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He gave her an odd, sort of surprised, quizzical look, then shook his head. “The Union Pacific does not allow signs on their property. I’ll speak to the stationmaster, ask him to tell the conductors that my store is open for business so they can pass the word along to their passengers.”
Her pulse quickened. His descriptions in his letters had made her curious about Whisper Creek, but she’d been too nervous last night to pay much attention to the buildings and surroundings. She took another sip of coffee to keep from asking to accompany him, certain he would prefer to be alone.
The hammering from the building next door grew louder. Blake glanced toward the window. “It will be expected that I take you on a ‘tour’ of Whisper Creek—such as it is. Would that be acceptable to you?”
She grasped at the chance to be away from this home he’d hoped to share with Linda. It would be good for both of them to forget how Linda had altered their lives—at least for a little while. “Yes, of course. I would enjoy seeing the town—‘such as it is.’” She set her cup on its saucer and took a breath, spoke what had been on her mind all morning. “But, before we do, I’m concerned about, that is, I’m not certain I know how to play the part of a newlywed, Blake. What do you want me to do?” The muscle along his jaw jumped. Pain sharpened the planes of his face. She looked away, stared down at her coffee. “If you’d rather wait—”
“No. We’ll take the ‘tour’ now. As for how to act—just follow my example. And bear in mind that I, too, will be acting my part. Don’t flinch away if I should...touch you.”
The vein at his temple was pulsing again. She nodded, hid her clenched hands in her lap. “I’ll be ready as soon as I clear the table.”
“I’ll await you downstairs in the store.” He rose and slid his chair under the table. “You may need a wrap of some sort. Early mornings are cool in the mountains.”
She stared after Blake as he strode from the kitchen, then sighed and carried their cups and saucers to the sink cupboard. Don’t flinch away if I should...touch you. Why would he say that? She’d never had men swarming about her the way Linda did, but it wasn’t as if she’d never had a beau. And he knew she’d been promised until John Barker decided Alicia Blackwell’s sudden inheritance was the wiser move for his future and broke off their betrothal to court the spinster. She frowned and dumped the rest of her coffee into the sink. It was only that this odd situation made her nervous. She wrested what comfort she could from that thought, then set herself to act the part of a new bride.
Chapter Three (#uc9a36cb9-a73b-5aec-b283-9b53800bcd6d)
“I’m ready.”
Blake pivoted toward the door to the storage room and was struck again by Audrey’s neat, trim appearance, and how well it matched her personality. Linda would be swathed in ruffles and lace that drew a man’s eye to her curves and—He jerked his mind from the conjured image of his beloved and stepped forward. Audrey moved slowly toward him, her gaze sweeping around the store before coming to rest on him.
“Your store is larger than it seemed las—in the dark.” She stopped by a display of Bull Durham tobacco sitting beside piled boxes of ceramic doorknobs on the counter and looked up at him. “There are so many choices. How do you decide what to stock?”
The question halted him. How like Audrey to try to distract him from their ridiculous circumstance. He’d forgotten how kind she was. Her intelligence demanded a well-considered answer. He gathered his thoughts. “I try to think of what will be required to build the town and then keep those items in stock for the men doing the work. Right now, that’s mostly foodstuffs, tools and hardware and other construction needs, along with tobacco products and a smattering of household items.”
“Oh, I see...”
Her gaze slid toward the back corner. A frown formed a small line between her delicately arched eyebrows. He glanced at the tables that sat there, a large one covered with piles of denim pants and cotton shirts, a smaller one covered with a few bolts of cloth and some small baskets of buttons and other notions. “Is there a problem with my dry goods section? I know it’s small. But until your...arrival, there were only two women in town—Mrs. Ferndale and Yan Cheng, the laundress.”
She looked up, met his gaze full on. “Do you want my honest opinion?”
Probably not enough ribbons and lace to suit her. Still, if she was nice enough to pretend interest in the store, he should humor her. “Yes, of course.”
“Very well.” She took a soft breath. “I understand your reasoning—and it makes perfect sense to cater to the majority of your customers. But, if you are hoping to sell to the women passengers on the trains passing through, then—in my opinion—you should bring your dry goods forward out of that dark corner.” She crossed to the table and touched the basket holding ribbons. “It is hard to see what you have displayed here. And the dim light afforded by the overhead lamps does not show the fabric or trimmings in a true light. It is most frustrating to buy a piece of fabric or trim and find when you get it home that it is not the right color at all.” She turned back to face him. “Also, women will not like walking through an entire store of men’s tools to find the few items of interest to them.”
