Authors: Melissa Jagears
Tags: #FIC042030, #FIC042040, #FIC027050, #Mail order brides—Fiction, #Triangles (Interpersonal relations)—Fiction, #Choice (Psychology)—Fiction, #Frontier and pioneer life—Fiction, #Kansas—Fiction
“If you believe I am”—his voice rumbled rougher than she’d ever heard—“then I’ll do everything possible to prove you right.”
“Partners?”
He grabbed her hand and pulled her forward until their foreheads touched, his mouth but a whisper away from hers. “Lovers.”
His breath teased her lips, creating a heat that rambled all the way down to each finger and toe. She forced her lungs to work. “Care to seal our agreement with a kiss, then?”
Cupping her jaw with his gentle hands, he pulled her closer, as if to breathe her in. His lips met hers, gentle and soft at first, but quickly escalating into the intense passion he’d shown her last night. His lips and arms claiming her as his own.
Perhaps every business owner in the world might think her a
fool for cashing in her assets for love, but owning a store had never done this to her heart.
She closed her eyes tight, banishing every thought of money or stores or contracts, and concentrated on Will, losing herself in the feel of being cherished and desired by a man. Burying her hands into his thick hair, she pressed closer. She never could’ve loved him as much as he deserved if she hadn’t surrendered her dream for something better—him.
Putting a hand against his pounding chest, she broke away and cleared her throat. “I believe that’s enough to seal the deal . . . uh, engagement.”
He pressed a kiss to each of her eyelids before resting his forehead against hers. “I’ll never tire of making certain this deal stays sealed. For richer or poorer, in sickness or in health . . .”
She grabbed both of his hands and squeezed. “No matter the sacrifice.”
Epilogue
M
ICHIGAN
, 1884
Will hurried to catch the front door as two women struggled to back out of the corner shop with bustles and bags and children. He pulled the door wide with one hand while pressing the box he’d picked up from the post office against his side with the other.
From behind her mother’s full skirts, a curly-headed girl with her thumb in her mouth peeked up at him as she toddled out of the store and then waved good-bye with pudgy little fingers.
His heart twisted and his smile drooped a little. Nettie’s sixth birthday had been yesterday. Ma’d written that she was proving to be quick . . . and that she worked hard to walk properly so her big brother William would want to come back and see her.
Rubbing his suddenly itchy eyelids, he forced himself to smile at the next lady, who thanked him for holding the door. He batted at a horsefly, but the pest made it past, likely attracted to the floral scents wafting out of the store.
He stepped inside and let the door shut behind him, setting the chimes to tinkling again.
His wife stepped out from behind the shelving at the end of the aisle, dressed in a dark red floral dress, cut attractively. The ruffles
of the underskirt peeped out from under fancy gathers, falling straight down to her black pointed-toe boots. Her hair was an extravagant pile of curls. The diamonds surrounding the opal on his grandmother’s dainty ring glinted on her ring finger.
All dressed up to mirror the upper-crust clientele she chose to target for her home-and-hearth shop.
He glanced around the store full of flowers and kitchen gadgets and anything else a fine lady might want, and seeing no one, he held out his empty arm. Eliza smiled and glided down the aisle straight into his one-armed embrace. She plied a peck on his lips before looking at the package tucked under his other arm.
Yes, yes. Business hours were for business. “Thanks for the kiss. And yes, the package is for you.”
She kissed him again before taking the box and flipping it over to read the address. “Wonderful.”
“I’m jealous. Shouldn’t I be the one receiving a package from home? It’s been months since Ma sent me anything.”
“This isn’t from your parents; it’s from Julia. What would you want from her?”
He shrugged and followed Eliza back to the counter where he mixed herbal tonics and tinctures and added scents to lotions for his wife’s customers. He frowned at an empty space on the shelf behind the counter. “Did you move the blue bottles I prepared this morning? Mr. Isenhard was supposed to come by this afternoon and—”
“Yes, he’s picked those up already.”
He frowned. “How much did you charge him? I hadn’t thought to tell you the price before I left for the hospital clinic.”
“Oh well, that.” She used a dainty letter opener to slice through the rough twine securing her package. “He told me about how his wife had to find a job even though their girl’s sick and she can’t care for the apartment like normal. And, well, he seemed so careworn . . . and then I caught a glimpse inside his purse and figured
you wouldn’t mind if I didn’t exactly charge him. I mean, I might have made him pay more than you needed to cover the cost of—”
He cut off her excuses with a sound kiss.
When he pulled away, she didn’t remove her hands from where she’d grabbed onto his shirt to steady herself. “What was that for?”
“I love it when you don’t make a profit.”
She rolled her eyes and playfully pushed him away. “Well, I won’t be giving
these
away for free.” She pulled out the quilted, lace-edged mittens Julia Cline often sold at the Hampdens’ store.
“You bought some of Julia’s silly oven mittens?”
