The Bride’s Matchmaking Triplets. Regina Scott
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Elizabeth Dumont would have no use for him even if he proposed marriage right then and there.
The older lady went over and clucked at the babies as Elizabeth moved to the dresser against the far wall and picked up one of the jars of applesauce crowding the surface. He was pleased to see the ladies of his congregation had been equally generous to the babies as they were to him. The gingham-topped jars of pears would be from Mrs. Dooley; he had a dozen like them at the parsonage. Betsy McKay had likely donated the stewed plums, the purple glinting in the light. For the triplets’ sake, he hoped the applesauce had come from Lula May McKay, for she was one of the best cooks and canners in the area, not to mention being the leader of the Lone Star Cowboy League.
Elizabeth came back to the high chairs carrying the jar and a silver spoon. Once, she’d presided over an entire table laden with silver and fine china and crystal. Her long red hair had been smoothed into a tight bun, and the emeralds at her ears and throat had called attention to her almond-shaped eyes. The smile she’d offered him across the table had been bright, eager, almost as if she couldn’t wait to learn more about him.
Now her smile seemed brittle as she reached for a wooden chair against one wall. Brandon hurried forward to lift it for her, positioning it in front of the high chairs. Mrs. Tyson nodded approval, but Elizabeth narrowed her eyes at him as if suspecting he had ulterior motives.
What did she think he was going to do, pull it out from under her?
Putting her back to him, she perched on the chair. The sunlight from the window across from her blazed fire along her hair and made him wish he still had the right to touch the gleaming tresses.
Help me, Lord. I don’t know what I did to earn her wrath. Show me how to behave toward her.
Elizabeth remained focused on her charges. “All right, little bird,” she said to Jasper. “Open wide your beak.” She dipped the spoon in the jar and brought it closer to him. Jasper opened his mouth for the applesauce.
Theo reached for the spoon and ended up knocking it aside, splashing fruit across the chairs. Eli set up a howl.
“Oh, dear,” Mrs. Tyson said. “Let me see if I can find something to clean that up.” She hurried to the dresser and began rummaging through the items left for the babies.
Elizabeth wiped applesauce off her cheek with one finger. “Well, that didn’t work.”
Brandon stepped forward and picked up the crying baby. “I’ll take Eli. Can you handle the other two?”
Her gaze snapped to his, and there was fire in those eyes. “Certainly, Mr. Stillwater. That’s what the Lone Star Cowboy League is paying me to do, remember?”
Of course he remembered. He’d been at the wedding when David McKay had made the suggestion. It was only right that David find some way to support Elizabeth, after she’d come all this way to marry him only to find him marrying another. The rancher had sent her a telegram telling her of the change in plan, but it had never reached her. Still, Brandon couldn’t help wondering why Elizabeth had agreed to marry David in the first place.
Now he merely nodded. “I meant would you prefer me to take Theo as well so you can focus on Jasper,” he said, moving back from the high chairs as much to separate Eli from the food as to distance himself from her anger.
“We’re fine,” she said, turning her attention to the two remaining babies.
“Babies can be such work, the little dears,” Mrs. Tyson put in with a commiserating look to Brandon. She bent to clean up the floor.
Elizabeth moved Jasper and Theo farther apart, then took turns feeding them a spoonful of the applesauce, her movements brisk and efficient. Mrs. Tyson hovered behind, ready to step in if needed. Brandon rocked Eli, the baby warm in his arms. As Eli’s cries quieted, he looked up at Brandon, trusting.
When had Elizabeth lost trust in him?
He’d thought them destined for marriage, partners for life. She’d been everything he could have dreamed of in a wife back then—caring, loving, generous. Even now, she cajoled the babies into eating, praised them for waiting to take their turns and set them to beaming happily. Their brother in his arms reached for her as if he simply had to get closer.
Brandon had felt the same way once. She’d been the one to break things off, to marry a wealthier, more socially prominent man, she’d said. Yet here she was, a mail-order bride of all things. Much as he loved Little Horn with its wide-open spaces and kindhearted people, the community was a far cry from the society she’d been raised in near Boston.
So what had happened to bring Elizabeth Dumont back into his life again?
Elizabeth forced her shaking hand to steady on the spoon. How dare Brandon question her ability to care for the triplets? She was a good nanny, for all she had not imagined herself in the role. Anyone might have found three babies a little challenging.
Though, she had to admit, he looked remarkably comfortable dealing with the boys. He was rocking Eli back and forth, the baby gazing up at him as if he was the most important person in the world.
She’d looked at him that way once.
She would never forget the day they’d met. Her aunt Evangeline had been hosting one of her famous dinner parties. It was well-known around Cambridge that Mrs. Dumont, wife of the influential financier, welcomed only the most interesting people to her table, so an invitation was cause to preen. As her niece, Elizabeth had dined with senators, adventurers, novelists, artists and scientists. That evening, attendees around the white damask-draped table had included the mayor and his wife, a man who had invented some sort of circuit for conducting electricity, an award-winning poet and the dean of the divinity school with his most promising student.
Brandon Stillwater.
As the least most notable person in the room, besides her, he would have had every right to sit quietly, speak only when directly addressed. Indeed, he had been quiet the first part of the meal. Then the inventor, a Mr. Lombard, had begun a paean to man’s ingenuity.
“Why, even now, in New York, a pneumatic system brings warm air in winter and cool air in summer,” he boasted, the sleeve of his black dress coat coming perilously close to dipping into his creamed asparagus as he waved a hand.
“Amazing,” the mayor proclaimed. “We may have to rethink our futures, gentlemen. Science seems to have the upper hand.”
Brandon had merely offered them all a charming smile as he reached for his crystal glass. “I think I’ll stick with the Author of invention instead of the implementer.” And he’d calmly taken a sip as if giving them all a moment to think about what he’d said.
How could she not be drawn to such a man? He was only a year older than her, yet he seemed so confident, so sure of who he was and what he was meant to do. She’d envied him that.
“Ready for this little fellow?” he asked her now, smiling on the infant in his arms. She remembered how it felt to be cradled close, those strong arms around her, making her feel safe, loved.
Elizabeth scooped up a baby and shoved him at Brandon, anything to stop these memories. “Here,” she said. “I’ll take Eli. You take Jasper.”
If he was surprised by the urgency in her voice, he didn’t show it. But as they exchanged babies, his fingers brushed her sleeve and a tingle ran up her arm.
Why was she still so aware of him after all these years? Even as she began to feed Eli, Theo watching them, she felt Brandon beside her. He held each baby so gently, every movement effortless. No other man had ever made her feel that she could rely on him no matter what.
A shame that feeling had turned out to be false.
She offered Eli another spoonful of applesauce, which he gobbled down. The men she had counted on had proven singularly unreliable.