Sixty Acres and a Bride (20 page)

His broad shoulders looked indestructible in the tailored suit. Hard to believe he suffered the same doubts she’d fought every waking moment of her life. If only Louise had warned her to come back home. If only they had let him be.

“I need to protect you. I want . . .” He struggled to find the right words, and Rosa could tell whatever came next would be the truth, and not a truth he was comfortable with.

“I want you to be my wife. I do. For whatever reason, God brought us here, and He’s showing me that you’re my responsibility. You belong with me. I don’t know how that’s going to work out, but I’ve known that, as unorthodox as it seems, God is in this. I knew it the moment I pulled you under my blanket.”

“You were awake?”

He attempted a grin. “I’m as much to blame as you are.”

“That’s not true.”

“A wedding needs to take place today. Maybe neither of us planned it this way, but you’re going to have to trust me.”

She opened her mouth to protest, but he stopped her.

“Please. Even if you don’t care for your own reputation, consider mine. I have more to lose than a ranch.”

Only he could make it sound like she was doing him a favor. Well, she owed him that and more, for he was the only truly innocent one in this transgression. Besides, once again her choices lacked a reasonable alternative—scandal from the townspeople or resentment from him. Disapproval or guilt. Rosa slid off her bed, pulled some petticoats out of the drawer, and dropped them into the bag. She wouldn’t rest until she’d paid him back.

Swinging the valise off the bed, she took her hat from the washstand and said a prayer that she wasn’t making the biggest mistake of her life. But this time she knew the danger. This time she could avoid the pit she’d fallen into before. A ceremony in front of witnesses couldn’t change a man’s heart.

Nothing could.

They entered the office side by side, and a better looking couple had never passed through the heavy wooden doors. The rose taffeta gown seemed to change from violet to pink as Rosa passed before the windows, holding lightly onto Weston’s arm. She’d turned heads throughout town, but she didn’t give it a second thought.

She stood within spitting distance of her ultimate goal and was determined to celebrate their success, however sordid, but her resolve slipped with each glance at the man by her side. When she considered Mary’s outrage, Louise’s confusion, and Molly’s sure misery, she lost courage. Weston had even admitted that he’d wished to remain a bachelor—not the reassurance a bride-to-be longs for.

“Mr. Garner! Don’t you look fine!” Molly’s eyes lit up at the sight of the man. Rosa had to agree with her assessment. His tailored suit accented his strong frame, and his crisp white collar contrasted with his tan face and dark hair. She knew he was an important man, but rarely did his clothes support the claim as much as they did today.

Molly sashayed toward him but stopped in her tracks when she finally noticed the lady on his arm. Her needle-thin brows knit together and then rose in astonishment.

“Rosa?” She laughed. “Oh, my goodness, you gave me quite a scare. I didn’t know who the gorgeous woman with Mr. Garner was.”

“Molly, we need to talk. Do you think you could take a moment?”

“Certainly, but let me admire your beautiful dress first.” Molly came from behind the counter, lifted Rosa’s arms, and directed her to turn slowly.

Pirouetting in public? Any other time, Rosa would’ve refused, but she complied, hoping to delay the inevitable discussion.

Weston’s eyes followed her closely. Why was he looking at her like that? Molly wasn’t going to believe their story if he didn’t stop staring.

“Mr. Garner, can you believe this is our little friend Rosa? She has turned out to be quite the beauty. You better stay close to Mr. Garner. He’s the only man I know strong enough to keep all these wild cowboys in check.”

“Miss Lovelace! Are you performing your duties?” Mr. Travis called from his office.

“Sorry, sir.” Molly fairly skipped back to her station behind the counter. “Was there something you wanted me for, Mr. Garner?”

Rosa leaned across the counter, her feet barely on the floor. “We need to talk.”

Molly’s face grew ashen. She put a hand to her mouth. “Oh no.” She looked over her shoulder at the other girl in the office. “I forgot,” she whispered. “Your taxes are due today, aren’t they? I should have sent a reminder. I’m so sorry. Do you want me to get Mr. Travis?”

“That’s not necessary. Rosa came prepared to pay.”

Rosa couldn’t pry her eyes off her friend’s face. Weston tugged on her reticule. With trembling fingers Rosa untied it and fished out the bills so recently folded into it.

