His Substitute Wife

He gave her an odd, sort of surprised, quizzical look, then shook his head. “The Union Pacific does not allow signs on their property. I’ll speak to the stationmaster, ask him to tell the conductors that my store is open for business so they can pass the word along to their passengers.”

Her pulse quickened. His descriptions in his letters had made her curious about Whisper Creek, but she’d been too nervous last night to pay much attention to the buildings and surroundings. She took another sip of coffee to keep from asking to accompany him, certain he would prefer to be alone.

The hammering from the building next door grew louder. Blake glanced toward the window. “It will be expected that I take you on a ‘tour’ of Whisper Creek—such as it is. Would that be acceptable to you?”

She grasped at the chance to be away from this home he’d hoped to share with Linda. It would be good for both of them to forget how Linda had altered their lives—at least for a little while. “Yes, of course. I would enjoy seeing the town—‘such as it is.’” She set her cup on its saucer and took a breath, spoke what had been on her mind all morning. “But, before we do, I’m concerned about, that is, I’m not certain I know how to play the part of a newlywed, Blake. What do you want me to do?” The muscle along his jaw jumped. Pain sharpened the planes of his face. She looked away, stared down at her coffee. “If you’d rather wait—”

“No. We’ll take the ‘tour’ now. As for how to act—just follow my example. And bear in mind that I, too, will be acting my part. Don’t flinch away if I should...touch you.”

The vein at his temple was pulsing again. She nodded, hid her clenched hands in her lap. “I’ll be ready as soon as I clear the table.”

“I’ll await you downstairs in the store.” He rose and slid his chair under the table. “You may need a wrap of some sort. Early mornings are cool in the mountains.”

She stared after Blake as he strode from the kitchen, then sighed and carried their cups and saucers to the sink cupboard. Don’t flinch away if I should...touch you. Why would he say that? She’d never had men swarming about her the way Linda did, but it wasn’t as if she’d never had a beau. And he knew she’d been promised until John Barker decided Alicia Blackwell’s sudden inheritance was the wiser move for his future and broke off their betrothal to court the spinster. She frowned and dumped the rest of her coffee into the sink. It was only that this odd situation made her nervous. She wrested what comfort she could from that thought, then set herself to act the part of a new bride.

Chapter Three (#uc9a36cb9-a73b-5aec-b283-9b53800bcd6d)

“I’m ready.”

Blake pivoted toward the door to the storage room and was struck again by Audrey’s neat, trim appearance, and how well it matched her personality. Linda would be swathed in ruffles and lace that drew a man’s eye to her curves and—He jerked his mind from the conjured image of his beloved and stepped forward. Audrey moved slowly toward him, her gaze sweeping around the store before coming to rest on him.

“Your store is larger than it seemed las—in the dark.” She stopped by a display of Bull Durham tobacco sitting beside piled boxes of ceramic doorknobs on the counter and looked up at him. “There are so many choices. How do you decide what to stock?”

The question halted him. How like Audrey to try to distract him from their ridiculous circumstance. He’d forgotten how kind she was. Her intelligence demanded a well-considered answer. He gathered his thoughts. “I try to think of what will be required to build the town and then keep those items in stock for the men doing the work. Right now, that’s mostly foodstuffs, tools and hardware and other construction needs, along with tobacco products and a smattering of household items.”

“Oh, I see...”

Her gaze slid toward the back corner. A frown formed a small line between her delicately arched eyebrows. He glanced at the tables that sat there, a large one covered with piles of denim pants and cotton shirts, a smaller one covered with a few bolts of cloth and some small baskets of buttons and other notions. “Is there a problem with my dry goods section? I know it’s small. But until your...arrival, there were only two women in town—Mrs. Ferndale and Yan Cheng, the laundress.”

She looked up, met his gaze full on. “Do you want my honest opinion?”

Probably not enough ribbons and lace to suit her. Still, if she was nice enough to pretend interest in the store, he should humor her. “Yes, of course.”

“Very well.” She took a soft breath. “I understand your reasoning—and it makes perfect sense to cater to the majority of your customers. But, if you are hoping to sell to the women passengers on the trains passing through, then—in my opinion—you should bring your dry goods forward out of that dark corner.” She crossed to the table and touched the basket holding ribbons. “It is hard to see what you have displayed here. And the dim light afforded by the overhead lamps does not show the fabric or trimmings in a true light. It is most frustrating to buy a piece of fabric or trim and find when you get it home that it is not the right color at all.” She turned back to face him. “Also, women will not like walking through an entire store of men’s tools to find the few items of interest to them.”

He stared at her, taken aback by her sensible detailed answer. “I see.”

Pink spread across her cheekbones. “Forgive me, Blake. I got carried away—”

“Not at all. I appreciate you explaining a woman’s thoughts on such things to me.” He shifted his gaze away from her face. Linda had never blushed like that. It was surprisingly touching. “I will move the dry goods. Where would you suggest?”

“Me?”

