A Bride in the Bargain Part 37

Maynard laughed. "Anna is no fragile flower, as I'm sure you're aware."

Joe stiffened. "Neither is she a work horse with an unending source of strength."

The humor slowly fell from Maynard as he studied Joe. "You in love with her?"

He didn't even hesitate. "Yes."

"Then why haven't you married her?"

"I'm working on it."

He lifted his brows. "And what would she think about your coming here on her behalf?"

"She'd be furious. I trust you can keep it to yourself."

Maynard smiled and turned back to his was.h.i.+ng. "I can keep it to myself. And I'll watch her, Joe. You needn't worry about that."

Anna made it halfway down the steps when she caught sight of Joe, then came to a complete halt. He was wearing a suit. She'd never seen him in anything other than his lumberjack garb. Not even on their wedding day. Or what he'd thought was their wedding day.

He looked up, his eyes zeroing in on her, and walked to the bottom of the stairs. She continued her descent, taking in the thin black tie knotted around a crisp white collar, the swirling pattern of his green, single-breasted waistcoat, the lines of his dark jacket framing ma.s.sive shoulders, then tapering down to a trim waist. His trousers held a newly pressed crease.

Tucking his derby beneath his arm, he held out a hand and a.s.sisted her with the last two steps. "Good morning."

"You look beautiful." It was out before she had a chance to recall it.

Flas.h.i.+ng both dimples, he leaned in close. "You needn't sound so surprised."

She again gave him a once-over, this one much briefer than the last. "Where did you get all this? I don't remember seeing it in your wardrobe."

Joe took a quick glance about the lobby, offering no reply. She blushed, realizing how her comment might be misconstrued if it had been overheard. But with most of the men sleeping off their Sat.u.r.day night revels, the entryway was, for once, lacking in spectators.

They stepped outside, but instead of heading down the boardwalk, Joe escorted her to a waiting coal-box buggy harnessed to Shakespeare.

"What's this?" she asked.

Placing his hands at her waist, he lifted her up. "I believe they call it a buggy."

"But church is within walking distance."

Anna slid over, making room for him to mount. The buggy dipped beneath his weight, causing the fringe around the top to ripple and swirl.

"I was hoping to talk you into a Sunday ride after church," he said.

Clicking his tongue at Shakespeare, he gave the reins a shake. She twisted around to get a better look at the vehicle. Coal-box buggies had been extremely fas.h.i.+onable in New York. She didn't even know they had them in the Territory. This one sported a black carriage with broad stripes of dark blue and cloth tr.i.m.m.i.n.g to match.

"Will you?" he asked.

She returned her attention to him. The derby hat he wore seemed so out of character she lost her train of thought. "Will I what?"

"Go for a ride with me after church?"

"Oh!" She couldn't imagine what the wagon shop must have charged him for the buggy and could certainly understand that he wanted to get his money's worth. "Well, all right."

"Only 'all right'?" he teased.

She folded her hands in her lap. "I'd like to very much."

Smiling, he sat a little straighter.

For the first time, Anna realized the sun was out. Not because Mount Rainier postured in all its glory on the horizon, but because the sun and Joe's green waistcoat had turned his eyes to an emerald-like quality.

"Are you feeling better this morning?" he asked.

"Much."

"Your headache is gone?"

"It is." That wasn't exactly true-it still rumbled along the edges-but she was so struck with him she couldn't quite get her bearings.

"I've missed you." He wasn't making any attempt to watch the road but centered his attention entirely on her.

A s.h.i.+mmer of antic.i.p.ation rushed through her. Antic.i.p.ation of something she was sure she shouldn't be contemplating on her way to church.

Drawing in a raspy breath, she tried to lighten the mood. "You missed me or my cooking?"

"You." His tone was low, intimate, not at all acknowledging her attempt at humor. "Definitely you."

She faced forward. Time to move the conversation in a safer direction. "Wasn't that our turn back there?"

He looked around, then gave a small huff of amus.e.m.e.nt. "I believe it was."

Even with the detour, they arrived at church much too soon to suit her.

Jumping from the buggy, he held his hands up to her. "Why are you frowning?"

"I was just thinking the day was entirely too beautiful to be indoors."

She rested her hands on his shoulders, but instead of grasping her elbows, he clasped her waist, then lifted her from the carriage.

"For shame, Miss Ivey," he whispered, holding her even though her feet now touched the ground. "What will G.o.d think about your reluctance to enter His house?"

He smelled of the mint from his shaving lotion. "I think He'd understand," she said. "After all, He made the day and asked us to rejoice in it."

Stepping back, he released her waist only to then capture her hands. "Well, we'll do both. First, we'll praise Him in His house, then we'll praise Him out-of-doors." He brought her knuckles to his lips. "In any event, I'm sure He'll be glad to see you've rid yourself of your vices before entering church."

