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And kind and thoughtful, apparently. Dottie had wanted so much for this arrangement to work, but suddenly she found it difficult to believe this paragon of a gentleman existed. According to Beth’s letters, John Wallin was twenty-eight, five years Dottie’s senior, and had an established claim north of Seattle on Lake Union, in an area known as Wallin Landing, named after his family. He was supposed to be a pillar of the community, supporting civic and church functions alike. Yet he had no time to write letters, had delegated the task of finding a bride to his sister.
What sort of fellow was he?
The door opened again to admit another man. This one was tall and slender, with broad shoulders that showed to advantage in his navy wool coat. The golden light from the lamp hanging overhead sent red flames flickering through his short, wavy mahogany-colored hair. His features were firm, well formed, though his full lower lip hinted of a gentleness inside. She was certain she had never met him, yet there was something familiar about him. He glanced around until his gaze met hers, and something sizzled through her like the fizz from sassafras.
He came unerringly toward the table. Her mouth was dry as she pushed herself to her feet.
“Beth,” he said in a warm voice, “you didn’t tell me you were meeting a friend.”
Beth hopped to her feet again to beam at him. “A very dear friend, to whom I’ve written any number of letters over the last eight months. John, this is Dorothy Tyrrell. I chose her to be your bride.”
John Wallin’s handsome face turned paler than the icing on the bakery’s cinnamon rolls, and Dottie had a feeling that something was very wrong.
* * *
John felt as if every voice in Maddie Haggerty’s busy bakery had suddenly shut off so that all he could hear was the rush of blood through his veins. Dorothy Tyrrell stared at him, her face paling, as if Beth’s announcement shocked her as well.
He’d noticed the lovely blonde the moment he’d started into the room, and not just because she was sitting with his sister. No, it wasn’t every day a fellow saw hair so golden and full, eyes such a purplish shade of blue that reminded him of the lavender Ma used to grow. The fitted blue bodice, with its tiny purple bows down the front, showed a supple figure, and her fingers in her proper gloves were long and shapely. He could imagine any number of men in Seattle rushing to pay her court.
But when it came to him marrying, his sister had to be joking.
“Beth, you shouldn’t tease your friend,” he said with a smile. “I promise you, Miss Tyrrell, I have no intention of proposing marriage.”
Her pretty pink lips had been pursed in an O, most likely in surprise. Now her mouth snapped shut, and she drew herself up. She was tall for a woman, and he was the shortest of his brothers at only six foot, so she could nearly look him in the eyes. That purple drew him in.
“A decided shame, Mr. Wallin,” she said, voice tight, “because I came more than two thousand miles to marry you.”
What was she talking about? He’d never met her before, certainly hadn’t proposed marriage. He’d been busy of late, working on the church, looking for funding for the library he hoped to build next, but surely he’d recall courting such a beauty. He certainly remembered his last courtship, and how badly it had ended.
John glanced between the lady and Beth. “The joke’s on me, then,” he said. “Very funny, Beth. Did James put you up to this?”
His sister did not laugh. Indeed, her smile was rather stern.
“Sit down,” she said, “both of you. We’re making a scene.”
She was right, of course. Already he could see patrons glancing their way. John took the chair beside his sister, and her friend suffered herself to sit as well. Still, those lavender eyes were dark enough to look like storm clouds.
Beth put one hand on John’s shoulder and the other on her friend’s fingers where they rested on the table, as if ensuring they each sat still long enough to listen to her.
“John,” she said, “you know I worry about you, especially since last summer.”
He caught himself squirming and pulled out of her grip. “This is not the time or place to discuss that, Beth.”
“Yes, it is,” she insisted. “You’ve retreated into a shell, won’t listen to anything I have to say. You work yourself night and day for the betterment of the community, but you think nothing of caring for your own needs. You should have someone to help you, stand beside you, support you. So I took matters into my own hands and found you a bride.”
