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“I met Miss Susan Howard on the train. This is her baby.” Katherine Fleming took an unsteady breath, looked down at the tiny bundle then raised her gaze to meet his.
“And why do you have Miss Howard’s child?” He glanced at the passenger car, irritated by this woman’s interference. “Where is Miss Howard?”
“She passed away early this morning, Mr. Warren. They—they took her and her possessions from the train at the Laramie Station.”
“She’s passed away!” He jerked his gaze back to Katherine Fleming. Suspicion reared. Was this some sort of blackmail scheme? “Perhaps you would be good enough to explain the circumstances, Miss Fleming.”
Her shoulders stiffened. “That’s why I’m here, Mr. Warren.” The baby whimpered. She patted its back and swayed. “When I boarded the train, Miss Howard was very ill. I tended the baby and cared for Miss Howard as best I could, but her condition deteriorated. She—” Pink flowed into Katherine Fleming’s cheeks. She took a breath and looked full into his eyes. “When she knew her health was failing, Miss Howard told me the...conditions...of her baby’s birth, and that she was on her way to marry you because you had agreed to raise the baby as your own. She begged me to bring her baby to you. I promised to do so.” She took another breath and opened the purse dangling from her wrist. “I found this letter in the baby’s valise.” She held it up to him.
He took the letter, went taut. It was his last letter to Miss Howard.
“There is a note on the back.”
Miss Fleming’s voice broke. He glanced at her, saw the lamplight reflected by the shimmer of tears in her eyes and turned his letter over.
My name is Miss Susan Howard. I am ill, and without hope of recovery. The words struck the pit of his stomach like a hard-driven fist, froze the air in his lungs. He forced himself to read on, made himself concentrate on the details to calm the pulse pounding through his veins and roaring in his ears. He was the guardian of the child of a woman he’d never met! He folded the letter and slid it in his pocket to gain time to gather his shattered thoughts. Being an ex-doctor, he was accustomed to handling emergencies in a calm, deliberate manner, but this...this was beyond belief! He had a shop to run! What was he to do with an infant without a mother in a town where there was no woman available to hire as a nurse? Was this God’s retribution for his turning away from his faith when his wife and unborn child died? Was the agony of his loss coupled with his guilt at being unable to save them not enough punishment?
He shot a venomous look at the darkening sky, forced the stagnant air from his lungs then glanced at Katherine Fleming—Miss Katherine Fleming. A wild notion flickered. He grasped on to the idea like a drowning man seizes hold of the flimsiest lifeline. He knew enough about women’s clothing to know Miss Fleming’s velvet-trimmed gray tweed coat was stylish and well made; the button shoes poking out from beneath the long skirt were the same. And her hat was an expensive one. Clearly, Miss Fleming would not be swayed by the offer of a generous wage. He would have to appeal to her humanity. It was obvious she’d become attached to the infant in her arms.
He glanced down the tracks. The train was still taking on coal and water. But time was of the essence.
“I’ve kept my promise to Miss Howard, Mr. Warren. So if you will—”
“Please, Miss Fleming, if you would grant me a few minutes more of your time, I need to talk to you. My agreement with Miss Howard—”
“Had nothing to do with me, and is none of my business, sir.”
“I believe it is, Miss Fleming—because of the baby you hold.” He looked down into her violet eyes, suppressed a tingling reaction to their extraordinary beauty and pressed his case. “My marriage agreement with Miss Howard was a business one. She needed a name for her son and a comfortable home in which to raise him. I need a wife—any wife.” Those long-lashed, violet eyes widened, then narrowed. He rushed on before she could speak. “You see, I have signed a contract that states that if I am not married within six days from this date, I will lose my apothecary shop, my home and all I have invested in them. I am a widower, Miss Fleming. I am not interested in a personal relationship with any woman. Therefore, Miss Howard was to have been my wife in name only.” The words brought color flooding into her cheeks. She rose to her feet.
“That’s quite enough, Mr. Warren! I am not in the habit of—”
“Nor am I, Miss Fleming! But I have no choice in the matter. If I do not marry within six days, I and the infant you hold in your arms will be homeless. And, what is more, without my apothecary shop, I will have no means by which to support the child.”
