Читать книгу Heartland Wedding - Renee Ryan - Страница 13

Think before you speak. Will’s advice echoed in Pete’s head, causing him to take a moment to contemplate his next words. He couldn’t make any mistakes with Rebecca. The consequences were too severe for her if he failed to convince her of what needed to be done.

Restlessly, he scanned the room, running his gaze past the sink to the spotless counters with canisters lined up in neat, functional rows. There was a pile of dough sitting on a wooden cutting board, and the smell of baking pies created the pleasant scent of home, a real home. The thought whipped an unexpected pang of sadness through him. He’d forgotten how soothing order and cleanliness could be in this chaotic world.

He wasn’t surprised Rebecca Gundersen kept her kitchen neat and free of clutter. She had that air of competence about her. He found himself admiring her all over again, which made the knot of regret forming in his gut all the more disturbing.

Lord, help me to clear up the muddle I’ve made with my rash behavior.

Pete continued staring at Rebecca.

He’d never looked at her like this before, head-on, without interruption, not even when they’d been alone in his storm cellar. He’d never noticed her fine, sculpted cheekbones. Her clear, pale skin. Her silvery-blue eyes that were not a run-of-the-mill blue as he’d always assumed. Her light blond hair and sturdy build spoke of her Nordic descent. Yet, in spite of her height, her soft curves made her seem feminine, almost delicate.

His stomach performed an unexpected flip and he nearly reached out to her.

He took a step back, instead. This was no time to forget why he was here.

A rustling of paper coming from his right captured his attention. Irritated by the distraction, he turned his gaze onto Emmeline Logan. He’d been so focused on what he’d come to do, he’d forgotten she was in the room with them. Bent over a small table in the middle of the kitchen, Will’s new bride was wrapping brown paper around some sort of blue material.

Even with her hands busy, she kept casting nervous glances at Rebecca, while Rebecca kept staring at him. And staring. And staring.

A clock chimed the hour. By the third note, Pete sprang into action. “Emmeline, would you allow Rebecca and me a moment of privacy?”

“Oh, yes.” She straightened and then smiled prettily at him. “Of course.”

Holding on to her smile, she picked up her package and glided closer to Rebecca. “I’ll just be in the next room if you need me,” she said, giving her the kind of meaningful look only another female could interpret.

Eyes still on Rebecca, Will’s wife turned only her shoulders in his direction. “Good day—” her gaze followed at last “—Pete.”

Pete forced his lips into an answering smile. He hoped. “Good day, Emmeline. It was a pleasure seeing you again.”

“The pleasure was mine.” She threw a brisk wave in his direction before exiting the kitchen through the swinging door.

Now that he was alone with Rebecca, Pete’s sporadic heartbeat eased a bit. He moved without thought. One step forward. Two.

He stopped.

What was he doing, advancing on the poor woman like a hunter stalking his prey? It was no wonder her eyes—those beautiful almond-shaped, silvery eyes—filled with alarm.

“You wanted to speak with me?” she asked in a quivering voice.

“Yes.” The word came out rougher than he’d intended. He was out of practice talking to a woman.

As if to prove his point, Rebecca took a noticeable step away from him.

Was she afraid of him? The thought was like a punch to his gut. Determined not to scare her, he broke eye contact. He had to remember that although she was no fragile miss, he was still much larger than she.

“We have a problem,” he said in a more contrite tone. “We…” Think before you speak, he reminded himself. “There’s gossip going around about our time together during the storm. And I’m afraid the things being said are not…nice.”

“So you’ve spoken with Mrs. Johnson,” she said, her tone resigned and more than a little cautious.

“Yes, I spoke with her just now.”

Guilt spread across her face, followed closely by shame. “I had no idea she’d take your effort to save my life and turn it into something depraved.”

Pete heard the apology in her tone, as though the situation was her fault. Knowing how Matilda Johnson worked, how she liked to twist the facts to suit her nasty mind, Pete wanted to reach out and soothe away Rebecca’s distress. He clasped his hands behind his back. “This isn’t your fault.”

“But it is.” She braided her fingers together and sighed. “I let it slip that we were alone in your storm cellar during the tornado.”

“It doesn’t matter how she found out. What matters is—” he banged his fist against his thigh “—that I made things worse.”

A confused look crossed her face. “You did?”

