The Anonymous Bride (24 page)

“You need to do the right thing by those women.”

Luke leaned forward, glaring at the mayor. The man took a step back and swallowed hard. “Look, I didn’t have anything to do with their coming here. That was all my cousins’ doing. Maybe you should be forcing them to marry.”

“You’re the one in the limelight now, and the one who can make this town look bad. Folks won’t want to move here if word gets out that we don’t treat our women right.”

Luke clamped his back teeth together and swallowed a growl. This was ridiculous. He’d be better off leaving this hole-in-the-wall town and rejoining the cavalry.
Lord, give me patience.

“Even if I do marry one of them, that still leaves two disappointed women.”

The mayor shrugged. “We’ll think of something. Maybe have a contest to find grooms for them.” He chuckled.

Luke rolled his eyes. “I may regret doing so, but I gave my word to marry, and I will—unless the good Lord makes it clear that He doesn’t want me to.”

The mayor puffed out his chest. “Good. Things should be just fine.” He stared at Luke for a moment then ambled out of the office.

Luke strode to the porch and studied the town. He had a strange feeling that things would never be fine again.

***

Jack paced alongside the river, picked up a rock, and flung it as far as she could. If only she could be rid of the brides so easily.

“What’s got your dander up?” Ricky leaned back against a boulder, relaxing in the shade.

“Whatever it is, stop chuckin’ them rocks in the water. You’re scarin’ the fish away.” Jonesy cast a glare in her direction then went back to staring at the water where he’d dropped his fishing line.

Jack stomped closer to her friends. “The marshal has agreed to marry one of those brides.”

“So? He’s gettin’ long in the tooth,” Jonesy said. “If ’n he wants to marry, I reckon he should do it before he gets much older.”

Jack shoved Jonesy in the shoulder. “Luke’s not old.”

“Well, he’s way too old for you to be frettin’ over.” Ricky yawned, crossed his arms behind his head, and closed his eyes.

Irritation welled up in Jack like steam building in a locomotive. “Oh! You two are dumber than all them grown-ups runnin’ that stupid bride rodeo.”

Ricky sat up and glared at her, his eyelids heavy with sleep. “Watch who you call names, or we won’t let you hang out with us anymore.”

“Fine, then I won’t give y’all any more of my ma’s cookies.” Jack crossed her arms and marched back to the water’s edge.

“Aw, leave her be, Ricky. You know how good her ma’s baked goods are.” Jonesy winked at her as their friend dropped back down on the boulder.

The water lapping against the river’s edge and the whispering of the trees above as they cast dancing shadows out over the water failed to soothe her as they normally did. All she could think about was Luke marrying one of those brides instead of her ma. She’d hoped so much that Ma and Luke would fall in love and that the three of them could one day be a family. Her ma cared for Luke, Jack was certain of that, but he didn’t seem to return the affection.

She kicked at a small rock, sending it sailing into the water. Oh, she’d seen Luke look at her ma on occasion as if she was the prettiest lollipop in the jar, but then his expression would sour, as if she’d done something bad to him. She dropped onto the creek bank and pulled up her knees, resting her arms and head on them. Her eyes stung as tears threatened, and a big lump in her throat made it hard to swallow. Why did all those dumb brides have to show up and ruin things? If she’d only had a bit more time, she might have figured out a way to get Luke and her ma to fall in love.

Jonesy heaved a big sigh, dragged his line through the water, and sat down beside her. “You ain’t cryin’, are ya?”

“No! I just got somethin’ in my eyes.” Maybe that was stretching the truth, but her friends would think she was a crybaby if they ever caught her weeping. She turned her face to the side and wiped the moisture from her eyes.

“Then what’s got you so long-faced? You remind me of my pa’s mule.”

Jack gasped and punched him in the shoulder. “I don’t look like a mule.”

He rubbed his arm and scowled back. “I didn’t say you looked like one. Why are you in such a foul mood?”

Jack turned back to stare at the water. “All those brides.”

