A Bride in the Bargain Part 33

Every part of them was involved in the kiss. On and on it went until he thought he'd scatter like debris after the felling of a tree.

He wrenched back and held her head tight between his hands. "Marry me."

Her chest heaved in an effort to capture her breath. And with each upward motion, she pressed herself more closely against him.

He gave her a quick, hard kiss. "Marry me."

"Oh, Joe." Her eyes searched his.

He kissed her again. "All you have to do is say 'yes.' We'll do it today. Now. As soon as we get to town."

Something changed then. She calmed. She slowed her breathing. She collected herself. "Do you love me, Joe?"

"I . . ."

Did he love her? Well, he certainly felt more for her than he had for Lorraine.

"If we waited until next week," she continued, "would you still want to marry me?"

He frowned. "Next week? Why would we wait until next week when we're practically in town already?"

"No." Anna brushed a lock of hair from his forehead. "I mean, if we waited until you lost your land. Would you still want to marry me?"

He reared back. "Why would I do that? If we're going to get married, it is of utmost importance that we do it before I lose the land, not after. You're not making any sense."

Sighing, she stroked his lips with her fingers.

He nipped her little finger with his teeth.

She extracted herself from his embrace, then moved back to her side of the seat. "Well, it doesn't matter anyway. The whole thing is hypothetical."

"What do you mean it's hypothetical?"

"The question."

"There was absolutely nothing hypothetical about my proposal."

She pulled the blanket up over her shoulders. "No. I don't suppose there was."

"Then what the blazes are you talking about? Are you going to marry me or not?"

"Not." She flipped the blanket over her knees. "I'm afraid I'm not."

He closed his eyes, trying to figure out exactly what had happened. "How can you kiss me like that, then tell me no?"

"I didn't mean to give you the wrong impression. I'm sorry."

"Give me the wrong impression? Give me the wrong impression? If you'd kissed me any more thoroughly, I'd have gone up in smoke. Just what impression was I supposed to have gotten?"

Her entire face flushed. "I'm sorry. It won't happen again, I a.s.sure you."

He flung up his hands in a gesture of disbelief. "And that's supposed to make me feel better? Just what was that, then?"

"A good-bye kiss, I believe, is how you described it."

He stared at her. Shocked. Confused. Angry. And frustrated as the devil. Jerking the reins from the dash rail, he slapped Shakespeare with a bit more intensity than he should have. The horse jumped, then trotted, making the wagon jostle so much Anna flew clear up off the seat.

But he didn't slow their pace, nor did he help her stay anch.o.r.ed. She could fall off the stupid wagon for all he cared. And when she did, he'd be hanged before he even looked back.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT.

Hound Dog, Anna's private nickname for the clerk at the Occidental, handed Anna a missive and a purse of coins. "Mr. Denton said this was yours."

"Thank you, Mr. Collins."

The pouch's weight and jingling indicated it held quite a bit of money. Frowning, she looked around. "Is Mr. Denton here?"

"No, miss. He's headed back to his place."

She blinked. "But we just arrived an hour ago."

Hound Dog shrugged. "He went over to Yesler's Cookhouse and hired Ollie Rendorff right out from under Mr. Yesler. They left not fifteen minutes ago."

She glanced at her watch pin. "Why didn't you come and get me?"

"He said not to bother you."

But he'd not even said good-bye, she thought. Well, unless she counted that kiss, but that had only been an act of desperation on his part.

"Did he leave my carpetbag with you?"

"No, miss. Only that pouch and the missive I just gave you."

"I see. Well, thank you."

Moving to the porch, she broke open the letter.

Anna, I forgot to put your bag in the wagon. It is still in the house. Please accept my apologies. I will bring it to town next week when I come for other business.

I have told the Occidental to forward your bills to me until you have found a new job or made other arrangements. I have enclosed a modest remittance to help you launch whatever pursuits you decide to follow.

Sincerely yours, Joe She looked inside the pouch. He'd left her enough money to live on for several months, longer if she was careful. And if she didn't have her bag, she'd have to wear the clothes on her back for another week and finger-comb her hair.

Leaning back in the chair, she watched the rain pummel the ground in an unrelenting gush. Lightning seared the sky with a flash of light so bright it took her a moment before she could see again. The crash of thunder followed several seconds later.

Joe was driving home in this mess. Just like the last time he'd taken a new cook to his place. Sighing, she pulled the drawstrings of the money bag closed.

She'd keep the coins. She had no delusions about what it meant to be dest.i.tute. Once she secured a job, though, she would return the balance and pay back any she'd used. The sooner the better. She probably ought to repay the fifty-dollar fare she'd agreed to, also.

Anna read the note again. His "other business" must be the transfer of his land to Mr. Tillney. Joe's twelve days would be up a week from tomorrow.

Propping her elbow on the arm of the chair, she buried her face in her hand. When he brought her belongings next week, it would be her last opportunity. If she didn't marry him then, the land would be lost and so would her chances of marrying him.

People married for convenience all the time. She already loved Joe and he certainly wasn't immune to her. But did she really want to live in a loveless marriage until Jesus took her home?

No. She did not. But that didn't make her feelings for him lessen. Nor did it make her guilt go away, for her decision would affect Red, Ronny, Fish, Thirsty . . . all of them. But especially Joe.

