Читать книгу Mail-Order Marriage Promise - Regina Scott - Страница 13

Chapter Five

John Wallin had a cat.

Dottie wasn’t sure why that surprised her so much. Perhaps it was because most of the men of her acquaintance preferred dogs, and then for hunting or protection. The majority of the felines she’d known had been barn cats at her parents’ farm. They’d been wild, rangy things, used to hunting for their dinner. John claimed Brian de Bois-Guilbert served the same function here. She found that hard to believe. A lady at the apartment building in Cincinnati had had a cat she treated with the utmost courtesy. Brian had the same sleek, overfed, self-satisfied look.

Of course, for all Dottie knew, Beth had been the one doing the pampering. Dottie must not allow this whimsy to sway her opinion of John. Only time would tell if he was truly a gentleman worth trusting.

“It will just take me a minute to lead the horses to the barn, bring in your things and pack up mine,” John told her now. He held out Peter to her.

That he seemed to be very good at cradling her son was another mark in his favor. Some people had no idea how to treat an infant. She’d had to learn, first from her helpful neighbor Martha Duggin at the apartment building in Cincinnati, and then from Mrs. Gustafson on the boat. Now, as the baby passed between them, John’s fingers brushed her arm, as soft as a caress. A tingle ran through her, and she stepped back lest he notice her reaction. She had to remember that a handsome face and a fine physique were no match for character. She was glad when he nodded respectfully and left the room. A moment more, and she heard the front door open as he must have gone out to the wagon.

Why did the room seem so empty without him?

She was used to emptiness, but she’d been a bit dismayed to find the land outside of Seattle so remote, the farms few and scattered. Beth’s stories had made Wallin Landing sound so alive and vibrant. Dottie had needed to believe in a place like that. After Frank had left her, she’d felt so isolated. But now that she understood how far away the place was from Seattle, she could only wonder whether her isolation would be worse here.

Still, she could not deny that she felt welcome in John’s house. The scrubbed wood floors gave off a patina that was reflected in the whitewashed walls and ceiling. The carved bench that served as the main seat for the parlor was draped with a quilt done in shades of brown and green, and the hearth was of rounded stones, browns and grays and whites, with splashes of gold almost the color of Brian’s hair.

The cat strolled back and forth around her skirts, setting the wool to swinging. Peter reached out a hand as if he longed to touch the softness.

“He’s a very handsome fellow, isn’t he?” Dottie asked. Then she clamped her lips shut. She’d become accustomed to talking to Peter, even before he was born. After Frank had left her with the threat that she should keep quiet or else, she’d stayed in the apartment for days. Talking to her unborn baby had been the only way to stay sane. But if John Wallin had heard what she’d said right now, he might think she was talking about him!

Although she would have been speaking the truth. He was a handsome fellow.

Dottie raised her chin. “Come along, Peter. If we’re going to live here, we might as well know where everything is.”

She started in the kitchen at the back of the house, Brian strolling along beside her. The cast-iron stove along one wall stood between a cupboard and a wood box, both well filled. Copper pots and tin pans hung on the wall on either side. The wood table across from it could seat four, and she wondered who else might join him on occasion. The gingham curtains on the window overlooking the barn had been tied back with bows.

Beth must have done that.

“I’ll be able to cook here,” she told Peter, smiling down at his beaming face. “I can make you applesauce. Would you like that?”

Brian meowed as if he thought it sounded like a fine idea.

She returned down the corridor, heading for the bedroom across the entry from the parlor, and again the cat accompanied her. She felt a little odd peeking into John’s room, but if the upstairs was full of curing furs, she would have no other choice than to sleep here. She was pleased to see the room contained a large bed made from hewn logs. The blue-and-green quilt in a block pattern looked thick and warm. Brian jumped up and dug his claws into it as if to prove as much. With a quick look out the window to make sure John had taken the wagon around to the barn and couldn’t see her, she bounced on the mattress. Not too soft and not too hard. Good.

There was also a trunk at the foot of the bed, the beautifully carved top showing an owl sweeping out over a forest with the moon riding high above. She traced the bird’s flight with one hand. “Look at this, Peter. Do you know what the owl says? Who-hoo.”

Peter pursed his mouth as if he could make such a sound, but nothing came out.

Might as well say “what-what.” What was she doing here so far from home? How could she make a way for her son with no husband, no employment?

From the back of the house, something clanked. Had John come in a back door instead of the front?

Brian’s head snapped up, then he leaped off the bed and darted under it.

A shiver ran up Dottie’s spine. She glanced out the window again but caught no sign of John. She swallowed nervously, then laid Peter on the center of the bed and pulled up one edge of the quilt to cover him. He’d just begun to roll over, but she didn’t think he could manage it with the weight of the quilt.

“Here, kitty, kitty, kitty,” she called, urging Brian out from hiding.

The cat poked his head out from under the bed, then scampered across the floor like a streak of sunshine and flew out the door. Dottie followed.

She cocked her head and called toward the kitchen. “Hello, is someone there?”