He heard the lady suck in a breath. “Didn’t you have your brother’s permission to write to me? To propose marriage?”
“No,” Beth admitted. “I’m sorry if I gave you that impression. But I can assure you that everything else in my letters about my brother and our family was true.”
John felt ill. “Beth, you proposed to this woman for me? An agreement for a mail-order bride is a binding contract. She’ll have spent money coming here in expectation.”
Before his sister could respond, Ciara approached the table, a plate of iced shortbread in each hand. Her eyes were bright as she beamed at John. “Hello, John. Maddie’s still singing your praises for helping her and Michael install the new ovens. Did I hear someone’s getting married?”
“No,” Beth’s victim and John said in unison.
Ciara set down the plates on the table and backed away as if she thought John and the lady might come after her.
His sister, on the other hand, didn’t look the least concerned as she drew one of the plates closer and picked up a cookie. “Yes, John, I invited Dottie to Seattle for a wedding, but I didn’t ask her to pay her own way. I used the inheritance Ma left me to fund her passage.” She took a bite of the shortbread.
She’d used her inheritance, money that was supposed to have gone toward building her future. It seemed his sister thought he needed it more. The very idea was lowering.
He would have to talk to Beth about what she’d done, find a way to pay back the money she’d spent. But at the moment, he was more concerned about the woman sitting beside him. How horrible this must be for her, how embarrassing. A woman had to be desperate to marry a stranger, from what he understood of the custom of mail-order brides. She had taken the ultimate chance in coming here, and now she had nothing to show for it.
He could not help feeling that it was partly his fault. If he had listened the many times Beth had tried to talk to him about taking a wife, he might have realized his sister’s plans before they’d come to this. He had to find a way to make things right.
“Miss Tyrrell—” he began.
“Mrs. Tyrrell,” she said.
She was a widow. Odd. She didn’t look much older than Beth. How tragic to have already lost a husband. His guilt over how she’d been used ratcheted up higher.
“Mrs. Tyrrell,” he acknowledged. “I can only commend you for your willingness to journey all the way to Seattle. My sister must have painted a very convincing picture.”
“Thank you,” Beth said, icing dripping off her chin.
John continued, undaunted. “But I am not prepared to marry.”
“Yes, he is,” Beth said, leaning forward, half-eaten cookie in one hand. “He has a nice house, a good farm and a steady nature. He just needs the right incentive.”
“Beth.” He had never been a man of temper. Indeed, his brothers were likely to tease him for being the peacemaker in the family. But his sister’s actions were making him feel decidedly less than peaceful.
“You cannot think that a few letters I knew nothing about will encourage me to offer marriage,” he told her. “I’m not interested in taking a wife.”
Beth’s lower lip and fingers trembled, sending a drop of icing to the table. “But, John, look at her. She’s sweet and pretty. She loves books as much as you do. She’d be perfect for you.”
He looked at Mrs. Tyrrell, whose eyes appeared suspiciously moist. Guilt wrapped itself around his heart.
Which was unfortunate, for his heart was entirely the problem. All his life, he’d tried to be the sort of man he’d read about in the adventure novels Pa had left them—bold, daring, determined, willing to brave great things for the woman he loved. His courtship last summer had made him painfully aware that he was no hero. That wasn’t how God had made him.
Besides, Beth seemed to understand that his last attempt at courting had only wounded him. Why would she think he’d be willing to try again, and with a stranger?
“Mrs. Tyrrell is lovely,” he said to Beth, though he kept his gaze on the woman who was supposed to be his bride. “I’m sure she’ll make some gentleman a marvelous wife. But I will not be that man.”
He could see Mrs. Tyrrell swallow even though she had not taken a bite of the shortbread Ciara had left in front of her.
“I’m sorry you feel that way, Mr. Wallin,” she said, her gaze holding his. “But I was promised a husband, and I won’t leave without one.”
