Wedded For The Baby

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The woman beamed. “I’ll remember.” She stuffed the envelope of cough drops into her reticule, put the change into her coin purse and left the store.

The bell on the door jingled a merry goodbye.

He turned his attention to a man who had stepped up to the counter. “May I help you, sir?”

“I’m in need of some sort of tonic for my wife and daughter. They have a distressing stomach ailment, and are unable to hold down any food or drink.”

His doctor’s training surged to the fore. “Have they a fever, or aches or pains, or any other symptoms beyond vomiting?”

The man frowned and tugged at his ear. “Not that I’m aware of. They haven’t complained of anything but their stomachs.”

“I see.” He studied the man’s discomposure. Obviously, he hadn’t been paying much attention to his family’s sickness. “And how long have your wife and daughter been ill? When did this ailment begin?”

The man’s face brightened. “Two days ago. Shortly after we boarded the train.”

“And does the sickness come over them in waves?”

The man gave an enthusiastic nod. “That’s what my wife said.”

“Then I believe your wife and daughter are suffering from motion sickness.”

“What’s that?”

“A stomach illness caused by the rocking of the train. It’s quite common, and will have no dangerous effects as long as they are treated and can take nourishment to prevent any dehydration from occurring.” He walked to the refrigerator at the end of the counter, took out two bottles and placed them in a bag. “This tonic should take care of the problem. When you return to the train, immediately give your wife and daughter each two spoonsful then wait until ten minutes pass and give them both another two spoonsful. After that they may take a spoonful whenever they begin to feel queasy in their stomach. How much longer will you be riding the train?”

“Four days.”

“The tonic will not last that long. You will also need some of my stomach drops.” He filled two small tins and put them in the bag with the tonic. “The drops are a bit sour, but to receive the full benefit they must be sucked, not chewed or swallowed.”

“I’ll see to it. What do I owe you?”

“Two dollars will cover everything.” The train whistle blasted its warning of pending departure.

The man pulled the coins from his pocket, tossed them on the counter and grabbed the bag. “Thank you for your help, sir. My wife and daughter have suffered exceedingly and will be most grateful to find relief.”

“I’m glad to have been of service, sir. Now, you’d best hurry back or you will not have time to administer the first dose before the train leaves the station. Remember, two spoonsful immediately, another two spoonsful after ten minutes have passed and then as needed!” His called words followed the man out the door. He dropped the coins in the cash box and slipped it beneath the counter, grabbed his dusting rag and straightened. The bell jingled.

“That fellow’s in a hurry. He almost knocked me off the steps.” Blake Latherop strolled into the shop and set the boxes of lemons and ginger roots he carried on the counter. “I’ll tell you, Trace, it’s downright dangerous to be anywhere on the porches or the station road when a train blasts its warning of departure.”

“The man’s family is ill.” He returned Blake’s smile, squeezed one of the ginger roots and sniffed a lemon for freshness. “Thanks for bringing these over. I was hoping they had come in on the train. I’m out of my stomach elixir.”

“Your other order came in on the train, too. The crates are sitting at the station. I’m going to pick them up now. I just stopped in to see when you want them delivered. I’m sure your bride is anxious to have them.” Blake held out his hand. “May I offer Audrey’s and my congratulations on your marriage? Audrey is thrilled to have another new bride in town.”

“Thank you. I’ll pass your felicitations on to Katherine.” He ignored the knot forming in his stomach and shook Blake’s hand. “As for the delivery...” The knot twisted tighter at the thought of having to go home. “I have to make the stomach tonic right now. And roll some headache pills...”

“What about after dinner, between the afternoon trains?”

Dinner. There was no escaping that. His stomach roiled. He took another sniff of the lemon and wished he had a bottle of his medicine handy. “That will be fine, Blake. And I’ll come over to your store after I’ve finished my work and settle my account for the month. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to get started on the tonic. There may be a passenger on the next train who has motion sickness.” He picked up the boxes and turned toward his back room, away from Blake’s studied look. Did his friend suspect something was wrong? He blew out a breath at the sound of Blake moving toward the door, stopped walking and listened for the click of the latch. The bell jingled, signaling his departure.

