Mail-Order Marriages Read online

  “Not your business.” She blew out a puff of breath, stirring a curl that had fallen into her eyes. She looked relieved, glad there wouldn’t be an argument. “Did I thank you for helping me this morning?”

  “I can’t rightly say.” Mostly because his brain had turned to quicksand, sucking down his every thought. Nothing could escape it.

  She didn’t seem to notice. She went right on, her wispy curls bouncing, her tempting mouth moving, her fine bosom rising and falling with every breath.

  “I am grateful, Gabe. I had a wonderful talk with Mrs. McKaslin, and tomorrow will be my first day. I’ve secured a room at the boardinghouse, and Mr. Owens has agreed to haul my trunks for me.”

  “Looks like you are squared away.” He pushed away from his desk, drawing himself to his full height. “It must be a relief. You must have been real worried. I can see the difference in you.”

  “I’ve never been on my own before.” She worried her bottom lip. “I’m determined to do it well.”

  “I’m sure you will.” His hand was moving before he could stop it. His fingers touched the impossibly soft silk of her hair and he could not halt a rising tide of need that crashed through him. It pounded like a storm on the sea as he stroked the errant gold curl across her cheek and tucked it behind the perfect shell of her ear. He thought he felt her shiver, but then he realized it was him. A second shudder rocked through him and he drew his hand away.

  The door shot open, and Mr. Owens from the hotel filled the doorway. “Pardon me, miss, but I saw you through the window. I was just finishing my shift when a fellow came in looking for you.”

  “A fellow?” Anxiety flashed across her face as she spun away from him, but he could feel her emotion thrumming in the air between them.

  “Reckon he’ll catch up with you, but you might want to head over to the hotel and see.” He tipped his hat, backing through the door. “I’ll see to your trunks, don’t you worry. You all have a fine evenin’, now.”

  “Thanks, Owens.” Gabe circled the desk. A chill settled in his gut, a tingle at the back of his neck. A warning sign. Something was wrong. He didn’t need to see the worry crinkling her creamy complexion or the tension at her jaw. Everyone had a secret to protect, and it stood to reason a woman looking for a new start might have more than one.

  “Seems I’ve got me a wad of money to burn.” He picked up the thick fold she’d left on his desk and pocketed it. “Want to help me out?”

  “No.” A tiny piece of humor glimmered, in spite of the tightness around her eyes.

  “You owe me, pretty lady.” It was a few minutes before closing, but in the morning he would make up for leaving early. He laid a hand on Melody’s back and ignored the twist of tenderness he did not want to feel. “It’s your fault I can’t go home for supper.”

  “My fault? How do you figure that?” She couldn’t fully hide the hint of her dimples as she let him guide her through the door.

  “Everyone saw us walking around town this morning. Ma has heard about it by now. How can I go home to that?”

  “Oh, I’m sure you of all men will have no difficulty explaining the truth to her.”

  “Sure, but over supper?” He closed the office door and locked it. “I’ve worked hard all day. I want to eat without agitation. So, are you coming?”

  “Will you take no for an answer?”

  “Not a chance.” He offered her his arm. To hell with what everyone was going to think. Pretty Melody Pennington was in a bushel of trouble. He could feel it in his gut, and his instincts were never wrong.

  Maybe it was the lawman in him, or maybe it was something intensely personal, but he felt protective of the woman. With her dainty arm resting in his, he escorted her down the boardwalk, laying his claim.

  As the hotel came into sight, Melody went weak. The westbound train had arrived less than an hour ago. She recalled hearing the whistle that had blasted through town when she was standing in the sunny corner room discussing the rent with Trudy Ludwig. A fellow had been looking for her, Mr. Owens had said. She’d been too stunned to ask who it had been. Was it someone from here in town, or had the unthinkable happened? Had Derrick been able to figure out where she’d gone and tracked her down?

  Fear slammed through her. The strength slid from her knees. Thank goodness for Gabe’s strong arm. She clutched him more tightly and hoped he didn’t notice her stumbling gait. What if Derrick was watching her right now? What if he were waiting for her at the hotel?

