Walker's Wedding (16 page)

“And I'll bet a pretty woman like you has attended her share.”

“I've had my share, but never anything serious,” she admitted.
Oh, thank you, Wadsy and Papa, for your protective love and care. If it weren't for you, I'd be married to
—the possibilities astounded her. If she had recklessly married anyone but Walker, would she have ever felt this kind of love? Papa's watchful eye was starting to make sense, and so was the Lord's. He had protected her, and now she could see how reckless and destructive her impatience could have been.

S.H. had waited up for them. He took the reins as Walker lifted Sarah off the buggy seat and kept her in his arms.

“Have fun?” the foreman asked. He glanced at the couple, and then a blush crept up the sides of his face and he hurriedly looked the other way. “'Pears so.”

Later, Sarah smiled in her husband's arms. Walker's defensive guard was starting to lower. Slowly but surely he was starting to trust her, and trust was the cornerstone of marriage. And she was going to tell him she was untrustworthy.

Stirring, he opened his eyes and traced his fingers lightly along her jawline. “What did the letter say?”

“Letter?”

“From your father.”

The letter. She had forgotten about it.

“Oh…nothing much. He misses me and hopes everything is going fine.”

Rolling onto his back, he leaned over and lit the lamp. “I just realized that I know nothing about you—or very little. Tell me about yourself.”

“Walker, it's so late, and you have to get up early in the morn—”

A finger to her lip quelled the protest. “Hey.” He gazed at her, a smile touching the corners of his mouth. She loved it when he smiled. It softened his features and made his eyes even bluer.

“Tomorrow we'll have more time—”

“Tonight. I want to know everything about you.”

“All right.” Now was the appointed time to reveal her treachery. Taking a deep breath, she began. “I was born Sarah Elaine Livingston. I'm twenty-five years old—really old to not be married and have a family of my own. My mother died when I was seven and my nanny raised me.” She slid down on her pillow and pictured Wadsy—dear, sweet Wadsy. How she loved that woman. “Wadsy has been a second mother to me. I love her dearly.”

“What about your father?”

“He's an entrepreneur. He has a head for business.”

“Oh, yeah? What does he own?”

“Own?” Her mind reeled. “Steel.”
Tracks.
“And…buildings.”
Train stations.
“Lots of buildings.”

“Then you come from a privileged childhood?”

“Yes. Papa spoiled me dreadfully except for one thing.” She paused, thoughtful. “I longed to go to Ireland, and he never found the time to take me.”

“Is there something in Ireland you would especially like to see?”

“No, but the country just sounds lovely, and I would love to explore it with someone I love.”

“I see. Siblings?”

She shook her head. “Only child.”

“That's rough, isn't it.”

She grinned. “Maybe for a man who has to produce an heir, but not for me. Papa never forced me to do anything against my will.” Her eyes softened. “I know you feel obligated to have a child, but I don't mind. I never wanted anything more than to have children to care for.”

A blush tinged his cheeks. “I…my original motive appears shallow, that I had nothing in mind regarding marriage except to produce an heir. When I sent for you, that was my main goal, but…”

“But?” She teased, tracing the outline of his strong jaw.

His gaze met hers in the soft light. “There have been times lately when you have made me lose track of that original goal.” Something passed between them. Silent but unmistakable…Fondness? Love? Did she dare even think the word yet?

Sitting up, Walker assessed her. “Sarah, why would you want to be a mail-order bride?” Suspicion crept into his eyes. “I would think you would have had more suitors than you could handle.”

“Not really. Oh, I had plenty of suitors, it's true, but none were ever good enough for Papa.” She met his eyes. “That's why I decided to take the matter into my hands. The way things were going, I would die an old maid before the man came along that my papa would find suitable.”

“What does he think of your life now?”

“Hmm. Well…Walker, I'm sure he will love you when he meets you and sees how happy you've made me.”

Grinning, he tugged on a lock of her hair. “You're happy?”

“I am. I never dreamt that I could be so happy. I knew marriage would be special, but God has more than fulfilled my expectations.”

Gently leaning over her, he kissed the tip of her nose. “You make a man feel mighty good.”

“I want to make my husband feel that way all of life. Feeling good is an important part of living.” She knew the angst he'd suffered with Trudy and she would not repeat it. She would never hurt this kind, generous man.

Much later, while Walker slept, Sarah opened the letter and hurriedly read the contents.

Dear Lucy,

We hope this letter finds you well. We are worried about you. Has the wedding taken place? You have had plenty of time to become Mrs. Walker McKay and get that dreadful Rodney Willbanks out of your head. I'm sure you kin now see the wisdom of our decision.

Sarah read on, eyes widening. Mrs. Mallory told about the hard times on the Mallory farm, how Mr. Mallory had to sell some of his chickens at market to buy supplies for planting and now they were low on eggs. Mr. Mallory hadn't found work in months, and they were about to lose the homestead.