Blake was gone. He set the boxes on his work table, turned to the sink and filled a dishpan with cold water to soak the fresh ginger roots clean. Dinner. An image of Katherine sitting across the table from him at breakfast popped into his head. His face tightened. Katherine Fleming was a beautiful young woman. And, though he still was not interested in having any sort of relationship with her or any woman, if he was honest, her beauty made things more...difficult. He was, after all, a young, healthy man. Sharing another meal with her was a test of his resolve he did not look forward to. Thankfully, he had his work to concentrate on meanwhile—once he got the image of her out of his head!

* * *

Katherine put the knitted coat and hat from the wardrobe on Howard and wrapped him in a blanket. The outfit was a little large, but she wanted to take the baby outside, and if Wyoming weather was anything like New York’s it would be cool. Not that it could be any cooler than Trace Warren had been at dinner.

She fastened her everyday cape around her and carried Howard down the stairs and out onto the porch. Trace was faultlessly polite, even thoughtful, but...distant. Dinner had been completely impersonal. They had exchanged more factual information, and then he had left the minute his meal was finished. He had said he had work to do, but she had the distinct feeling he had wanted to escape her company. Irritation quickened her steps to the railing. She had agreed to enter into this in-name-only marriage to help the baby, and she was well aware that it was a simple business arrangement, but it wouldn’t hurt the man to smile.

“Stop it this instant, Katherine Jeanne Fleming! You’re only feeling sorry for yourself. You agreed to this ridiculous marriage—make the best of it. The poor man is probably feeling as uncomfortable and constrained as you.”

Howard squirmed and let out a whimper. She looked down at his sweet face snuggled against her neck and smiled. “I’m scolding myself, not you, Howard. You are far too adorable to ever scold.” She shifted his weight in her arms and gazed out at the towering walls of granite that enclosed the vast valley watered by Whisper Creek and divided by the silver rails of the Union Pacific Railroad. “My, but this valley is beautiful! And just look at those mountains, Howard! Perhaps when you are grown you will climb them. But for now we’ll stroll around the porch and investigate your new home together.”

She pulled the blanket high around his neck and started forward, stopping when a horse snorted. Muted voices came from the other side of the house. Had Trace brought a friend home? She stopped walking and listened. Should she intrude? The sound of a woman’s voice decided her. She patted and smoothed her hair as best she could with her free hand, cuddled the baby close and hurried along one of the angles that formed the deep wraparound porch.

Trace and another young man were lifting a crate from a small wagon. Her attention went immediately to the slender, young woman climbing another set of porch steps. The woman had beautiful, curly red hair. And there was a covered plate in her hands. Their gazes met—so did their smiles.

“Ah, Katherine dearest, you’re just in time to meet one of Whisper Creek’s businessmen and his wife.”

Dearest? She jerked her gaze to Trace. He looked at her over the top of the crate, a warning in his eyes. “I’m not exactly in a position to make a formal introduction.” He shifted his hold on the crate, felt behind him with his foot and backed up the steps. “This is Mr. Blake Latherop and his wife, Audrey. Blake owns the general store. Blake, Audrey, this is my wife, Katherine.”

The young man dipped his head. “A pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Warren.” He lifted his end of the crate higher and followed Trace up the steps.

“And you, Mr. Latherop...” She glanced back at the young woman. “And you, Mrs. Latherop...” Should she invite them in for tea? Or leave that to Trace? It wasn’t her house. She smiled to cover her uncertainty.

“Please excuse my unexpected visit, Mrs. Warren, but Blake had these crates to deliver to your husband, and I couldn’t resist coming along to welcome you to Whisper Creek.” Audrey Latherop lifted the plate she held. “I know you have a cook, but I thought you might enjoy a few cinnamon rolls.”

“How thoughtful of you. Thank you, Mrs. Latherop.” Katherine glanced around. There was a small table with two accompanying chairs sitting against the house wall. “Would you care to sit down?”

“Thank you, but we have to get back to the store. I’ll just set the rolls on the table as you have your hands full. And please, call me Audrey.” The young woman’s gaze lowered and her expression softened. “I heard you had a baby.”

“Yes. This is Howard.” She lowered the baby from her shoulder.

Audrey stepped closer, smiled and touched the tiny hand clutching the edge of the blanket. “So you’re the one we’ve been ordering all of this baby furniture for, young man.”

