A Bride in the Bargain Part 23

He gave her a lazy smile. "Morning, Miss Ivey."

She faltered. She blushed. She fluttered her hands around.

The collar matched the maroon cuffs and was trimmed with the ribbon he'd bought. Tiny little b.u.t.tons marched from her neck to her waist, then disappeared beneath the ap.r.o.n. Her watch pin held its coveted place, resting against the swell of her right breast. She'd even done something different with her hair. It was all gathered to one side and tied with a ribbon, then cascaded in curls over her left shoulder.

"You did a fine job with the fabric, Anna. You look beautiful."

The sharp sizzle of bacon filled the kitchen. She opened and closed her mouth but said nothing.

His grin deepened as he watched her fret over where to settle her gaze. He was bare from the waist up and bare from the ankles down. That left only his trousers.

Her white, creamy throat exposed by her banded hair revealed the rapid thumpity-thump of her heartbeat. The invitation was almost more than he could resist. But he couldn't kiss her. Couldn't even nuzzle her neck. Not as long as she thought he was betrothed to someone else.

She whirled back around to the stove.

Taking a deep breath, he closed the door, then moved to the washbasin. Picking up his razor, he pulled it back and forth across the strap several times, then tested its edge.

The clinks and clatters that usually accompanied her cooking had ceased. The bacon continued to pop and hiss. It needed turning, but he didn't say a word or glance her way. Simply whipped up his lotion and began to lather his face.

"What are you doing?" she squeaked.

"Shaving."

"Why?"

"Beards make me itch."

"No. I mean, why in here?"

He angled the mirror until he caught her reflection. "Bacon's burning."

Her gaze flew to the stove. "Good heavens."

She busied herself with breakfast, but he could feel her surrept.i.tious looks as he held his jaw with one hand and dragged the razor up his neck with the other.

When he'd finally finished, he ran his fingers across his cheeks, chin, and neck, checking for stubble. Satisfied, he scooped water from the basin and buried his face in it.

He continued with his toilet until he'd washed and rinsed off his chest, his arms, his pits, everything he could reach. By the time he was through drying off, the flimsy little towel he'd used was sopping wet.

He hung it carefully on the rail, then turned around.

Anna leaned against a chair, one hand hovering above the table while holding a platter of fried biscuits.

He winked.

She jerked herself to attention, the platter making a ka-plunk on the table.

"I'm going to grab a shirt. I'll be right back."

Once in his room, he allowed himself a wide smile. She'd be his by the end of the month, maybe even by the end of the week.

The same rush of accomplishment that came with felling trees coursed through him. He refrained from giving a shout of conquest, though. There'd be time enough for that when the deed was done.

Joe hammered two boards together, making legs for the trellis supporting his log chute. Each strike of the hammer landed harder than the last. He still couldn't believe Anna refused to go fishing with him. Said she'd rather sew instead.

He shook his head. When he'd given her the fabric, it never occurred to him he'd have to compete with it for her attention. But that's exactly what was required, and not only on Sundays, but every evening after supper.

He formed a T with two boards. Maybe the sewing was just an excuse. She'd not been able to look him in the eye all during breakfast. He'd not been able to keep his eyes off of her in that dress.

Wiping the sweat from his face, he took a deep breath. Could be that if he pushed her any further, she'd think him dishonorable because of Bertha.

He picked up two nails and put one in his mouth. Maybe it was time to tell her the truth-or ease her into it. They'd be sharing some of that veal tonight. Perhaps he ought to bring up marriage again. Tell her he'd been thinking about dissolving his agreement with Bertha.

He pounded the brace into place. At least he had all night to do it, since it would be just the two of them. The men wouldn't be back until late. Of that, he was certain.

Joe had just said the blessing when Red's voice came from the yard. His spirits wilted. So much for a quiet dinner with Anna.

Pushing her chair back, Anna smoothed down her skirt, then opened the door as Red climbed onto the porch.

"Good evening, Miss Ivey."

Tamping down his frustration, Joe offered Red a smile, but Red wasn't paying him any attention. Instead, he gave a slow whistle. "Miss Ivey, you look just beautiful. Did you make a new dress?"

She lowered her gaze. "I did. Thank you."

He hooked his hat by the door, leaned back his head, and sniffed the air. "Mmmmm. Something sure does smell good."

"It's veal. Joe brought it back from town."

Red's eyes widened. "For all of us?"

"Well, actually, there's not enough for the whole crew." She glanced at the window. "Are the others here, too?"

"Nope. Just me."

"Well, there's certainly enough for three. Would you care to join us?"

"Why, thank you, Miss Ivey. I don't mind if I do."

Joe bit back a groan. "What are you doing back so early? Is everything all right?"

"Fine, fine." Red patted his chest. "Things in town were a bit slow, so I thought I'd come back early and see if you were up for a round of cards."

Joe brightened at the prospect of a game, then remembered his intent to come clean with Anna. "Well, I had actually thought to spend the evening reading."

Red snorted. "Shoot. You can read any ol' time. Besides, I came all the way back. What will I do tonight if we don't play?"

"You could try one of my books."

"No, thanks. I can't think of anything more boring than reading a book."

"What if you read out loud to us, Joe?" Anna set another place. "You should hear him, Red. He has quite a flair for it."

Red lifted his orange eyebrows. "He does? I didn't know that."

