A Bride at Last (27 page)

He cleared his throat. “When are you wanting to get married?”

She forced open her lazy eyelids, her head still cradled in his hands. “Um, this Sunday?”

“Then, I think—” he reached back to grab her wrists and gently untangle them from his neck—“that I should show you, the uh . . . necessary now.”

She squinted. “The outhouse?”

“Well, yes, you need to know where that is, of course. You said you wanted to see everything.” He released her and left the soddy as if maybe
he
needed to visit the necessary.

She’d come to Salt Flatts hoping to find an excuse to keep them from wedding quickly, but after the overwhelming desire to kiss him again had hit her like a falling soddy brick, and how her heart couldn’t find a steady rhythm right now . . .

If she thought she’d be planting her feet in Kansas soil just for Anthony, she’d been so very wrong.

Silas pushed his plate away and smiled at Kate across the hotel table. He still couldn’t believe she’d said yes. He’d
braced himself for her to break off the engagement. Who didn’t cut ties with him when he got close? Yet despite what his hired hand had done to his farm, she’d not once mentioned leaving.

“Would you like pie?”

He jumped at Mrs. Studdard’s voice so near his ear—again. The hotel owner’s wife lived to eavesdrop, and her wide, toothy grin proved she’d pieced together enough tidbits to start the rumor mill.

Kate put down the spoon she’d used to stir her coffee and raised her eyebrows in question. How could he order pie when he shouldn’t have even spent the money to eat at the hotel? But how could he tell her no when he’d asked her to lunch so they could talk? Not that they’d done much of that with Mrs. Studdard constantly checking on them. “Would you like to share a slice or have your own?”

A faint blush settled on her cheeks—it seemed her cheeks were looking rather rosy of late. She wore a plain-colored dress, as usual, but with her Sunday collar and cuffs. Yet she somehow looked exquisite in mud brown.

“I think it’d be better if we each had our own piece.”

Mrs. Studdard clasped her hands together. “Our chocolate pie is a dream.”

“Two of those?” He didn’t want to annoy Kate by ordering for her.

She nodded. Mrs. Studdard moved away, and he sucked in air.

“She likes to hover, doesn’t she?” Kate watched their hostess glide to the kitchen.

He chuffed. “How else can you mine gossip fodder if you aren’t close enough to unearth every word?”

“I thought you told me Mrs. Graves was the town gossip.”

He held up two fingers entwined together. “Best friends.”

“But why would she care about us?” Kate’s confused pout made him want to kiss her again. Soon.

Not if, not maybe, not hopefully—he would indeed kiss her soon.

But he shouldn’t kiss her anymore until the wedding. If he couldn’t behave himself in broad daylight in front of an entire town, he certainly could make a huge mistake alone with her on his farm—especially with the way she kissed. He closed his eyes to rein in his thoughts so he could make conversation.

“For ten years, if I couldn’t get home to eat, I dined here—alone.” No one had ever cared much about him until he moved here, not even his mother, but in Salt Flatts everyone seemed interested in him . . . and his failings. “She’s probably pacing in the back perturbed that she knows nothing more than your name.”

“You must have been so lonely.”

“Yes, and you? How long have you been away from family?”

“About two and a half years, but then, it wasn’t the happiest of situations, so it’s nothing I pine for.” She wiped her mouth and looked out the window. Evidently not a topic she was comfortable discussing. “My parents have been gone for thirteen years, and I still miss them terribly.”

“Were they good to you?”

“The best.” She sighed and closed her eyes. “Mother never cared that I ran around and got dirty. She gave me plenty of time to get into mischief.”

Leaning back against his bench seat, he settled his arm across the top and looked to make sure Mrs. Studdard wasn’t returning before taking a long glance at the woman across from him. As much as he preferred to give them more time to get to know each other before the wedding, he couldn’t afford to pay for her room any longer.

And she’d be such a help cooking and cleaning and caring for Anthony while he worked extra hard to make up for what he’d lost to Peter Hicks. He could chop extra firewood this winter to sell next year and maybe replace the tools he’d lost without dipping into his savings. But what could he do to make extra money for the next few months? He’d have to ask around for odd jobs.

Mrs. Studdard swept in like a Kansas breeze—knocking off his fork, stepping on his boot, her skirt dragging his napkin off the table as she plopped down their pies. “Hope you enjoy. Special night, huh?”

“Is it Tuesday?” He looked at Kate with the most confused expression he could muster.

“I believe so.” Kate’s eyes widened comically. “That
is
special.”

“Very special. Thank you, Mrs. Studdard. Looks good.”

The woman’s bright face dimmed, and her lower lip popped out. “All right, then.” She stomped away.

Kate giggled. “We broke her heart.”

He frowned at the utensil on the floor. “Ah, but she dirtied my fork.” He grabbed his spoon.

Kate stared at him a little before nibbling on her pie. Was it a terrible thing if they settled into a comfortable silence? She’d never really been quiet in Missouri, but then, she’d been bossy most of the time and was constantly worrying about Anthony. Had his mentioning Mrs. Studdard’s eavesdropping scared Kate into keeping quiet? Or maybe he’d lucked out with a woman who wouldn’t be upset with him for sitting on the porch, sharpening his knives, and staring at the horizon after a long day of work. Lucy had always nagged him about the slightest idleness on his part.

What if Kate didn’t really like him, as Richard claimed she did? Sure the kisses were nice, more than nice, but since he’d
just learned she’d lost her job over one of those . . . was she rushing into marriage only for security? And would she rush out if he didn’t meet her expectations?

