Mail-Order Marriage Promise

Yet the closer they came, the more he tensed. Why? It was a good, solid house with a sturdy barn, just as he’d told her. He had no reason to feel as if its worth was tied to her approval.

He pulled the wagon up before the wide front porch he’d insisted on having when Simon had sketched out plans for the place.

“I want to be able to sit under the eaves and watch the sun come up,” he’d told his brother.

Simon had frowned at him. “You get up before sunrise and head for work. When do you have time to sit?”

A literal man, his brother. But John had been firm. It was his house. He could do what he liked with it. Especially as it appeared he would never be sharing it with a wife.

“Here we are,” he announced, setting the brake. He jumped down, tied the horses to the porch rail to make sure they didn’t head for the barn and came around to help Dottie.

Her gaze was on the house. Did she wonder why a bachelor needed a second story or three chairs along the porch? Did she approve of the glass windows brought up from San Francisco? Or the blue paint he’d used to show off the door against the white of the house? Why did he care?

“It’s lovely,” she said, and he thought he might stand as tall as Drew for once.

He offered to help her down, but she merely handed him Peter. Now that the wagon had stopped moving, the baby cracked open his eyes. They widened as if Peter was surprised to see John holding him instead of his mother. John readied himself for the wail of protest. Instead, Peter’s face brightened in a grin.

He kept the baby in his arms as he led Dottie into the house.

“Parlor’s to the right,” he explained, nodding through the open door. “Main bedroom’s to the left. Kitchen runs across the back. Stairs lead up to a sleeping loft. Right now it’s full of furs curing from the winter.”

She wandered into the parlor, touched the bench Drew had carved for him, exclaimed over the woven rug his mother had made. John followed her, rocking Peter in his arms. The baby gazed about him, as if everything he saw was wonderful.

Not everyone was so entranced. A hiss told John he was in trouble. Glancing about, he sighted the ginger bullet on the windowsill a moment before it launched itself at him. John stepped back from the malevolent green glare.

“Oh,” Dottie exclaimed, “you have a cat.”

John managed a smile. “Mrs. Tyrrell, may I present Brian de Bois-Guilbert. He patrols for vermin.”

That sounded a lot more manly than the cat’s typical role—stalking John around the house with demands for attention.

Dottie’s face brightened. “Brian de Bois-Guilbert, like in Ivanhoe?”

At the moment, the cat did indeed resemble the villain of the tale. His tail twitched as his eyes narrowed on Peter.

“No,” John told him. “Down, boy.”

Dottie looked at him in obvious amazement. “Does he obey you like a dog?”

He shrugged. “I thought it was worth a try.”

She shook her head, then crouched on the rug and held out a hand to the cat. Brian refused to so much as glance in her direction. He busied himself licking his white mitten paws.

“Where did you get a cat out here?” she asked. “I’d think they’d get eaten by foxes.”

“I found him in my barn,” John told her, edging back from the cat in case Brian did have designs on Peter. “Pitiful thing, more bones than muscle. Some of our neighbors had cats, so Beth and I thought he might have escaped from a litter nearby. She named him after the knight in Ivanhoe, the one who couldn’t decide whether he was a hero or a villain. I think she was hoping to keep him, but he seems to have attached himself to me.”

As if to disprove it, Brian raised his head and let out another hiss, ears going back and eyes narrowing.

Dottie stood and glanced at Peter. The baby had started at the noise. Now he giggled. Dottie drew in a breath.

John wasn’t nearly so pleased. The cat had been good company when he’d lived here alone, but Brian, like many of his kind, tended to do as he pleased. And he seemed to feel John was his personal companion. Would he attack Dottie or the baby? John wouldn’t feel comfortable putting the cat out of the house on a permanent basis, but neither did he feel comfortable leaving Brian alone with Dottie and her son.

Dottie crouched again, ran her fingers along the rug. Brian watched each movement as if fascinated. Once more, John tensed.

“That might not be a good idea,” he murmured.

Dottie didn’t respond. Instead, she held out her hand again.

Brian eyed her a moment more, then his face and ears relaxed and his back came down. He wandered up to Dottie and ran his back under her fingers.

“Sweet kitty,” she crooned. “Darling kitty.”

As Brian turned for another pass, he glanced up at John as if to say See? This is how it’s done.

Dottie gave the feline another pat before rising in a whisper of wool. “I think we’ll get along just fine.”

So it seemed. But, for the first time, John wondered just how many things would change in his life with Dottie and Peter at Wallin Landing.

Chapter Five (#ubd5a4396-3b25-5dfe-aad6-1a96fb3004a3)

John Wallin had a cat.

Dottie wasn’t sure why that surprised her so much. Perhaps it was because most of the men of her acquaintance preferred dogs, and then for hunting or protection. The majority of the felines she’d known had been barn cats at her parents’ farm. They’d been wild, rangy things, used to hunting for their dinner. John claimed Brian de Bois-Guilbert served the same function here. She found that hard to believe. A lady at the apartment building in Cincinnati had had a cat she treated with the utmost courtesy. Brian had the same sleek, overfed, self-satisfied look.

Of course, for all Dottie knew, Beth had been the one doing the pampering. Dottie must not allow this whimsy to sway her opinion of John. Only time would tell if he was truly a gentleman worth trusting.

“It will just take me a minute to lead the horses to the barn, bring in your things and pack up mine,” John told her now. He held out Peter to her.

That he seemed to be very good at cradling her son was another mark in his favor. Some people had no idea how to treat an infant. She’d had to learn, first from her helpful neighbor Martha Duggin at the apartment building in Cincinnati, and then from Mrs. Gustafson on the boat. Now, as the baby passed between them, John’s fingers brushed her arm, as soft as a caress. A tingle ran through her, and she stepped back lest he notice her reaction. She had to remember that a handsome face and a fine physique were no match for character. She was glad when he nodded respectfully and left the room. A moment more, and she heard the front door open as he must have gone out to the wagon.

Why did the room seem so empty without him?

She was used to emptiness, but she’d been a bit dismayed to find the land outside of Seattle so remote, the farms few and scattered. Beth’s stories had made Wallin Landing sound so alive and vibrant. Dottie had needed to believe in a place like that. After Frank had left her, she’d felt so isolated. But now that she understood how far away the place was from Seattle, she could only wonder whether her isolation would be worse here.

Still, she could not deny that she felt welcome in John’s house. The scrubbed wood floors gave off a patina that was reflected in the whitewashed walls and ceiling. The carved bench that served as the main seat for the parlor was draped with a quilt done in shades of brown and green, and the hearth was of rounded stones, browns and grays and whites, with splashes of gold almost the color of Brian’s hair.

The cat strolled back and forth around her skirts, setting the wool to swinging. Peter reached out a hand as if he longed to touch the softness.

“He’s a very handsome fellow, isn’t he?” Dottie asked. Then she clamped her lips shut. She’d become accustomed to talking to Peter, even before he was born. After Frank had left her with the threat that she should keep quiet or else, she’d stayed in the apartment for days. Talking to her unborn baby had been the only way to stay sane. But if John Wallin had heard what she’d said right now, he might think she was talking about him!

Although she would have been speaking the truth. He was a handsome fellow.

Dottie raised her chin. “Come along, Peter. If we’re going to live here, we might as well know where everything is.”

She started in the kitchen at the back of the house, Brian strolling along beside her. The cast-iron stove along one wall stood between a cupboard and a wood box, both well filled. Copper pots and tin pans hung on the wall on either side. The wood table across from it could seat four, and she wondered who else might join him on occasion. The gingham curtains on the window overlooking the barn had been tied back with bows.

Beth must have done that.