“What about ’em?”

She pressed her face into her arms. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“Understand what?”

Jack shook her head, heaved a sigh, and rested her head on her arms again. “I want Marshal Davis to marry my ma, not those other women.”

Jonesy gasped. “Why in the world would you want the marshal for a pa?”

She didn’t look up but could imagine Jonesy’s green eyes going wide, like they did when he was scared or surprised. He didn’t understand any more than the chirping birds overhead. “I like Luke. I don’t think he’d be mean like my other pa was.”

“Aren’t all fathers mean?”

Jack shook her head. “I don’t think so. I’ve seen men at church smile, even when their kids acted up. I’ve seen them stroke their child’s head, like Luke did mine once, and even kiss their children.”

“Well, I don’t think stroking heads is much of a reason to want someone to be your pa.”

“It’s not just that. He took Max in and gave him a home when nobody else gave a hoot about him.”

Jonesy gazed out where his line was in the water. “That dog was just an old stray.”

She scowled and lifted her head. “He’s a good dog that just needed someone to love him.”

“If you say so.”

“I do.” She bumped Jonesy’s shoulder, a little less hard this time. “So what do I do about those brides?”

“How would I know?”

She rested her chin on her arms and stared at the water. The sun glistened in spots where it managed to break through the thick layer of leaves overhead, looking like swirling stars. She had to do something to make the brides leave before Luke could choose one to marry. But what?

“Maybe we could do something to scare them off. Like make up a story about a ghost haunting the boardinghouse,” Jonesy offered.

“Yeah,” Ricky bolted up, even though Jack thought he’d fallen asleep. “We could even dress in a sheet and sneak into their rooms at night and scare them.”

Jack felt their excitement growing but shook her head. “We can’t do anything to give the boardinghouse a bad reputation. That’s how Ma makes a living for us.”

“Then let’s think up something else.”

The boys were silent for a few moments, each lost in their own imagination, just as Jack was. Sadly, she drew a blank the one time her own future was at stake.

Jonesy snapped his fingers. “I’ve got it. We could sabotage the pie contest.”

A wide grin pulled at Ricky’s face. “Yeah, that could be funny, since the whole town seems bent on buying pieces of the pie so they can vote on them.”

Jack smiled. “It wouldn’t be too hard to do. Just dump some extra salt into the pies before they’re cooked.”

“Remind me not to sample them,” Jonesy said.

The boys laughed, and Jack joined in, feeling better for the first time in days. She had a plan, and surely it would work. She just hoped her mother didn’t find out.

“Hey!” Jonesy jumped up. “I got a bite!”

CHAPTER 20

Shannon ventured out of her room and made her way downstairs. For two days, she’d chewed her fingernails worrying about making a pie and had finally worked up her nerve to ask Mrs. Hamilton for help. No doubt the other brides had already decided what they’d be baking, but she’d never made a pie before.

Back home in Ireland, her mother had barely put enough food on the table for them to survive, much less made desserts. Shannon hadn’t tasted her first pie until she’d started working at the Wakefield estate, and while she thoroughly enjoyed them, especially the apple pie with cinnamon added to it, she’d been a maid, not a cook.

At the foot of the stairs, she noticed Miss Bennett and Miss Blackstone in the parlor, both studying thick books. Cookbooks would be her guess. Maybe she should try that, but then she knew nothing of measuring or cooking terms.

Miss Bennett didn’t acknowledge her and kept studying the page before her, but Miss Blackstone glanced up and scorched her with a glare.

Shannon lifted her skirt and dashed down the hall, away from the heat of the other bride’s stare. She had hoped to make friends with the women, but both only saw her as competition, which she was, even though she doubted she stood a chance at winning the marshal’s heart. If she had any other option, she’d willingly give up her chance to marry him. Not that he wasn’t a fine man, but she’d prefer to be courted and wooed by a man she knew at least a wee bit. Yet who would want to court her? Other than keeping a clean home, what did she truly have to offer a man? Hadn’t her da told her on many occasions how useless she was?