He drummed his fingers against his seat’s back as Kate finished her chocolate pie. No, he couldn’t let his past disappointments with Lucy meddle with how he viewed Kate. If she’d wanted to marry him just for Anthony, she’d have thrown herself at him in Breton, and she could have gotten a teaching job somewhere else if all she wanted was security.

Kate set her fork down on her empty plate and held his gaze for half a minute. She then looked over at the hotel owner’s wife slowly cleaning a nearby table and sighed.

“Mrs. Studdard?” A maid came down the back stairs and whispered to the woman, who soon bustled away with the younger worker.

He breathed a sigh as if he’d just been let out of a box. “I’m sorry about you losing your job because of me. Are you wanting to teach again?”

She shook her head. “Teaching was just the best job I could find after I got to Missouri and realized I couldn’t marry Jasper.”

He blinked. “What?”

“Oh, I guess I never fully explained how I met Anthony and Lucinda. I’d come to Hartfield after answering an ad that Jasper’s brother—I later learned—put in the newspaper to get him a wife.”

She’d answered an ad? He could only think of one reason a woman would answer an ad saying she would marry, but he couldn’t imagine Kate as a mail-order bride. She certainly hadn’t acted desperate to marry him.

“I’d smelled alcohol on him when I first met him at the train station, but I told myself I’d imagined it. He seemed nice enough, but right before the ceremony I heard his brother laughing with
a bunch of other men that a mail-order bride was the only way the town drunk could possibly get a wife so pretty.” Her face screwed up in disgust. “I was not going to marry a drunk.”

His arms turned numb with cold. She’d left a groom at the altar. One who had a problem with alcohol.

She shrugged. “Shortly after, I got a job helping the teachers at a school in Hartfield, and Anthony drew my attention—he only came to school once in a while and was always so sad when he did. One afternoon when I went to check on him, it happened to be after a night Richard had beaten Lucinda. Evidently, Anthony stayed home whenever Richard lost at the gambling tables and took his disappointment out on her.”

“You do realize—” Silas swallowed hard—“that I was the town drunk.”

“
Were
.” She nodded at him and smiled. Why had he turned so pale? She knew about his drinking problem already. Hadn’t she reassured him that afternoon with the whiskey that she didn’t condemn him? “I’m not going to marry a man who needs to change. After watching my sister try to change her husband, I know how unlikely it is a spouse will change to suit your preferences, but you’ve already stopped drinking.”

“I’ve lapsed before.”

She swallowed heavily. Poor man could certainly beat himself up over his failures. “I know, but I saw how badly you don’t want to do it again. I can help you be what you want to be, but making someone be something they don’t want to be is what’s unlikely.”

Silas sat silently, his shoulders tight and his chest puffed as if he expected her to throw a knife at his heart.

Had she hurt him? She clasped her hands and squared her shoulders. “What is it, Silas?”

“You were a mail-order bride.” His voice fell into a whisper.

“Yes.” Why was that such a disappointment? Lucinda had been a mail-order bride, and he’d not thought himself above marrying her. And his proposal to her now was for a marriage of convenience, though hopefully it wouldn’t take too long for him to fall in love with her. Judging by their kisses, it wouldn’t.

“You left a man you’d promised to marry.” If a spoon could crumple, the utensil in Silas’s hand would be a wad of silver.

“As I said, I found out his brother was the one who’d written, pretending to be him. He’d not even had the gumption to write me himself. Surely you see how wrong that was.”

“Oh.” His posture relaxed, but he still worried his lip. “But why were you a mail-order bride in the first place?”

A vise wrapped around her heart. She’d pursued Jasper to get out of marrying another man. Somehow she doubted Silas would welcome that news. She swallowed and kept her gaze even with his. “In general, I wanted to be more than some man’s housekeeper and Jasper—or rather, Leonard—assured me I’d have a maid and could work in their sign shop. He seemed enthusiastic about letting me help and promised me paint for my own use. . . . Sounds silly now.”

“So you didn’t know what kind of man he was.”

“No. That’s why I didn’t agree to marry you until I came here. I wanted to be sure of the man you were.” She’d lay a comforting hand on him, but he seemed so . . . distant. Were her explanations not getting through to him? “Though it was silly to believe you were anything other than what I saw in Breton.”

“So why were you looking to marry someone outside of Georgia? You’re beautiful. Surely plenty of men would’ve offered their hand.”

She forced herself not to look away. What would he think
about Aiden if Jasper had ruffled him so much? “Uh . . . I was trying to get away from my family.”

“Your family?” His voice deepened dangerously.

Oh goodness.
Maybe she should’ve admitted to Aiden first. She hadn’t been keeping anything a secret—just hadn’t thought it mattered much. “I . . . I had a fiancé in Georgia, a co-worker of my brother-in-law’s.” Aiden might have provided her with security, but he’d not wanted a family as much as he sought help with his career. Silas longed for family—with her and Anthony.

“A fiancé? Any more of those in your past?”

“No.” She tried to reach over and grab his hand, but he sat back, shaking his head slowly.

“Silas.” She took her hand back and huffed. “Things are different with you. There’s Anthony, and I’ve met you. I’ve put my mind to being here.”

“So you hadn’t met your first fiancé either?”

“Well, no.” Her voice faltered. “I’d met him.”

“And why didn’t you marry him?”

She swallowed a couple times. What was the real answer? She might have a good answer for jilting him now, but what had it been then? “I was young . . . and foolish.”