Читать книгу The Scoundrel - Lisa Plumley - Страница 9

T he day of Daniel’s wedding dawned clear and chilly, filled with cold sunlight. The mountain air fell to rest, leaving the pine and oak trees still. ’Twas a good day for a wedding—a practical day. As far as Daniel was concerned, the no-nonsense weather suited a no-nonsense arrangement. An arrangement like the one he’d come to with Sarah.

He figured he would enjoy being married to her. At least as much as he could enjoy being married at all. If a man had to get hitched, Sarah was a good prospect—sturdy, sweet and biddable. She fit his qualifications of being both amenable and experienced with children, and she’d be able to bring mischievous Eli in line right away. Hell, he reckoned she’d probably enjoy exercising her mothering instincts while she was doing it. Daniel was practically doing her a favor.

Feeling good about that, he tossed through his wardrobe for the pair of fine britches he rarely wore. Made of sober scratchy wool the color of tree bark, they matched his only suit coat and were the best he could manage for a special occasion. In honor of that occasion, he also searched for a fancy shirt. Sarah deserved a bridegroom who arrived at the church looking a mite finer than Daniel usually did—fit for better than sweating over a hot blacksmith’s fire all day.

He paused, considering what his bride might look like when she arrived. The furthest he could imagine was a billowy white dress—and even that was stretching things, given that Sarah generally wore the plainest clothes she could find. In fact, her whole appearance was plain. Ordinary brown hair scraped in a bun at her neck. Teasing eyes. And…what else?

Daniel squinted, trying to bring Sarah’s face in view. All he conjured were the vaguest details. He guessed he’d never examined her closely. With a shrug, he dismissed the effort. That was probably the way Sarah wanted it. Anyone could tell that ladies like the dance-hall troupe wanted to be looked at. His longtime friend clearly did not.

As far as he could recall, though, Sarah did look serviceable enough that she wouldn’t be an eyesore over bacon and eggs in the mornings. That would be right fine, Daniel told himself as he got dressed. There were more important considerations than whether or not Sarah made him question the architecture of her bustle.

Striding through his small house, Daniel paused at the kitchen table. Eli sat there with one foot bolstered on his chair seat, spooning up the leftovers of last night’s beans and corn bread. Daniel ruffled the boy’s sleep-rumpled hair, gave him an affectionate tickle under the arm, then moved on to stoke the stove. Maybe he’d borrow a flatiron from old Agnes Harrison next door and fancy up his and Eli’s duds but good. Ironing couldn’t be that difficult. Hell, Daniel handled hot metal every day.

After he’d wolfed down the rest of the corn bread and a quantity of honey, Daniel found his thoughts turning again to Sarah. Although she was a female, most of the time she was nearly as sensible as a man. He’d never known her to be anything less than agreeable, faithful and tolerant. And she shared Daniel’s views—their simple marriage arrangement was proof of that.

He hadn’t had to charm her, cajole her or engage in mush-hearted, untrustworthy nonsense like courting her, either. Truthfully, the businesslike nature of their arrangement had come as a relief. He was not a man who believed in giving over to sentimental pap—now, since Eli’s arrival, more than ever.

Most importantly, Daniel assured himself, Sarah knew him. Since their days in the schoolroom together—he, copying answers from her slate; she, charitably allowing him to—they’d been inseparable friends. Uniquely among women, Sarah understood his fondness for late nights, good whiskey and masculine disarray. She wouldn’t expect to change him. That was a quality he valued in her.

Not that he intended to cheat Sarah in this marriage arrangement. Frowning at the very notion, Daniel washed up, then stropped his shaving razor. It would be good for her, too. She wanted children. He now had a child, and he didn’t mind sharing Eli one whit. The boy was too much trouble for one person. Even one person as skilled as Daniel ordinarily was.

Caring for an eight-year-old boy was more than he’d ever counted on. It would be unnatural for him to prove talented at womanly arts like cooking, coddling and making sense of sewing up Eli’s tiny britches when they ripped through after a bout of snake hunting. Hell, Daniel hadn’t been able to find a pair of clean socks for either of them for the past week. That proved something, didn’t it?

