Mail-Order Bride Switch. Dorothy Clark
through her mind all the way back from the church. Theirs was to be an in-name-only marriage. Why would he even mention needing a chaperone? She lifted her hand, touched her cold fingertips to her mouth. The kiss had surprised her. She’d thought he’d make some excuse. But at least it hadn’t been cruel. A shudder shook her.
“There must be at least twelve to fifteen inches of snow out there, and it’s still coming. There’s no telling how deep it will be before morning.”
She pounced on the subject. If she kept him talking about the weather, she could delay any discussion about their sleeping arrangements. Please, Lord... “You sound worried.”
“I’m a little concerned.” He sat on a chair by the door and tugged off his boots, put them on the small rag rug under the shelf. “I’m wondering if this is normal for this area. If it is, it could be a problem.”
“I don’t understand.”
“If it’s this deep here in the valley, I can’t imagine how much snow there must be up in the high elevations. It might be enough to shut down the trains. And that means no guests for the hotel or dining room. And no supplies coming through. No coal...”
“Oh.” She turned to warm her back at the fire. “I didn’t realize how dependent Whisper Creek is on the railroad.”
“It’s completely so.” He shoved his fingers through his hair and came to stand beside her on the hearth. “Mr. Ferndale has declared there will be no ranches in this valley. And he owns all of the land. The problem is, until there are some farms and ranches in the area, we have no source for food other than what is shipped in. If we get snowbound, that could be a real problem. Especially if I had a hotel full of guests to be fed.”
“What can you do about that possibility?”
“Not much. Order in enough food supplies to fill the icehouse and storage pantry in case of emergency. But even that wouldn’t last long if the hotel was full of people.”
She lifted her hems enough to allow the heat of the fire to reach her shoes. The loops over the buttons were too stiff with the cold to unfasten. “It sounds as if you need to buy a ranch.”
“Spoken like the daughter of a wealthy man.”
Her cheeks warmed. “I’m sorry. I’m not accustomed to discussing business problems. Father believes women need to be protected from such things.”
“No need to apologize. It’s a good idea. If things go as well as I hope with the hotel, I might just do it. There have been rumors of some cowboys from Texas buying land for a ranch in the next valley. They may not be adverse to an investor.” He lifted his foot and wiggled his stocking-clad toes close to the fire. “Ah, that feels good.” He repeated it with his other foot. “Sit down and I’ll take off your boots, so you can warm your feet.”
“No!”
His eyebrows shot skyward.
She swallowed hard. “That is...no thank you. My feet are fine.”
“Miss—er—Virginia, if this arrangement we have entered into is to work, we’re going to need some rules. The first is honesty.” His gaze fastened on hers. “I told you earlier I did not care who I married, that what I care about is saving my hotel. Let me explain further. I do not care to have any personal relationship with any woman, now or ever. You have no reason to fear me. There was no motive other than normal politeness in my offering to remove your boots. I’d do the same for a sister. Now, sit down and let me remove your boots. You might as well be comfortable while we discuss the rules for our arrangement.”
His voice was polite, businesslike and a touch bitter. She had misjudged him. “Very well.” She moved to one of the chairs, sat, arranged her long skirts and straightened her leg.
He went down on one knee, propped her foot on his other knee, pushed her hem above the fur trim at the top of her boot and rubbed the heel of his hand quickly up and down over the buttons. Warmth from the friction loosened the loops. Obviously, he had done this before. He unfastened the buttons and pulled her boot off, set it aside and cupped her cold, stinging foot in his hands. She could have purred, it felt so good.
“Your feet are fine, huh? Your toes feel like ice.” He rubbed her foot a minute, then lowered it to the floor and lifted her other foot to his knee.
“What is your sister’s name, Garret?”
He chuckled, slipped her skirt hem over the top of her boot. “I don’t have a sister.”
She jerked her foot back. “You said honesty was the first rule of our arrangement!”
“I was honest. I said I would do the same for a sister—not that I had a sister.” He grabbed her foot by the boot heel and put it back on his knee. “That is something we should know about one another. We might be asked questions.” All trace of warmth left his face and voice. “I have no family. And, if I remember correctly, you said you are an only child—with a father, a cousin and an unwelcome, determined suitor.”
“Yes.” She tamped down the urge to ask what had happened to his family.
“Well, you don’t have to be concerned about the suitor any longer.” He released her foot, rose and held his hands out to the fire.
Her breath came easier. “And you don’t have to be concerned about losing your hotel.” She stepped onto the hearth, let the warmth of the stones seep into her cold feet. “It seems we both owe a debt of thanks to Millie.”
“To Millie?” He snorted. “I think not.”
She stared at him, shocked by the anger in his voice. “But Millie saved your hotel for you.”
“No, you saved my hotel by coming to marry me. Millie decided to stay in New York and marry your butler. She would have let me lose everything in spite of her promise. But then betrayal comes easily to women.” He strode across the room from the hearth to the short hallway and picked up her two valises he had set there. “We will continue our discussion about our arrangement in the morning. It’s getting late, and I’ve got fires to tend and work to do. I’ll show you to your room.”
She looked at his taut face, nodded and picked up her boots.
“This way.”
They entered the hall, the hems of her long skirts whispering against the polished wood floor. She took a quick inventory. There were four doors, no windows. Three oil lamp sconces lit the area, two of them on either side of a tall, double-door cupboard. One would have given dim but sufficient light for the space. Garret Stevenson did not skimp with his comforts. That was good to know.
“The room on the left is my office.”
She glanced at the closed door and followed him to another a few steps down the hall on the right.
“This first room is my bedroom.” His socks brushed against an oval rug that covered the floor from his bedroom door to the end of the hallway. “The door straight ahead at the end of the hall leads to the dressing room. We will share that.” He glanced over his shoulder at her. “The dressing room has hot and cold running water at the washbasin and the bathing tub. And a modern flush-down commode. And, of course, a heating stove. I think you will find everything you need in the cupboard.” He took a couple more steps and opened the second door in the wall on the right, then walked into the dimly lit room. “This will be your bedroom.”
A separate room. Thank You, Lord! She stopped in the splash of light from the hall sconce and waited for him to leave.
He set her valises down on the floor at the end of the bed, turned up the wick on the oil lamp on the nightstand and moved to a small, cast-iron heating stove. “I use coal in the stoves. You’ll find it in here.” He opened a red painted box with a slanted top. “It probably needs some now. I started the fire before I went to the station to meet Millie.” He opened a door on the stove, scooped coal on top of the burning embers, closed the door and tugged the handle down again.
She