Molly clapped her hands together. “Rosa, that’s wonderful! I can’t believe you did it!”

“Well, I didn’t do it—”

Weston placed his hand at her back. “She is amazing, isn’t she? There’s not a rancher in these parts who worked harder for his claim.”

“Oh, you always know what to say. That’s one thing I admire about you, Mr. Garner, your sincerity.”

Rosa couldn’t go through with it. Molly glided about the office recording the payment while casting sly looks at the man by her side. Molly wanted to marry Weston. The dream was farfetched, but Rosa didn’t want its death on her hands.

“Mr. Garner,” she whispered low, “this is all that needs to happen today. We don’t need to go any further. Can’t we just pretend . . . ?”

“I thought we had this settled.”

“It’s not that . . . it’s Molly.”

“Molly? Here she is. Thank you for your help.” He held the receipt up and read every word proudly. He handed it to Rosa, and she folded it in half, and half again, and tied it securely in her reticule.

“Let’s go outside. I’m feeling ill.” The situation was moving too quickly. Rosa felt herself losing control.

“Not yet. We’re not finished.” Reaching into his vest pocket, Weston produced a document. He unfolded it, the thick paper resisting his attempts to straighten it. “Is Judge Rice available? We were just upstairs and filed our marriage license. Now, as soon as Eliza and Jake catch up, we need to borrow the judge for a moment.”

“Your what?!” Molly jumped as if Wes had handed her a branding iron, red end first. She dropped her pen. Her eyes darted from one to the other. “Did you say marriage license?”

Weston laid it on the counter. Poor Molly had no way out. She took it gingerly and read it, lips moving silently in disbelief.

“How could you?” Her red-rimmed eyes brought tears to Rosa’s.

“It’s not what you think, Molly. We have no choice. Last night, I slept in the barn with Weston on acci—”

“Rosa. That’s enough!” Weston snatched the license off the counter.

“But she needs to know I didn’t ask for this.”

“You didn’t?” Molly’s curls shook. “You slept with him but didn’t want to marry him?” Her voice rang over the land office. The lady behind the counter stared. Mr. Travis appeared in his office door.

“Let’s go.” Weston took Rosa by the arm.

Molly’s voice gained in strength. “Is this the friend who warned me against trapping a man, cautioned me about making a spectacle of myself?”

Weston dragged Rosa, her feet sliding across the floor. “Out! We are going out.”

“And worried I’d be stuck in a loveless marriage? Nice trick, Rosa. You sure had me fooled!”

M
AN AND WIFE.

The golden band Eliza had purchased for her weighed heavy on Rosa’s hand. Weston had a matching one, and although she couldn’t see it under the reins laced through his fingers, it meant this man sitting on the squeaky leather seat next to her was now her husband.

Judge Rice had been almost as shocked as Molly when he’d entered the chamber to see one of the county’s leading citizens lined out for a lightning-strike wedding to the stunned
Mexicana
, but he performed the ceremony and offered his congratulations. Too bad the judge hadn’t tried to talk some sense into the man. Rosa bit her lip. Despite Weston’s insistence, she still felt the wedding ceremony was overkill. People had finally stopped gossiping about her, and then this happened.

But the blame for the chaos fell on her. Weston hadn’t crept into her bed last night. He hadn’t been anywhere near her in weeks. She had to make amends.

Riding in the silence, Rosa missed Eliza and Jake’s company. Just like the two of them to make things as uncomfortable as possible. When the couple insisted on staying in Lockhart overnight, their burlesque expressions left little doubt as to their reasons. She rolled her eyes. Why would Weston and she need privacy? Being alone would make things awkward, as if the day’s tomfoolery wasn’t sufficient.

Had it only been a day? Yes, and a day wasn’t long enough for a person to go from unattached and unbetrothed to married. She stole a peek at the tense man next to her. Maybe in a marriage like this emotions didn’t matter.

“We’re nearing the house,” he said. First words in miles. “Before you get another chance to announce our nuptials, let’s get something straight. The reason and manner for our engagement do not need to be discussed.”

“But if we don’t explain, people will assume we meant to do this. That we’re in love.”

He flinched. “And that would be awful because . . . ?”

“Because . . .”

“Excluding Molly.”

She huffed. “Not fair.” Other than Molly, Rosa couldn’t think of anyone else it’d hurt.