He stared at her, taken aback by her sensible detailed answer. “I see.”
Pink spread across her cheekbones. “Forgive me, Blake. I got carried away—”
“Not at all. I appreciate you explaining a woman’s thoughts on such things to me.” He shifted his gaze away from her face. Linda had never blushed like that. It was surprisingly touching. “I will move the dry goods. Where would you suggest?”
“Me?”
He nodded at the gasped word. “You must have had a place in mind.” The shock on her face turned to dismay.
“No, I didn’t. Truly! I only noticed the darkness of the corner. I wasn’t trying to—”
“But you would place the dry goods at the front of the store?”
“Well...yes. But—”
“Where?”
She stared at him a moment, then walked to a tool-covered table situated at the left front corner of the room. “I would put them here—in the natural light from the window. And—” Her teeth caught at her lower lip. She glanced at him, then looked away and gave a small, dismissive wave of her hand.
“And what?”
“Nothing. I’m sorry, Blake. Please forgive me for being so bold as to offer you advice on your store. I have no experience as a shopkeeper.” She smoothed her skirt, looked toward the door. “Shall we go now?”
“Not yet. I’d like to hear what you were thinking.” The dismayed look returned to her face.
“It was nothing of importance. I only thought...” Her shoulders squared. She waved her hand toward the window. “If you feel you could spare the space, you might want to put a bolt of fabric and a basket of notions, ribbons and such in the window.” She glanced toward the shelves behind the long counter. “And perhaps one of those large ironstone pitchers... And a pewter candlestick... And perhaps a crock of that marmalade...” She met his gaze again. “My thought was—with only tools and hardware items in the window—how are the women passengers to know the store sells things they may want or need?”
“How indeed?” He pushed aside his shock at her astute suggestions, focused his attention on the window. “You make excellent sense, Audrey. A few household items in the display would draw a woman’s eye. I believe I will make those changes before I—we go to the depot to talk to Asa.” He strode to the back table, lifted the bolts of fabric and carried them to the counter. “Which would you suggest for the window?”
Her expression brightened. She hurried to his side, touched a rose silk, an apple-green organdy with a delicate white embroidered flower trim at the edge, then sighed and shifted her hand. “This blue taffeta. Most women are partial to blue.”
He stared down at the taffeta the color of Linda’s eyes, fought back memories of her gazing up at him through her long lashes and shook his head. “I’ll use the green.” The words came out more brusque than he’d intended.
Audrey withdrew her hand, stepped back. “Forgive me, Blake. I—I didn’t think about—”
“No reason why you should.” He cleared the gruffness from his throat, looked over at her and read the understanding in her eyes. “What happened, happened, Audrey. You had no part in it, and you’ve no reason to keep apologizing because of my...feelings. I’ll get over them.” He headed back to the dry goods table.
Will I? Will I ever forget the feel of Linda in my arms? Will the longing to hold her and kiss her, to have her for my own, ever go away? He stared down at the baskets and clenched his hands to keep from throwing them at the wall, busting the table in pieces and walking out the door to never return. It would cost him all he had to leave, but he could find employment, make his way somehow. At least he would be away from all these things that brought back the memory of his plans for a life with Linda. But he had Audrey to think of now. She had come all this way to save his store for him; he couldn’t walk out on the debt he owed her for that. He had to figure out a plan that would release them both from this sham of a marriage!
His temple throbbed. He unclenched his hands, piled the baskets one atop the other and carried them to the counter. Audrey had that stricken look in her eyes again. He groped for something to take her mind off Linda and their situation. “Show me where you would place the things in the window and I’ll clear the spot. If you’re of a mind to, you can put the things you suggested there while I finish switching the goods on the tables.”
She nodded, picked up the bolt of green organdy and followed him down the length of the counter toward the window. “I think it would be good to put them in the center front, where those saws are—if that’s all right?”
“Makes sense.” It was the best response he could manage. He lifted the saws out of the window and carried them to the storage room, fighting the swelling pain of betrayal.
* * *
“I’ll tell them if I ain’t too busy—or they ain’t.”