  “You’re shivering.” Gabe held the ornate glass door for her, concern shaping the harsh planes of his face. “We’ll get you a hot cup of tea.”

  She didn’t trust her voice. She nodded, her shoes tapping on the wood floor as she swept into the hotel. It wasn’t easy, but she wriggled out of Gabe’s grip, standing alone in the foyer. The entrance was busy—a guest was checking in. His back was to her. She didn’t recognize the old wool coat, but the sloping shoulders and blond hair were close enough that he could be Derrick. Her throat went dry.

  No, she decided. It wasn’t him. This man was taller than Derrick.

  “Come, Melody.” Gabe caught her wrist, his touch as hot as flame. The concern enriching the low tones of his voice lured her. “Let me take care of you.”

  A lot of men since her father’s death had said those same words to her. She thought of her uncle, greedy to get his hands on the Pennington fortune; of her cousin trying to trick her into signing over her inheritance; and of Derrick, who thought he deserved to marry her for help with answering a few legal questions. Not one of those men had meant those words.

  Gabe did. He did not want anything from her. Her feet carried her toward him, and suddenly the pleasant weight of his arm curved around her shoulders. Not since she’d buried her father had she felt so protected. The roof could cave in, the sky could fall and the world end and she knew this man of steel and kindness would keep her safe. It was hard not to like him for that.

  Like him? Be honest, Melody. This is not like, but something far more. She settled into the chair he held for her in the cozy dining room. His nearness affected her like opium. He smelled pleasantly of leather and soap and salty male skin. His fingers grazed her neck as he helped her out of her coat. She shivered again, dizzy, and realized it was because she had forgotten to breathe.

  “Bring some tea, please,” he murmured to a waiter.

  She drew in air and her light-headedness faded. So did her shivers when Gabe moved away and settled across the small round table. Nearby, a roaring fire crackled in a big stone hearth, radiating a heat she could not feel.

  “Want to tell me about your problem?” Gabe asked without a hint of gruffness, no longer the defensive, harsh man she’d first met.

  This was the type of man a girl could depend on. One who stood firm when he should, fought when he had to and hid a softer side. Exactly the kind of man she had a soft spot for. She straightened in her chair.

  Don’t start wanting to lean on him, she told herself. His granite shoulder could never be her soft, sheltering place. Hadn’t he been clear about that?

  She drew in a breath, debating. He sat across from her like a hero straight out of a dime novel—piercing blue eyes, dimpled chin, a dark five-o’clock shadow rough on his jaw and radiating a mix of integrity and ruggedness. Definitely a man who could be trusted.

  “Are you sure you want to know the truth?” she asked. “It isn’t pretty.”

  “Trouble rarely is. Maybe I can help you with it. I do that for a living. I’m pretty good at it.” His wry grin only made him more dashing.

  Thump went her heart. She was falling hard for him. He would withdraw his offer and get away from her as fast as he could if he knew what she was feeling. “Perhaps it’s something I should manage on my own.”

  “Seems to me you’ve been doing a lot of that lately.” The teapot arrived and he thanked the waiter before filling two steaming cups. “The fellow you’re hiding from—”

  “Who said I was hiding from
anyone?”

  “I saw your reaction in my office.” He slid a full cup across the table for her, his gaze pinning hers. “I can take this up with my mother, because I think you told her. She mentioned you had been through something back in Boston. I would rather you trusted me.”

  “A man I trusted, someone I’d known all my life. We had grown up together. We’d always been friends. Our parents had been friends. Derrick and I went to the same school, and studied piano under the same instructor—”

  “You play piano?” He nudged the sugar bowl in her direction.

  “Since I was young. Derrick and I used to play duets and sing in the church choir. He was a part of a group of friends. When we were older we would go caroling and sleigh riding and to symphonies and the theater together.” Worry furrowed her forehead and crept like sorrow into her gentle voice. “When my father died this last winter, Derrick felt protective of me. But it wasn’t me exactly. I was my father’s sole heir, and when Derrick proposed and I refused, he became distraught.”