“We must marry at once.” He spoke more forcefully than he’d planned. Powerful feelings were cracking through his usually calm exterior, making him want to give this woman a stack of assurances.

There were none to give.

“You want us to marry?” She said the last word as if she had yet to learn its full meaning. She’d spoken calmly enough, but her eyes were wide with shock. And something else. Sorrow, perhaps? Disappointment?

“To stop the gossip from spreading any further,” he clarified. He started to explain the role he’d played in fueling the gossip, but she spoke over him.

“Oh, Pete.” She let out a slow, careful breath, but then squared her shoulders. “You don’t have to marry me.” Her eyes took on the color of quenched steel. She would not be swayed to his way of thinking easily.

He should have been better prepared for her response. Instead, he felt his jaw tighten in an unexpected mixture of anger and frustration. All directed at himself, of course. He didn’t need Will Logan by his side to tell him he was handling the situation poorly.

Think before you speak.

“Yes, I do.” He forced his teeth to unclench. Let out an irritated hiss. Cleared his throat. Breathed out again. “Matilda Johnson should never have begun talking about you, no matter the circumstances. You—we—did nothing wrong that day. And now her poisonous tongue must be stopped.”

The force of his words could have melted iron.

Rebecca blinked at him. Her mouth started working, but no words came out.

“You don’t deserve to be treated with disrespect by anyone, especially not by Mrs. Johnson,” he added.

At that, everything about her softened. Her shoulders, her eyes, her lips. She looked as though she might smile at him, but then she folded her hands in front of her and took a bracing breath. “You truly believe that?”

“I do.”

“Thank you,” she whispered, then lowered her head and sighed. Her hair cascaded forward in a waterfall of golden waves, curtaining her face from his inspection. “But I fear it’s too late. The damage is already done.”

Pete frowned. Something in him threatened to snap at her quiet acceptance of the situation. He might not have presented the issue of marriage with any sort of style, but she was being ridiculously stubborn.

“The destruction is not irrevocable,” he said through a tight jaw. “Our marriage will stop the gossip before it goes any further.”

He would see to it.

Shaking her head, she walked calmly to the oven. A pleasant scent of baked apples wafted through the room as she cracked open the door to peer inside.

“Don’t you understand?” Her words were enunciated perfectly as she closed the oven door and spun back around. “I’m an immigrant. Whether or not you marry me, whether or not the gossip continues, I will never be fully accepted in this community.”

“So you’re new to this country. That has nothing to do with this.”

“It has everything to do with this. If we marry, if you took me as your wife, my reputation wouldn’t be restored, yours would be destroyed.”

Pete felt his mouth thin at the absurd notion. Praying for patience, he rubbed a hand down his face. There was no denying that her words lifted just a little of the shadows from his bitter soul. Rebecca Gundersen actually cared what their marriage would do to him. To him. He hadn’t expected that, nor had he expected to be captivated by her unselfish heart.

Something deep within him shifted toward her, something so small, so slight, he nearly missed it. He wanted to make promises to this remarkable woman. The thought felt like the ultimate betrayal to Sarah.

He took a deep breath. “Rebecca.”

He moved a step closer, close enough to smell her pleasant scent—much like the pies she was baking, a sweet combination of vanilla and sugar and summer fruit. Aware of his own rank odor of coal and melted iron and sweat, he shifted a few steps back.

“Marry me,” he demanded, realizing his mistake as soon as the words left his mouth. He hadn’t asked her. He’d told her.

He tried to rectify his insensitive act, but she was already speaking over him. “Why are you willing to spend the rest of your life married to me, a woman you hardly know, simply to save my reputation?”

“Because it’s the right thing to do,” he said with a confidence that spoke of his life-long convictions. He wasn’t just speaking pretty words. He truly believed the Lord honored a man’s obedience of His commands.

Angling her head, she caught her bottom lip between her teeth and then did something utterly remarkable. She smoothed her fingertips across his forehead. “As sweet as I think your gesture is, you don’t have to save me.”

A pleasant warmth settled over him at her touch. The sensation left him oddly disoriented. “Yes, I do.”

She dropped her hand to her side. “I don’t mind what others say about me. You and I, we, know the truth about that day. But more important, so does the Lord. Our Heavenly Father’s opinion is all that matters.”