“But surely there is some way—”
He shook his head and looked her straight in the eyes. “There is none. I have told you I am not interested in any form of personal relationship with a woman, Miss Fleming. Therefore, I am asking if you, in your concern for the baby, would be willing to enter into an in-name-only marriage with me.” Her gasp told him what she thought of his proposal. He rushed on. “It would be only temporary—until I can think of a way to save my shop and my home and make other arrangements for the baby’s care. You see, Whisper Creek is, as yet, only the beginning of a town. There are no women available for me to hire to care for the baby.”
Katherine Fleming was clearly shocked. She moved her mouth but no words came forth, only an odd sort of choking sound. He took a breath and laid out the rest of it before her. “There is one thing more. Should you agree to my business offer, we will have to act as newlyweds in front of others to keep Mr. Ferndale, the town founder and holder of my contract, from discovering the marriage is not a normal one.” His bitterness boiled over into anger. After two years of grief and loneliness that was the last thing he wanted to do with this far too attractive woman! He harked back to his doctor’s training, held his face impassive. “In private, you will have your own well-furnished bedroom with unlimited access to the rest of the house as you choose. The house has every modern convenience. And, of course, I’ll pay you a wage for your services as nurse to the baby.”
* * *
Katherine sank back onto the bench, too stunned to speak...to even think. She stared up at the man in front of her, unable to credit what he had said. Marry him? She didn’t even know him! She tried to answer, to tell Mr. Trace Warren what she thought of his absurd proposition, but couldn’t find her voice. All that came out was a sort of choking gasp. What sort of man would even think of such a thing? A selfish one! Mr. Warren had agreed to Miss Howard’s condition that he accept the baby as his own in order to fulfill that contract! What a cold, heartless—The baby stirred and began to cry. She looked down at him, so tiny, so helpless, in her arms. Her heart squeezed. If she continued on her journey to visit her sister, what would become of the infant? Who would care for him? Surely not Mr. Warren! He hadn’t even looked at the baby.
It would be only temporary.
No. The man was insane! His plan ludicrous. She should run for the train as fast as she could! But how could she live with herself if she left a helpless baby to an unknown fate at this callous man’s hands? She cuddled the baby close, reached beneath the blanket and brushed her fingertip over his tiny hand. He quieted. Her chest tightened. Her throat constricted. The baby needed her. And she was free of all obligations. What should she do?
Follow that still, small voice inside you, Katherine. The Lord will lead you.
Her face drew taut. Not anymore, Mother. The familiar pang wrenched her heart. What had she to lose if she agreed to Trace Warren’s proposition—a few weeks of idle time? Her chance for a normal life of love and happiness had vanished with Richard almost five years ago. Her life was an empty shell. And if she could help the baby, at least it would give her some purpose.
She caught her breath and looked up at the stranger standing in front of her. “Very well, Mr. Warren. For the baby’s sake, I will agree to your proposal according to the conditions you have stated.” Had she actually spoken those words aloud? She hastened to qualify her agreement. “However, I want those conditions set down in writing before any such marriage takes place. And the agreement must also state that you will find a replacement for me as your temporary stand-in bride and nurse to the child as quickly as possible.”
“Thank you, Miss Fleming. It shall be as you ask.” Tension strained his voice. “Have you trunks on board?”
Her trunks. She hadn’t even thought of them. “Yes, three. And my valise.”
He gave a curt nod. “Give me a moment to see to their off-loading, and we will go to my store and take care of that matter of the written arrangement.”
“There is one thing more, Mr. Warren.”
He halted, looked down at her. “And what is that, Miss Fleming?”
“I have no experience, beyond the last two days, of caring for an infant.”
He glanced at the baby she cuddled. “The baby seems satisfied with your care of him, Miss Fleming. And I am a desperate man. My offer stands.”
She watched him walk to the conductor, purpose and confidence in his stride. Her legs were trembling. Her entire body was trembling. Had she done the right thing? Or had she lost her mind? She rose to her feet and took a tentative step to test the strength of her shaking legs before Trace Warren returned. The baby squirmed, began to cry. “Shh, little one, shh. I’ve found your new father.” As cold and indifferent as he is. “Everything will be all right.” Would it? Could she be sure of that? She closed her eyes, swallowed hard against the churning in her stomach.
