The Stepmother: An Everland Ever After Tale (5 page)

He nodded, and picked up the wooden spoon from the floor where Zelle had thrown it. Wiping it off on his shirt, he handed it back to his princess. “So how come you didn’t go back home and practice what you’d learned?”

“My father had died, and I’d realized that, even if the city wasn’t safe for a woman alone, the small towns were worse. I couldn’t practice medicine—couldn’t help the women and children I wanted to help—on my own. It was Lettie’s idea for me to get married.”

“Lettie?” The storm still howled outside, but it didn’t seem to matter. He was totally engrossed in her past, even the stuff she wasn’t saying. He’d never met a woman who he’d found this
interesting
. Was it just because she’d come out here to be his wife? Or because of who she was?

“Lettie was my best friend at the school. She’s going to be a fine doctor someday.” Tearing apart one of her biscuits, Meri methodically dropped the pieces into the stew. “She pointed out that female doctors—even nurses—have better luck practicing their art when they’re married to medical men who support their work. But I knew I didn’t want to work in the city, so I started looking…”

“Looking for what?” When had he stopped eating?

“For a husband.”

More than anything, at that moment, he wanted to reach across the table and take her hand in his. Instead, he took a big bite of the stew, and said around it, “A doctor?”

His houseguest sure had a backbone, he’d give her that. She sniffed and lifted her chin, and he figured he’d offended her with his manners. Or lack of them. “Away from the city. Who was devoted to medicine and helping others. Who would support me in my work, too.”

He wasn’t a doctor. He wasn’t anywhere close to being who she wanted. He didn’t give a hoot about anything besides keeping Zelle safe. “And that’s what you think you want?” He chewed, not caring if he was being rude.

“I want a civilized man. A man who reads books. Who enjoys books and can talk about them. Who uses his brain, and not just his brawn.” He watched her fingers tighten around the spoon as she eyed his shoulders. “I want a man who is kind and noble and good.”

A man, in fact, nothing like the one she’d found. The food turned sour on Jack’s tongue, and he forced himself to swallow. “That’s a civilized man?”

She looked away, and he didn’t know if it was on purpose or accident that her gaze landed on Zelle. “Yes,” she whispered.

She’d given up everything she’d known to come way out here and marry a man she’d never met. A man she’d agreed to marry because he met her “requirements,” based on someone’s lie.

She deserves better.
The thought hit him out of nowhere, but he knew it was the truth. Jack cleared his throat, and offered her what he could. “I’m sorry, Meri. Sorry I’m not who you were expecting.”

“It’s not your fault.” Her smile was sad, accepting, but it didn’t make him feel any better. “You got bamboozled too.”

I’m not so sure about that
. But he could never say it aloud. “Another day or so, after this storm’s passed, I’ll go into town for supplies. I’ll see if I can find you someplace else to stay.” He took a big bite of her stew, to try to distract himself from the pit that was yawning open in his stomach at the thought of her leaving. “Someplace more civilized.”

“Alright.” She wasn’t looking at him.

“And I’ll see if I can get to the bottom of this. Figure out who sent those advertisements, okay?”

She glanced up at him then, and the fire in the hearth flickered in her dark eyes, making it hard to read her expression. Was she pleased about going back to town? Or disappointed to give up her dream of marrying a civilized doctor? She nodded once, and tried to smile, and his chest tightened at how pitiful she looked.

Zelle began to bang the spoon against the table then, and they both jumped, scrambling to get her more water. Meri’s hand accidentally brushed against his as they stood by the counter, and the moment felt…
right
. Like she belonged here with him, working together. Making his princess feel better.

Later that night, Jack stretched out in the chair beside the hearth. Zelle had finally fallen asleep, curled against his shoulder as he paced. As usual, she was sucking her thumb, but this time she’d wrapped her chubby fingers through the hair at the back of his neck, and hung on. He cherished the feeling.

Zelle was what was good and right in his world. So why was he still thinking about the woman curled up on the pallet of blankets in front of the fire? The woman who had the coziest bed in the house tonight, thanks to all the washing she’d done during the day?

The woman who might’ve been his wife, had he been a different man.

Meri woke up with little pudgy fingers wrapped through her hair. She opened her eyes to see Zelle curled up a few inches away, sucking on the thumb of the hand not wrapped around Meri’s braid. Her sweet little baby breath blew across Meri’s cheek. This was the second morning she’d woken up like this, and had to admit that it was pretty wonderful.

Since the big snowstorm had passed, Jack had done his best to keep the door to his bedroom shut, to trap the warm air in the main room, where they now slept. They each used the bedroom for privacy, but the three of them had spent their time here. And though Meri thought that she would go batty cooped in a small house for three days straight, it had actually been quite nice. Relaxing even, especially after the trip here. It was even energizing, to spend so much time alone with
him
.

Each evening, Jack read aloud to his daughter. Sometimes from novels, sometimes from how-to manuals. Zelle would fall asleep there on his chest, while Meri sat at the kitchen table and knitted or read or wrote letters to Lettie, telling her all about the mysterious man she found herself trapped with.