  “You mean violent?” Fury snapped through him and he had to fist his hands and clench his jaw to hold it in.

  “Yes.” Her hand shook as she added two lumps of sugar to her tea, the only outward sign of trauma. “He’d gotten the idea into his head that I would marry him and he could take over my father’s estate.”

  “And get his hands on your inheritance?”

  “Yes.” Her chin went up. “I had no notion he’d been assuming this. I don’t think he is well. I think something inside him snapped. He became someone I didn’t know, and I was afraid. I was already corresponding with your mother before this happened. After Father passed, I decided to start looking for a new family and someplace to belong.”

  “Boston held too many sad memories for you.”

  “Yes. That’s true. How did you know?”

  “You mean a rugged, unfeeling man like me?” Sadness sliced into him. He was not the man he wanted to be; not the man he’d started out being. “Going through a war teaches you a lot of things.”

  “I see. So you know that sometimes the pain is too much. You have to leave it behind you and hope that the road ahead of you will take you to someplace better.”

  “I do.” That’s how he felt gazing upon her, the woman who without complaint had sold her grandmother’s pearls to reimburse him for her hotel room. The woman who’d expected nothing from the family who had falsely promised her a wedding, a home and security. The woman of such sweetness and good heart that she made even a disillusioned curmudgeon like him want to believe in her.

  “So I got on the train and came here. I didn’t take the time to write and let your mother know when I was coming. I packed and climbed aboard and prayed I would never have to look back.”

  “Did he hit you?” She didn’t need to answer. She trembled just once, barely noticeable, but his guts twisted.

  He closed his mind to all the sadness he’d seen—the carnage of war, the devastation caused by criminals on the run, the faces of victims, the crosses above fresh graves of innocent folks he hadn’t been able to save. His throat wedged tight, and feeling flooded him.

  How could anyone treat a woman like that and still consider himself a man? Red stained his vision. He wanted to hunt this Derrick down. He wanted to make him hurt.

  Take a deep breath, Gabe. Count to ten. He willed the rage down and forced his white-knuckled fists to relax. Across the table Melody had gone stark pale, wrestling memories of her own.

  How could anyone hurt her? She was enchanting. The lamplight danced over her as if happy to burnish her golden curls and to stroke her soft cheeks. She looked like a fairy tale come true, everything good and honest in the world, a woman even he could trust.

  “If this man knew where you were, would he come for you?” he asked, his voice harder than he meant it to be. Vestiges of his rage remained, strengthening him, making his decision crystal clear.

  “Yes.”

  “Would he hurt you?”

  “Yes. Your mother already knows this.” She gave up trying to lift her cup. Tea sloshed over the rim, and she set it delicately into its saucer. “I told her about my worries. I don’t want you to think I would deceive her.”

  “No, not you.” There was nothing else to do but to say it and do the right thing for them both. “Then there’s only one solution. Marry me.”

  Chapter Five

  “Marry you?” Melody couldn’t believe her ears. Had he really just proposed to her? Or had she lost her mind?

  “Yes. It would keep you safe.”

  “Safe?” She had absolutely lost her mind, because why else would Gabe Brooks, who had been very vocal against the subject, offer marriage?

  “Take a look at me. If this Derrick you’re afraid of comes to town, do you think he would dare to threaten me?” A muscle ticked in his rock-hard jaw.

  “Not if he were smart.” She let her gaze roam over Gabe’s brawny shoulders and powerful arms. Fearless, he watched her with a quiet confidence. There was no loud posturing or grandiose bragging. Just the thought of him as her protector made the fear drain away. “I don’t think Derrick would dare to cross you. Would anyone?”

  “If they do, they will regret it.” The corner of his mouth flickered. “Then we have a deal?”

  “What? Marriage isn’t a deal.”

  “Then what is it?” His gaze narrowed. He hadn’t moved, not even a blink of an eyelash, but she felt skewered in her chair like a criminal under interrogation. The waiter approached to take their orders, and he relaxed.