Chapter Two (#ubd5a4396-3b25-5dfe-aad6-1a96fb3004a3)
Oh, but she sounded so bold! What had happened to the girl her mother and father had once called sweet? Under other circumstances, Dottie would have apologized immediately, tried to appreciate John Wallin’s position. Now all she could think about was Peter.
She could not return to Cincinnati and risk meeting Frank again. He’d been violent the last time she’d seen him, had warned her what would happen if she ever told anyone what she knew. The bruises on her arms where he’d grabbed her had taken weeks to fade.
Besides, she had no idea how he might react if he knew about Peter. He’d told her how much he wanted children. He might try to claim Peter. She’d used up the last of her money on the midwife to birth her son and most of John Wallin’s—Beth’s—money to reach Seattle, so she couldn’t afford to leave. And without a place to stay and some reliable income, she couldn’t make a new home here, either.
Across the table from her, Beth’s round face was puckering. “This is not how I imagined your meeting to go.”
Very likely not. Though she seemed about the same age as Dottie, Beth Wallin had clearly known little of the world. She still believed in love at first sight and happily-ever-after endings. Dottie had believed in all that, too, had dreamed of marrying the perfect man. She’d been a fool to accept Frank Reynolds’s promises. Now she’d been lied to yet again.
“I could have told you a lady wouldn’t fall in love with me after one meeting,” John said to his sister, his voice kind. “Women don’t react to me that way.”
Well, at least he wasn’t vain. Still, she could imagine another woman setting her cap at him. Forest green eyes and mahogany hair were a potent combination, especially with that warm voice and smile. It certainly seemed as if those broad shoulders could help carry a woman’s burdens.
“And think of Mrs. Tyrrell,” he continued as his sister sank in her chair, cookie falling to the plate. “You raised her hopes and put her in a difficult position.”
Beth straightened with a show of defiance. “Not so difficult. Seattle is a much better place for her than where she was. I knew even if you could not be brought up to scratch, she could have her pick of husbands.”
There was that. Ever since she’d arrived two days ago, she’d seen a predominance of gentlemen on the streets of the burgeoning town. But which of the miners, loggers, farmers and businessmen strolling past with approving looks were honest and hardworking? Which had left a wife behind when they’d journeyed west? She shuddered just remembering the day she’d discovered the truth about Frank.
She and Frank had been married a mere two months, sharing a little apartment on Poplar, just north of the busy downtown area. Some days she didn’t see him because he traveled for his work, but he was utterly devoted when he was home. That day, when she’d heard a knock on the door after Frank had left for work, she’d thought it must be one of the neighbor wives who liked to come over for a cup of tea. But her smile of welcome had faded when she found herself facing a finely dressed woman wringing her hands.
“I know he’s here,” the woman had said. “The detective agency gave me this address. Please, won’t you let me see my husband?”
Even remembering, she felt the cold sickness sweep over her. She’d thought surely the so-called Mrs. Reynolds was mistaken. Frank would laugh off the story.
After he’d returned that evening, Frank had tried to keep up the pretense when Dottie told him what had happened.
“She’s crazy, sweetheart,” he’d said, taking Dottie in his arms. “You’re the only girl for me.”
But Mrs. Reynolds had returned the next day and the next, until Frank was forced to admit the truth. Unhappy in his marriage, he had found solace in another woman’s arms.
In her arms. Dottie was the second Mrs. Reynolds, which meant she wasn’t married at all. Small wonder she’d used her maiden name ever since.
“A good husband,” she told Beth now, “is not so easy to come by. They generally don’t wear labels like ‘excellent provider’ or ‘kind to cats and children.’”
John Wallin smiled. Another man might have refused to have anything more to do with her after realizing his sister’s scheme. But then again, he didn’t know about Peter yet. Marrying a woman with a baby born out of wedlock might make even the kind, thoughtful Mr. Wallin turn tail.
“You might be better off seeking employment,” he suggested. “My family knows many of the business owners in town.”
And he believed she had the skills to succeed. That was refreshing. Too often men took one look at her lavender eyes and golden curls and assumed there was nothing behind them.