Pete caught her hand in his, and turned it over in his palm. Wrapped inside his fingers, her hand looked small and pale. Not soft, but work-roughened, a perfect, miniature version of his own.

He touched the callous under her ring finger. “I told Matilda Johnson we were getting married.”

She snatched her hand free. “You…you…what?”

He spoke slower this time. “I told her we were getting married.”

She did not like his answer. That much was clear by her scowl. “You shouldn’t have done that.”

He didn’t argue. How could he? He’d allowed his anger to speak in place of his common sense. The inevitability of what he’d done weighed like an anvil on his chest.

Worse, he hadn’t thought of Sarah since he’d run into Rebecca this morning, not really, and he certainly hadn’t thought of her since he’d walked into the boardinghouse today. Not with anything other than a sense of betrayal.

Regret. Guilt. Was he to spend the rest of his life feeling both?

“Mrs. Johnson was blaming you for luring me into my own storm cellar. We both know how absurd that is.”

The color leeched out of Rebecca’s cheeks as she sank into a nearby chair. “She actually said that to you?”

“Yes.”

She looked to her left then to her right, and back to her left. “I…I simply don’t know what to say.”

“Say yes. Mrs. Johnson is a bully. She finds power in others’ weaknesses. Our marriage will silence her.”

“I’m not sure that’s true.” There was such sorrow in her eyes that he wanted to slay a dragon for her, as though he were a hero in a child’s fairy tale. But he remembered what Jesus had taught in his Sermon on the Mount. Love thy enemies.

It was an impossible command when his “enemy” had hurt this compassionate woman. Ah, but he knew how to thwart Matilda Johnson. “We’ll marry as soon as I can make the arrangements. I’ll speak with the pastor today and—”

“No.”

“—schedule the ceremony at once.” His words came to a halt. “What did you say?”

“I said, no.” She rose, cautiously, her palms flat on her thighs as though to brace herself. “I won’t marry you.”

“You’re turning me down? After everything that’s happened today?”

“No. I mean, yes. I’m turning you down.”

Tears spiraled in her eyes, but Pete pushed them out of his mind. He knew all about that particular female weapon, and its various uses against a man.

“Rebecca.” He growled past his impatience. “You have no choice in the matter.”

“There’s always a choice.” She blinked rapidly, controlling her emotions with a fierce determination that was admirable.

Nevertheless, Pete refused to be moved by her valiant efforts. “Your reputation—”

“Is my concern, not yours.”

She sniffed, rather loudly, but the tears remained in her eyes, shimmering just along the edge of her lashes.

Pete stood transfixed in the face of her internal battle. Even then, even sensing she was honestly trying not to cry, he waited for Rebecca’s inevitable breakdown with a cynical heart.

Remarkably, she didn’t give into her emotions. Oh, she blinked. And blinked. And blinked. And blinked. But no tears spilled from her eyes. Not one.

Pete pulled in a hard breath. If she’d give into her emotions, he would know what to do and how to feel.

Her lips pressed together into a tight line. Taking several deep breaths, she pressed the bridge of her nose between two fingers. Yet still, no tears.

He’d never been more baffled by a woman.

“We were both in my storm cellar,” he reminded her through a painfully tight jaw. “That means we share the burden of the consequences, equally.”

Blink, blink, blink. “My decision is final.” Blink, blink, blink.

“So is mine. We’ll be married by the end of the day.”

Her breathing quickened to short, hard pants. And then…at last…it happened. One lone tear slipped from her eye.

She might as well have slapped him.

Pete reached to her.

A look of horror crossed her face and she stepped out of his reach.

“Rebecca, please,” he whispered, knowing his soft manner came too late.

“No.” She wrapped her dignity around her like a coat of iron-clad armor. “We have nothing more to say to each other.”

Just as another tear plopped onto the toe of her shoe, she turned and rushed out of the kitchen.

Stunned, Pete stared at the empty space she’d occupied. “That,” he said to himself, “could have gone better.”

With a gentle hand on her arm, Emmeline stopped Rebecca before she could run up the stairs. “Rebecca, wait.”

Rebecca swiped at her eyes. The onslaught of tears was close at hand, and she didn’t want an audience when she gave into her emotions. She looked frantically around the parlor. “Are we alone?”

“Completely.”

She blew out a relieved sigh. “Good.”

