The Unexpected Bride (The Brides Book 1) Page 6

  Isaac.

  He hadn’t sent for her.

  He hadn’t wanted any of this.

  It all made so much sense now. Every look he’d sent her way. The doubts she’d felt coming off him.

  She was such a fool.

  She’d come all this way. Thought it was an answer to prayer.

  But how could it be?

  Sam had sent for her. Not Isaac. What grown man would want to marry a woman his father had picked out for him?

  Sam must have seen her dart one more stricken glance at Brody and Isaac, for he winced ever so slightly, enough for her to notice. Enough to realize it was all true.

  “He may have been reluctant at first, but...” Sam’s voice trailed off at the disbelieving look she sent him.

  She had to get out of here—now.

  Becky flashed an apologetic smile at Sam, because no matter what he’d done or why, she found she couldn’t stop liking him. Before he could say anything else, she escaped into the room at the back where she’d slept last night—the room she was supposed to share with Isaac tonight. She looked around numbly. The space was scarcely big enough for the large double bed and one wardrobe, both of which looked new. The wardrobe looked broad enough to store her things and Isaac’s as well, but the doors hung a bit crooked. His men were hopefully better loggers than carpenters.

  The thought failed to make her smile.

  Probably because she kept circling back to the fact that Isaac hadn’t sent for her.

  She sank onto the edge of the bed. Their marriage bed. She stared at nothing for a long while, the ruined flowers in her lap, her gaze fixed on the wall, making shapes out of the wood grain:

  A cloud. A whale. A swirl. Maybe smoke.

  Jack hadn’t wanted her and now Isaac too? She’d been foisted upon him—that much was evident. Would she always be Isaac’s obligation? He seemed a moral man—he probably married her out of duty, to please his father. She moaned and bowed her head.

  I’m an unwanted bride.

  She was about to throw the crushed wildflowers out the window, when she stopped and, with a sigh at her own sentimentality, placed them in her trunk, on top of everything else she’d brought from home. She undressed quickly, throwing on her nightgown, hardly conscious of her actions. But there were men in the other room. She felt their presence, heard chairs scraping across the floor. The sound of male voices and laughter. At least someone was happy. She crawled into the bed and covered herself with the white sheet. It looked new, crisp and a little stiff. She crossed her arms protectively over her heart against the pain, refusing to cry. Her tears seemed frozen inside. Now, more than ever, she missed Mama. The dim shadows outside deepened to black as she stared out the lone window. Despite her confusion, she registered the sounds of the men dwindling to a murmur.

  Isaac would come to her soon.

  She lay, lifeless and sad, imagining a very different wedding day, marrying someone who wanted her—who would love and cherish her. An image of Jack’s face floated into her mind. But Jack had chosen Melody. She sighed.

  It was stupid to think about Jack now.

  It had been stupid since the day she’d found out he was married.

  Stupid heart.

  It didn’t know any better.

  Her eyelids grew heavy, and she eventually began to drift away...

  ***

  Once the last of the men emptied out of the cabin, Pop pushed Isaac into one of the rough ladder-backed chairs surrounding the kitchen table and pulled another across from him, straddling it with his lanky thighs. He rubbed his palms over the knees of his best denims, as though relishing whatever he was fixing to say.

  “Son, I realize you know the particulars about babies and such, but there’s more to loving a woman than bare facts.”

  This ought to be interesting, Isaac thought with a sick wrench of his belly. Embarrassment was sure to follow.

  “An untried woman needs a tender touch, and keep it sorta quick tonight— not that you’re likely to go long with it being your first time and all—”

  “Aw, Pop.” Nothing he said could have made Isaac feel more like he was seventeen again. His neck burned with a creeping heat.

  “I’m not blind, you know. Anyways, it may be a week or so before your wife can enjoy the act—leastways, that’s how it was with your mama and me, but then she turned out to be a generous lover.” Pop’s eyes grew wistful.

  “Do you have to talk about Mama that way?” Isaac groaned.

  “What? Don’t tell me I’ve raised a prude?” His father’s shaggy, white brows lifted inquiringly. Pop was frontier to the bone and had the disconcerting habit of speaking his mind.

  “No, no. Anything else you feel the need to say?” Isaac tapped his fingers nervously against the table and stole a glance at the door at the back of the cabin.