Satisfied this arrangement would be right for everyone concerned, Daniel spent the rest of the morning preparing for Sarah’s arrival. For the first time in his life, he wielded a flatiron—then gave thanks it would be the last he’d have to do with the puny thing. For the first time in weeks, he got Eli into a bath—then gave thanks Sarah would be the one to threaten, bribe and chase sixty-five pounds of slippery, defiant boy next time.

For the first time in recent memory, Daniel even tidied up. He counted it as a demonstration of how much he looked forward to the meal Sarah would doubtless cook for them that night. After a frowning perusal of the kitchen, he paid special care to sweeping a clean path between the cookstove and food cupboard. There. That was better.

All the while, he listened to Eli. The boy followed him from room to room, chattering about the clouds, the spider in the corner, the white horse he’d seen two days earlier, the candy he wanted in the mercantile…it went on and on. Ever since their walk home from the train depot on the night of Eli’s arrival, the boy had rarely shut his mouth. Daniel figured he must have stored up lots of conversation on the train ride from the East. He could think of no other explanation.

“It’s time to head out to the church,” Daniel said, ending a debate about whether tadpoles were fish or frogs. “We don’t want to keep Miss Crabtree waiting.”

Eli blanched. “Church? Miss Crabtree?”

That was when, looking down into the boy’s astonished face, Daniel realized the truth. In his haste to get on with his marriage by arrangement, he’d forgotten to do one thing.

Tell Eli about it.

In the Crabtree household, events were proceeding as per usual. Which meant that mayhem was the order of the day. Much bustling and chattering ensured it would remain so—at least until after the middle Crabtree daughter was safely wed.

Sarah sat in the midst of all the hubbub, contemplating the hurried days that had brought her here. She’d written invitations until her fingers were ink-stained. She’d mended and washed and ironed all the things she owned, along with a few items Fiona Crabtree had decided her daughter should take to her new household. She’d experimented with hairstyles, rebutted Grace’s warnings about the patriarchal aspects of marriage and—most difficult of all—had done her best to hide from her family the true nature of her “arrangement” with Daniel.

They’d been surprised, of course. Especially by the haste with which Sarah and Daniel wanted to go forward with their marriage. But in the end, the Crabtrees seemed to conclude that Sarah and Daniel’s longtime friendship had finally blossomed into something more. They’d not questioned her any further. Her father, in particular, had thrown his support to her wedding with as much enthusiasm as he’d shown her sister Molly’s recent nuptials.

“I suppose matrimony is in the air now,” Adam Crabtree had said, blinking at her through his spectacles. “Ever since your sister got herself married, I expected either you or Grace would be next.”

Grace, passing by in her grass-stained bicycling costume and gloves, had only snorted. With their father the sole exception, everyone knew Grace had other ambitions. Marriage was the very least of them.

Daniel had wanted to tell everyone the truth of their convenient match. Sarah’s pride hadn’t allowed it. For once in her twenty-five years, she was at the center of life in her boisterous household. She couldn’t bear to see her family looking at her with pity instead, for having accepted such an arrangement.

Especially her sister, Molly.

“Are you sure this is what you want, Sarah?” she’d asked, looking concerned. “I’ve never known you to be this hasty. Marriage is nothing to be rushed into.”

“I’m absolutely certain,” Sarah had said. Then she’d snatched another piece of gingerbread from the tray Molly had baked and munched heartily to forestall further questions.

It was true. As she sat in the parlor now in her finest Sunday dress, quietly arranging the lace on her sleeves, Sarah didn’t feel the least bit concerned. She knew beyond a shadow of doubt that she could make a marriage work between her and Daniel McCabe—and that, sooner or later, he would love her.

She’d conquered difficult challenges before. Getting herself appointed Morrow Creek’s schoolteacher certainly hadn’t been easy, but she’d done it. She’d done it the same way she’d accomplished everything else in her life, with persistent effort and creativity. This situation with Daniel would prove no different. After all, he was only a man. How much of a challenge could he possibly be?

He was agreeable, for the most part. He was handsome, strong and reliable. Despite being male, Daniel was both considerate and even-tempered. Sarah had never known him to raise his voice to her—not even when she’d confided some of her most outlandish daydreams. He might not love her—yet—but he did understand her. She knew he wouldn’t be the least bit surprised by any of the changes she intended to make once she’d settled in his and Eli’s household.