What an officious little man! Audrey held her smile and stared back at the stationmaster peering out at them, his balding gray head and slumped shoulders framed by the ticket window in the depot wall.
“But I can’t promise you. Things get busier than a hornet’s nest ’round here when a train stops. Them conductors only got but twenty minutes to get any messages from dispatch, see to their passengers and the loadin’ and unloadin’ of freight before they’re out of here. And we got to see to the consignments and waybills. And I got the telegraph and all.”
Blake nodded, let go of her arm and shoved his fingers through his hair. “I understand you have a job to do, Asa. And I know it’s against the Union Pacific rules for any signs to be placed on their stations. But I was wondering if a small one sitting here at the window would be acceptable? That would—”
“I’m afraid not. Rule says clear, no signs nowhere on the property. There’s the telegraph! Got to answer it.” The balding gray head dipped her direction. “Pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Latherop.”
“And you, Mr. Marsh.” She was talking to air. The stationmaster had slipped off his stool and disappeared. Clicking sounds drifted out of the open ticket window.
“Well, that puts paid to that idea.” Blake frowned, grasped her elbow and turned toward the steps. “I’ll have to wait for the train passengers’ patronage until I get the store sign made. A large sign, big enough to be read from here. I’ll hang it on the board across the top of the porch.”
“And that will teach Mr. Marsh there is more than one way to skin a cat!”
Blake jerked to a stop. His eyebrows rose. “‘Skin a cat’? Why, Audrey Prescott...er Latherop. You’ve read Major Jack Downing’s adventures!”
She lifted her chin. “Hasn’t everyone?”
His smile turned into a grin—the crooked kind he used to wear when he teased her about something. “Men, yes. But I don’t know any other women who read Seba Smith. They read Godey’s Lady’s Book.” The grin faded with his words. He released her arm, looked off into the distance.
Godey’s Lady’s Book. Linda’s favorite—for fashion. Linda didn’t read the articles. She took a breath and prepared to throw herself on the sacrificial pyre of Blake’s teasing. Anything to draw his thoughts back away from her sister. “Father and I read Major Downing’s adventures together. We discussed them over his morning coffee.” Blake didn’t respond. She moved closer to the edge of the platform, looked down the dirt road to the beginning of the town and returned to their purpose in coming to the depot.
“A large sign will be easily read from here, Blake. And I’m certain one will draw the passengers to your store.” She glanced over her shoulder at him, then lifted her hems and walked down the steps. “Twenty minutes is a long time to simply stand around this station trying not to get in the way of the other passengers or the train crew. And the short walk will be inviting to those who have been sitting in a swaying passenger car for hours.”
“I’d forgotten how optimistic you are, Audrey.” Blake trotted down the steps and stood beside her. “You’re right about the sign. But it has to wait until the store is painted and the trim finished, so there’s the meantime—and it’s obvious Asa Marsh will be of little help. But it’s my own fault. I should have waited to open the store. I was too eager to—” He bit off the words, grasped her left hand and tucked it through the crook of his right arm. “In case anyone sees us walking while I show you around Whisper Creek.”
“Such as it is...” She took a skip to catch up with his long strides.
“Sorry.” His steps slowed, stopped. He stared down at her hand resting on his arm. “Where’s your ring?”
“The ring is safe in its box.” She lifted her chin, looked full into his eyes. “It’s too large and I don’t want to lose it—should anyone ask.” The muscle along his jaw twitched. He nodded and moved forward. She cast about for something to distract him from his tormenting thoughts. “The hotel looks finished outside, except for needing paint and trim like your store. But, I can hear them working inside. When does Mr. Stevenson expect to open for business?”
“Mr. Stevenson?” Blake stopped walking, gave her a puzzled look.
Featherbrain! You distracted him all right. How would you know the hotel owner’s name? She widened her eyes in a look of confusion. “Am I wrong? These things were only mentioned in passing.” Oh, wonderful! That will keep him from thinking of Linda. She pressed her lips together and slid her gaze back to the large raw building before more of her knowledge of Whisper Creek and its residents slipped out. Blake was too much of a gentleman to question her explanation, but she could almost hear him wondering how much of his letters Linda had shared with her. Blessed Lord, please don’t let him guess that it was the other way around. That I—
“The name is correct. Your memory serves you well.” His arm relaxed beneath her hand. She held back a sigh when they started walking again. “To answer your question—Garret Stevenson hopes to open by the end of September on a limited basis. It will be winter before all of the rooms are finished. And then, of course, they will have to be painted and furnished before they can be occupied.”
