A Bride in the Bargain (42 page)

The trembling in her legs spread to every place his gaze touched.

“You are beautiful.”

The heat in his eyes caused her to take a step back. Her petticoat touched the wall and bowed out.

“Your wedding gown is exquisite. I wasn’t expecting anything so . . . elaborate.”

“Several of the women helped me. They were all quite taken with the fabric. I never thanked you for it. It’s magnificent.”

Joe smiled. “My pleasure.”

The brush slipped from his fingers, clattering onto the dresser. He moved toward her, engrossed. Captivated. Absorbed. With the watch pin on her gown.

She thought of the thaumatrope and how the lumberjack practically swallowed up the woman. She backed completely against the wall.

He didn’t stop until his trousers touched the hem of her skirt. Still he looked at the watch pin.

Breathing grew difficult. Not like when she had an episode, but like when he kissed her. Really kissed her.

Finally, he raised his gaze. “Have I ever told you I love the way you smell?”

It was a compliment. She knew it was. But his choice of wording made her choke back a nervous laugh, which came out as a snort.

He didn’t notice. Instead, he freed the twinflower from her hair, held the bloom to his nose, and inhaled. She was glad she had the support of the wall behind her.

He tossed the flower onto the bed. She tracked its flight as it landed on the quilted cover.

Threading his fingers through her hair, he tilted her face up and gave her one of those kisses. The kind that made breathing difficult and standing near impossible. Still, she didn’t touch him. No matter how badly she wanted to. She didn’t dare.

Ending the kiss, he kept his forehead against hers, but his fingers trailed from her face to her neck to her shoulders to . . . her watch pin. He enfolded it with his fingers, his knuckles brushing her.

Her lips parted.

“It’s cool to the touch,” he said, his voice husky. “I expected it to be warm. Very warm.”

“It was my mother’s. I’ve gone without many a meal rather than sell it. It was all I had.”

“You have me now.”

Anna smiled. “Yes. Yes I do.”

Unpinning the watch, he laid it on the nightstand, then moved his fingers to her buttons.

She sucked in her breath.

“This gown is lovely, little robin, but there are some items of clothing I have wondered about and wanted to see for a long, long time.”

Joe slipped the first button free. Then the second. The third. On and on until the gown was held up only by her back and the wall. He encircled her waist, drew her to him, and kissed her again.

The gown fell to the floor.

Ending the kiss, he took her shoulders and placed her at arm’s length. She blushed, knowing he’d see how much time she’d spent embroidering her new underclothes. But every forget-me-knot, pintuck, ribbon, and scalloped frill had made her feel connected to him somehow.

His Adam’s apple bobbed. He fingered the crocheted edging on the neckline of her shift. “You did a beautiful job, Anna.” He looked at her. “But there are some other items I have wondered about and wanted to see for a long, long time.”

Her eyes widened. Scooping her into his arms, he lowered his mouth to hers and carried her to bed.

C
HAPTER
T
HIRTY-SEVEN

San Francisco

October 15, 1866

Anna had just begun to brush off the weariness of their steamer ride when their carriage pulled to a stop in front of a huge building four stories high. She straightened.

“I thought since we started our wedding trip at the Occidental,” Joe said, stepping out of the carriage and offering her a hand, “we’d continue it at San Francisco’s version.”

She could only gape. She’d been to the city for a short time with Mr. Mercer, but never to this part of town. Still, San Francisco’s Occidental Hotel was something she’d have expected to see in New York City, not the West. The Italianate stucco façade loomed over its neighbors. “It’s so tall.”

He tucked her hand into his elbow. “It’s said to have a magnificent view of the city and bay.”

She’d never stayed anyplace so grand. Inside, a plush rug cushioned her feet. The woodwork was solid mahogany. The doorknobs, silver plate.

Joe headed to the desk, leaving her to wonder at the windows, which were as wide as a man and almost two stories high. The red coloring of the massive rosettes decorating the ceiling brought life to the otherwise white surroundings.

Joe returned to her side. “Ready?”

“It’s magnificent,” she whispered. “But shouldn’t we wait until your land sells before staying in such an extravagant place?”

Shrugging, he gave the lobby a cursory glance. “We’ll be fine. Besides, I thought to pamper my bride before we take a very long boat ride around the Horn.”

She smiled. “Thank you.”

A smartly dressed porter indicated they should follow.

“As soon as we’re settled,” Joe said, his hand riding the back of her waist, “we’ll find us a place to eat. The clerk said there was an establishment in the Plaza called The Cottage Café that is extremely popular and offers some of the best food in town.”

After a thrilling ride in the lift, the porter escorted them to a corner room and threw open the door. “Mr. and Mrs. Denton, your bridal suite.”

Anna gasped. Joe had arranged for the bridal suite? She entered the sumptuous parlor decorated in whites and golds with a breathtaking view looking down on the city and bay. The parlor opened onto a lavish bedroom with a very large, roomy bedstead. Thick brocade curtains pulled back by large gold tassels framed the massive structure.

But it was the bathroom that thrilled her the most. It had a real toilet, a tub, and pipes that brought the water in and took the water out.

She heard a murmuring of voices, the door click shut, and Joe’s footsteps as he followed her to the lavatory.

“Oh, Joe,” she said, still staring at the tub and toilet. “I’ve never seen anything so glorious in my life.”

He slipped his arms about her waist and nuzzled her neck. “Hungry?”

“Yes.”

“How hungry?”