Just as encouragingly, she hadn’t had to charm him, cajole him or engage in silly flirtatious maneuvers to coax him into matrimony. It was just as well. Such feminine fripperies had never been her strong suit. With Daniel, they weren’t needed. He already knew and appreciated her. Wasn’t that why he’d issued her the proposal in the first place?

Indeed, if Grace was the independent, practical Crabtree sister and Molly the coddled, pampered Crabtree sister, Sarah had long considered herself the clever, creative—if overlooked—Crabtree sister. Daniel probably valued her qualities of imagination and verve—two she’d forgotten, in her surprise over his quest for a suitable wife, to enumerate.

She’d simply have to do her best, Sarah vowed, to show them to Daniel at every opportunity. A man would never want a wife who bored him, she reasoned. She would make sure, above all, that their life together was filled with stimulating changes.

Soon she and Daniel would be sharing that life together, along with their days, their laughter…their marriage bed. At the thought, Sarah felt a frisson of excitement rush through her. Despite its unconventional start, soon enough their marriage would be real. From there, anything could happen.

In the foyer, the big grandfather clock chimed three. Instantly, everyone quit moving to stare in its direction.

“Heavens, we’re late!” Fiona Crabtree cried. “Get up, Sarah, get up! There’s no time now to indulge in those daydreams of yours. Daniel will be waiting for you.”

Tying her hat ribbons beneath her chin, Fiona bustled into the parlor. She grabbed her reticule, then Sarah’s elbow. An instant later, Grace was at the other side.

“Yes. You mustn’t be late. Your life of domestic servitude awaits.”

“Grace!”

Sarah didn’t know how her mother could continue to be scandalized by Grace’s unconventional views. She would have to have been blind—or to be sporting a much larger hat—not to have spied the women’s suffrage posters, picket signs, political texts and other rebellious accoutrements in her elder daughter’s attic room.

“Someday you’ll be nicked by Cupid’s arrow yourself,” Adam Crabtree warned Grace as he entered the parlor. Absentmindedly, he fiddled with his necktie. “Love makes strange bedfellows, you know. Just look at your mother and me—”

“Adam! I resent that,” Fiona protested, goggle-eyed.

“Or Molly and Marcus.”

Molly gave a yelp of protest. Marcus Copeland, her husband of only a few weeks, gave his wife an indulgent smile.

“We need to talk. About that ‘domestic servitude’ idea.” His grin widened. “I may be missing a prime benefit of marriage.”

“Keep up talk like that,” Molly returned archly, “and you’ll be missing my next batch of cinnamon buns. Don’t forget, Grace taught me how to properly stage a protest.”

She whirled on her heel, first out the front door. Marcus followed. Soon, Sarah heard much laughter coming from the front porch—along with the unmistakably intimate murmur of a couple in love. She wanted to sigh with yearning. How long would it be before Daniel used those same romantic tactics on her?

Not long, she vowed, and swept toward the door.

It wouldn’t do to keep her future love waiting.

Sarah looked beautiful.

Daniel blinked, but nothing changed. She still looked the same—unusually pretty as she moved toward him on Adam Crabtree’s arm. They walked beneath the paper garlands someone had decorated the small church with, their passage setting the carefully cut flowery shapes aflutter. Piano music played, courtesy of old lady Harrison. Bright territorial sunlight streamed in through the church windows.

Sarah’s dress was not white, as he’d imagined, but a pale blue the color of a summer sky, with lacy cuffs and a big lace collar. He’d probably seen it a million times before. But today it looked different—as different as Sarah herself did, all at once.

She held her head high, meeting his gaze directly. That wasn’t different. She smiled at him, as though they shared a private jest. That wasn’t different, either. But the blush in her cheeks was new, the sparkle in her eyes was new, and the intriguing curve of her lips…that he’d never noticed before, either. Confused, Daniel tilted his head.

Then her father released her. Sarah stumbled slightly.

“Horsefeathers,” she muttered, righting herself.

All at once, she became herself again. Daniel relaxed. Things were going to be fine.

A loud clunk echoed through the church. As one, the friends and family gathered in the frontward pews turned toward the sound. Without a shred of guilt, little Eli bashed his foot on the pew in front of him. Another thump was heard.

Daniel shot the boy his sternest look. ’Twas possible he should have given a better explanation than he had for the day’s events. Especially if he expected Eli to behave himself. But it was too late now. Eli would just have to settle down on his own. The sooner he did, the sooner this would be finished.