She walked past the dining room to the kitchen. Mrs. Hamilton stood with her back to Shannon as she reached the doorway. The pale yellow walls looked so cheery, and everything had its place, making the room tidy and organized. She’d never worked in a kitchen before. She was kept too busy at the Wakefield estate, and by bedtime, she was so tired she could almost fall asleep on her feet.

If she ever hoped to have a fair chance with the marshal, she had to learn to cook. At least to bake a pie. She cleared her throat, and Mrs. Hamilton pivoted.

Her hands were covered in flour from the dough she was working with. She held one hand to her chest, leaving white powder on her blue apron bib. “Oh, you startled me.”

“Beggin’ yer pardon, mum. I was wondering if I could ask for yer assistance in an important matter.”

“Of course. How can I help you?”

Shannon twisted a strand of hair and stared at the ground. Why should asking such a small thing be so hard? Maybe because she’d never asked for help before? She had made her way as best she could after her parents died and had nothing to be ashamed of. She’d even gotten that job at the beautiful Wakefield estate, although little help that would be now since she left in such haste without obtaining a referral letter. Gaining employment could prove difficult. At least she didn’t have to worry about paying room and board for the time being.

“Do you mind if I keep working while we talk? I want to be sure to have supper ready on time.” Without waiting for a response, Mrs. Hamilton spun around and went back to cutting out biscuits with the edge of a glass dipped in flour.

Shannon moved into the overly warm room to stand next to her hostess. “Is there anything I could help you with?”

“You might peek at my pies and see if they are browned yet.”

Shannon took the towel lying on the worktable and opened the stove door with it. “They’re a wee bit brown, but I’m not sure if they’re done yet.”

Rachel looked over her shoulder. “Go ahead and take them out, if you don’t mind. Then close the door so the oven can reheat. I’ll have the biscuits ready to go in soon. So, what can I help you with?”

“I ... wondered if you might ... uh, help me to bake a pie—for the contest, I mean. A pie that would win the marshal’s heart.” Shannon’s cheeks grew warm. “I’ve ... uh ... never learned to cook.”

***

Rachel’s grip tightened on the glass. This was too much to bear. She’d housed the brides, cooked meals for them, kept their rooms clean, and put fresh sheets on their beds, but to help them bake pies that would steal Luke’s heart away from her was too much to ask.

She blinked away the surprising tears stinging her eyes. How could she respond to such a question?

Stiffening her back, she considered what the Lord would have her do. Obviously, it wasn’t His will for her and Luke to marry. A pain clutched her heart, almost as if her butcher knife had slipped and stabbed her chest. She didn’t deserve Luke, but she couldn’t help loving him. She’d never stopped, even though she’d tried hard to squelch any thoughts or feelings for him while married. But his return had reopened a deep wound she thought had scabbed over.

Miss O’Neil still awaited her answer. Rachel took a fortifying breath, forced a smile, and looked over her shoulder. “Of course I can teach you to bake a pie.”

Miss O’Neil gazed at her with uncertain eyes. “You’re sure ’twouldn’t be a bother?”

Rachel’s chin quivered, and no amount of willpower could stop it. She spun back around to her biscuits and forced her voice to be steady. “No trouble at all. I bake pies most days, anyway. How about tomorrow after breakfast?”

“Aye, tomorrow then. Thank you ever so much, and I’d be happy to help you as repayment, if you could just let me know how.”

Rachel’s lips trembled, and tears blurred her eyes. “No thanks needed.”

Miss O’Neil padded away, and Rachel lost her composure. She dropped the glass on top of her dough and rushed outside. Tears that she’d tried so hard to conquer spilled down her cheeks. She trotted past the woodpile, where she’d often seen Luke shirtless, his skin gleaming with sweat, his arm muscles bulging as he lifted the ax. A deep sense of loss nearly knocked her off her feet. How could she go on knowing he was married to another woman? Was this piercing pain what he’d felt when she’d married James?