She glanced up over her shoulder, then felt her insides respond to the heat in his gaze. “I’m not in any great hurry. Are you?”

“No hurry at all.” Turning her around, he pulled her against him and lowered his mouth to hers.

The Cottage Café was no small cottage, but a large restaurant with rows and rows of long tables and benches filled with patrons. A barlike counter ran the length of one wall. Lining the mirrored shelves behind it were jars and jars of candy and confections.

Manning the counter was what had to be a father-and-son duo, the former a handsome man with a touch of gray at his temples. He wasn’t as broad as Joe, of course, but he was a good deal bigger than most. His son looked to be following in his footsteps—height-wise, at least. He’d yet to fill out, though.

The restaurant held none of the luxury of the hotel, but instead offered a relaxed, homey feel. Anna loved it at once. Sliding in next to a group of men at one of the long tables, she smiled as Joe greeted those around them.

Most were professional-looking men in fancy suits, though a few were rather rough and rowdy. She eyed them, assuming they were gold diggers.

Young women in matching black dresses with crisp white aprons poured from the kitchen and served the meal family-style, much the way she’d served her lumberjacks.

Her lumberjacks. A pang of sorrow intruded on the moment as she watched the women laugh and tease with the men.

Joe’s crew had all attended the wedding, of course. All danced with her. Still, she missed them already.

She glanced at Joe. He must miss them even more, though he’d not said so.

A woman with startling blond hair and a ready smile plunked massive platters of beef, potatoes, and bread on the table in front of them. “Eat up, fellows. Today’s dessert is almond pudding, but only for boys who clean their plates.”

The waitress waggled her finger at them as they exchanged badinage. So much like the jacks at home. Anna sighed. When had she begun thinking of Seattle as home instead of Granby?

The food smelled savory and appetizing. The men were careful to see that she partook first, and she quickly learned to take only what she thought she’d eat because these Californians ate almost as heartily as her lumberjacks.

Dessert was winding down when a woman of the same generation as Anna’s mother came from the kitchen and moved down each row of tables greeting customers. She was attractive and hearty, and she lit up when she smiled.

Anna couldn’t help but notice the difference between her and Mama. She’d been so emaciated those last few years. Was that what Anna had in store for her with the tuberculosis? Or would the southern states that had killed her father and brother be the very thing that would save her life?

She’d not had one breathing episode all week. Her cough had subsided a bit more each day—particularly after she’d stood on the deck of the steamer enjoying the fresh air and breeze. And her headache had settled into nothing more than a slight irritant.

This upward swing had begun before she’d even left Seattle. Was it that she hadn’t had time to notice her ailments because of all the excitement? But, no. If anything, she’d have thought the excitement would cause her symptoms to escalate, not dissipate.

The woman now stood across from Anna. “Hello. I’m Rachel Parker. Are you new to town?”

Joe began to rise.

“No, no. Sit. Please.”

Settling back down, he nodded to the woman. “Actually, we’re visiting. I’m Joe Denton and this is my wife, Anna.”

The man who’d been behind the counter joined Mrs. Parker, slipped his hand about her waist, and pulled her against his hip.

She glanced up at him and smiled. “Johnnie, this is Mr. and Mrs. Denton. They’re visiting from . . . ?”

“Seattle,” Joe said, rising to shake the man’s hand.

“Joe. Johnnie Parker. Welcome.” He smiled at Anna. “Mrs. Denton.”

“How do you do?”

The man may have been old, she thought, but he was still quite attractive. Especially when he smiled.

Mrs. Parker smoothed her hand under her skirt and sat sideways on the bench across from them. “I’m sorry to hear you’re only visiting. Women are always a welcome sight around here. How long will you be in town?”

Anna looked at Joe, then Mrs. Parker. “We’re not sure, exactly.”

And over the course of the next half hour, Anna found herself telling the woman of their wish to go south and why. By the time she was done, the restaurant was empty and the Parkers both sat across from them, sipping coffee the girls had brought out.

“But you don’t sound sick at all,” Mrs. Parker said.

“I know.” Anna sighed. “It’s the strangest thing. I’ve felt almost like myself for a week now, yet we just arrived in San Francisco this morning.”

Mrs. Parker looked at her husband. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

He raised his brows. “Woman, I have yet to keep up with what goes on in your mind. What is it you’re thinking?”

“That doctor.” She laid her hand on his arm. “You know. The one from Kentucky who worked with that other doctor in a cave?”

Mr. Parker nodded as comprehension dawned. “Dr. Shepard.”

“Yes! Dr. Shepard.” She turned to Anna. “He and another doctor ran a clinic of sorts in a huge cave for people with tuberculosis. It was somewhere around Louisville, I think. In any event, they thought the constant temperature and purity of the air there would help cure their patients.”

“Did it work?” Joe asked.

“I’m afraid it didn’t, but Dr. Shepard studied the disease thoroughly and is considered an expert. Perhaps you could see him while you’re here.”

Joe slipped his hand into Anna’s. “Perhaps we will.”

Anna straightened her clothing, left the exam room, and joined Joe and Dr. Shepard in his library. Both men rose.

The room reminded her of Doc Maynard’s place. The smell of chemicals wafted about her. Shelves lined the wall with books of all sizes and shapes. Rolls of papers protruded from pigeonholes above his desk, while the surface of it was covered with more papers, an open medical dictionary, a jar of eye wash, another of glycerin powder, and a pair of spectacles.