“Besides, you’d be surprised how many times I’ve been accused of harboring feelings for you.” He drove the carriage off into the grass, avoiding some deep ruts.

“By anyone not related to us?”

He thought for a very long time, and then shook his head.

Jake and Eliza. She should’ve known. “Wishful thinking on their part.”

He chuckled. Rosa relaxed, allowing herself the full bench instead of clinging to the edge. Maybe they would be all right. Why fear him now?

“Weston, I’m confused. You said we wouldn’t pretend to be in love, but if we don’t tell people—”

“I meant ‘pretend’ in a physical way, dear wife.”

Rosa pulled herself forward to the edge of the seat again.

“Don’t pretend to be in love, but you don’t have to proclaim from the rooftop that you’re the victim of a scandalous rendezvous,” he said.

“I’m not the victim. You are. I thought you’d want your name cleared.”

He popped the top button on his fancy collar. “Not at your expense. You needed protection, and I do care about you. Many people marry with fewer reasons than that. So no more explanations, please. Telling everyone about last night effectively nullifies our reason for the ceremony anyway.”

The buggy slowed at the crest of the ridge. Weston paused at the top, and then with a shake of the reins, he urged the horses onward toward an imposing block of yellow brick.

“That’s it?”

“Yep, that’s Palmetto.”

His face wore the same look of pride that’d appeared at the courthouse.

“You appreciate beautiful things, don’t you?”

“Especially when they belong to me.”

Rosa declined to comment on the last statement and instead praised the house that grew larger with each rotation of the buggy wheels.

“That house is even bigger than the Lovelaces’.”

“It’s big but comfortable. You can walk through it without bumping into curios and knocking bric-a-brac off every pedestal, which is how I like it.” After a moment he added, “Of course, you’re free to decorate however you like.”

The graceful three-story towered over them. The front steps spilled out into the drive and were bordered by a low cement wall. Immense lanterns capped each side of the passage, drawing her eye to the oak doors, inlaid with etched glass.

“Louise’s old house was just getting comfortable. Something this big could never feel like home.”

“Rosa, I apologize about that.” He set the brake. “You did everything you could to save your farm, and I took you away from it. I wish it didn’t have to be so.”

Her head tilted back to take in the height of the imposing structure before her. He wished she weren’t there? Now he was sorry? She put her hand on his arm to steady herself. “We’ll get it all straightened out soon. I’ll go back to Louise before too long.”

His countenance clouded. She’d tried to warn him. Fine words and noble intentions didn’t keep the fleas from biting.

“Mr. Garner?” Willie and Red moseyed out of the barn and gawked at her.

“What is it, boys?”

Red stammered, “Who? I don’t know . . .” He snatched his hat off. “That’s not Miss Eliza, sir.”

Willie cuffed him on the back of the noggin. “Of course it’s not, you knucklehead. It’s Mrs. Garner.”

Weston tossed Red the reins. “Mrs. Weston Garner now. We’ve been to the courthouse and are looking for some grub. Can you see to these horses?”

Was this how everyone would take the news? She hoped not. The blank stares and slack jaws would grow tiresome.

Willie snapped out of it first. “Yes, sir. Congratulations, sir! Ma’am!” Even the hat tipping couldn’t hide his astonishment.

Rosa smiled at her guardian angel. “Thank you, Willie, for your help this morning.”

“Yes, ma’am. And Mr. Garner, sir,” he came forward with hand outstretched. “I wanted to tell you I’ve never been prouder to work for you than I am today.”

“Thanks. You’re a fine man, and your opinion means a lot to me.”

Leaving the men behind, Rosa took the broad steps to the house and pressed her face against a window. Drawn shades gave her no hint of what she’d find.

“You don’t have to peek. We can go in.” Weston offered her his arm. The fine weave of his jacket delighted her fingers, but as soon as she was escorted across the threshold her senses were inundated on a grander scale.

Although darkness had not yet fallen, the iron chandelier in the entryway glimmered with the light of twelve candles.

“I won’t forget this room,” she said. “If I get lost, this will be my landmark.”

“You won’t get lost. The downstairs is simple. On the left we have the dining room. When Jake and I are home, you’ll most likely find us in there or here on the right.”

