His Substitute Wife. Dorothy Clark
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her thoughts into a sensible argument that had left him no room for disagreement—except on an emotional level. He frowned, shoved his fingers through his hair and determined to stop acting like a graceless boor. At the very least, he owed her good manners. “Audrey...”
“Yes?” She moved to the step-back dresser displaying blue-and-white-patterned dishes and lifted a cup and saucer off the shelf.
“I want to apologize for my behavior last night.” Her posture stiffened. She glanced at him then started for the table.
“There’s no need for an apology, Blake.”
“I think there is. I had no right to kiss you like that—to take my anger out on you. Or to treat you in such an unwelcoming manner after you came all this way to—”
“Please stop, Blake. I realize how...difficult...all this is for you.” The cup rattled against the saucer. She set it on the table and clasped her hands. “I’m so sorry for...everything.”
“You’ve nothing to be sorry for, Audrey. It is—” his tongue refused to speak the name of his beloved “—your sister who broke her promise to me. You’ve come to help me. And I recognize that that was very hard for you—as is this farce of a marriage in which we find ourselves. And I appreciate what you are doing for me—though my behavior toward you last night did not, in any way, reflect my gratitude. I’m sorry for that. I hope you will forgive me.” He cleared his throat and moved to stand beside her. “It’s early. Dawn has not yet fully given way to the day. Shall we start again?”
Her gaze lifted, the uneasiness that had shadowed her eyes replaced with a hint of the friendliness he remembered. “As you wish.”
“Then we’ll need another cup and saucer.” He grabbed the dishes from the dresser and carried them back to the table. “We’ll have a cup of coffee to toast our...er...partnership in saving my store. Thanks to you, I will have the time to come up with a plan to do so. And we need to discuss how we will make this charade work meantime.” The thought soured his stomach.
“That sounds like the sensible thing to do.” She gave a delicate sniff, glanced toward the stove. “Excuse me, I don’t want the coffee to boil.” She took a dish towel out of the drawer in the worktable, gripped the coffeepot and set it down toward the back of the stove. “That’s better—it’s not as hot there.” She placed the towel on the worktable and gave him another of those tentative near smiles. “It will be a few minutes until the coffee is ready. Shall we begin?”
He dipped his head. “Ladies first.”
“Very well.” She brushed her palms down the front of her long skirt, then raised one hand and gave a small all-encompassing wave. “I am not concerned about cooking or household matters. Since Mother passed away, I have cared for our house and for Father and Li—” She caught her lower lip with her teeth, looked down.
Linda. Pain flashed. He clenched his hands, took a breath and nodded. “That’s good to know. We should know about each other’s lives, should someone ask us.” He ignored the ache gripping him and pressed on. “One question I’m certain will be asked us is how we met.”
Her head jerked up. “What would you have me say?”
“The truth. That we met while I was courting your older sister.” The vein in his temple throbbed. He moved to look out of one of the windows that bracketed the dish dresser to avoid the compassion in her eyes. “The problem is, Mr. Ferndale knows Linda is...was...my fiancée. I often spoke of her by name.” He scrubbed his hand over the nape of his neck, ignoring the knot in his gut. “We’ll have to think of something to explain why we married. And it would be best to stay as close to the truth as possible so we don’t get our stories confused.”
A train whistle sounded, echoing down the valley.
“That’s it!”
“What is it?”
“The train.” He pivoted, met her confused gaze. “We’ll tell people we corresponded, and when...Linda...wed another, you came out of friendship to tell me in person.” The constriction in his chest tightened. He fought for breath to continue. “I think it would be best if we not mention the store, so I will tell Mr. Ferndale when you stepped off the train and I saw you again, I realized my feelings for you had deepened beyond friendship. That I had fallen in love with you through your letters. That we talked, I confessed my feelings for you and you...professed a fondness for me, and agreed to marry me.” He stepped closer, studied her face. “Are you all right with this, Audrey? You look pale.”
“I’m fine...only a trifle uneasy. I’ve never been good at...at dissembling. The coffee’s ready.” She snatched up the towel and turned to the stove.
He watched her lifting the hot brew. Guilt reared. What depths had he sunk to, putting his need to save his fortune ahead of his honor? He squared his shoulders. “Forgive me, Audrey. It’s wrong of me to put you in such a position. There is a train going east early this afternoon. I will put you on it, then go and tell Mr. Ferndale the truth.”
Steam spiraled from the hot pot, misted the air between them. “Thank you for your consideration, but I’m not going home, Blake.” She walked to the table, poured the hot coffee into their cups and returned the pot to the stove. “And you did not put me in this position—I did. And I would do it again. It’s only right after what my sister did to you.”
The hem of her skirt swished across the floor, a quiet accompaniment to her firm words. He studied the resolute look on her face. A different Audrey than he’d ever seen. She’d always been so acquiescent to Linda’s wishes.
“And what you said about me is true. I did come in friendship to tell you what had happened. And we did talk. And I did agree to marry you when you asked me—well, that’s backward, but it’s close enough. The...conditions...of our marriage will remain our private knowledge.” She moved to the refrigerator and opened the door, glanced inside. She closed the door again.
“Sorry, I got meat and butter, but forgot about milk.”
“That’s all right—I can drink the coffee black.”
A real smile tugged at his lips. “That shudder you just tried to hide says different. I have some Eagle Brand in the store. I’ll get it.”
* * *
Audrey listened to Blake walking down the stairs, every step driving his words deeper into her conscience. That I had fallen in love with you through your letters. It wasn’t true, of course. Blake didn’t love her and he didn’t know she’d written the letters. But still, it was a plausible explanation. The warmth of Blake’s letters had drawn her. And she had responded to that warmth—though as Linda, of course. Still, the attraction was sincere. But then, she’d always enjoyed her conversations with Blake...
She eyed the steaming cups of coffee, picked up hers and took a cautious sip hoping to settle her churning stomach. All she achieved was a scalded tongue and a shudder at the bitter taste. Tears filmed her eyes. “Father God, You know I’m sorry for helping Linda deceive Blake. I was wrong not to have warned him she was fickle when he began courting her, but—No. No excuses... Please help me to make amends. Please help Blake—”
Footsteps on the stairs halted her choked words. She blinked her eyes, wiped her cheeks and ran on tiptoe to look out of the window over the coal box beside the stove. A muted hammering came from the raw structure next door. The hotel. He’d written to Linda about—
“Here’s the milk. I’ll open it for you. These cans are hard to puncture, even with a can opener.”
Blake’s thoughtfulness brought another surge of tears. She was too tired and too unnerved by their situation. She nodded and blinked, struggled to get her emotions under control.
“There’s some ground sugar in the bowl—if you use it.”
He’d ground sugar for Linda. “No, only milk.” It was another way she differed from her sister. Linda used spoonsful of sugar in her