"Vices?"

His eyes took on a gleam. "Well, it was clear to me yesterday that you've developed a thirst for whiskey since you left me."

She gasped. The quick intake of breath caused her to cough. She knew he was teasing, but she still wanted to explain. Instead of giving her an opportunity, though, he handed her his handkerchief, then whisked her inside.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO.

Joe regretted his decision to leave the top up on the coal-box. If ever there was a day for riding in an open buggy, this was it. Seattle might enjoy more than its fair share of rain, but all it took was one day like this to obliterate from memory a month's worth of gray ones.

He glanced at Anna. She'd worn her blue gingham dress, as he'd hoped she would. The temperatures were beginning to cool, though, and she'd need something more suitable before too long.

He couldn't keep buying her fabric, though. Not until they were married or at least betrothed. He wondered again if she'd made use of his most recent offering, but refrained from asking.

She looked more rested than she had last night, but he could tell she wasn't completely herself. Another subject he wished to broach, but one which wouldn't exactly further his cause.

He bit back his impatience with the entire courting flubdub. It wasn't as if they were animals whose only way of communicating was through elaborate rituals. He and Anna both spoke English. Why couldn't he simply state what he wanted and then go see the preacher?

They hit a rut in the road, thrusting Anna against him momentarily. He was tempted to hit every furrow they came across just for the brief contact it would afford him.

It wouldn't be hard. The road out to Lake Was.h.i.+ngton was hilly, b.u.mpy, and gravelly. Dense forest and brush rose on either side as if the road were a river carving out a canyon.

Anna coughed.

"You cold?" he asked.

She shook her head, but he slipped off his jacket and hooked it on her shoulders.

"Thank you."

He searched for an appropriate topic of conversation, couldn't think of one, then finally gave in to temptation. "Doc seems to keep you busy."

"I can't imagine how he's done it by himself all this time. People think nothing of calling on him all hours of the day and night."

"He gets you up in the middle of the night!"

"No, no. But one morning I arrived at his home only to find he'd never even gone to bed. Can you imagine?"

"Guess I never thought about it much."

She sighed. "Neither had I."

A dove high in a tree crooned to its mate. When she didn't respond in kind, he tried again, his coo-oo-oo a sad, mournful sound. Joe scanned the maples, pines, and oaks, but the bird's tan color made it impossible to spot.

His thoughts drifted back to Anna's nursing. "Do you like it?"

"Like what? Helping Doc Maynard?" She c.o.c.ked her head to the side, pondering his question. "I can't really say I enjoy it, exactly. How can I when most everyone we see is in some degree of pain? Yet I can see why the doc finds it rewarding."

"But you don't?"

"Oh, I do. I guess."

They started up an incline.

He placed his arm on the seat back, giving her extra support. "You don't have to work for him, you know."

"I know. But what would I do then?"

Marry me. But he couldn't say that. Not yet, anyway. Come back to us. But he didn't want to offer that either. The next time she set foot in his home, he wanted her to be Mrs. Joseph Roy Denton, not his cook.

"I don't know," he said. "I just don't like how he keeps you out until all hours."

"He doesn't." Her surprise was genuine.

"He did yesterday. Can you honestly say that was an exception?"

She overlapped the lapels of his jacket, coc.o.o.ning herself inside. "I've only worked for him for one week. It's a bit early to have established a pattern, don't you think?"

"Maybe. But last night you were almost sick you were so tired. And don't try to deny it."

They crested the hill.

"It was just a headache. Hardly anything to be alarmed over."

He refrained from commenting. Doc said he'd be more diligent, so hopefully it was a moot point. After a bend in the road, the lake came into view. Several ducks paddled through the water. The males' iridescent green heads and fawn-colored b.r.e.a.s.t.s were much more showy than the females' drab, mottled plumages.

Just the opposite of people, Joe thought. With us, it's the females who are resplendent.

Anna straightened. "Oh, Joe. Look how beautiful it is."

Removing his arm from the seat back, he took the reins in both hands and picked up the pace, guiding Shakespeare to a break in the trees that gave way to a sloping sh.o.r.e.

Dark evergreens lining the distant side of the glistening lake looked like upside-down feathers against a backdrop of mountains far on the horizon.

"Whoa, boy." Joe jumped to the ground, then lifted Anna from the buggy, resisting the temptation to pull her close.

They spread out a blanket he'd confiscated from his room at the Sires Hotel, anchoring it with a basket of food Owen Nausley had packed for them.

The serenity of the surroundings calmed him, and by the time they'd finished lunch, the old familiarity had returned.

She asked about his men.

He asked about her patients.

She wanted to know about his new cook.