A Bride in the Bargain Part 31

Sinking onto the edge of the bed, Anna read the telegram in its entirety. Not dead? Mrs. Wrenne's husband was alive? Her friend must have been thrilled at the news.

Anna looked at the date. July thirteenth. The telegram had been sent four days after their arrival in Seattle. One day before Joe had returned to town to see Mrs. Wrenne.

A knot formed in Anna's chest as pleasure for her friend was quickly overridden by an impending sense of betrayal. He'd known about Mrs. Wrenne all this time? Before he'd shared the picnic with Anna on the redwood stump? Before he'd purchased the fabric on her behalf? Before the quiet evenings in which he'd read to her?

She glanced at the volume of Shakespeare. Will you, nill you, I will marry you.

Her breath came in short, erratic spurts. He'd known. He'd known about Mrs. Wrenne's husband. Yet he'd pursued her, wooed her, then culminated with a marriage proposal. All under false pretenses.

A pain similar to the mourning she'd felt after her family members died seized her. What a fool she was to think he loved her. And she'd responded completely. But clearly, he was only manipulating her. Using her to save his land.

She felt hot. Light-headed. Nauseated. Shoving the telegram in her pocket, she clutched her stomach, bent over, and hung her head between her knees in an effort to regain her equilibrium. She recalled the staunch arguments she'd foolishly given him on Mrs. Wrenne's behalf.

I just don't want to see her hurt.

Which do you think would hurt her more? Canceling the marriage or marrying her even though my interests are elsewhere?

His interests were elsewhere, all right. They were in his land and himself. Her stomach tightened. Seemed he was a bit like Hoke after all.

Tremors took hold of her body, starting on the inside and spreading to the outside. She tried to relax but couldn't. She tried to take a deep breath but couldn't. Moisture collected on her face, neck, and hands. No longer able to stay balanced on the side of the bed, she moved to the floor and pulled her knees up to her chest, curling into a ball. She waited for the pain to go away. But it never did.

Joe glanced up from his book when Anna entered. One look at her face and he knew he had some apologizing to do. At least he'd had the presence of mind to put his s.h.i.+rt on before she returned.

"Anna?"

She stepped next to the table and uncovered a plate that held the same lunch she'd packed for the men earlier. "What would you like to drink?"

He threw off the covers and moved to the table where she stood. He wanted to touch her but thought better of it.

"You're supposed to stay in bed," she said.

"I'm sorry, Anna," he whispered.

Her eyes filled.

Taking the plate from her hands, he set it back on the table. "Please don't cry. I took advantage and I had no right. I'm sorry."

She moistened her lips. "Can you be more specific in what you mean when you say you took advantage?"

He frowned. "This morning. I'd only planned to . . . well, it was supposed to be a simple kiss. I got carried away. I'm sorry."

"You planned it?"

"I've been planning to kiss you for quite some time now."

"I see." She glanced at his plate, her tone flat. "Would you like some milk with your lunch?"

He studied her face. Something wasn't right. He could understand her being upset, but she looked awful. Ill, almost. Still, he knew she'd enjoyed the kiss as much as he had. Slipping his hand into hers, he gave her a gentle squeeze. "What is it, Anna?"

"I was wondering when I would be released from my debt to you?"

He stilled. "Actually, I was hoping you would reconsider your answer from the other evening and would consent to marry me."

"What about Mrs. Wrenne?"

"The agreement between Mrs. Wrenne and me is no longer."

"Oh? Why not?"

"Does it matter?"

"Yes." Anna looked him square in the eye. "It matters a great deal."

He needed to tell her. If he didn't, someone else would the next time she went to town, and then where would he be?

Bracing himself, he intertwined his fingers with hers. "It turns out Bertha's husband is still alive and came to Seattle to collect her."

Surprise briefly touched her eyes, but other than that she gave no outward reaction to the news. "Well, that must have come as something of a shock. When did you discover this?"

Does it matter? But he didn't voice the question again, because he already knew the answer.

She pulled her hand from his. "When will I be released from my debt to you?"

"I haven't worked out the exact date yet."

"Don't you think you should?"

Swallowing, Joe took a deep breath. "It will take a while. Your pa.s.sage ended up being four hundred dollars."

"I knew nothing about all that. I only agreed to fifty dollars."

He stood his ground. "And my offer of marriage?"

"I'm sorry. I won't reconsider."

"Why not?"

She pulled a crumpled piece of paper from her pocket and handed it to him.

His breath hitched when he recognized it. "You looked through my things?"

"Not on purpose. It was sticking out of your writing slope when I was dusting. Now, if you'll excuse me, I believe I'll go collect some eggs."

He tried to catch her wrist, but she swerved out of reach.

"Anna, please."

She stopped with her hand on the doork.n.o.b, her face pale and void of expression. "How much longer do you have before losing your land?"

"Twelve days."

She nodded. "I am sorry, Joe. I really am. And I will stay until my debt is paid off, but then I'll be leaving."

No. "To go where? To do what?"

"Does it matter?"

She threw his words back at him, then didn't wait for his answer as she slipped out the door. And it was just as well. There was nothing he could say. The game was up. He'd taken an all-or-nothing gamble and gone bust.

He was going to lose his land. In twelve days' time, Tillney would walk onto half of his land and harvest the wood Joe had staked his future on. He could divert the stream. He could build a house. He could set the whole thing on fire and Joe could do nothing.

So why was the loss of Anna grieving him even more than the loss of his land?