The entire letter was little more than a plea for money and a demand for Lucy to supply it.

The six pages showed little concern for their daughter's happiness. The final lines read:

We deeply hope that this letter finds you well and that you have come to adjust to your situation in a manner befitting a lady.

Yore Ma and Pa

Sarah rested the letter in her lap. Lucy's parents had sent their only daughter to marry for money, caring nothing for her happiness. Relief filled Sarah. She'd saved both Lucy and Walker from a deplorable arrangement.

She consulted the missive again. “ ‘P.S. We purchased a new cow
last week.' “A new cow. She felt steam coming from her ears. Purchased with money they felt sure would be replaced by Walker. Shoving the letter back into the envelope, she put it under her pillow, crawled over Walker, and blew out the lamp.

A
cow.

S
tirring, Sarah slowly opened her eyes the next morning. The force that could bring her world crashing down around her lay on the nightstand beside her. Swallowing against the tightness in her throat, she thought about getting up as the door opened and Walker came into the bedroom. She smiled when he bent and kissed her, nuzzling her sleep-warm cheek.

“Anyone ever tell you that you're beautiful first thing in the morning?”

“No, but I love to hear you say it.”

Tell him, Sarah. Tell him now, while he's in a charitable mood. Last night he was so kind…he can't deny that the good Lord has brought us together.

“S.H. and I are going into town,” he whispered against her lips.

“What about breakfast?”

Rumpling her hair, he gave her another brief kiss before he sat down on the side of the bed. “Breakfast was two hours ago.”

“What time is it?”

“Eight o'clock. S.H. and I are getting a late start, so don't expect us back until supper.”

Sarah lurched upright. Eight o'clock? How could she have slept so late?

She focused on him. “What?” she said, noting the warm expression in his eyes.

“It's just…I never thought…after Trudy, I figured I'd spend my life alone.”

Her heart ached, treachery a bitter taste in her mouth. “And now?” she whispered, both fearing and desperately needing the answer.

Even as she asked, she knew the answer. But when he took her in his arms, she didn't have the strength to shatter his illusion.

After Walker left with S.H., Sarah dressed and then wandered downstairs in search of breakfast, the lie still embedded in her heart. Flo was standing at the kitchen counter, surrounded by butter, flour, chocolate, and eggs. “Thought you'd grown to the bed.”

“It's shameful, isn't it? I read until late, and—” Sarah paused, color flooding her cheeks when she saw Flo's sly grin. “I'm starved. Is there any bacon?”

Flo motioned toward the warming oven. “Saved you a cinnamon bun. Had to nearly beat S.H. to keep him from eatin' it.”

“Thanks.” Sarah poured a cup of coffee and then moved to stare out of the window. It was hot this morning, barely a breeze stirring. Clouds were building in the west, telling of coming rain.

“Did you have a good time at the dance?” Flo scraped the thick, rich cake batter into two round baking pans.

“Wonderful. I learned to square-dance.”

“That right? I'd have thought a pretty gal like you would have known how to square- dance.”

“I spent most of my life ballroom dancing.” Her mind skipped back to Papa's lavish soirees. Ladies dressed in dazzling gowns and sparkling jewels, men in black suits and ties. “I still don't understand why you and S.H. didn't go. You would have had a good time. Everyone asked about you.”

“Me and S.H. cain't stay awake past eight.” Flo slid the cake pans into the hot oven and closed the door. “Walker said there was a letter from your folks in the mail?”

Sarah lifted the cup to her lips, closing her eyes. “There was a letter, yes.”

“They doin' all right? Must be hard on 'em, having a daughter living so far away. My pa woulda never sent me cross-country at your age.” She chuckled. “'Course, Pa didn't necessarily want me marrying S.H., either.”

Small talk was lost on Sarah as she berated herself for the lies that rolled off her tongue like honey. She had to tell Walker about the ruse—today. The sun couldn't set on the McKay household until he'd been told of the deception. Shivering, she brought the cup back to her mouth and drank without tasting.
Today, Sarah. When Walker comes home tonight, you will tell him and beg his forgiveness, and then you will get down on your hands and knees and pray that he will somehow find it within him to overlook your foolishness.

Flo slid the cinnamon roll onto a plate and set it down on the table. “Guess you'll write your folks and let them know you got here safely. S.H. can post the letter for you when he goes to town next week.”

“Yes, I need to do that,” Sarah murmured. After she told Walker, she would write to Papa. She would end this awful treachery and prayerfully build a new future, one with Walker McKay. The conviction the Lord laid on her heart every waking moment was unbearable.

She ate the roll, thinking about the long day that stretched before her. She had officially started the book, a tale about a girl in love with a man she was deceiving. It shouldn't be hard to write; she knew the story by heart. The only thing she didn't know was the ending.