“They’ll sell.” She walked them over to the kitchen section.
“Enough to cover eight dollars’ worth of medicine?”
She slowed, a nervous tic batting at the corner of her mouth.
He licked his lips. “Not that Mr. Isenhard’s tincture cost that much. I was just wondering.”
Her lips pressed tightly together, but he caught the slight shake of her head and the mirth in her eyes. She’d not admit to the hours she would’ve tossed and turned tonight if she’d actually given away medicine that expensive.
She came sashaying back toward him, her narrowed eyes unable to shield the mischievous glint dancing in her pupils. “Well, I’m certainly glad I didn’t give that much medicine away for nothing. We’ll need every cent we make with me adding to the family.”
He blinked. “Adding to the family?” But she hadn’t asked him about . . . hadn’t mentioned any symptoms indicating . . . His mouth grew dry, and his heart pounded.
She walked right past him and through the curtain into the back room.
“Now, wait a minute, Eliza!” He swatted at the curtain and scrambled after her. “Don’t you leave me without explaining—” A crate hit him square in the gut. “Oof.”
“I figure since you doctored up those other two strays, you wouldn’t mind helping with this one too.”
In the corner of the box, a fluffy marmalade fuzz ball wriggled on a scrap of wool.
He shook his head and exhaled slowly to decrease his heart rate.
She poked the kitten, which mewed pitifully. “Miss Johnson brought him in. Evidently the others didn’t make it, and the mother abandoned this one.”
He picked up the delicate thing. “Oh, honey. It doesn’t even have its eyes open yet.”
“Well, if anybody can save him, you can.” Her eyes peered up into his. He could almost reach out and touch the pride shining between her lashes.
Did he even deserve this woman? “I’m not a doctor—”
“You’ve only got two more months before you can’t use that excuse anymore. You may not have your degree yet, but you’re almost there.” She poked him in the chest, then set down the box and took the kitten away from him. “Do you want me to do anything besides try to get milk in his belly? I hope you don’t mind that I swiped one of your glass droppers to feed him.”
“I can do it. You have a store to run.”
“You’ve got studying to do.” She rubbed the bawling kitten against her cheek and shushed it. Obviously this cat would not be going to back to Miss Johnson. “We won’t keep you.”
He sighed. He did need to reread
Burnett’s Treatise on the Ear
for tomorrow. “Have I told you how thankful I am for your hard work? I couldn’t have gotten through school without you.”
“Yes, I’m quite indispensable—remember that.”
“Oh, there’s no forgetting. I need you more every day.” He pulled her close and bumped up her chin. “Not to mention, you’re rather irresistible as well.” Lightly caressing the very faint pink line across her cheek, he placed a kiss against the corner of her mouth. “And very desirable.” He followed the scar line with more kisses, one hand pressing her closer, the other about to get into trouble for messing up her fancy hairdo. “And extremely—”
The front door bell chimed, and she pulled away.
“Later, sweetheart.” She pressed the kitten against his chest and gave him a wink before bustling out into the store.
“Good afternoon, ladies!”
Will rubbed the top of the kitten’s head to hush his pitiful mewling. “It’s all right, buddy. When she flips over that Closed sign in an hour, she’s all mine.”
And then he could keep her breathless for as long as he wanted.
Author’s Note
The Internet not only makes researching a book easier, but it brings the real world to me as I sit in a corner of my house creating a fake one. Because of a friend’s Facebook like, I learned about Easton Friedel. He was my introduction to the rare disease of epidermolysis bullosa (EB) and Butterfly Children. I knew I needed a medical disaster in my story that my hero couldn’t fix, and after a few months of crying over the trials of these children’s families while I was hugely pregnant (therefore I was plenty emotional already!), I realized they were my answer. Writing the nameless baby Hampden would be my small way of increasing awareness of “the worst disease you’ve never heard of.”
Imagine yourself in their bandages; imagine having a newborn afflicted with EB you couldn’t cuddle in your arms. Would you take a few minutes to learn about EB from
http://irefuseeb.org/
or
http://www.debra.org/
; pray God gives these families grace, endurance, and a cure; and donate your time or money to help these families?
Acknowledgments
I am deeply grateful for the people God has put into my life who love me and are proud of what I do.
I’m thankful for:
My husband and children—who put up with me, especially since writing takes time away from them and often makes me tired when I stay up way too late writing.
Naomi Rawlings—whom I rely on so much for strengthening my stories. She suffers through my long emails because I abhor the phone and my ugly first drafts. She’s invaluable.
Glenn Haggerty—who is one of the nicest guys on the planet. He helps me tighten my stories in more ways than one.
The people in publishing who work hard to make my story become even better—Natasha Kern, Raela Schoenherr, Karen Schurrer, Dan Pitts, and others at Bethany House who work with my books behind the scenes.
My readers—who actually like what I write and ask for more. What fun that is! You spur me on.
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