In answer, the door swung open, and John moved into the corridor, her trunk balanced on his broad shoulders. It had taken two men to carry that from the cab to the train station in Cincinnati. She had a feeling it hadn’t grown any lighter since then. Yet he walked as if it was no burden.

“Where would you like this?” he asked. And he wasn’t even breathless!

She stepped aside to let him pass. “In the bedroom, please.”

With a nod, he went to comply.

Oh, yes, quite a fine physique.

Blushing, Dottie followed John into the room. Peter was cooing from his bundle on the bed, hands reaching up toward a beam of sunlight that was coming through the window. John smiled as he straightened from positioning the trunk against the far wall. “He looks right at home.”

Dottie felt it, too. But that was dangerous. This wasn’t going to be home, not for more than a week or two at most. It was no more permanent than the hotel room in Seattle or the apartment she’d left behind in Cincinnati.

John was moving around the room. He opened his trunk and gathered some flannel shirts and wool trousers. She turned in case he meant to lift out his unmentionables. As she did so, she couldn’t help noticing that even the windowsill was clean of dust.

Dottie frowned. Everything was clean. The floors had been swept, the gingham curtains on the bedroom window recently washed and ironed, and they also sported bows. Not one article of clothing had been strewn about the bedroom. No man she knew kept a house so clean, so lovingly decorated.

Anger flushed through her, and she rounded on John. “You lied to me! You have a wife. I demand that you return me to Seattle, immediately!”

* * *

John recoiled from Dottie’s vehemence. Her face was red, her eyes flashing, and she marched to the bed and snatched up Peter as if to protect him from John.

He dropped his things into the trunk. “I’ll take you back, if that’s what you want, but I don’t have a wife.”

“Really.” The single word held a world of suspicion. “And I suppose you’ll tell me that you clean house for yourself.”

He frowned. “I do. Ma insisted that all her sons know how to cook and clean and wash. Once in a while Beth comes by to help. I think she just likes having someone to look out for.”

Her face puckered. “You really wash your own clothes?”

Was that so odd? As far as he knew, Drew, James and Simon helped on wash day in their houses. It was hot, heavy work, and someone had to make sure the children didn’t go anywhere near the lye.

“Yes,” he said, feeling as if she was questioning his manhood. “A bachelor needs clean clothes as much as anyone else. And I don’t particularly like living in mud.”

She put one hand on her hip. “And I suppose you like bows as well.”

Bows? He glanced around the room, trying to see whether his sister might have left a hair bow lying around. “I’m not sure...” he began.

She stalked to the window and pointed at the fabric holding the curtains back. “Bows.”

“The ties?” Now that he looked at them, they did resemble bows. He’d never noticed before. “Beth made them for all of us last Christmas.”

Brian chose that moment to stroll back into the bedroom. He went immediately to John, wound himself around his ankles and glanced up with a pitiful meow. Normally John would have picked him up, stroked the ginger fur. But with Dottie looking at him as if he was some kind of oddity, he wasn’t about to give her reason to doubt him further.

“I...see,” she said. She drew in a breath. “I’m sorry, Mr. Wallin. I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions.”

It was a strong reaction, but he supposed she had reason. He made himself shrug as Brian bumped his head against John’s calf. “Strange location, strange people. Anyone might have done the same. But rest assured I have no wife or any intention of taking one.”

She nodded, dropping her gaze. Brian reared up and dug his claws into John’s trousers. John refused to so much as protest. The cat dropped back down and stalked out of the room in high dudgeon.

Very likely, Dottie would relax once he was out of the way. John gathered up his belongings again. “All the food is in the cupboard near the stove,” he told her. “The fire burns pretty evenly, but I’ve noticed you have to turn the biscuits to get a golden top all around.”

She was staring at him again. Perhaps biscuits weren’t the most manly thing to discuss, either.

“And there’s a pump in the sink.” That was better. Machinery, logging, buildings: those were things men discussed. “Sometimes it takes a few tries for the water to flow. Oh, and that window sticks when it rains, but you shouldn’t need to open it this time of year.”

She nodded. “I’m sure we can manage.”

He straightened, arms laden. “Just don’t let Brian outside for long. It’s too easy for him to get eaten or end up in a trap.”

She shuddered. “I’ll be careful.”

“Good. Right.” John shuffled his feet. “Well, then, I suppose I better get going.”

He started past her, and she caught his arm.

“Thank you,” she murmured before standing on tiptoe and pressing a kiss to his cheek.

It ought to have been a neighborly kiss, a sisterly kiss, but the floor seemed to be rippling like a wave on the Sound. He had to stop himself from turning his head and meeting her lips with his own.

“Ho! John!”

His brother’s voice seemed to come from somewhere far beyond the little bubble that enclosed him and Dottie. She dropped to her soles, lavender eyes wide. Peter giggled.

James strolled past the door of the bedroom. “John? Are you here? I saw a wagon out back.”

“Excuse me,” John murmured, passing Dottie to the hallway.

James turned at the sound of his movement. “Ah, there you are. What, is it wash day already? What a tidy fellow you are. Ma would be so proud.”

John had a sudden urge to push his brother out the door. “Can I help you with something?” he asked instead.

