A Bride for Keeps by Melissa Jagears Page A
Authors: Melissa Jagears
Tags: FIC042040, FIC042030, FIC027050, Frontier and pioneer life—Fiction, Mail order brides—Fiction, Farmers—Fiction, Kansas—Fiction
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had he been
so tempted to comfort someone. He grabbed both of her elbows and held on, though she
tried to step from his hold. “I can build an extra bedroom. It can always be a nursery
later on.” He kept his gaze locked on her to see her reaction.
Her arms pulled in closer to her body. “For . . . for an orphan?”
“You don’t have to be afraid of me.” He tried to talk as soothingly as possible. “We’ll
go slowly. Goodness knows we’ve known each other for less than a month. But I’d never
force you to do anything until you were ready.”
“And what if I’m never ready?” Her chin tilted up in the air, and her words came out
strangled. “Would you keep your word?”
He examined the faraway look in her eyes and the sheen of wetness that had taken up
residence across the big, beautiful brown centers. Her tremble reverberated through
his fingers. Scared. He wanted to pull her into his arms, but he knew that would not
help. “Did someone hurt you?”
She quickly looked down to the side and swallowed several times in a row. He kept
his hands from gripping her any harder. Someone had hurt her. Thinking of a man harming
her made him want to punch something. A lot of things.
Her lips stayed pressed against each other. She wasn’t going to talk about it.
Tugging ever so slowly, he finally convinced her to take astep toward him. When she was close enough, he pushed her head against his chest.
Could he help her overcome her hurt? Once she realized she had nothing to fear from
him, she’d come around. He’d have to be sensitive. And patient.
“You have my word.”
Chapter 7
Julia toweled her hair while looking at herself in the glass in the Stantons’ cabin.
No wonder Dex and Rachel hadn’t said much when she’d asked them to witness at her
wedding. Her face looked like she’d met with death itself.
She picked up the mother-of-pearl brush that had belonged to her mother. Losing count
of her strokes, she absentmindedly continued until her hand tired. It was hard enough
keeping her eyes open.
The feel of Everett’s arms around her had disturbed her sleep for three nights in
a row. Being enwrapped in a man’s arms whom she never intended to get close to was
wrong.
But it felt right.
And the mental churning of what was right and wrong had stolen the sleep she’d needed
to look beautiful on her wedding day. She examined her reflection. Puffy eyelids.
Red-streaked eyes. Pale, blotchy skin. No bride should look like this.
Maybe her face was trying to tell her something.
Everett tried not to squirm in the rickety chair in the back of the church. The preacher
spat and hollered. Hard to imaginethis fiery man performing his wedding ceremony. Reverend Vale favored the same rant,
scaring his parishioners enough to lace their consciences with guilt if they didn’t
return to hear him spew the same thing the next month. Everett assessed the preacher’s
speech and identified repeated bits of monologue. The sermon was almost over. His
pocket watch said 11:38. He’d be marrying Julia anytime now.
Next to him, old Lady Fritz cleared her throat and glared.
He stopped his jiggling feet.
His ears tuned out the rest of the sermon, and his gaze sought Julia sitting up front
next to Rachel and Emma. He had paced outside church before the service, so the chairs
near them had filled before he calmed enough to sit still.
He halted his restless feet again.
Julia sat ramrod straight in the dress she’d worn when she stepped off the train.
An ivory dress full of little flowers. He remembered a huge red bow around her waist,
though he couldn’t see it. Her hat seemed alive, topped with feathers that moved in
the drafts blowing through the structure that doubled as a school during the winter.
He’d been afraid she wouldn’t come to church. He’d been afraid she would.
“Our Father, which art in heaven . . .”
Everett bowed his head and
so tempted to comfort someone. He grabbed both of her elbows and held on, though she
tried to step from his hold. “I can build an extra bedroom. It can always be a nursery
later on.” He kept his gaze locked on her to see her reaction.
Her arms pulled in closer to her body. “For . . . for an orphan?”
“You don’t have to be afraid of me.” He tried to talk as soothingly as possible. “We’ll
go slowly. Goodness knows we’ve known each other for less than a month. But I’d never
force you to do anything until you were ready.”
“And what if I’m never ready?” Her chin tilted up in the air, and her words came out
strangled. “Would you keep your word?”
He examined the faraway look in her eyes and the sheen of wetness that had taken up
residence across the big, beautiful brown centers. Her tremble reverberated through
his fingers. Scared. He wanted to pull her into his arms, but he knew that would not
help. “Did someone hurt you?”
She quickly looked down to the side and swallowed several times in a row. He kept
his hands from gripping her any harder. Someone had hurt her. Thinking of a man harming
her made him want to punch something. A lot of things.
Her lips stayed pressed against each other. She wasn’t going to talk about it.
Tugging ever so slowly, he finally convinced her to take astep toward him. When she was close enough, he pushed her head against his chest.
Could he help her overcome her hurt? Once she realized she had nothing to fear from
him, she’d come around. He’d have to be sensitive. And patient.
“You have my word.”
Chapter 7
Julia toweled her hair while looking at herself in the glass in the Stantons’ cabin.
No wonder Dex and Rachel hadn’t said much when she’d asked them to witness at her
wedding. Her face looked like she’d met with death itself.
She picked up the mother-of-pearl brush that had belonged to her mother. Losing count
of her strokes, she absentmindedly continued until her hand tired. It was hard enough
keeping her eyes open.
The feel of Everett’s arms around her had disturbed her sleep for three nights in
a row. Being enwrapped in a man’s arms whom she never intended to get close to was
wrong.
But it felt right.
And the mental churning of what was right and wrong had stolen the sleep she’d needed
to look beautiful on her wedding day. She examined her reflection. Puffy eyelids.
Red-streaked eyes. Pale, blotchy skin. No bride should look like this.
Maybe her face was trying to tell her something.
Everett tried not to squirm in the rickety chair in the back of the church. The preacher
spat and hollered. Hard to imaginethis fiery man performing his wedding ceremony. Reverend Vale favored the same rant,
scaring his parishioners enough to lace their consciences with guilt if they didn’t
return to hear him spew the same thing the next month. Everett assessed the preacher’s
speech and identified repeated bits of monologue. The sermon was almost over. His
pocket watch said 11:38. He’d be marrying Julia anytime now.
Next to him, old Lady Fritz cleared her throat and glared.
He stopped his jiggling feet.
His ears tuned out the rest of the sermon, and his gaze sought Julia sitting up front
next to Rachel and Emma. He had paced outside church before the service, so the chairs
near them had filled before he calmed enough to sit still.
He halted his restless feet again.
Julia sat ramrod straight in the dress she’d worn when she stepped off the train.
An ivory dress full of little flowers. He remembered a huge red bow around her waist,
though he couldn’t see it. Her hat seemed alive, topped with feathers that moved in
the drafts blowing through the structure that doubled as a school during the winter.
He’d been afraid she wouldn’t come to church. He’d been afraid she would.
“Our Father, which art in heaven . . .”
Everett bowed his head and
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