“What happened?” Emmeline’s gaze narrowed. “Did Pete hurt you?”

“No.” Not in the way Emmeline meant.

“Well, he must have done something. You look like you’re about to cry.”

“He—he—” Words backed up in her throat. Her emotions were too raw to push them out in English, but she threw her shoulders back and tried once more. “He asked me to marry him to stop Matilda Johnson’s gossip.”

Emmeline drew her deeper into the room, then applied pressure on her shoulders until Rebecca was forced to sit in one of the wing chairs facing the brocade divan.

“Is that such a bad thing?” Emmeline asked.

Unable to explain why Pete’s proposal had hurt so badly, Rebecca leaned her head against the chair and shut her eyes.

It wasn’t that she expected him to love her, or forsake his feelings for his dead wife, but she wanted him to…to…know something about her. Her favorite color, her favorite recipe. Something. Anything. She didn’t want her marriage to be only about duty and honor.

She wanted…more. Affection, at the very least.

“Rebecca? Was he cruel with his words?”

“No.” She shook her head fiercely. “He was honorable. Noble, even. And…and…” She sighed. Heroic. Very heroic. He hadn’t cared what marriage to a Norwegian immigrant would mean to his own standing in the community.

“And?”

“And, nothing. He was very respectful, if a bit blunt.”

Emmeline let out an unladylike snort. “So he botched it.”

“I suppose he did. But his intentions were pure.”

If nothing else, Pete’s proposal proved that he was a man of Christian integrity and a true follower of the Lord. Unfortunately, the thought of his steadfast obedience made her a little sad. She didn’t want a marriage driven by duty alone.

“I don’t see the problem here.” Emmeline smoothed a hand down her dress, then plucked at a pleat until it fell neatly into place. “Marriage is a perfect solution to the gossip.”

“But Pete doesn’t know me. And I certainly don’t know him.” Not really. Not enough to build a life on.

“If you give it time, that could change.”

Time. The one commodity they didn’t have. Despite his noble intentions, Pete had told Mrs. Johnson of their impending marriage. The talk would get worse if they didn’t follow through.

She slumped forward, as reality settled over her. Her choices were limited now. No, they were nonexistent. What did it matter whether she and Pete knew each other well? By trying to defend her—which was really rather sweet—he’d tied her to him as no ceremony or vow before God could have done.

“I…” She fought back another onslaught of tears and stood. No. She would not cry over this horrible turn of events. Unfortunately, another lone tear made it past her defenses.

All right, maybe she would cry.

But not here. Not in front of Emmeline.

“I…” She glanced to the ceiling and pressed her fingertips to her temples. “Have to check on my pies.”

“Oh, Rebecca.” Sighing, Emmeline pulled her into a fierce hug. “It’s going to be all right. I just know it.”

Surprised at the relief Emmeline’s words brought her, Rebecca clung to her friend. “What am I going to do?” she choked out.

“You’re going to pray for guidance, and trust the Lord. He already has the particulars worked out, you just can’t see the solution clearly yet.” Emmeline patted her back. “And if all else fails, follow your heart.”

“Pray. Trust the Lord. Follow my heart,” Rebecca repeated, chewing on each word as though she was learning the language all over again.

Emmeline pulled back and gave her an encouraging nod. “It’s really that simple.”

And that complicated, Rebecca thought.

How could she explain to her friend that her greatest desire was to be loved solely for herself? She’d spent her entire childhood second best in her parents’ eyes. They had loved her, in their own way, but they had loved each other more. And when the hard times had hit, they’d turned to each other, ignoring Rebecca completely. With Edward already gone, she’d been alone in her own home.

She couldn’t live like that again. Pete’s heart would never truly be hers. After all, he hadn’t chosen to marry her. And, to be fair, she hadn’t chosen to marry him, either. Their union would hush the gossip, but how could anything good come from something based solely on duty and obligation?

Rebecca flicked her gaze toward the kitchen, surprised at the little gasping sobs that slipped past her lips.

“Follow your heart,” Emmeline repeated. “And trust the Lord to take care of the rest.”

If Rebecca did what her friend suggested, if she followed her heart, she feared she would agree to Pete’s proposal. And spend the rest of her life in a forced marriage neither of them truly wanted.

She couldn’t do it. She just couldn’t do it.