  She rubbed at the tension gathering behind her forehead, trying to focus on the waiter, who was reciting something she had to fight to hear—the supper specials. She chose the chicken dish, hardly caring what she ate. She doubted she would be able to taste any of it. Gabe Brooks expected her to marry him.

  What would that be like? she wondered as she watched him. He’d leaned back in his chair, crossing his muscled arms over his impressive chest, and was listening to the rest of the waiter’s list. With whisker stubble dark against his jaw, he looked like an outlaw riding the wild Montana rangelands and certainly not the kindly book-loving gentleman she’d hoped to marry one day—the type of man she’d always been drawn to.

  But Gabe? He wasn’t at all what she would choose. He could be domineering, intimidating, and just because he’d confessed to reading Jules Verne did not mean they had anything else in common. Shouldn’t she marry someone compatible? Or at least someone who shared some of her interests in life? And what about love? Could she come to love the man perched across the table from her ordering the steak-and-potato dish?

  Yes, her heart answered. Wasn’t she already partway there? Yearning filled her. What would it be like to lay her cheek against the unyielding plane of his chest? To have the privilege of calling him her own?

  “Marriage is about two people working together for their common good.” The waiter had gone and Gabe’s intensity returned. He leaned his forearms against the table, his suntan dark compared to the snowy cloth. “Let’s face it, a lot of couples I can think of fall out of love along the way. That leaves them together, earning a living, making ends meet, raising their kids.”

  Children. She curled her hands around her warm teacup, considering. Gabe’s babies? She shuddered deep inside at the thought. What would it be like lying in his arms? To have him honor her with his lovemaking in the dark of night? A languid heat curled around her insides, and she blushed. The last thing she wanted was for Gabe to know about her reaction to him. She took a sip of tea, gathering her dignity. “I thought you were opposed to marriage.”

  “I always told myself that if I found a sensible woman, someone I could trust, I would marry her.” His voice dipped so low, the notes rumbled through her as if they were a part of her.

  “You trust me?”

  “God help me, but I do.” The corner of his mouth quirked. “Think about what I’m offering you. Protection, shelter, security. You would never have to worry about p
roviding for yourself or how to pay your way in this world.”

  “And your mother could be my mother-in-law.” Happiness lit her up.

  “See? It’s not such a bad suggestion after all.” He studied her over his cup rim. “You would have a family again.”

  “Yes, but what would you get out of this?”

  “Me?” He liked that she considered him. He was right about her. Melody had a caring heart, generous instead of self-absorbed. A rare female indeed. A fair amount of tenderness swooped into his chest, and he didn’t bother to deny it. “I would get the comforts a woman brings to a man’s life. Three meals a day, a nice home, clean clothes.”

  “You could hire someone to do the same.”

  “Yes, but I want you.” The words were out before he could stop them. Shocked, he watched her rosebud-soft mouth round into a surprised O. He cleared his throat, forcing a gruff tone. “I meant to say, I wouldn’t mind you doing those things. As long as you aren’t a bad cook.”

  “How do you know that I can cook at all?”

  “I hadn’t thought of that, but I know you can bake.” He felt like a fool. Why would a fancy Boston lady want to be his wife? She had probably grown up with servants and staff who’d taken care of all household duties. Disappointment ripped through him, but he set his face, refusing to let it show. “Then I’ll agree to keep you safe anyway. You have my word of honor.”

  “Gabe.” She said his name like music, and she reached across the small table.

  Her warm fingertips landed on the back of his hand and sent a fierce bolt of heat into him. Desire rose, teasing him with what he was sure he could never have—sweet and lovely Melody in his life and in his bed.

  “No man aside from my father has ever been as kind to me.” Her touch remained. She did not withdraw or move away. “I’ve had men order me around, pretend to care for me while they tried to manipulate what they wanted from me, and try to terrify me to do their will. But you, you’re making a sacrifice for me.”

  “Well, I will get something out of the deal.” You, he wanted to say. I would get you.