By the time she returned with the eggs, her calm had been restored and her stomach had settled. Joe was nowhere in sight. His bed by the fire was made. His shaving utensils were cleaned and put away. His book was gone.

Was he in the necessary? Had he gone to his room to lie down? She tiptoed upstairs. His door stood open. His bed, untouched.

Returning to the kitchen, she kept an ear c.o.c.ked for any noise from outside. What if he'd fainted again? She slipped out the door and slowly approached the privy.

"Joe?"

Nothing.

She knocked. "Joe? Are you in there?"

s.h.i.+elding her eyes so that she'd only see his boots if he were inside, she opened the door. It was empty.

Where was he? Should she go to the logging site? If she did, supper would be late.

In the end, she did nothing. She was Joe's cook. Not his nanny. Not his nurse. And certainly not his family.

When the men finally approached the yard, she stood on the porch waiting, coffeepots in hand. Joe was with them. She let out a sigh of relief.

Yet the carousing and revelry that normally accompanied their arrival were blatantly absent. Had he told them she'd refused his offer? Even though the men didn't know the full truth of the situation, the thought still gave her pause. Her rejection of Joe's offer and the resulting loss of his land would greatly impact his crew. Would he have to let them go? And if he did, what would they do? What would Joe do?

A thread of guilt infiltrated her resolve. She'd grown terribly fond of these men, and she actually loved Joe. His actions might have been subterfuge, but hers were the genuine article. That part hadn't changed.

And standing on the porch watching their approach, Anna realized she had no real ambitions. No planned future. She'd simply come out west to escape and hadn't thought beyond that.

But Joe had come out west with huge aspirations. Huge plans. And all would be ruined now through no real fault of his own.

She swallowed. He should have been honest with her. But she could certainly see why he hesitated. Especially when considering her resounding refusal of him when she'd first arrived.

She glanced at him. He looked horrible. His skin was a pasty color. His dimples were completely absent. And his eyes held such bleakness, she had to look away.

The men mumbled a greeting, then gathered round the table. Joe said nothing. Did his artifice mean he was untrustworthy in every area?

Not necessarily.

And what if he wasn't? What if he was simply acting in desperation in order to save his land?

She shook her head. It was one thing to be desperate. It was something else entirely to entice her into marriage on false pretenses.

Joe said the blessing. She began to pour the coffee. The men thanked her, but no one teased or joked. Not with her. Not with each other.

They concluded their meal in swift order and started on their ch.o.r.es. She frowned when Joe picked up his ax. Surely he wasn't going to chop wood. She looked at Red, but he wasn't paying any attention to Joe. He was staring at her, his expression accusatory.

Spinning around, he headed to the barn, making no effort to interfere with Joe's chopping.

She cleared the table as quickly as she could, then finished the cleanup inside. At long last, the men left. She hung her rag on the oven-door handle, removed her ap.r.o.n, then hesitated. She was unsure if she should retreat to her room, stay and sort sh.e.l.ls, or make sure Joe didn't need any opium.

Before she could decide, he entered and went straight to the stairs. She heard him climb the steps, then cross the hall. His drawers opened and closed. Moments later, he reappeared with arms full. He walked out without so much as acknowledging her.

He was moving to the barn.

She stood for a long while before finally placing her tin of sh.e.l.ls on the table. She knew the decision she'd made was the right one. The best one. But that didn't make it hurt any less.

Smoothing her skirt beneath her, she began to sort her sh.e.l.ls. One thin spiraled sh.e.l.l in pink and brown, one white clam sh.e.l.l, one sand dollar. She ran her thumb over the exquisitely formed star in the middle of the chalky treasure she'd found on the South American coast.

Pressing a little too hard, she accidentally broke it. She stared, bereft, at the broken pieces. How quickly something so beautiful, so perfect, could be shattered.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN.

The next morning, Anna heard Joe enter through the door. Should she turn from the stove to greet him or wait until he greeted her? Should she ask if he needed a packed lunch, or would he be staying here? Should she offer him a cup of coffee or let him get his own?

She waited for him to make the first move, but he simply collected his shaving instruments and left again. No greeting. No coffee. No nothing.

She moved the oats to the back of the stove and began to a.s.semble the men's lunches. The longer Joe stayed away, the tenser she became until she thought she'd break apart as surely as the sand dollar had.

Breakfast was cooked and the men had arrived before he finally came back. Still, he said nothing and the men took their cue from him. During the entire meal, she found herself hiding in the kitchen, coming out only for refills and subsequent courses.

When breakfast was finally over, the men filed past the porch, picking up their lunch buckets. Red said nothing. Pelican, with a wad of snuff already tucked into his lip, nodded. Fish mumbled a thank-you without making eye contact. Wardle, Milton, Gibbs, Thirsty, and the rest took their turn, and with each one, the confusion and hurt she felt at their reticence built until she wasn't sure how much longer she'd be able to stay on the porch and still keep her emotions in check.

One more and she'd be done.

Ronny extended his hand. She handed him his bucket.

"Thank you, Miss Ivey," he said, looking like a puppy who'd been kicked but was willing to come back on the off chance that this time, his master would offer love instead of cruelty. "The chestnut dressing sure was good."

She bit her cheeks, not trusting herself to speak. He searched her face for a long moment. Walking up, Joe nudged him. The look of hostility Ronny shot back at him caused her to suck in her breath. But the boy obeyed and hurried to catch up with the others.