Gathering up the money purse, she stood, then returned to her room. The room Joseph Denton was paying for.

Joe was dog-tired, yet he couldn't sleep. It was the first time he'd been in his own bed for six weeks and the house was quiet. Empty. Lonely. Giving up, he flung the covers back, then walked across the hall.

Her room was dark. A hint of twinflower still tinged the air. After lighting a lantern, he wandered about opening drawers, touching the washstand, smoothing the bedsheets. The carpetbag he'd forgotten to load caught his eye.

It sat by the doorway where she'd left it for him to carry to the wagon. The temptation to open it tugged at him. She'd been in his bureau. She'd scrubbed, washed, ironed, and folded his clothing and even his drawers more times than he could count. What was good for the goose was surely good for the gander.

He picked up the bag. Its sides bulged; its threadbare seams strained. It hadn't weighed more than a feather when she'd first arrived, but with the new dresses she'd sewn, it was much too small to hold everything. What she needed was a trunk.

Straightening, he dropped the bag, then hurried to one of the spare rooms. Finding an extra trunk, he carried it back to her room.

He'd give it to her as a going-away gift, of sorts. And as a courtesy, he'd pack it for her. Squatting down, he unbuckled the carpetbag, wondering how many times she'd performed that very action.

Squelching the voice in his ear that warned him of wrongdoing, he opened it. The yellow calico lay on top, the green b.u.t.tons he'd longed to touch divided the bodice in half.

He fingered them now, one after the other before smoothing his hands over the fabric that had once touched her. Unfurling the gown, he brought it to his nose and breathed deeply of the twinflower scent woven into it.

One by one he removed the items from her bag and laid them in the trunk until he uncovered a set of underclothes. He sat back on his heels without touching. She must have two sets, just like she'd had two dresses at the beginning, because she'd have surely worn some undergarments to town.

He'd only had a quick glimpse of her in them that long-ago day. Pus.h.i.+ng the sides of the bag wider, he tucked his hands inside and drew her s.h.i.+ft out. It was in worse shape than he'd first imagined. He slipped a hand beneath the hem and spread his fingers. The cloth was as transparent as a cobweb and almost as fragile.

He'd never once seen them on his clothesline. She must have hung them out only while he and the boys were away at the logging camp.

He wanted to draw it to his nose but didn't dare. Only a flimsy pair of drawers remained in the bag. No corset. No petticoat.

Lifting them out, he accidentally pulled loose a false bottom. Setting the garment aside, he examined the bag and uncovered a bundle of worn, wrinkled letters. The top one was addressed to Josephine Ivey.

Settling onto the floor, he held the bundle for a long while before finally untying them.

He read every single one. The themes were the same: Her father felt honor-bound to enlist. He expected Anna to all but run the household and Leon to take his place. By doing so, they would be just as patriotic as if they were soldiers in the field.

It was the last one, though, that made Joe downright angry.

Don't you realize that when you and Leon argue and misbehave, the rebel bullets come closer to me? But if you and Leon are good, then G.o.d will take care of me and bring me home safely.

What a great bunch of tripe. And what kind of price had Anna paid for those thoughtless words? She was no more responsible for her father's death than Joe was.

He remembered her discussion with Maynard. Hopefully, Anna realized the truth of the matter now. Either way, it was all Joe could do to keep from crinkling up the letter and throwing it in the fireplace-dead though the fire was.

Instead, he refolded it, slipped it back into the envelope, and tied it up with the rest of them. Once he'd secured them in the false bottom, he flattened the bag, laid it on top of the clothes in the trunk, and carefully closed the lid.

Anna stared at Doc Maynard, then slowly set her teacup on the table. After nearly a week of looking for employment, she could scarcely believe her ears. "You'd like me to what?"

"I'd like you to be my nurse." The doc cut into his breakfast steak, then stuck a bite in his mouth.

The dining room of the Occidental was almost deserted at this late hour of the morning. Which was fine with Anna. The less crowded, the less conspicuous she felt.

She blinked. "Why?"

"I'd heard you were in the market for a job." The doc wiped his mouth with his napkin and leaned back. "What do you say?"

"Well, goodness. I . . . I'd be happy to a.s.sist you, I suppose. If you think I could be of help, that is."

"I think you'd be a great help."

"I have no formal training."

"Does the sight of blood upset you?"

"It never has before."

"Then I'll teach you what you need to know."

She stared at the food on her plate. Yesler would have hired her on the spot, but she'd wanted to try something different. She'd hoped to find a position as a nanny, but there weren't many children in the Territory. And the families who had children also had mothers at home to care for them.

Domestics weren't in much demand either, unless she wanted to work for an unmarried man again. And she definitely didn't want to do that. She'd resigned herself to going to Mr. Yesler today. But now she wouldn't have to.

Maynard took a sip of coffee. "Well, what do you say?"

"I say 'yes.' "

He smiled. "Good. Can you start today? Right now?"

"Right now?"

"Unless you already have plans?"

"No. No plans at all. Just, um, let me freshen up and I'll be right with you."

"Very good. I'll wait for you out front."

She made her way to her room, her feelings bittersweet. Her situation was improving on the cusp of Joe's situation deteriorating. For tomorrow was Day Twelve.