“This way, Miss Fleming.”
Her heart lurched. She opened her eyes, stared at the stranger she was about to marry and nodded.
“If I may assist you...” His hand grasped her elbow. She walked beside him down the steps and over to a runabout. She waited, her heart pounding, while he placed the baby’s valise on the floor, then grasped her elbow again and helped her take her seat. She shook her long skirt into place and tucked her feet out of sight beneath her hems, then patted the crying baby while Trace Warren loosed the reins and climbed to the seat beside her.
“Is the baby hungry? If so, I will take you to the house, though it is farther away—a little more than a mile out of town. I purchased a few cans of lactated milk in case there was a need. You can feed him while I write out our arrangement.”
Lactated milk? She stared at him, taken aback by his knowledge of such a thing. She had been unaware of it until she started caring for the baby. “I fed him a bottle just before the train pulled into the station. I don’t know why he’s so fretful.”
“Perhaps he senses the tension of our situation.” He clicked to the horse, shook the reins. The buggy lurched forward. “If so, he will quiet as things calm down.” He turned his head, and their gazes met. He didn’t look nervous. Obviously, it was her. “I will stop at the shop. It’s on the way to the church.”
The church! She stiffened. The baby wailed. His little body went taut beneath the blankets. She patted his back, forced herself to relax and studied the buildings ahead. There were not many of them. Mountains rose behind them, dark and menacing in the dusky light.
“Here we are. This is my shop.”
She looked at the narrow building in front of them, the tasteful sign above the front door centered between two small-paned windows. He climbed down, tossed the reins over a hitching rail and came to her side. “If you need me to, I will hold the baby while you step down.”
His voice was brusque, strained. Clearly, Trace Warren was not eager to hold his new son. But he had to, sooner or later. And, in her opinion, sooner would be better. What her mother called her “German stubborn” rose. She stared at him a moment, then nodded and handed the baby down to him, though she was reluctant to let go of the tiny bundle. At the moment she wasn’t sure if she was comforting the baby, or if holding the baby was comforting her. She rose, and Trace Warren cradled the swaddled baby in one arm and held his free hand up to assist her.
She placed her hand in his and stepped down, surprised by the calm, if not loving, way he held the tiny baby. Perhaps everything would work out well for Susan Howard’s son. Trace released her hand, and the cold night air chilled the place where his long fingers had curved around her palm. He handed her the baby, assisted her up the steps to the porch, then opened the door for her to enter. The warmth of the shop was comforting after the cold. Should she uncover the baby’s face? She decided to leave the blanket in place unless he fussed.
Dim light spilled from an oil lamp chandelier hanging over a long, paneled counter. Bottles and crocks, weights and balances stood beside a neat array of mortars and pestles of varying sizes on the polished surface. Mr. Warren moved behind the counter, pulled down the lamp and turned up the wick. Light played over a cabinet with small, neatly labeled drawers sitting on the floor beside multiple shelves holding stoppered jars and bottles that hung on the wall.
“I’ll only be a moment, Miss Fleming—Katherine.” He removed his hat, withdrew paper and pen from a drawer and placed it on the counter. “Forgive my familiarity, but as the townspeople have to believe our marriage is a normal one, I think it would be best if we used our given names. Please address me as Trace.”
“Very well.” Considering the magnitude of what she was doing, that small impropriety was insignificant. She watched him dip the pen and begin writing, and it suddenly all became real. She was going to marry a man she didn’t know! Her stomach flopped. She squelched an urge to run out the door and looked around the shop to calm herself. At least he was neat. And he had good manners. And was adept at handling a small baby. Those were all good things.
How could the scratch of a pen on paper be so loud? She lifted the baby to her shoulder and hummed softly to deaden the sound, stole a glance at Trace Warren bending over the paper. The light gleamed on the crests of the waves in his dark blond hair and shadowed his face. What color were his eyes? Surely, she should know the color of his eyes before she married him!
“I believe that covers all of the points of our arrangement.”
She jerked when he spoke. He lifted his head and looked at her. Blue. His eyes were blue with a gray cast to them. And intelligent, cool and reserved in their expression.