  “Well, one more thing, I guess, and I’ll be off.” Pop rubbed a hand along the back of his neck, his eyes lit with wry amusement.

  “You’re leaving?” Isaac couldn’t keep the hope out of his voice.

  “Yep. I’m not staying the night, Son. In fact, I’m planning on staying with Brody for a spell. This way you two can get accustomed to married life for a while—without your father in the next room.”

  “Thank you.” There was relief in that at least. “One more thing?”

  “Oh, yeah. It’s not all about you—remember that.” Pop gave an emphatic nod. “Well, I guess I’ll head out. You go on in—”

  Pop was leaving. In two seconds he’d be out the door.

  And Isaac would be alone.

  With Rebecca waiting in the other room.

  “Pop,” he said, stopping him. “I don’t even really know her. We’re still strangers. It’s sort of awkward. Don’t you think I should wait a while before—you know?” Isaac asked, filled with the most excruciating embarrassment he’d ever felt in his life. He’d get over it though. This was his father. Who better to ask?

  “What better way to get to know her?” His father’s voice was flat, his gaze dead serious.

  “Pop!”

  “What did I say?” Pop was all innocence. “You’ll see. It’ll all work out, Son. This Rebecca’s the right gal. Remember I told you I prayed God would send the right woman for you?”

  He’d prayed about it, but never thought to ask Isaac if he wanted a bride? That would seem the next logical step. Isaac shook his head in disbelief.

  “Oh, Pop.” He pushed his chair back from the table a bit and faced his father with a feeling of grim determination.

  “You’re not going into battle, Son. Relax. This part might be a trifle awkward, I’ll grant you that, but once you get the hang of it—”

  “Out. Get out of the house.” Isaac was up out of his chair so quick he nearly toppled it backwards. He pointed toward the door.

  “All right, all right. I know when I’ve gone too far,” Sam said with a chuckle. He swung his leg over the back of the chair like he was dismounting a horse. He grabbed up his hat from the nail by the door and jammed it onto his snow-white head. For a moment, he simply stood, looking at the door, then he turned with a misty-eyed expression and tugged Isaac to him for a quick hug.

  “I only want the best for you, boy. I hope someday you’ll see that.”

  “I know, Pop. I’m not sure I can say thanks yet, but at least I think I’m coming to understand your thinking.” Isaac tried to put his father at ease, certain he’d never understand what had possessed his father to send back East for a bride. A bride who was waiting for him through the back door. He glanced at it apprehensively, and his father gave him a little push in the right direction.

  The sound of Pop’s laughter echoed as the front door closed behind him, and Isaac stood alone facing the door to his new bedroom.

  TWELVE

  Isaac found his new bride sleeping. Perhaps it was the sign he’d been searching for. He’d felt uncertain about consummating the marriage since they didn’t know each other. So maybe this was his answer.
They should wait awhile—get to know each other.

  He’d just drifted off to sleep, when a soft, feminine voice woke him.

  “You’re back?”

  What an odd question, Isaac thought. Was he back?

  “Um, yes?” he said, suddenly fully awake.

  “I missed you, darling.”

  Darling? Isaac’s heart skipped a beat at the unexpected endearment.

  “You have?” he asked warily. Something wasn’t quite right with her voice, her manner. Like she was talking in her sleep, maybe.

  “I thought you’d never come back.”

  “Is that right?” He stilled as she leaned close, her breath tickling his ear.

  “Jack...” Her whisper was strangely demure seeing as her lips were now trailing across his cheek.

  Jack?

  It took all Isaac’s will to hold still and not explode from the bed.

  “Who’s Jack?” he asked carefully, so as not to wake her.

  Her sleepy laugh warmed his cheek.

  “Oh, Jack.” Her lips gently brushed his, the slightest touch, really, but it felt like a fire. “Darling.”

  She’d said it twice now—darling—and both times it soured his belly.

  “So, you love this ‘Jack’ fellow?” he asked, appalled at the slight croak in his voice.

  “Love you? Of course I love you. You’re my sun, moon, and stars.” She punctuated each celestial being with a little kiss.