“Flo, where can I find a dictionary?”

“Walker's probably got one in his office. Want me to get it for you?”

“I'll get it.” Sarah carried her cup and plate to the sink, excused herself, and left the kitchen.

She hadn't been in Walker's study since the day she saw his ledger. She opened the double doors to the large, manly room with its shelves of thickly bound books and rich leather furniture.

Moving quickly to the shelves, she searched until she found the
item. Then she noticed that Walker's ledger lay on the desktop, open. Tomorrow was Caleb's day to come and reconcile the records.

Sneaking a hurried peak, she scanned the pages. The long, precise columns had grown. Habit made her want to check the additions and subtractions for accuracy. Caleb appeared competent, but Papa said a man should always know his personal business, especially in monetary matters. Her eyes darted to the open study door.

It would only take a few minutes to check the tallies. Flo would be occupied in the kitchen until the cake came out of the oven—the pleasant aroma of baking chocolate filtered through the air.

The foyer clock struck nine as she edged around the corner of the desk and sat down, drawing the ledger to her.

Row after row of entries filled the pages. Frowning, she studied the columns, occasionally encountering Walker's chicken scratches questioning Caleb about a certain entry.

She turned another page, her eyes running down the columns. The deposits never fluctuated, even though she had heard Walker talking to S.H. about how well the ranch was doing this year. Where were the receipts? Papa kept his receipts with his records for future reference.

The entries went back at least a year. She located the most recent additions and compared the totals to those of the accounts. The totals matched in all columns. The straight edges of the numbers showed how meticulously accurate Caleb was. Every month, the same deposit total, the same payroll deducted. Household expenses in one row, farm expenses in the next. Sarah smiled, proud of how well her husband managed the ranch. His earnings were consistent spring, winter, and fall. She frowned. Even with what little she knew about farming, the consistency didn't ring true.

She ran her fingers up and down the numbers. At the beginning of the entries for the past spring, she paused. Too consistent. Too even. Something wasn't right.

Sarah understood profit from her discussions with her father, and from her father's deliberations with others. She grabbed a pencil and started calculating.

In the kitchen Flo hummed under her breath while she browned a roast, and then checked on the cake. Good thing S.H. and Walker wouldn't be wantin' dinner on the table at noon.

She eyed the flies on the screen door. A body couldn't keep up in this house. In addition to everything else, she'd have to stop by the study and ask Sarah if she wanted chocolate or vanilla icing on the cake. Walker favored fudge and S.H. liked raspberry, but Walker had asked that the icing be Sarah's favorite. Lord, it was impossible to keep everyone happy. She picked up the basket of wash and glanced out the back door, frowning when she saw the boil of dust. How was a body expected to hang wash if Potster was gonna beat rugs on the clothesline?

Twenty minutes later, she'd shooed Potster back into the bunkhouse and hung the last of the towels to dry in the hot sun.

The kitchen was hotter than an August attic when she returned to the house. Remembering that she needed to ask Sarah about the icing, Flo went looking for her. When she saw Sarah sitting in the study, head studiously bent over Walker's ledger, she stopped dead in her tracks. As soon as the girl realized Flo was standing in the doorway, she offered a quick smile.

Flo frowned. “What are you doing?” Why was Sarah going through Walker's books? Caleb came to dinner twice a month to do the bookkeeping. There was no reason for Sarah to be prying—unless she wanted to know Walker's financial worth. Her gaze returned to Sarah's and the young woman looked away.

“Just trying to be helpful.”

“Sarah…you know what happened when you tried to help feed the horses. Drunk chickens.”

“Flo, if Walker gets angry—which he won't when he sees my accounting—I'll tell him it was my idea. I've discovered a few errors.”

Flo frowned. Walker was finally adjusting to Sarah, but she doubted
he had adjusted this much. Still, there was little else she could do short of locking Sarah out of the office.

“Land, girl, Caleb is mighty touchy about his work.”

“They're small errors. I won't mention my work; I'll just adjust the figures. No one has to know I've seen the records.”

“I don't know…I don't like it.” Flo remembered the purpose of her visit. “Do you want chocolate, raspberry, or vanilla icing on that cake?”

“Pardon me?”

“The cake. Chocolate, raspberry, or vanilla icing. Walker told me to ask you, but I forgot.”

“Chocolate…isn't that Walker's favorite?”

“Yes.” Flo's eyes skimmed the young woman. “You need anything washed?”

“There are a few things in my dressing room. Do you want me to get them?”

“No.” Flo backed up, uncomfortable with the encounter. Walker would have a fit if he knew that she was messing with his books. “I'll go get them myself.” She left the room and started up the stairs.

She had no call to meddle in Walker's business, but he ought to know that his bride was snooping around the study. Entering the couple's bedroom, she started gathering clothes.