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She stared at the pastor, listened to his words. This ceremony was real. Garret Stevenson would be her husband!
“—forsaking all other, keep thee only unto her, so long as ye both shall live?”
“I will.”
She glanced up at Garret. How could he say that so calmly and surely? This was real.
“Virginia Winterman, wilt thou have this man to thy wedded husband—”
She jerked her gaze back to the man in front of her. He was a pastor...this was his church...she was making a vow before God! Her breath froze in her lungs. A tremble started in her knees, spread through her. How could she do this? If she said yes, she would be married to Garret Stevenson. Her chance for love and happiness would be over. But she had given him her word. If she didn’t keep it, he would lose all he possessed. And she would go home to a forced marriage to Emory Gladen.
“—love, honor and keep him, in sickness—”
God knew she had given Garret Stevenson her word! And God honored those who kept their word. He that sweareth to his own hurt, and changeth not.
“—and, forsaking all others, keep thee only unto him, so long as ye both shall live?”
Changeth not... She had to keep her word. She buried her shaking hands in the folds of her damp coat and lifted her chin. “I will.”
“Garret, you may kiss your bride.”
No! Garret’s hands clasped her upper arms, turned her toward him. Panic surged. He lowered his head. She closed her eyes. His lips were hot, soft, gentle on hers, and then they were gone. She opened her eyes, stared down at the floor and resisted the urge to press her fingers to her mouth.
Mrs. Karl stepped into view, held her hand out. “Congratulations, Garret. You have a beautiful bride. I wish you every happiness.” The woman leaned forward, gave her a brief hug. “And for you, my dear.” The woman stepped back. “I made a cake to celebrate your wedding. It’s at the parsonage...”
“How kind of you.” She smiled at the pastor’s wife, then looked up at Garret to take her cue from him.
“Thank you, Mrs. Karl, but I think we’d better get home. I’ll need to borrow a lantern, Pastor.”
“Of course. There’s one on the shelf by the front door for just such a purpose. No hurry about returning it. You can bring it back on Sunday.”
Pastor Karl walked with them to the door, placed a hand on each of them. “May the Lord bless you both with ever increasing love, happiness and healthy children.”
Guilt rose, settled in her heart. She had kept her word, but all the same, she would be living a lie. There would be no such blessing from the Lord for her. Or for Garret Stevenson. Not now. Not even God could bless a pretend, in-name-only marriage.
Chapter Two (#ucb528068-b455-5a02-8f0e-f55c811532dc)
Garret set the oil lamp on the shelf by his hat, slapped the snow from his leather gloves and shoved them in his coat pockets. “If I may, before you take off your coat...” He lifted her dangling curls and once again shook the snow off them. “No sense in letting this snow melt and wet your gown...”
“Th-thank you.” Lord, please let him think my stuttering is from the cold, not nerves.
He nodded, helped her from her coat and hung it on a peg. “Give me your hat and gloves. I’ll take care of them. You go warm yourself by the fire.”
“All right.” She handed them over to him and hurried toward the warmth of the blazing logs as fast as her trembling legs would carry her.
There’s no chaperone...
The words he’d spoken earlier had echoed through her mind all the way back from the church. Theirs was to be an in-name-only marriage. Why would he even mention needing a chaperone? She lifted her hand, touched her cold fingertips to her mouth. The kiss had surprised her. She’d thought he’d make some excuse. But at least it hadn’t been cruel. A shudder shook her.
“There must be at least twelve to fifteen inches of snow out there, and it’s still coming. There’s no telling how deep it will be before morning.”
She pounced on the subject. If she kept him talking about the weather, she could delay any discussion about their sleeping arrangements. Please, Lord... “You sound worried.”
“I’m a little concerned.” He sat on a chair by the door and tugged off his boots, put them on the small rag rug under the shelf. “I’m wondering if this is normal for this area. If it is, it could be a problem.”
“I don’t understand.”