“If you would read this agreement over, Miss—Katherine. I had made arrangements to marry Miss Howard immediately. Pastor Karl is waiting.” A muscle at the joint of his jaw twitched. Mr. Warren was not as calm as he appeared. The discovery made her feel better.
He turned the contract so she could read it. She tried her best to concentrate, to remember all that she had insisted be included. It seemed as if everything was there, including his signature and the date. She freed her hand, folded the paper and tucked it in her purse.
* * *
Trace donned his hat, trimmed the wick on the chandelier and led Katherine Fleming out of his dark shop. The train whistle blew twice, sending its message of imminent departure into the stillness of the evening. He saw Katherine look toward the station, staring at the beam of light piercing the dark from atop the engine—no doubt wishing she were aboard the train. He wished it, too. But he could not manage without her to care for the baby. His carefully conceived plan had become a trap. He clenched his jaw and locked the door, pocketed the key and adjusted his hat.
“If you don’t mind, we’ll walk. The church is just there, across the road and down a bit. It’s not worth the time to take the buggy.”
“Walking is fine. It’s a pleasant evening.”
Pleasant? He stole a look at her. The word was a mere politeness. Even in the pale moonlight he could see the tension in her face. Admiration pushed through his anger. Katherine Fleming was a very tenderhearted and brave woman to go through with this marriage for the sake of an orphaned baby who had no family connection to her. He led her toward the glow of light spilling from the windows of the church, aware that he should offer her some words of comfort or encouragement, but there were none in him.
“It’s very quiet.”
Her soft voice blended with the sound of her traveling gown’s hem brushing over the hard-packed dirt, the whispering murmur of the waterfall in the distance. Was the slight huskiness in it normal or nervousness? He nodded, forced out a polite reply. “Yes. It takes a little while to get used to the silence when you’re accustomed to the rush and noise of city life. Watch the rut.” He took her elbow, helped her over the rough spot in the road and then wished he hadn’t—she was trembling. “But it’s active enough here during the day with all of the building going on. The construction work stops when the sunlight fades and the last train goes through. When that happens, the general store closes and the town, what there is of it, shuts down.”
“I see.”
Whisper Creek gurgled in the distance. Cold air swept down from the mountains and across the valley. He breathed deep and stared at the glow of light from the church. Almost there. His chest tightened. He never would have signed that contract if he’d thought the marriage clause applied to him. He’d been sure his being a widower had made him exempt. But when he’d arrived in Whisper Creek and approached John Ferndale about it, his argument had fallen on deaf ears. The town founder had insisted he either fulfill the marriage clause or turn his new shop and home over to him. And now here he was—trapped in a marriage he wanted no part of.
Pain stabbed his heart. Bitterness soured his stomach. It was even worse than he’d expected it to be when he’d devised the marriage-in-name-only scheme. Katherine Fleming was nothing like his wife in appearance—quite the opposite. But having her walking beside him brought back the memories of his life with Charlotte he’d struggled to bury over the last two years—even the small ones, like the rustle of a woman’s skirts. And the baby! He’d thought enough time had passed that he could block any emotion, stop any feeling, but he was wrong—so wrong.
A vision of his tiny unborn son he’d fought so hard to save after Charlotte died trying to give birth filled his mind. He bit back a groan, fought the wave of guilt that flooded his heart. All of his knowledge, all of his skill and talent as a doctor, all of his desperate prayers, had not been enough. His tiny son had never taken a breath or opened his eyes. Charlotte, Charlotte darling, forgive me.
He sucked cold night air through his clenched teeth, forced his lungs to accept it. It wasn’t worth it. No amount of money was worth this agony of guilt and pain. He would go to John Ferndale tomorrow and sign over his shop and house, then leave Whisper Creek on the next train. He would find employment somewhere and—No. That was no longer an option.
He jammed his hand into his suit pocket and fingered the folded letter with the shaky handwriting on the back. I, therefore, give Mr. Trace Warren full custody of my baby... There was no way out. He couldn’t just walk away. He was trapped by his own cleverness in trying to save his shop and house and build a facsimile of a normal life.
He halted, stared at the church looming out of the darkness before them. “Here we are, Miss Fleming.” He squared his shoulders, looked at her standing there holding the baby with the golden light from the window falling on them. He pulled in a breath. “I truly appreciate what you are doing to help the baby. I give you my word, I will find another solution to my problem as quickly as possible.”