After his “princess” fell asleep, Jack would continue to read, silently. Meri found herself missing his voice, missing the way he stumbled over words and mispronounced things. That second evening, he’d tried “transmutation” four times before she finally called out the correct pronunciation from across the room. Those disturbingly handsome blue eyes had met hers, then, and she’d swallowed, wondering if she’d offended him by offering help. But instead, he just nodded once, accepting, and went back to reading. Twice more since then, he’d asked her for the meaning of a particular word, and the way to pronounce it. Both times he accepted her explanations with a single nod that left her throat dry.

What kind of doctor didn’t know the meaning of “emetic”? For that matter, what kind of doctor read to his daughter from John Gunn’s
Domestic Medicine
, and then discussed it with the girl? Zelle never answered, of course, but she seemed to like hearing her Papa’s voice. When he wasn’t reading to her from Dr. Gunn’s manual, he read
Esther
Howland’s
The American Economical Housekeeper and Family Receipt Book
, which at least made sense. Apparently, since his wife died, Jack had been determined to learn how to support himself and his daughter, and that was admirable.

In fact, he had a shelf in the bedroom—rickety though it might be—filled with similar “how-to” books and recipes. She had yet to see any evidence of his devotion to his medicine, but he certainly was devoted to his daughter’s safety and happiness. And he was obviously devoted to bettering himself, to learning…learning from books.

Zelle murmured in her sleep beside Meri, and her thumb dropped from between her lips. Meri resisted the urge to brush her fingers down those smooth, round cheeks just inches from hers; she didn’t want the girl to wake up confused. For the last two nights, Jack had waited until Meri made herself comfortable on the pallet of blankets beside the toasty hearth, and then placed the sleeping Zelle beside her while he settled down in the chair. She knew it was just because this was the warmest spot in the house, but she couldn’t help but feeling a little glow of satisfaction, to know that he trusted her with his princess.

As usual, she was the first one awake. Gently extracting herself from Zelle’s grip, she sat up and inched off the pallet, careful not to disturb the girl, who seemed to be feeling much better now that two of her teeth had broken through. What surprised Meri, however, was that Jack only muttered and shifted slightly in his sleep. Yesterday, as soon as she’d begun to stir, his eyes had popped open and he’d watched her intently for a moment or two before moving. Again, he’d reminded her of a panther, peering through the jungle for threat or prey. And just like a big cat, he looked like he was deciding between pouncing and fleeing.

This morning, though, he didn’t wake when she found her shoes and pulled them on. He was still huddled against the thin padding of the chair, his booted feet up on the crate, his arms crossed in front of his chest and his hands tucked under them for warmth. His position looked decidedly uncomfortable, but he was obviously used to sleeping like this.

Meri tiptoed closer, wondering what he would think if he woke to find her hovering over him. His dark hair was lanky, his beard overlong. But his black-as-soot eyelashes rested against his skin like butterflies, and his lips were parted slightly, and he looked…less dangerous. More touchable. Meri realized that she definitely wanted to touch him. Wanted to brush that hank of hair off his forehead, to see if she could soothe the worry lines between his brows. Wanted to know if the love he showed his daughter was stronger than the danger she saw in his arms, his shoulders, the strength of his jaw, the feral look in his eyes.

Shuddering, she pulled away, telling herself not to think of Bernard. Not to think of what a man, so much bigger and stronger, could do to an unwilling woman.
This
was the man she’d come west to marry. A doctor, a caring man. A man who read books to his daughter. A man who helped people.

She still wasn’t sure who she was getting, though.

It was no wonder he was still asleep. Last night she’d heard him, talking and crying out in his dreams. Calling for someone named Osbourne, warning him. Muttering about “him” being after them. She’d acknowledged his cries only once, when he’d said “No, Witcher, not my princess!” in the most heartbreaking tone. She’d sat up then, thinking to comfort him…but he still slept, and soon she managed to fall back asleep as well.

What kind of man was haunted by such dreams? A panther, choosing between leaping and running.

By the time she’d finished her ablutions in the bedroom and returned to the main room, he was awake and helping Zelle fold up the blankets in front of the hearth. He stoked the fire while she took the little girl into the bedroom to use the pot, and was staring at the flames when they returned. He hadn’t spoken, hadn’t mentioned his dreams, but the haunted look in his eyes told her that he hadn’t forgotten them.

She tried to put him out of her mind as she coaxed Zelle over to the table, but it was difficult. When he was asleep, he was almost heartbreakingly handsome. Awake, his stare made her breathless. Not entirely uncomfortable, but not enjoyable either. Her chest tightened and her stomach flopped, and she’d actually looked up her symptoms in one of his books to make sure that she wasn’t actually
ill.
Why would the way he looked at her—like he couldn’t decide if she was a morsel to devour or a threat to his safety—make her feel so…so jittery?