“And he will buy the paint and the furnishings from you? That’s wonderful, Blake!” She smiled up at him. His strained look brought her back to reality. “I mean—if you still have the store then.”
“Which I will—if I can’t come up with a plan.” Bitterness laced his voice. “I’ve tried, but I’ve thought of nothing that will work. If it weren’t for that contract I signed...”
Her heart ached for him. “It’s not even been a full day, Blake. And this is an...unusual circumstance. You will think of something.”
“More optimism?”
His teasing tone fell flat. “No, not optimism. I have faith in your abilities.” She waved her hand forward. “What is the building on the other side of your store going to be?”
“An apothecary. The owner is not in town yet.” His gaze shifted to their right. “I assume he and his wife will come when the store and their house are finished.”
She looked away from the twitching muscle along his jaw and followed the direction of his gaze. A narrow path to the side of the stores led into the tall grasses. She lifted her gaze into the distance and gasped at the sight of a large white house with a porch and a round turret situated by the creek that flowed down the long valley. “What a beautiful house. It could sit on the finest street in New York.”
“It belongs to Mr. Ferndale, the town founder. The smaller, octagon-shaped house under construction is the apothecary’s.”
“Octagon-shaped? I’ve never seen such a house!” Framework for the eight-sided structure sat beside the creek a fair distance beyond the Ferndale home. Movement caught her eye and she shaded her face with her hand, made out the figures of two men crawling along the roof. The muted sound of hammering floated off down the broad valley. She looked into the distance beyond the homes until her gaze collided with the encompassing snowcapped mountains. “I thought the West was full of cows and cowboys and such.” She drew her gaze back to look up at him. “Where are the ranches?”
“There aren’t many in Wyoming, though ranchers are beginning to move in because of the land opening up and the railroad coming through. I’ve heard some cowboys bought the land in the adjoining valley and are building a cabin and pens and such. Rumor is, they plan to go back to Texas and bring a herd of cattle up next spring. But it’s only rumor. What I know for certain is that there will be no ranches in this valley. Mr. Ferndale owns all of the land and he refuses to have Whisper Creek turn into what he calls a ‘rowdy cow town’ with drinking and gambling and other...disreputable pursuits. He envisions Whisper Creek as a town modeled after his home village back East. That’s why he advertised for—why he won’t allow bachelor businessmen to invest in the town. He wants men who will build stores and homes and raise families here.” He turned his back, cleared his throat.
She stared at his rigid shoulders, snagged her lip with her teeth and clenched her hands. Linda Marie Prescott—or whatever your name is now—it’s fortunate for you you’re not here, because I could cheerfully shake you until your teeth rattled! She looked around for a safe subject, found it in the water gushing and splashing down the mountain behind his store. “Is it possible to get closer to the waterfall, Blake? I’ve never seen one.”
“Yes, of course.” He turned and offered her his arm. “It’s a bit of a walk—if you don’t mind.”
“Not at all. It’s a lovely day.”
“All right then. We’ll go around the hotel to reach the path. I’m afraid it is not a good one, merely beaten-down grasses.”
He led her between a small copse of pines and the side of the hotel, then turned right and walked along a rutted dirt path that ran behind the buildings. She glanced up to get her bearings, stopped and stared at a wide, odd-looking wood barrow sitting beneath the floor of a deep, roofed porch. “What is that?”
“My cart. It’s how I get my supplies from the depot to the store. That’s my loading dock.”
She lifted her gaze. “Is that another porch above it?”
“Yes.”
“And that building that adjoins the porch?”
“My stable.”
Her pulse jumped. She’d always wanted to ride a horse. Perhaps—“You ride?”
“No. I need a horse to pull the cart. Mitchel Todd—he runs the logging operation here in Whisper Creek—has been allowing me the use of one of his horses until I can buy one.” He released her arm. “The path is this way. Take care where you step—the grasses are treacherous and the ground is rough where we buried the pipe for the water supply. The trail is too narrow to walk together. I’ll go first in case—”
The blast of a train whistle drowned out his words. His head turned toward the tracks.
The look in his eyes pricked her heart. He’s hoping Linda is on that train. He wants her to come back to him. Her hope for a pleasant, distracting walk to the waterfall died. She lifted her skirt hems and started up the few steps to the loading dock.