Standing beside him before the minister, Sarah drew in a nervous-sounding breath. The bodice of her gown swelled accordingly. Again Daniel experienced that strange sensation. Never in his life did he recall having noticed Sarah’s bosoms. Yet there they were—drawing his attention in a way he wholly disagreed with.

Clunk. Eli again. With relief, Daniel speared the boy another quelling look. Then, feeling more like himself again, he returned to the task at hand. He was about to marry Sarah. When the ceremony was done, she would doubtless know how to tame the little ruffian. Daniel wouldn’t have to worry about it anymore.

A blessing and their vows followed. Feeling uncomfortable—no doubt due to his scratchy suit—Daniel answered in all the right moments. He even produced a pair of wedding rings. Gruffly, he held out his Irish grandmother’s plain gold band, prepared to slip it on Sarah’s waiting finger.

At the surprise in her face, he felt a curious warmth spread all through his chest. She liked it. He was pleased. She gave a small “Oooh!” and raised her gaze to his…but there were tears in her eyes, too.

Panicked, Daniel hesitated. Tears? He didn’t know what was wrong. Would Sarah prove as blubbery as all women? Was she, despite all her schoolmarmish practicality, secretly sentimental? Misgivings assaulted him. If she expected their marriage to become more than it was…

Fortunately, Eli chose that moment to cough loudly. And repeatedly. Truly, he sounded as though he’d swallowed a pound of chalk dust and was determined to dislodge it. Despite the sympathetic pats the boy received, Daniel knew nothing of the kind was true. Not when Eli kept sneaking glances ’round him to make sure he was fully disrupting the proceedings.

By the time Fiona Crabtree had calmed the boy with a hanky and—Daniel would swear—the whispered promise of one of Molly’s special snickerdoodle cookies, Sarah’s weepy moment had passed. She straightened her spine and regarded Daniel expectantly. Again he felt reassured. At Eli’s shenanigans, another woman would likely have gone all fussy. But Sarah was different. That was why this marriage arrangement was going to succeed between them.

Confidently, Daniel relaxed the taut muscles of his shoulders and neck. He slipped the ring on Sarah’s finger. She admired it, briefly tilting her hand while Daniel waited for further instructions from the patient minister. He’d been to many weddings—everyone in Morrow Creek had. But he’d attended far more to the ale that followed afterward than to the boring ceremony itself. He had no idea what came next.

Sarah seemed to, though. Nervously, she again drew a breath. Wise to that trick by now, Daniel determinedly sent his gaze to the minister’s dusty shoes. She would not catch him flatfooted more than once. He might not know marriage, but he did know women—and he decidedly knew Sarah. From here, things would go exactly as he expected.

Except they didn’t. The minister droned on, describing the obligations, duties and wonders of marriage. In the midst of his talk, Sarah reached forward. She took Daniel’s hand.

Her touch jolted him. He realized he’d never touched Sarah with anything but commonplace courtesy—or, more likely, teasing intentions. But now he felt her fingers twine with his, felt the steady pressure of her grasp, felt the smoothness of her skin…and the cool contact of their wedding bands. All at once, the reality of what they were doing struck him.

This was not a game. Not a prank. Not even strictly a convenience. This was a union between them. It was as plain as the ongoing clunk of Eli’s little boots against that pew. Sarah regarded this as seriously as she did everything else in her life.

Belatedly, Daniel remembered how easily hurt Sarah could be when her various hopes and plans failed. How solemn she could be, in between jesting with him. How very earnest she was, and how everything she felt tended to show upon her face.

She’d never been able to so much as fib to him. Not even the time when he’d misguidedly grown a dandy’s mustache and waxed it to within an inch of its scraggly life. She’d told him it looked as though his chin hairs had migrated north and received a terrible fright in the process, most likely from finding themselves in the shadow of his oversize nose.

Daniel reckoned it had been true. But Sarah had been the only one who’d admitted as much to him—and the only one who’d urged him to his razor. He trusted her. And she, him.

Because of that trust, Daniel made himself a vow. No matter what happened, he would never hurt her. Sarah would never, he promised himself, have cause to regret marrying him.

He lifted his gaze to hers, determined to communicate his intentions to her. As the minister jabbered on, Sarah looked mistily back at him. She squeezed his hand reassuringly. Relieved, Daniel smiled. He was glad she understood.