“Thank you. I shall hold you to our arrangement, Mr. Warren.”
“Trace.”
There was a small catch of her breath in the silence. “Trace...”
He escorted her across the small stoop, his boots echoing on the wood planks.
The train chugged off down the valley.
He opened the door, tightened his grip on her elbow and they walked into the church.
Chapter Two (#u1c0a0dcf-b478-5171-aed7-cd0eaceff1d5)
The horse’s hoofs thudded against the packed dirt. Katherine tucked the blanket close about the baby and listened to the rumble of the buggy wheels, the sound of water rippling over rocks in the creek that flowed alongside the road—anything to keep her from thinking about what she’d done.
A large house with a turret loomed out of the darkness, the white paint glowing in the moonlight. She stared, surprised at the size and style of it. “What a lovely home.” She glanced sidewise at Trace, sitting on the seat beside her. “It looks...a bit out of place out here in the wild.”
He nodded, urged the horse forward. “That is the Ferndale home. John Ferndale is the town founder.” He glanced her way. “He owns this valley. And he wants Whisper Creek to be a village patterned after the towns back east.” He faced forward again. “The Ferndales are older, but I believe you will find his wife pleasant.”
Mr. Ferndale—the man who held his contract. Was that a subtle warning? “I’m sure I will.” Cold air swept across the road, chilled her face and neck and sent a shiver down her spine despite the snug velvet collar on her gray tweed coat.
“We’re almost there.”
The buggy rocked over a rut. She tightened her hold on the baby, braced herself with her feet and peered into the growing darkness. A short distance ahead, the dark form of a building stood in front of the towering pines at the foot of the mountains that embraced the valley. Judging by the shape, it had to be some sort of outbuilding. “Is that your stable?”
“No. That is my house.”
She squinted to bring the lines of the building into sharper focus against the trees and made out what looked like a porch wrapped around the strange building. She stared at the yellow blurs that took the form of windows as they neared. It was...different. She looked over at Trace Warren.
“It’s an octagonal house.”
“I’ve never seen such a house.” She faced front again, studied it as they approached. “It’s odd—but very attractive.”
“And most efficient. A few years ago I made a hou—I had occasion to pay a visit to a man who owned one. It was an exceptionally hot day in August, and the man’s house was pleasantly cool. I decided then and there, if the opportunity arose, I would build one.” He halted the horse.
A small man wearing the hat and tunic of a Chinese laborer stepped out of the shadow of a large tree and gripped the cheek strap of the mare.
“This is Ah Key. He is going with me to the station for your trunks.” Trace Warren stepped down from the buggy, grabbed the baby’s valise, came around to her side and held up his hand.
She acknowledged Ah Key’s polite bow with a smile and a dip of her head then cradled the baby close, placed her hand in Trace’s and stepped down. He helped her up the three steps to the wraparound porch and opened the door.
The entrance was triangular with a black-and-white tile floor. A table with an oil lamp and a silver tray stood beside an open doorway in the short wall on the left. The room beyond appeared to be the sitting room. The doorway on her right was dark.
“Would you like to tour the downstairs, Katherine? Or would you rather go upstairs to the baby’s bedroom and yours?”
Her need to be alone was stronger than her curiosity. She looked down at the sleeping baby. “I think it would be best if I go upstairs and put the baby to bed.”
“Do you need me to carry him up the stairs for you?”
Her arms tightened on the bundle in her arms. “No, thank you. I can manage.”
He nodded and motioned her through a doorway into a center hall with a beautiful stairway. “The kitchen is through that doorway straight ahead.”
She glanced into the kitchen, then gripped the banister with her free hand and started up the stairs to a landing, turned and climbed to a second landing. The carpet runner was soft beneath her feet and quieted his footsteps behind her, but nothing could dull her awareness of his presence.
“We’ll turn right and walk down the hall when we reach the top.”
If she reached the top. The trembling in her legs was getting worse. She wanted to turn and run back down the stairs and all the way to the train station. She looked down at the baby and finished climbing the stairs. Pewter wall sconces lit a long hallway.
“That is my bedroom.”
She glanced at the closed door and continued walking, turned right into a connecting hall, her heart pounding.