When he went into the bedroom, she found herself able to breathe deeply again. She allowed Zelle to climb up on one of the kitchen chairs. The little girl liked to watch her cook, and Meri had promised that she could help with the biscuits this morning. Zelle was practically vibrating with anticipation.

After three days of being trapped in the house together, they were about to finish the very last of the food. They’d only had the two meals yesterday—although they were filling—to make the bacon stretch, and as Meri scraped the remnants of the lard from the crock onto the pile of flour, she knew that they’d have to go into town today. Luckily, the snow had stopped piling up before it trapped them inside, and what she could see from the window yesterday didn’t look impassable.

After showing Zelle how to break up the lard with her fingertips while being careful to keep the flour in a neat pile, Meri rolled up the little girl’s sleeves. Her gown was store-bought, already too short for her, and Meri wondered how long ago Jack’s wife had died. He was obviously still learning how to take care of them both—the books were indications of that—but he had to have been alone with her for a while to have to resort to buying dresses from stores and hacking off her hair in the same haphazard style as his own.

While the little girl worked at the lard—her tiny tongue sticking out from between plump lips as she concentrated—Meri combed her fingers through Zelle’s pale silky hair, trying to gently pull out the tangles. Reaching the little girl’s nape, she frowned. Was it her imagination, or was Zelle’s hair longer than it had been, just a few days ago? Hurriedly, Meri crossed to her knitting and snipped off two lengths of blue ribbon. She parted Zelle’s hair and braided it, tying off two little stumpy tails at the base of the girl’s neck. All the while, she hummed and sang little tunes to Zelle, occasionally tickling her just to hear the sweet little laughter.

She’d just tied on her own apron to help work the lard into the flour when Jack drifted back into the room. He watched the two of them working, a frown on his disturbingly compelling lips, and those little lines back between his eyes. All the while she showed the girl how to knead the dough, she felt his stare on the spot between her shoulder blades, making her skin itch.

Finally, after she’d plopped the last of the rolls into the pan, and showed Zelle how to clean the flour from her hands with the wet rag, she turned. Jack was standing, his arms crossed and hip leaning against the stone of the hearth. His glare was directed at the back of Zelle’s head; her new braids, specifically.

“I hope you don’t mind.” She’d blurted it out, ashamed at the quaver in her own voice.

But the look he turned on her wasn’t angry. “Mind what?”

“Her hair. It seemed long enough to tie back.” The lines between his brow eased, and she couldn’t seem to make her mouth stop moving. “Longer than when I arrived, even. It certainly grows quickly, doesn’t it?”

He scratched at his beard and glanced back at his daughter. “Yeah. Faster than any I’ve known.”

“So I braided it. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Why would I mind?” He pushed away from the wall and shoved his hands deep into his pockets. She couldn’t help but think he was back to looking furtive again.

“You were glaring at the braids.” At the sudden narrowing of his eyes, she swallowed.
Shoot
.

“Just thinking that I’ve never learned to do something like that.”

She shrugged, trying to be nonchalant. “That’s why she needs a momma, I think.”

As soon as the words were out of her mouth, her eyes widened.
Why
had she said such a thing? They’d managed to avoid any discussion of the future during the last few days. Oh, they’d talked about the bogus wife advertisement, and tried to come up with names of anyone who might have a reason to trick the two of them into marriage—and they couldn’t think of a single one—but they hadn’t actually talked about if they were planning on going through with it. But now she’d gone and put her foot in it and said something as outright as
that
…

To her surprise, though, Jack’s expression softened. Those lips turned up sensually, and those blue eyes raked her from her apron to her braids. “You might be right, Miss Almassy.”

Meri sucked in a breath at his agreement…and more than that, the thoughtful look in his eyes. He was really considering marrying her? Even if it was just Zelle’s sake? She offered him a hesitant smile, and was gratified to see
his
eyes widen and look away quickly.

Clearing her throat, she wondered if she should pursue the subject, or change it. “How did your wife do Zelle’s hair?”

And just like that, he shut down again. He hunched his shoulders, as if trying to make himself appear smaller, and darted his eyes towards her nervously. “What makes you say a thing like that?” She’d expected grief, if anything. Not this…edginess.

Oh well; in for a penny, in for a pound.
She shrugged. “It’s obvious that you don’t know what to do with it—it looks like you cut her hair to keep it from tangling.” She was being kind; it
looked
like he hacked it off with the same knife he’d used on his own hair. “So I wondered what her mother used to do with her hair.”

He stared at her for a long moment, his expression carefully blank and his chin tucked down against his chest. Finally, he took a deep breath—she most emphatically did not allow her eyes to watch the play of muscles under the flannel of his shirt—and said, his voice devoid of any emotion, “Zelle didn’t have enough hair, then.”

“Oh.” That meant that his wife must’ve died when the girl was quite young. An infant, even. Had she died in childbirth? How sad; this man obviously adored his daughter, and must’ve loved his wife very much. Now it was her turn to look away, to hesitate. She watched Zelle drawing lines in the flour that had spilled onto the table, and was glad the girl had a chance to enjoy the mess. “I’m sorry.”