“If it’s this deep here in the valley, I can’t imagine how much snow there must be up in the high elevations. It might be enough to shut down the trains. And that means no guests for the hotel or dining room. And no supplies coming through. No coal...”
“Oh.” She turned to warm her back at the fire. “I didn’t realize how dependent Whisper Creek is on the railroad.”
“It’s completely so.” He shoved his fingers through his hair and came to stand beside her on the hearth. “Mr. Ferndale has declared there will be no ranches in this valley. And he owns all of the land. The problem is, until there are some farms and ranches in the area, we have no source for food other than what is shipped in. If we get snowbound, that could be a real problem. Especially if I had a hotel full of guests to be fed.”
“What can you do about that possibility?”
“Not much. Order in enough food supplies to fill the icehouse and storage pantry in case of emergency. But even that wouldn’t last long if the hotel was full of people.”
She lifted her hems enough to allow the heat of the fire to reach her shoes. The loops over the buttons were too stiff with the cold to unfasten. “It sounds as if you need to buy a ranch.”
“Spoken like the daughter of a wealthy man.”
Her cheeks warmed. “I’m sorry. I’m not accustomed to discussing business problems. Father believes women need to be protected from such things.”
“No need to apologize. It’s a good idea. If things go as well as I hope with the hotel, I might just do it. There have been rumors of some cowboys from Texas buying land for a ranch in the next valley. They may not be adverse to an investor.” He lifted his foot and wiggled his stocking-clad toes close to the fire. “Ah, that feels good.” He repeated it with his other foot. “Sit down and I’ll take off your boots, so you can warm your feet.”
“No!”
His eyebrows shot skyward.
She swallowed hard. “That is...no thank you. My feet are fine.”
“Miss—er—Virginia, if this arrangement we have entered into is to work, we’re going to need some rules. The first is honesty.” His gaze fastened on hers. “I told you earlier I did not care who I married, that what I care about is saving my hotel. Let me explain further. I do not care to have any personal relationship with any woman, now or ever. You have no reason to fear me. There was no motive other than normal politeness in my offering to remove your boots. I’d do the same for a sister. Now, sit down and let me remove your boots. You might as well be comfortable while we discuss the rules for our arrangement.”
His voice was polite, businesslike and a touch bitter. She had misjudged him. “Very well.” She moved to one of the chairs, sat, arranged her long skirts and straightened her leg.
He went down on one knee, propped her foot on his other knee, pushed her hem above the fur trim at the top of her boot and rubbed the heel of his hand quickly up and down over the buttons. Warmth from the friction loosened the loops. Obviously, he had done this before. He unfastened the buttons and pulled her boot off, set it aside and cupped her cold, stinging foot in his hands. She could have purred, it felt so good.
“Your feet are fine, huh? Your toes feel like ice.” He rubbed her foot a minute, then lowered it to the floor and lifted her other foot to his knee.
“What is your sister’s name, Garret?”
He chuckled, slipped her skirt hem over the top of her boot. “I don’t have a sister.”
She jerked her foot back. “You said honesty was the first rule of our arrangement!”
“I was honest. I said I would do the same for a sister—not that I had a sister.” He grabbed her foot by the boot heel and put it back on his knee. “That is something we should know about one another. We might be asked questions.” All trace of warmth left his face and voice. “I have no family. And, if I remember correctly, you said you are an only child—with a father, a cousin and an unwelcome, determined suitor.”
“Yes.” She tamped down the urge to ask what had happened to his family.
“Well, you don’t have to be concerned about the suitor any longer.” He released her foot, rose and held his hands out to the fire.
Her breath came easier. “And you don’t have to be concerned about losing your hotel.” She stepped onto the hearth, let the warmth of the stones seep into her cold feet. “It seems we both owe a debt of thanks to Millie.”
“To Millie?” He snorted. “I think not.”
She stared at him, shocked by the anger in his voice. “But Millie saved your hotel for you.”