Weston rolled open the two doors to show her the parlor. The cozy room had a fireplace and French doors to the front porch. Eliza’s piano, the twin of the one stationed in Louise’s parlor, hugged the only uninterrupted wall. Rosa marveled at the vivid colors in the wallpaper. Louise’s paper must have been faded.

“Ahead is the great room, although with just the three of us here, we rarely use it.”

Rosa followed the red wool runner down the hall and through the wide opening.

“You keep dead animal parts in here?” She squeaked. What kind of barbarian had she married? Mounted above the cavernous fireplace, longhorn racks stretched to the high ceiling.

“Just the horns. Mementos of fertile bulls and juicy steaks. Had to be something special to make it on that wall.”

Rosa raised her eyebrows. “Hope you don’t think I’m something special.”

“Don’t grow horns.”

Without leaving the great room, Weston showed her where the kitchen was and pointed out the only remaining room of the ground floor, the master suite, currently claimed by Eliza and Jake.

He was right. Not too many rooms, just big rooms. They headed for the second floor.

The giant oak staircase wound along the wall like a massive vine. Weston motioned for her to precede him, but the stairs were wide enough that he could stay at her side without crowding her.

“The third floor is one large room. It’s supposed to be a ballroom, so it’s kept empty. The only dance we’ve had lately was in George’s barn, but it was as popular as lemonade at a temperance meeting.”

Why did he bring up that embarrassing episode? His boots echoed hollowly on the wooden steps as he continued.

“The second floor is all bedrooms, and you can have your choice.” He gestured down the long hallway and then stepped aside.

Rosa cracked open the first door, afraid of intruding, but within minutes she was floating from room to room exclaiming over ornate furniture or lavish draperies.

“This fabric is so heavy. Glad it’s for a curtain rod and not a dress . . . but it’s incredibly soft. I keep coming back to touch it. And this table!
Muy guapo.
Can I move it to the room I choose? This one’s too dark.”

“Certainly. Pick a room and we’ll set it up any way you want, but do you smell that? Roast and onions if I’m not mistaken. Octavia must be about done in the kitchen.”

His stomach rumbled on cue. All right, then. She needed to make a decision.

“Which room is yours?”

Weston tugged at the bottom of his vest with both hands, pulling it tight against his body. “Uh, you can stay wherever you want.”

She bit her lip. If she was guessing based on the minty scent that smelled suspiciously like his favorite candy, it was the corner room with windows on both walls. Entering again, she inspected the heavily canopied bed.

“Is this one of my pillowcases?”

He sucked in his breath. “I believe so.”

“You could’ve asked, and I would have made you one. No use buying it.”

“Impulsive decision.”

“And this bed . . .” Rosa took the corner post in both hands and shook it vigorously.

“What in the world do you think you’re doing?”

“Making sure it doesn’t fall. I can’t believe you sleep there. I really don’t like things over my head. Little places scare me, remember?”

“That’s right. You have a phobia.”

She swung open the dressing room to expose a row of pants, cotton shirts, and a few suits. “What’s that?”

“I was in a hurry this morning. If there’s dirty laundry on the floor—”

“No. I mean, what’s a phobia?”

“Oh, you had me worried.” He propelled her out of his closet. “It means you’re afraid of something—like small spaces, so you probably don’t want to spend a lot of time in my dressing room, either.”

Rosa sighed, exasperated. What frightened her more: being alone in the big house or being too close to this very masculine near stranger?

She turned worried eyes to him. “I don’t know what to do. In my town the whole family lived in a room this size. My entire village could live in this house, but I know you Americans like your space. So much space that I feel lonely sometimes.” She took her bag from him. “I don’t want to crowd you. Show me where you want me.”

He hesitated a moment. “There’s a door here. . . .”

Weston swung it open to reveal the adjoining room. She’d passed on it before because the beige linens were uninteresting, but that was no problem. She could whip up some more colorful bedclothes soon enough. The fireplace was bordered in marble, and there was a beautiful vanity and mirror. Rosa halted in front of the mirror, surprised by her own reflection. That rose gown must be magic. No wonder he’d been staring at her all day.

He was still looking, watching her every move, trying to read her thoughts, as if a lot depended on her answer.

“I love it.”

“You won’t feel lonely?”

“It’s big, but if you’re next door, I won’t be scared.”

“Then that’s where I’ll be.”