James smiled. His next closest brother in outlook, James had a few inches on John, though he remained whip-thin. He’d also inherited Pa’s light brown hair and dark blue eyes. “Rina’s tooth is bothering her,” he explained. “Catherine’s given her a powder, but she’d prefer to take the day off tomorrow. She wondered if you’d step in.”

John and Beth had both substituted for James’s wife, who taught in the one-room school at Wallin Landing. Beth must have something else to do tomorrow that James would come for John.

“Of course,” John assured him. “Just have her write down what they’re studying in the various subjects. Last time Danny tried to convince me he couldn’t do more than add so he could get out of working on his multiplication. And perhaps Simon can return the wagon and horses to Seattle and bring back my horse.”

James opened his mouth, most likely to make some quip, as he was wont to do, but his gaze swept past John and no words came out.

John turned to find Dottie in the doorway to the bedroom. She smiled shyly at his brother before focusing on John.

“Forgive me. I just realized. You said you had cows and chickens. Do you need me to feed them? Milk the cows? Gather eggs?”

“I’ll tend to the cows and milk morning and evening,” John promised. “If you’d like to gather the eggs, that would be appreciated. You’ll see the coop at the side of the barn.”

James cleared his throat.

John kept his smile tight. “Mrs. Tyrrell, this is my brother James Wallin. He has the claim next to mine, as I mentioned. James, Mrs. Tyrrell and her son will be staying in my house until she decides where to settle in the area.”

James swept her a bow. “Dear lady, welcome to Wallin Landing. I’m John’s most charming brother and father to three adorable children. May I see yours?”

Dottie widened her grasp so he could peer down at Peter. The baby’s lower lip trembled, and he buried his face in his mother’s arms.

Funny. Peter hadn’t been particularly shy with John. He wasn’t sure why that made him feel as if he’d finally gotten the better of his witty brother.

“Probably ready for a nap,” James acknowledged. “A shame John doesn’t have a cradle.” He tsked as if John had been entirely shortsighted.

“I haven’t needed one before,” John reminded him.

James beamed at Dottie. “I have it! My beloved wife and I have a cradle, and none of our darlings is sleeping in it at present. We’d be delighted to see it go to good use. Why don’t you come with me, John, and fetch it back for the lady?”

Why not? It would keep John from saying more ridiculous things that would only give Dottie Tyrrell a further disgust of him. And the way his brother’s brows were wiggling, he had something to say to John in private.

“I’ll be right back,” John told her. He nodded to James, who bowed again to Dottie and then headed out the front door.

John fell into step beside him, arms still laden with clothing.

“Who is she?” James demanded. “Where did you meet her? Why does she have a baby?”

John started for the trees that marked the dividing line between his claim and James’s. “She’s a widow from back east. She and Beth have been corresponding for months, and Beth convinced her to relocate to Seattle.”

James whistled. “So that’s the mail-order bride. I didn’t realize she’d arrived.”

John jerked to a stop on the well-worn path. “You knew?”

James shrugged. “Beth had to confide in someone.”

“And you didn’t think to warn me?”

“She swore me to silence.” James shook his head. “Besides, it wasn’t as if I expected the woman to agree to come. This isn’t exactly an admirable situation—far from civilization and the things a lady generally prefers.”

John glanced back at the house, barely visible through the trees. “You think she can’t be happy here?”

“Who knows?” James clapped him on the shoulder. “That’s what courtship is about, learning what the other person can tolerate.”

John started forward once more. “We aren’t courting. She’s just staying here until she can determine her next steps.”

“Ah, I see.”

Somehow his brother made it sound as if he saw more than John intended.

“I mean it, James,” John warned. “Mrs. Tyrrell and I are not courting. I have no interest in marrying.”

James matched his stride. “Can’t say I blame you. There are already too many blondes at Wallin Landing, though none, mind you, with quite that glorious shade of gold. And a trim figure, while all the rage in Beth’s precious magazine, probably indicates she hasn’t the strength to muck stalls and haul timber.”

“I’d hardly expect a wife to muck stalls or haul timber,” John protested.

“No? How progressive of you. But it probably doesn’t matter. Very likely Mrs. Tyrrell is too educated for you.”

John frowned at him. “You think so?”

James barked a laugh. “No, scholar that you are. From what Beth tells me, you and Mrs. Tyrrell are evenly matched. I say propose and get it over with.”

“No.” John could hear the obstinacy in his tone. “You and Beth may know all about her, but I don’t. And I’m not sure I want to. A woman like that is looking for a hero. I’m no hero.”

James chuckled, but he didn’t argue the point. “It’s not me you need to convince.”

“Mrs. Tyrrell and I understand each other,” John assured him.

“Oh, very likely,” James agreed. “But you both may be outvoted. Do you really think you can resist the combined forces of the female population of Wallin Landing?”

John felt as if the shadows of the trees crept closer. “You don’t think...”

“I do. Once Beth, Rina, Catherine and Nora learn that Mrs. Tyrrell and her baby have arrived, you might as well go buy the ring, my lad, for you’ll be as good as married.”