“No, you saved my hotel by coming to marry me. Millie decided to stay in New York and marry your butler. She would have let me lose everything in spite of her promise. But then betrayal comes easily to women.” He strode across the room from the hearth to the short hallway and picked up her two valises he had set there. “We will continue our discussion about our arrangement in the morning. It’s getting late, and I’ve got fires to tend and work to do. I’ll show you to your room.”
She looked at his taut face, nodded and picked up her boots.
“This way.”
They entered the hall, the hems of her long skirts whispering against the polished wood floor. She took a quick inventory. There were four doors, no windows. Three oil lamp sconces lit the area, two of them on either side of a tall, double-door cupboard. One would have given dim but sufficient light for the space. Garret Stevenson did not skimp with his comforts. That was good to know.
“The room on the left is my office.”
She glanced at the closed door and followed him to another a few steps down the hall on the right.
“This first room is my bedroom.” His socks brushed against an oval rug that covered the floor from his bedroom door to the end of the hallway. “The door straight ahead at the end of the hall leads to the dressing room. We will share that.” He glanced over his shoulder at her. “The dressing room has hot and cold running water at the washbasin and the bathing tub. And a modern flush-down commode. And, of course, a heating stove. I think you will find everything you need in the cupboard.” He took a couple more steps and opened the second door in the wall on the right, then walked into the dimly lit room. “This will be your bedroom.”
A separate room. Thank You, Lord! She stopped in the splash of light from the hall sconce and waited for him to leave.
He set her valises down on the floor at the end of the bed, turned up the wick on the oil lamp on the nightstand and moved to a small, cast-iron heating stove. “I use coal in the stoves. You’ll find it in here.” He opened a red painted box with a slanted top. “It probably needs some now. I started the fire before I went to the station to meet Millie.” He opened a door on the stove, scooped coal on top of the burning embers, closed the door and tugged the handle down again.
She watched him carefully, memorizing his actions. She’d never tended to a fire in her life, but it didn’t look too difficult.
“You’ll want to turn the draft down a bit more when that coal catches fire. It should last you all night on a slow burn.”
The draft? Her breath caught. How much was “a bit”?
He started toward the door, and she stepped back.
His face tightened. He moved close, looked down at her. She stiffened, judged the distance to the bedroom door and wondered if she could run through, slam and lock it before he reached it.
“You can put down your boots, Virginia. There’s no need for you to run.”
He reached out and took them from her hand. Her heart lurched.
“I don’t know what your intended betrothed was like, but I am a man of my word. And I will tell you once again, you have nothing to fear from me. I married because I was forced to do so. Women are fickle and untrustworthy.”
Her chin jutted. “And men are cruel liars!”
His eyes narrowed at her response. “So we are agreed. We are not interested in any romantic relationship. Our agreement is a business arrangement for our mutual benefit, not a marriage. Is that clear?”
She studied his face, tried to read what was in his dark blue eyes and found nothing to cause her to doubt him. “Yes. But it may take me a little time to get over being...nervous.”
A frown drew his eyebrows down. “In the meantime, don’t act this way in public. In public, we are in love with each other. No one will believe that if they see you backing away every time I come near you.” He glanced down at her boots in his hand. “I’ll put these in the sitting room with your coat and hat.” He strode down the hall and disappeared.
She listened to the door to the hotel lobby open and close, then turned and hurried into the bedroom she was to have for her own. A chill chased through her. She stepped onto the Aubusson rug that covered most of the polished wood floor, grabbed the smaller valise and lifted it onto the bed nestled in the far corner. She would get her nightclothes, wash up in the dressing room, then lock herself in this bedroom before Garret Stevenson returned. Not that a lock would keep him out if he were determined to get in. He was a strong man. He’d lifted her as if she were a bag of feathers.