He pivoted toward her. “What are you doing?”
“I’ve changed my mind. I think it would be best if we stayed here.”
“But the waterfall...”
She shook her head and continued up the steps. “You can show me the waterfall another time. I forgot that Mr. Marsh might tell the porter about your store. You need to be here if any passengers come to make a purchase.” She hurried across the deep porch, wrenched open the door and rushed through the storage room and up the stairs, aware of him following behind her. She reached the top, swung around the newel post into the short hall on the right and peered over the railing. Blake paused at the bottom of the stairs, then walked on. Tears stung her eyes at the anguish in his unguarded expression. She listened to his footsteps fade away as he entered the store.
Every part of her being longed to help him, to right the wrong done him, but it was impossible. She knew from experience that only God could heal his wounded heart. She shoved away from the railing, grasped hold of her skirts and walked into the bedroom she was using—their bedroom. Everything here was either built or purchased with her sister in mind. There was no place in the living quarters she could go that did not remind her of Linda. And if it was that way for her, how much worse it was for Blake. What had ever made her think coming here to save Blake’s store would ease his agony over Linda’s betrayal? How could he forget what had happened when everything around him was a constant reminder of his lost love? Including her. She never should have come.
Her back stiffened. It was another mistake she would have to live with. She was here now. And she would make the best of it for Blake and herself until he came up with a different plan to save his inheritance. There was no doubt that he would—or that his plan would be much more sensible than hers. Meantime, she would stop trying to ease his pain over Linda’s desertion and concentrate on making his life, and hers, as comfortable and pleasant as possible under the circumstances—starting with this room.
She marched to the bed, stripped off and folded the beautiful blue-and-white coverlet, then opened the blanket chest at the foot of the bed. She snatched out a wool blanket the mustard color of an autumn leaf and put the coverlet inside. The silver ring box gleamed at her. She spread the blanket on the bed, snatched up the ring box and shoved it out of sight at the bottom of the chest. The throw on the back of the rocker worked nicely to hide the ornate dressing table. She arranged her grooming items on top of the woven wool, straightened and looked around. Much better. At least she would be able to sleep in this room now.
Now, for Blake’s room. She set herself, walked the U-shaped hallway around the stairwell, grasped the knob on his bedroom door and froze, unable to open it. It was too...intimate. She whirled about and started back down the hallway.
The room is empty but for a cot.
She stopped, turned and stared at the door once more. A deep breath steadied her. She squared her shoulders, marched back and opened the door. A cot stood in the middle of the room, a sheet, blanket and pillow tangled together on top of it—mute testimony of a sleepless night. She blinked away a rush of tears and opened the doors of a sizable wardrobe on the inside wall. There was a canvas bag on the floor with a rumpled white shirt sticking out of it. She closed the doors and hurried back to her bedroom to get clean linens.
* * *
It was a challenge. Audrey eyed the cot she’d moved so it sat between the two shuttered windows in the side wall and nibbled at her lower lip. How could she make the bed linens stay in place? There was nowhere to tuck them, unless—She smiled, snapped the sheet through the air, let the excess fall to the floor and then tucked the corners beneath the feet of the crisscrossed legs. That should work. Blake’s weight would hold the corners of the sheet firmly in place. She added a top sheet and then the blanket, tucking only the bottom corners under the legs at the foot of the cot, then shoved the pillow into a clean pillow slip, fluffed it and laid it on top. There!
She gathered up the dirty linens, shoved them in the bag in the wardrobe, then stepped back and eyed her handiwork. At least the cot looked more like a bed now. And, if her idea worked as she hoped, Blake would be able to sleep without the linens strangling him in a tangled mess. But he needed a bedside table, and an oil lamp—the days were getting shorter. There had to be one she could use somewhere.
She rushed out into the hallway, glanced toward the door to Blake’s office on her left, then walked ahead to the sitting room. She did not want to overstep her wifely role in this strange marriage. She wouldn’t enter his office unless he gave her permission to clean it. She swept her gaze around the sitting room and spotted a lamp table in the far corner. Would Blake be upset if she took it for his use? Perhaps not, once the deed was done. She carried the table and oil lamp back to Blake’s bedroom and placed them beneath the shuttered window on the right side of his cot. Perfect!