He nodded at the gasped word. “You must have had a place in mind.” The shock on her face turned to dismay.

“No, I didn’t. Truly! I only noticed the darkness of the corner. I wasn’t trying to—”

“But you would place the dry goods at the front of the store?”

“Well...yes. But—”

“Where?”

She stared at him a moment, then walked to a tool-covered table situated at the left front corner of the room. “I would put them here—in the natural light from the window. And—” Her teeth caught at her lower lip. She glanced at him, then looked away and gave a small, dismissive wave of her hand.

“And what?”

“Nothing. I’m sorry, Blake. Please forgive me for being so bold as to offer you advice on your store. I have no experience as a shopkeeper.” She smoothed her skirt, looked toward the door. “Shall we go now?”

“Not yet. I’d like to hear what you were thinking.” The dismayed look returned to her face.

“It was nothing of importance. I only thought...” Her shoulders squared. She waved her hand toward the window. “If you feel you could spare the space, you might want to put a bolt of fabric and a basket of notions, ribbons and such in the window.” She glanced toward the shelves behind the long counter. “And perhaps one of those large ironstone pitchers... And a pewter candlestick... And perhaps a crock of that marmalade...” She met his gaze again. “My thought was—with only tools and hardware items in the window—how are the women passengers to know the store sells things they may want or need?”

“How indeed?” He pushed aside his shock at her astute suggestions, focused his attention on the window. “You make excellent sense, Audrey. A few household items in the display would draw a woman’s eye. I believe I will make those changes before I—we go to the depot to talk to Asa.” He strode to the back table, lifted the bolts of fabric and carried them to the counter. “Which would you suggest for the window?”

Her expression brightened. She hurried to his side, touched a rose silk, an apple-green organdy with a delicate white embroidered flower trim at the edge, then sighed and shifted her hand. “This blue taffeta. Most women are partial to blue.”

He stared down at the taffeta the color of Linda’s eyes, fought back memories of her gazing up at him through her long lashes and shook his head. “I’ll use the green.” The words came out more brusque than he’d intended.

Audrey withdrew her hand, stepped back. “Forgive me, Blake. I—I didn’t think about—”

“No reason why you should.” He cleared the gruffness from his throat, looked over at her and read the understanding in her eyes. “What happened, happened, Audrey. You had no part in it, and you’ve no reason to keep apologizing because of my...feelings. I’ll get over them.” He headed back to the dry goods table.

Will I? Will I ever forget the feel of Linda in my arms? Will the longing to hold her and kiss her, to have her for my own, ever go away? He stared down at the baskets and clenched his hands to keep from throwing them at the wall, busting the table in pieces and walking out the door to never return. It would cost him all he had to leave, but he could find employment, make his way somehow. At least he would be away from all these things that brought back the memory of his plans for a life with Linda. But he had Audrey to think of now. She had come all this way to save his store for him; he couldn’t walk out on the debt he owed her for that. He had to figure out a plan that would release them both from this sham of a marriage!

His temple throbbed. He unclenched his hands, piled the baskets one atop the other and carried them to the counter. Audrey had that stricken look in her eyes again. He groped for something to take her mind off Linda and their situation. “Show me where you would place the things in the window and I’ll clear the spot. If you’re of a mind to, you can put the things you suggested there while I finish switching the goods on the tables.”

She nodded, picked up the bolt of green organdy and followed him down the length of the counter toward the window. “I think it would be good to put them in the center front, where those saws are—if that’s all right?”

“Makes sense.” It was the best response he could manage. He lifted the saws out of the window and carried them to the storage room, fighting the swelling pain of betrayal.

* * *

“I’ll tell them if I ain’t too busy—or they ain’t.”

What an officious little man! Audrey held her smile and stared back at the stationmaster peering out at them, his balding gray head and slumped shoulders framed by the ticket window in the depot wall.

“But I can’t promise you. Things get busier than a hornet’s nest ’round here when a train stops. Them conductors only got but twenty minutes to get any messages from dispatch, see to their passengers and the loadin’ and unloadin’ of freight before they’re out of here. And we got to see to the consignments and waybills. And I got the telegraph and all.”

Blake nodded, let go of her arm and shoved his fingers through his hair. “I understand you have a job to do, Asa. And I know it’s against the Union Pacific rules for any signs to be placed on their stations. But I was wondering if a small one sitting here at the window would be acceptable? That would—”

“I’m afraid not. Rule says clear, no signs nowhere on the property. There’s the telegraph! Got to answer it.” The balding gray head dipped her direction. “Pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Latherop.”

“And you, Mr. Marsh.” She was talking to air. The stationmaster had slipped off his stool and disappeared. Clicking sounds drifted out of the open ticket window.

“Well, that puts paid to that idea.” Blake frowned, grasped her elbow and turned toward the steps. “I’ll have to wait for the train passengers’ patronage until I get the store sign made. A large sign, big enough to be read from here. I’ll hang it on the board across the top of the porch.”

“And that will teach Mr. Marsh there is more than one way to skin a cat!”