She pulled on her fur-lined slippers and looked around. A wardrobe stood on the hall wall, with a dressing table beside it. It was in a good position, but would be of no use. She could never move that large a piece of furniture. A dresser and rocker sat against the long wall near the entrance. That was better. She could shove the dresser in front of the door and wedge it against the wardrobe if needed. The bed, small nightstand and heating stove, aligned as they were against the rear, outside wall, would be of no help.
The wind howled and rattled the small panes in the window beside the bed. The pendulum on a wall clock hanging over the dresser ticked off the minutes. She snatched her nightclothes from the bag. Heat radiated from the stove.
You’ll want to turn the draft down a bit more when that coal catches fire.
She dropped her garments onto the red-and-cream woven coverlet on the bed, stepped over to the stove and bent to examine it. Where was the draft? The pipe crackled. She looked up, spotted a handle on the side. That must be it. She turned the handle, leaned down and opened the door where Garret had put in the coal to check the fire.
“Oh! Oh...” She jerked back, coughing and blinking her stinging eyes, and waved her hands to dispel the smoke that puffed out into the room.
“Close that door!”
She whirled toward Garret, spun back and grabbed for the handle, touched the door instead. “Ow!” She shoved her fingertips into her mouth, blinked her watering eyes.
Strong hands grasped her upper arms and lifted her aside. She wiped her eyes, watched Garret close the stove door, then reach up to the pipe and turn the handle. “Why did you close the damper? Don’t you know—” He stopped, turned and peered down at her through slitted eyes.
She pressed back against the wall.
“You don’t know.” He stared at her. “Have you ever tended a fire?”
“Not in a stove.” She squared her shoulders and lifted her chin to hide her trembling. “I have added wood to the hearth...on occasion.”
A sound, something like a muffled grunt, came from him. “It’s a good thing I came back.” He turned to the stove.
She wiped her eyes, edged toward the door.
“This is the damper.” He grabbed the handle on the pipe and twisted his wrist. “This is open. Leave it that way.”
She froze in place when he glanced at her.
“This is the firebox door...where you add the coal or wood. This is the draft. When it’s open wide the fire burns hot—too hot to be safe if no one is watching it. Adjust it about halfway or below so the fire burns constantly but safely. Turn it lower to keep the fire burning slowly all night. Don’t close it all the way or the fire will go out.” He glanced her way again. “Do you understand?”
“Yes.” She took a breath. “I do not touch the damper, I add coal and adjust the burn there.” She pointed to the fire box, then quickly hid her shaking hand in her long skirt.
He nodded, studied her a moment, then strode toward the hall, stopped and looked over his shoulder at her. “I returned because I forgot to tell you the linens for your bed are in the cupboard in the hall. Good evening.”
He was angry. Was it because she didn’t know how to use the stove? Or because of her reaction to him? The last thing she wanted was to make him angry. Emory Gladen had been charming and treated her well—until she had refused him. And then when she had obeyed her father and agreed to Emory’s suit, the meanness she’d sensed in him had begun to show in subtle ways. He had demanded all her attention at social functions, become angry and cruel if she spoke to another man, even her oldest friends. And when her father had given Emory his blessing to ask for her hand, his subtle cruelties had become worse. And she was made to look foolish by his charming explanations.
And now she was married to Garret Stevenson. How did she know he wouldn’t be the same?
She locked the door, sagged against it and listened to his footsteps fade away.
* * *
A fine situation he’d gotten himself into! Garret added coal to the heating stove, turned down the draft for a slow burn, stomped out of guest bedroom number one, and entered bedroom number two. He never should have signed that contract! But the lure of free land and free lumber to build with that John Ferndale had offered had reeled him in. He’d saved enough in costs to add a third floor to the hotel and purchase the furnishings. And he’d been certain he could find some way around the marriage clause.
Ha! He wasn’t as clever as he thought. He’d delayed opening the hotel until his money started running low, hoping he’d find a way. But Ferndale had insisted he fulfill the contract to the letter. The man didn’t care that he was reluctant to marry. He had started counting the days!
