a few times since stepping off the train. No doubt she’d made a fool of herself, not that she could help it. It was in her nature. He could like it or lump it, it made no difference to her.

Yes, it was a very good thing this wasn’t a real marriage. He was far too uptight for her uncouth ways, and she didn’t have any interest in changing for anyone.

“There’s a nice little cafe just down the street,” he said, hooking his elbow out for her to latch onto. What an oddly intimate gesture, one she’d never experienced before with the roughnecks who lived in her old neighborhood. Then again, he was her husband, as much as the thought mortified her, and it was probably the proper thing to do.

Warmth sizzled up her fingers the moment they touched Matthew’s arm, vining its way up and through her body. It took all her willpower to not snatch her hand away as if she’d been burned, because that’s what it felt like. Burning heat. Her only recourse was to painfully gnaw on her lower lip for the rest of the short walk to keep unwanted images of Matthew giving her a real wedding kiss out of her head.

“So, Matthew, tell me about this meeting at the YMCA,” Poppy said, her lip throbbing, once they had ordered their meals.

Fury filled his features so quickly that Poppy’s natural instinct was to pull back far enough that his fist would miss her. It took a moment before the fear actually hit her. This was not what she signed on for!

But when he saw her reaction, shame replaced fury.
 

“I’m sorry if I frightened you,” he said, reaching out to lightly touch her hand. “I just…”

The pain and frustration etched deeply into his features eased her worries. The man had seen some trouble, that much was obvious. Matthew took a lungful of air to brace himself.
 

“Suffice it to say, Seattle isn’t one of my favorite places.”

“Really? I think it’s beautiful!”

He grimaced. “It has its charms, but mere minutes after arriving four months ago, some scoundrel picked my pocket, along with almost every penny I had left in the world.”

Poppy blanched. “That’s terrible! Did you catch the thief?”

“If I had, I’m sure I’d be in the local jail awaiting trial for murder instead of enjoying a meal with you.”
 

Despite the dark look on Matthew’s face, his comment made her giggle.
 

“Are you laughing at my misfortune?”

“Not at all,” she protested. “I just can’t picture a fine gentleman like you rotting away with the types of boys I grew up with, is all. Truly, I’m sorry that happened to you. Is that the reason you’re staying at the Y?”

His face went slack with surprise.
 

“How did you…?”

It was all Poppy could do to not roll her eyes. It was so obvious to her, but maybe not so much to someone of his stature.
 

“Let’s see, you lost all your money in a new city and now we’re going to the Y for a meeting. It doesn’t take a fortune teller to figure it out.”

Her heart ached with sympathy for him. Accepting charity was probably just as painful for him as it was for her, though she suspected an aristocrat like him wouldn’t believe it. Maybe they were more alike than either one of them suspected.
 

“So…the meeting?”

“It shouldn’t take long,” he said, his deep voice strained for some reason. “We simply need to show Mr. Horton our marriage certificate to prove our union.”

“Why?”

Instead of averting his gaze in shame, this time he met her gaze head on.
 

“Because I need to get to Sitka, and since someone else is currently enjoying my money, I’ve been forced to sign on with an organization that sends doctors, teachers and missionaries to the wilds of Alaska. This particular one requires its missionaries to be married. And I’d prefer if you didn’t mention our arrangement or how we, um, met.”

“Oh.” It was all she could think of to say.
 

The news that she was to travel to Alaska as a missionary was a total surprise. Good thing the only book her family had owned was a Bible,
and
that Old Lady Johnson, their next door neighbor, had taught her to read at a young age. She probably knew more of the stories than that stodgy old justice of the peace who married them. She could pass for a missionary without even trying hard.
 

“Okay.”

His gaze skimmed over her, just like it had at the train station, only this time it moved more slowly and settled on her mouth for a moment too long. A pleasing warmth flooded Poppy, pinking her cheeks and making her squirm in her seat.
 

This wouldn’t do. Not at all.
 

“So why are you so all-fired antsy to get to Alaska, Matt?” There went the jaw muscle again, but the side benefit was that he ground his eyes shut and stopped looking at her like she was the meal he’d just ordered.
 

“Business,” was his clipped reply.

“Oh, right. I wasn’t supposed to ask about that. Sorry,” she said, ignoring his terseness. “What
is
your business? Me, I was a seamstress at a textile mill until the owner burned it down and left me and all my friends jobless.”