Beth straightened. “Of course! Maybe Maddie’s hiring.” She pushed back her chair. “I’ll go ask.”
Dottie raised her hand in protest, but Beth was already heading for the counter.
“She means well,” John said. “Her heart just gets in the way of logic sometimes.”
Dottie had been that way once, but she no longer had the luxury.
“I’m not sure about a position,” she told him. “I never learned a trade. And I have some issues with my schedule.” She took a breath and prepared to tell him about her son, but Beth bustled back to the table.
“They’ve just hired two more bakers,” she reported. “So they don’t need help at present.”
Once more, the patrons were glancing their way. Perhaps this wasn’t the best place to confess that she had a baby. Dottie rose, and John climbed to his feet as well.
“Thank you for asking about employment, Miss Wallin,” Dottie said. “I think we should continue this discussion elsewhere.”
Beth glanced around, cheeks turning pink as she must have realized the amount of interest they were still generating. “Of course. Come with me.”
Her brother stepped back to allow Dottie to go before him. She could feel him behind her, a steady presence, as she followed Beth out of the bakery.
The rain had stopped as they paused on the boardwalk of Second Avenue. Muddy puddles spanned the wide streets, and the signs plastered on the businesses on either side were shiny with moisture. The air hung with brine and wood smoke.
“Are you staying at Lowe’s, as I suggested?” Beth asked.
Dottie nodded. The white-fronted hotel was neat and tidy, and she had felt safe staying there alone the last two nights.
“Allow us to escort you back,” John said. He offered her his arm.
Dottie did not feel right taking it. Instead, she started forward, and he fell into step beside her, Beth trailing behind. That didn’t stop her from continuing the conversation.
“Maybe Dottie could farm,” she suggested. “She lived on a farm until she was twelve and her parents died. Then she went to live with her aunt and uncle in Cincinnati.”
A reasonable thought, but not here, not now.
“I remember how to work on a farm,” Dottie told Beth and her brother. “But I don’t know if I could manage one alone, particularly starting from the wilderness.”
John nodded in agreement. Beth, however, would not let the matter go.
“We could help,” she insisted, voice bright. “Our brother Drew logs. I’m sure he and his men could clear the fields for you and help you build a house. Simon has designed several, and John designed the church. I wrote you about my brothers.”
Yes, she had. Dottie felt as if she knew all about the Wallin family. Both parents were gone, the father nearly two decades ago in a logging accident, the mother a couple years back from pleurisy. Beth had five brothers, three of whom had married and were raising families and one named Levi, who had headed north to seek his fortune in the Canadian gold fields. A shame Dottie knew the least about the man she had come to marry.
John walked beside her now, his smile pleasant. The people they passed—mostly dapper gentlemen in tall-crowned hats and rough workers in knit caps—nodded in greeting. Their looks to him were respectful; their looks to her speculative. John cast her a glance as if his green eyes could see inside her to her most cherished dreams. She could have told him she had only one dream that mattered—a safe, secure home for her and her son.
“Farming alone might be difficult,” he agreed. “But we bear the responsibility for bringing you out to Seattle, Mrs. Tyrrell. I promise you I won’t rest until you have a situation that suits you.”
He sounded so sure of himself, so certain he could solve her problem. If only she could feel so sure, of Seattle and of him.
* * *
Mrs. Tyrrell did not look convinced by his statement, but John knew it for the truth. He still couldn’t believe his sister’s audacity in bringing him a bride. Did he truly seem so helpless?
Now Mrs. Tyrrell shook her head, her golden curls shining even under an overcast sky.
“I appreciate the thought, Mr. Wallin,” she said, her voice soft yet firm, “but you know nothing about me. How could you possibly understand what would suit?”
“He may not know,” Beth said, “but I do.” She tugged on her brother’s shoulder to get him to glance back at her. “I told you she enjoys reading, John. You should hire her for your library.”
