His Substitute Wife

She coiled her long wavy hair into a thick figure eight at the nape of her neck and secured it with hairpins and the pearl hair comb that was a bequest from her grandmother. A quick glance in the long mirror affixed to the inside of the wardrobe door revealed wispy curls lying against her forehead. She smoothed them back and closed the door. Linda’s blond curls looked lovely resting on her forehead. Her own red curls just looked messy. But the room was neat.

She released another sigh and looked around. There was no sign of her being there. She could not sleep in that bed with its pristine blue-and-white coverlet, so she’d sat in the rocker and dozed when she wasn’t pacing and worrying last night away. And she’d made certain there was no sign of disturbance to the dressing room when she’d washed and prepared for the day.

The room was getting lighter. She glanced at the brightness filtering through the shutters. Dawn came quickly in the mountains. Should she go to the kitchen now? She tiptoed to the bedroom door and pressed her ear against the wood. There was no sound, only silence. A frown tugged at her eyebrows. Had Blake finally fallen asleep? He’d been stirring in the next bedroom all through her long sleepless night. Perhaps he’d risen when she dozed off after coming back from the dressing room.

She stepped back, nibbled at her lower lip. What should she do? When did he breakfast? Were there provisions in the kitchen? Surely there were provisions! He’d said there was no restaurant in Whisper Creek, so he had to cook—didn’t he? The questions streaked through her mind, adding to her indecision. The only thing she was sure of was that she did not want to presume for her own use the things that Blake had provided for Linda, or in any way add to his hurt from Linda’s betrayal.

She listened at the door again, heard nothing and turned back into the room. It would be ill-mannered of her to rise first; she would wait until she heard Blake leave his bedroom. She moved to the window, opened the shutters and watched the sun climbing above the mountains. How foolish Linda was to throw away the love of a man as thoughtful and caring and faithful and...and passionate in his feelings as Blake.

* * *

Blake stood with his hand on the doorknob, torn between his desire to leave the confinement of the bedroom and his reluctance to face the agony of the day ahead. He’d been looking forward to Linda’s excitement over all of the things he’d bought for her comfort. How could he face Audrey in his beloved’s place? How could he watch her in the kitchen, using the utensils and pots and pans and stove he had bought for Linda, while she prepared and then shared what should have been his first breakfast with his wife?

Wife. The word stabbed deep. He sucked in a breath and glanced at the light slipping through the window shutters. Morning was breaking. He had no choice but to live through this day. And neither did Audrey. He released the doorknob and massaged the tense muscles in his neck and shoulders, then drew his knuckles along his freshly shaved jaw. Audrey had tried her best to act undaunted last night. But she hadn’t been prepared for the reality of a marriage—even a pretend one. It was obvious when they came back to the store last night that she hadn’t thought beyond the ceremony. There was an unworldliness...an innocence about Audrey. He’d sensed it during their short conversations when he’d courted Linda, and it was strongly in evidence last night. And now he was responsible for her.

His face tightened. He never should have married her—wouldn’t have if he’d had time to think beyond his shock at Linda’s betrayal and the urgency of the moment. But then he would have lost the store. He owed Audrey his gratitude and respect for saving it for him, but—Linda. The ache swelled, burst over him like a wave. He bit back a moan, set his jaw and reached for the doorknob. The sooner he faced this day, the sooner it would be over. He gripped the cold metal, fighting the anguish that had become a part of him. “God in Heaven, help Audrey, I pray. And please help me to hide my feelings. She doesn’t deserve any of this.”

A quick twist of his wrist opened the bedroom door, and he walked down the hallway into the kitchen. Light from the windows gleamed on the new furnishings. The sight of them fueled his determination. He strode beyond the worktable to the stove, opened the firebox, struck a match and lit the kindling he’d readied the day before. He’d choke down breakfast somehow.

“Good morning.”

Audrey. His hand tightened on the damper. He finished adjusting the draft on the stovepipe, turned and pulled his lips into a facsimile of a smile. “Good morning. It looks like it’s going to be a nice day.” A bald-faced lie. It was a wretched day. He should be taking his wife in his arms—

“Yes. It was beautiful watching the sun come up over the mountain. Though it was quite misty.”

Her return smile was shaky. So was the hand she lifted to push back the curl dangling on her forehead. An image of Linda smiling up at him while she twirled a curl around her finger flashed into his head. His chest constricted. Thankfully, Audrey didn’t have blond hair and blue eyes or Linda’s coquettish ways—he couldn’t have borne that. He nodded, turned to the coal box on the floor and scooped up some black chunks.

“The mist rises from the snowcaps.” He slid the coal off the shovel onto the kindling, closed the door and adjusted the draft. Audrey’s skirt whispered against the polished wood floor. He tensed, glanced over his shoulder. She was walking toward him, her hazel eyes shining.

“What a beautiful stove.” The words were a mere whisper. She wasn’t talking to him. He watched her brush her hand across the gleaming cast-iron cooking surface, then raise it to touch the blue porcelain doors on the warming ovens above it before lowering it and resting her fingertips on the chrome handle of the oven door. “Just beautiful...”