Grabbing a roll, Joe broke it apart. A puff of sweet-smelling steam ballooned up.

"We're reading The Taming of the Shrew," she continued.

"No foolin'? Well, I suppose I could be talked into a scene or two-especially since Joe's doing the reading and all."

Sighing, Joe cut into his veal. "Actually, I'm no longer in much of a mood for reading. Cards is fine."

"You sure?" Red asked. "I hadn't been read to since I was nothing more than a tyke. Sounds like fun."

Joe gave his friend a pointed look. "I said cards would be fine, Red."

Chuckling, his friend pulled out Anna's chair, then sat down beside her. "Whatever you say. You're the boss."

As soon as supper was over, the men headed for the barn. Anna washed and put away the dishes, but it was still too early to retire. Locating the tin she'd stored her seash.e.l.ls in, she scooped up a handful of sh.e.l.ls and looked at the colorful and varied shapes she held.

She wished she knew which ones she'd found and which ones Mama had found. Collecting them was a pa.s.sion they shared and they always evoked poignant memories.

But lately those memories had been overshadowed by less pleasant ones. Ronny's resemblance to her brother constantly reminded Anna of Leon. And more recently, of the blame she carried over her brother's flight and subsequent death.

She ran her finger over a smooth sh.e.l.l whose brown color was so rich it looked almost liquid. It was the same color as Leon's eyes. The same color as Mama's.

She wondered if at the end of his young life Leon's eyes had lost their l.u.s.ter, for Mama's had dulled to the same faded brown as the shirtwaist she wore. Papa had loved that shirtwaist. He'd tease her, squeezing her side and whispering in her ear until she turned all red in the face.

If he'd seen Mama then, he wouldn't have teased. The hems of her sleeves and the b.u.t.ton placket had long since frayed. It hung in loose folds around her skinny shoulders and scraggy waist. And her face had dried up like old widow Nash's. But Mrs. Nash was a grandmother, and Mama was just, well, Mama.

The only life-real life-Mama had shown since Papa joined up was the night Anna confessed that Leon had left for good.

"It's your fault! Your fault!" her mother had screeched.

And, indeed, it had been. Tamping down her shame, Anna had slipped an arm about her mother's waist, led her to the parlor, and settled her in a high-backed chair.

Mama had picked up her needle and thread, the vacant look already back in her eyes. Never again would they shine. Her husband had left, her beloved son had left, and her daughter had betrayed her. She became as fragile and empty as the sh.e.l.ls Anna now held in her hand.

Anna closed her fist around them, their edges sharp against her palms. With a force of will, she pushed the memories aside, moved to the floor, and began to sort the sh.e.l.ls, concentrating instead on what she might create once she had them all organized.

She'd make something for Joe. Something special. Some little piece of herself to leave behind once her debt had been paid off.

CHAPTER TWENTY.

He didn't tell her about Bertha. Not after Red's unannounced arrival, nor on the following three Sundays. Instead, Joe continued to woo her. If Cupid had pierced her heart, though, she kept it well hidden. He, on the other hand, found himself well and truly smitten.

"He drank the entire bowl of sugar!" Anna said, her eyes filled with horror.

She wore her yellow calico, providing a bit of sunshine at the end of a rainy week. He'd spent most of the day inspecting his newly completed log chute. While he was gone, Anna had entertained her first Squamish Indian.

"He kept saying 'kabi, kabi' and pointing to the coffeepot. But every time I warmed some for him, he filled his cup with sugar, then poured on just enough coffee to saturate the sugar."

Joe smiled. "He was only drinking the coffee for the sake of the sugar. Next time, you can sweeten it for him."

She shook her head. "He was very polite, though."

"I'm sure he was."

She turned back to an a.s.sortment of seash.e.l.ls spread across the floor in front of the fire. Every night after dinner, she'd pour more out and sort them by size and color and type. She was close to the bottom of her collection, and he imagined she'd finish her task before the evening was through.

He pulled off his boots and stretched out his legs. It was his custom to read while she worked, but tonight he couldn't concentrate. Closing the volume of poems by Wordsworth, he set it aside and watched her instead.

The yellow gown billowed out around her, its skirt trimmed with a design she'd made with both ribbon and fancy st.i.tches. Her booted toes peeked from beneath her hem.

Clutching the tip of her tongue between her teeth, she turned a cylindrical brown-and-white-striped sh.e.l.l in her fingers, then dropped it in a bowl with other like-minded sh.e.l.ls.

His time was running out. Only two weeks left before he lost his land. Joe needed to make his move and he needed to make it soon. He wondered again if his attempts to woo her were working. Not just because of his deadline, but because he was undeniably attracted to her.

It was several moments before she realized he wasn't reading. Glancing up, she froze. He surveyed her hair, her delicate facial features, her creamy neck, and the way her dress stretched across her shoulders and chest.

"Shouldn't you be marrying Mrs. Wrenne soon?" she whispered.

"I should have married her two weeks ago."

"Why didn't you?"

"Several reasons."

She went back to her sorting.

"Anna?"

The stiffening of her shoulders was his only indication she'd heard him.

Unfolding himself from the chair, he joined her on the floor, stretching one leg out and bending the other one. "I don't want to marry Bertha."

She stopped sorting but didn't look up. "She'll be devastated."

He rested an elbow against his upraised knee. "I don't think so."