She squeezed his hand again, harder this time. When he didn’t respond, she cast a wobbly smile toward their wedding guests. She did her best to crush his fingers in her fist.

Confused, Daniel looked around as well. He didn’t know what was wrong. For the moment at least, Eli seemed to have tired of causing trouble and had his head down studiously. That couldn’t be it. He glanced down. His suit coat was still buttoned on, slightly singed at the edges but otherwise fine. That couldn’t be it. The minister was…

…not talking anymore.

The silence felt somehow accusatory.

“Kiss me!” Sarah urged in a whisper.

Her command seemed nonsensical. Sarah was his friend. Sarah was reliable, schoolmarmish. She was not a woman to be kissed, especially by Daniel.

“You may now,” the minister intoned, “kiss your bride.”

A rustle swept through the church. Daniel had the sense this wasn’t the first time they’d heard that suggestion. People were waiting, wondering. In a minute, they’d be gossiping. He didn’t care about that, but he did care about Sarah.

Resolutely, he lifted his free hand. He cupped her chin, marveling briefly at the unexpected warmth of her skin. Then he lowered his head. A small kiss would do to seal their deal, to finalize their marriage and satisfy everyone gathered there. Most likely, Sarah dreaded this formality as much as he did. For her sake, he’d finish this kiss as quickly as possible.

His lips neared hers. An uncommon sensation seized him…something akin to anticipation but more muddled than that. His heart pounded. Sarah’s hand tautened in his. Quickly, quickly…

Something small and wet plinked his temple. Then his cheek. Then his temple again. Hastily, Daniel planted a kiss on Sarah’s waiting lips. That accomplished, he swung his face ’round to see what had struck him.

Eli sat, defiant and surly, with his fingers at his mouth to withdraw the next spitball.

“I’ll pound him,” Daniel growled.

“No, Daniel. Wait.” Sarah grabbed for him.

But she was too late. Daniel strode down the aisle after the miscreant boy. Widow Harrison took up a cheery tune at the piano. Everyone stood in their pews, looking confused. A scrabbling beneath one of the long wooden benches alerted Daniel to Eli’s position. Scowling fiercely, he hunkered down.

One long sweep of his arm retrieved Eli, squirming, from beneath the nearest pew. His small suit was covered in dust and torn bits of paper. His round face wore a mulish expression.

“I don’t care!” he said. “I got you fair and square.”

“Fair and square has nothing to do with this. I already told you, you had better beha—”

“You didn’t tell me anything!”

Sarah gave a startled sound. Daniel glanced at her, stranded beside the minister. Too late, he realized exactly what he’d done. Only two minutes married and already—one look at her face told him—he’d broken his promise to her. Judging by the narrowing of her eyes, she already had cause to regret their arrangement.

“Well,” Adam Crabtree said heartily, blundering into the awkward silence that followed, “I’d say congratulations are in order!”

As though his words were a signal, the other guests began milling around, talking. As Daniel attempted to glare Eli into behaving, Adam stepped nearer with the rest of his family in tow. Fiona and Molly dabbed their eyes with handkerchiefs. Even stoic Grace looked a bit red around the nose. Although, Daniel reasoned, that might have had more to do with her dire views of marriage than with sentimentality.

Jack Murphy stepped nearer. “Shall we all toast the bride and groom?” he asked.

“Err…” Daniel glanced to Sarah, his grasp still firm on Eli. An ale sounded heartily good to him. But something told him that admitting as much wouldn’t be wise. His demure new bride looked fit to throttle him. Or at the least, to dump a pint on his head.

“Yes, indeed!” she announced. “An ale sounds fine!”

Sarah hitched up her gown. Then, with a tilt of her head, she swept past everyone assembled, headed back to the Crabtrees’ residence for the wedding reception. ’Twas the very last tack he would have expected her to take.

It was also his very first inkling that things might not go as he’d planned.

Most likely, though, Daniel comforted himself as he followed her with Eli dragging behind, this would be the last surprise Sarah dealt him. Between turning up beautiful—even temporarily—and ordering him to kiss her, she must have used up her ration of surprises. For a year, at least. She couldn’t possibly have more held in store for him.

But if she did, he vowed, he’d be sure to be ready.

Next time.