It was the exact response he had hoped for—but from the wrong woman. He clenched his hands, reminded himself of what he owed Audrey and cleared his throat. “I’m glad you approve of it. I wasn’t sure—”

“Oh, it’s wonderful! Just look at that spacious oven! Why, I could bake—” She caught her lower lip with her teeth, stepped back and slid her palms down the front of her skirt. “I mean—any woman would love to have this stove to cook and bake on.”

“I’m glad to hear it, because any man likes to eat.” The attempt to ease the awkwardness of this first morning with humor bore fruit. She lifted her head and gave him a tentative smile.

“Would you like me to fix you some breakfast?” She glanced around the kitchen. “Are there provisions...?”

Trapped. Now he had to eat. His stomach clenched at the thought. “There are supplies in the refrigerator, and in the cupboard beside it. If you don’t find what you need, just ask. I will likely have it in the store.” He turned back to the coal box, scooped up more chunks and moved to the corner.

“What is that?”

Fabric rustled. Her dark blue skirt hem floated into sight at the corner of his eye. He glanced up. She was standing in front of the tin-lined sink cupboard gazing toward the column in front of him.

“It’s a water heater.” He opened the door of the firebox and dumped the coal onto the glowing embers.

“A water heater?” She leaned closer, her eyes sparkling with curiosity. “There’s no spigot. How does it work?”

“The water comes from outside into the bottom of this reservoir...here.” He touched a pipe that came up through the floor. “The coal heats the water and it rises to the top. Then the hot water from the top of the reservoir flows out through this pipe—” he raised his hand to a pipe midway up the tank “—into the washbowl and bathing tub in the dressing room.”

“Oh, I see.” She glanced his way and smiled. “I wondered where that wonderful hot water came from.” Her gaze slid back to the water heater. “What are those other pipes for? Does that one—Oh, my!” She leaned forward, peered over the end of the cupboard. “That one comes to this sink!”

He grinned, caught up in her enthusiasm. “That’s right. It brings the hot water here—” he stepped closer, stretched out his hand “—to this spigot. And this one—” he touched another pipe that ran along the wall to the sink cupboard “—brings in the cold water from outside.”

She straightened and looked up at him, her hazel eyes shining bright with gold flecks he’d never noticed before. “And the wastewater?”

“You dump it into the sink and it flows down this screened hole through a draining pipe to the outside.”

“Truly?” Her gaze dropped to the sink cupboard. She gave a soft sigh and slid her fingers along the wood cabinet. “I never would have thought a kitchen in Wyoming Territory would be more luxurious than ours in New York.”

Ours. The thought of Linda took him like a fist to the stomach. He sucked in a breath, looked away. “I wanted the best...”

“Yes, of course.”

She sounded stricken. He glanced back, saw the knowledge of his hurt in Audrey’s eyes. She’d understood what he’d left unsaid. He’d have to do better at hiding his emotions, but how? It was as if Linda stood there between them. He took refuge in honesty. “I’m not really that hungry, Audrey. Coffee will do for me. There’s a bag of Lion’s—freshly ground—in the pantry.” He dipped his head toward the large floor-to-ceiling cupboard at the other end of the stove.

She met his gaze for a moment, then nodded and moved back to the stove. He set his jaw, watched her lift the new coffeepot from the cooking surface, set the insides on the worktable, then turn to the sink cupboard and reach for the tap.

“Wait!” Too late.

Water gushed, hit the rim of the pot and splashed onto Audrey’s hand and blouse. She gasped and jumped back. He reached to turn off the deluge and their hands collided. She jerked hers away, grabbed her blouse and tugged at the wet spot, flapping it to make it dry. “That water is freezing cold!”

Her uneasiness at his touch was plain on her face. Guilt pricked him. She had come all this way to help him. The least he could do was show some appreciation and try to make her as comfortable as possible under the circumstances. He tugged his lips into a slanted grin. “Sorry. I tried to warn you. The water is melt-off from the ice cap piped in from the waterfall. There’s a lot of pressure.”

“I noticed.”

He chuckled at her dry tone.

She looked up, an uncertain smile playing at the corner of her lips. Their gazes met and she looked down, opened the tap slowly and ran water into the pot. “How do you like your coffee?”

“Strong and black.”

She nodded, set the pot on the worktable and moved to the pantry. “Father liked his coffee that way. Two spoonsful for every cup.”

“You made it for him?” The stovepipe crackled. He turned the draft down for a slow burn.

“Every morning.” There was sadness in the smile that curved her lips. “I’m an early riser—like Father was. There’s something special about shar—” Her lips clamped closed. She carried the bag of coffee to the worktable. “Where are your spoons?”

“Here in this drawer.” He stepped beside her and pulled a drawer open while she placed the insides in the coffeepot. “There are towels and things in the drawer in front of you.”

She accepted the spoon he handed her, opened the bag and peered inside, then tipped it from side to side, probing the coffee with the spoon handle.

The rich aroma rose to tempt his nostrils. “Looking for the picture card?”

She stopped searching in the ground beans and glanced up at him with a self-conscious little laugh. “Force of habit.”

She saved them? Linda wouldn’t bother with a picture card. She was too sophisticated and worldly for such things. Obviously more worldly than he’d known. His lungs constricted, cut off his breath. The muscle along his jaw twitched. “I tossed the card away when I ground the coffee.” He moved to the water heater, pretending to adjust the damper on the firebox door.