His Substitute Wife

Now, for his clothes. They would be in a dresser in her room—the bedroom he’d planned to share with Linda. Guilt tightened her chest. She pushed it aside and concentrated on the task she’d set herself. She had to bring Blake’s clothes in here where they would be handy for his use. If he didn’t have to constantly enter that bedroom it would be one less reminder of Linda’s betrayal.

She returned to her room and opened one of the large bottom drawers of the highboy. Shirts. She’d guessed right—it was Blake’s dresser. Propriety blended with modesty and brought warmth crawling into her cheeks. She closed the drawer and stared at the dresser. This was too intimate. How could she possibly move his clothes?

Pillow slips.

The idea brought a smile to her lips. She ran to the blanket chest and pulled out a pillow slip, returned to the highboy, covered Blake’s shirts and pulled the drawer free. The bulky weight plopped her to the floor on her backside. “Oh!” She shoved the drawer off her legs, scrambled to her feet, lifted it tight against her stomach and headed for the door. It was a close fit. She turned sideways and edged out into the hallway.

“Audrey, I heard a scraping sound. What are you doing?”

Blake! She whipped around toward the stairs, caught her toe in the hem of her skirt, stumbled and pitched forward, still clutching the drawer that rammed straight into Blake’s abdomen.

“Oof!”

His warm breath gusted by her cheek, his hands clamped onto her shoulders, held her steady. She came to a heart-pounding halt bent forward over the drawer with the top of her head pressing against his chest.

“Are you all right, Audrey?”

The question was a little breathless. Small wonder with the drawer jammed into his stomach. She was breathless, too. “Yes.” The word was smothered by the cloth pushing against her face. She tried to straighten and failed. He tightened his grip on her shoulders, gently pushed her back until she was upright.

“Why don’t I take this?” His hands brushed against hers as he grasped hold of the drawer. “Just out of curiosity... What are you doing with my shirts?”

The shirts and pillowcase were all askew. So was her hair. She could feel the curls tumbling every which way onto her forehead and temples. Wonderful! They would match the red of her burning cheeks. She tugged her bodice back into place, shook her skirt hems straight and looked up. “I thought it would be...handier for you if your clothes were in...your bedroom.” His gaze lifted over her head toward the open door behind her. She snagged her lower lip with her teeth, wishing she could say one thing that did not bring that strained look to his face. “I was taking them there—one drawer at a time so I could manage them.”

He nodded and cleared his throat, lowered his gaze back to meet hers. “And how were you going to move the dresser?”

An excellent question. She shoved her hair comb back into place and lifted her chin. “I hadn’t thought that out as yet.”

“I see.” He frowned and blew out a breath. “I appreciate your...concern, Audrey. But I don’t need to be protected. Nothing can change what has happened. Linda chose another. And while that knowledge is raw and painful, I will come to grips with it given time. Now, come and show me what you intend to do in...my bedroom. And the next time you get an idea like this, call me. I don’t want you hurting yourself.” He stepped aside.

She swallowed back a protest that she was not protecting him, only making things more convenient, and walked ahead of him to his bedroom. She glanced up at his face when he entered. He looked in the direction of the cot and the table, stopped and stared.

“What’s all this?” He put the drawer down on the floor, bent down and looked at the corners of the blanket and sheets trapped beneath the legs of the cot. He shook his head, straightened and scrubbed his hand across the back of his neck. “That’s clever, Audrey. I wish I had thought of it. My feet would have been a lot warmer these past couple of months.” A smile touched his lips, then faded.

She released her breath, thankful he wasn’t angry with her presumption in making over his room—or was pretending not to be. “I hope it works.”

“It looks as if it will.” He headed back for the door. “I’ll get the rest of the drawers, then bring the dresser.”

She looked at his set face and stepped into his path. She’d meant to spare him pain, not cause it. “There’s no need for you to interrupt your work in the store, Blake. I can manage—”

“No. I’ll do this.”

Her stomach sank. Did he think she was overreaching her position in their arrangement? “But the store...”

“I have no customers demanding my time. Won’t have, until I’m able to put up that sign.” He glanced around the room. “Where do you want me to put the dresser once I get it in here?”

“I thought on the back wall next to that door, but you—”

“That’s as good a place as any. I’ll be back.”

And she’d be gone! She wasn’t going to stand here and watch him do the work she’d started. “Before you go...”

“Yes?”

“I was wondering about dinner.” Would he eat anything, or was this another mistake? She squared her shoulders and pressed on. How could things get worse? “I saw packages of meat in the refrigerator. Would roasted beef suit?”

He nodded and looked away. “Roasted beef is fine.”

His taut features said he was only being polite. Probably he had as little appetite as she. Still, they had to eat—and she needed something to do. “Then, I’ll go start dinner.” At least she wouldn’t make any mistakes while—

“Can you manage the fire?”

The question rasped along her already frayed nerves. She jerked to a stop and spun about to face him. “I have been doing the cooking, tending the house and caring for my family ever since my mother died four years ago, when I was sixteen. Of course I can manage a fire. And I can do anything else I set my mind to as well—including moving that dresser!”

She snatched at a strand of hair tickling her neck, jammed it back into the loosened figure eight twist at her nape and jutted her chin into the air. “I may have stumbled with that drawer, Blake Latherop, but that’s because you startled me! I am not incompetent. Or clumsy!” Tears stung her eyes. She whirled and headed for the hallway, her skirts swishing.

“Whoa, wait a minute!” Blake’s hand clasped onto her wrist, drawing her to a halt.

She stiffened and blinked to clear her vision, swallowed hard when he grasped her shoulders and turned her around to face him.

“I meant nothing disparaging by my question, Audrey. It was not a comment on your capabilities, only a statement of my ignorance of them. I can’t know if you can manage a fire, any more than you can know if I like roasted beef. We have a lot to learn about each other.”

She drew a breath and nodded, shamed by her outburst. “You’re right, of course.” She pulled her lips into a rueful smile. “I guess you’ve just learned that I can be a little...overly sensitive at times. Though I try not to be.” His lips twitched, slanting into that grin he used to give her when they were friends. Her stomach fluttered. She lowered her gaze from his face, sought for something to say to dispel the odd feeling. “Father said it comes from my having red hair.”

He let go of her shoulders and peered down at her. “I thought it was red hair and a temper that went hand in hand.”

She crinkled her nose and headed for the kitchen, her shoulders warm from his hands. “I’m afraid I also have one of those—on occasion.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” His teasing tone took any possible insult from the words. He walked with her as far as the door, paused there with his hand braced on the jamb. “If there is anything you need and can’t find, come and tell me. I’ll get it from the store.”