Howard blinked and went back to sleep.

“He’s beautiful, Mrs. Warren.”

“Katherine, please.” There was a thunk as the men set the crate they carried on the porch next to another larger one.

Audrey nodded, glanced toward the men. “I was just telling your wife you have a beautiful son, Mr. Warren.”

Wife. That sounded so strange. She looked at Trace to see how he would respond, stiffened when he stepped to her side and put his arm around her waist. His hand held her immobile when she instinctively started to pull away.

“We couldn’t agree more, could we, dear?”

He looked at her. His arm tightened. A reminder? She smiled up at him.

“Do you need help opening these crates, Trace?”

“No. I can do it.” Trace smiled, brushed some dust from his coat. “I may not look it now, Blake, but I grew up on a farm. I’m no stranger to a hammer.”

A farm? She looked up at him, struggling to keep the surprise from showing on her face. He should have told her that.

“Then we’ll be going back to the store. Ready, Audrey?”

A spurt of envy rose at the way Blake Latherop looked at his wife. She squelched it. Being a spinster was her choice. She had her memories—and her fading hope. She fixed a smile on her face. “It was lovely to meet both of you. Thank you so much for the cinnamon rolls, Audrey. It is very kind of you.” She bit off the invitation to come again hovering on her lips, stood like a statue with Trace’s arm around her and returned Audrey’s wave. It wasn’t her place to entertain.

The moment the wagon was turned and headed toward town, Trace moved away from her. She watched him head for the steps and her ire rose. They may be strangers—married strangers—but he needn’t ignore her. She deserved better treatment than that. “You should have told me you were raised on a farm.”

He paused, looked over his shoulder at her. “Yes. We lived on Long Island. I’m sorry I forgot to mention that.”

“Are there any more surprises in store for me?”

“Most likely. As I’m sure there will be for me. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to get my hammer.”

She stared after him, shocked by the change in his expression. His face had simply...closed—like a shutter on a window. Trace Warren was hiding something from his past. But then, she had her secrets, also. And what did it matter? This strange alliance would soon be over. She sighed and glanced at the sizable crates. Her curiosity stirred, but she ignored it. Whatever the crates held had nothing to do with her. But those cinnamon rolls did. She needed to take them inside. She glanced at a door a short distance from the table, walked over and peeked inside. It was another triangular entrance, this one with pegs holding a man’s raincoat with boots on the floor beneath it. A sound drew her attention. She looked through a door on her right and spotted Ah Key cleaning vegetables at a table. She’d found a back entrance into the kitchen.

She turned to get the rolls and jumped at a sharp screech. Trace, his coat and tie removed, his collar open and shirtsleeves rolled up, was prying at the largest crate. His bared forearms strained against the opposing pressure. His sleeves rippled over the muscles in his upper arms and shoulders. Effort had his brow furrowed. The end of the board splintered and came free. He grabbed hold of the loose end, braced his foot against the crate and yanked, tossed the board aside and looked her way. “I think you’ll like what’s in these crates—if I ever get them open.” He ran his fingers through his hair then jammed the claws of the hammer beneath the end of another slat and pried.

She took his words as an invitation and sat at the table, resting the baby on her lap and watching him work. He looked so different in his shirtsleeves with his tie off and his hair mussed—almost pleasant. And handsome. Trace Warren was a very handsome man.

“That’s got it! I can lift it out now.”

She jolted from her contemplations, watched him bend over an end of the opened crate and tug. There was a scraping sound, and a curved arm and portion of a straight spindle back and solid wood seat above legs attached to rockers appeared. “A rocking bench?”

“For on the porch.” He glanced over his shoulder. “It’s something called a nanny bench. At least it will be as soon as I get it out of there and find the other piece.” He hung the end of the bench over the crate and strode into the house, coming back with Ah Key in tow and stopping by her chair. “Where would you like the bench, Katherine? Here by the kitchen entrance? Or by the front entrance?”

Why was he asking her opinion? What he did was not her concern. She took a quick glance around. Because of the octagonal shape of the house, she could see in three directions—down the valley at the front of the house, down the road toward the Ferndale home and the town at the side, and toward the towering pines and wall of mountain at the rear. The gurgle of Whisper Creek flowing by was a pleasant, soothing sound. “It’s lovely here.”