  Had this Jack taught her to kiss? Isaac groaned silently, ashamed to find himself enjoying each soft kiss, despite the fact that he wasn’t her intended target—Jack was.

  “Dance with me?” She hummed a few sleepy notes, enough for him to recognize a lively waltz.

  He froze as she rested her hand on his shoulder. The touch of her fingers against his nightshirt. They burned right through.

  His wife loved another man.

  His blood slowed to a trickle, like an icy mountain stream.

  “Wake up or go to sleep, but either way, no more kissing.” He pushed her resolutely away. “Go back to sleep,” he repeated more firmly. It was the tone he used with his men when something urgent needed done. The tone they jumped to.

  She rolled over and snuggled into her pillow with a sigh.

  “Yes, Mama,” she mumbled, at which point she promptly began to snore—a delicate, feminine-sounding snore—but she was asleep nonetheless.

  She’d obviously done this sleep-awake talking before. Somehow he felt she should have warned him about that.

  A burst of anger hit him hard and fast on the tail of that thought.

  She should have told him a lot of things.

  She’d come out here to marry a stranger—to marry him, Isaac—when she loved another man? Why? Tonight, in her sleep, she’d laughed playfully, kissed him, and seemed a different person altogether. If she’d been widowed, wouldn’t she have said so? Of course she would have. Besides, she seemed too young to have been married. So who was Jack?

  Who are you, Rebecca Sullivan?

  Rebecca Jessup, he corrected himself.

  And then he thought: I’m married to a woman who’s in love with another man.

  The realization took the heat out of his anger fast. All he felt was empty.

  If she loves this Jack fellow, how can she ever come to love me?

  The pain of that thought revealed one thing: he’d begun to hope they could build a loving marriage like the one his father and mother had enjoyed. Sure, he’d started out with thoughts of pleasing Pop, but to Isaac’s mind marriage was a lifelong commitment, one he didn’t take lightly. Somewhere along the way, he’d resolved to give it his all. And he’d let himself indulge in some imaginary tender feelings for his little wife. Heaven help him, he’d dared to imagine she might come to care for him too.

  Her loving another man changed all that. Their whole marriage was one big glaring mistake.

  Well, he obviously couldn’t touch her now. It wouldn’t be right, would it?

  Of course not.

  Maybe someday she’d forget this Jack. Maybe he’d fade from her memory in time...

  How long would that take?

  If ever.

  Isaac stared sightlessly up at the ceiling until, at last, he managed to sleep for a few hours perhaps.

  When he woke again, he found Rebecca turned toward him, her eyes wide open, staring at him.

  ***

  Becky watched her husband, amazed at the sight of a man sharing the pillow next to hers. From the light peeking in through the curtains, she knew it was certainly morning. Her wedding night was over. She barely remembered anything, save a vague memory of a kiss or two...?

  Or had that been a dream?

  One thing was sure—Isaac had shared her bed last night, because he was here, right beside her, fixing her with the most intense stare. It was like he was trying to pry a confession from her. As if she’d done something wrong.

  She wrinkled her brow, wondering what she’d done.

  He gave an embarrassed sounding cough as her gaze wandered to the open neck of his nightshirt. She quickly averted her eyes.

  Had he tried to wake her up last night? Her cheeks warmed at the thought of him watching her sleep. What a strange and awkward marriage they’d tumbled into. She looked into her husband’s deep brown eyes, eyes holding a hint of reproach. She nearly groaned aloud. The perfect wife wouldn’t have slept through her wedding night, would she?

  “I’m sorry for falling asleep last night. You should’ve woken me up.” She gave him a shy, apologetic smile and snuggled down into her pillow, waiting for him to respond.

  How very, very strange to have a man beside her. She may as well have been walking down Main Street in her nightclothes—that’s how strange it felt.

  On the heels of that thought she remembered what she’d learned last night. Isaac hadn’t sent for her. Sam had.

  She should ask him. She should ask him straight out if he wanted to be married to her or not.

  She moistened her lips. Tried to form the words.

  How could she?

  Time would tell, soon enough, wouldn’t it? She could at least try to make the best of it.

  ***

  Isaac shifted under Rebecca’s inquiring eyes. He had to confront her about this Jack fellow.

  So…who’s Jack?

  Is there anyone back home—anyone important I should know about?

  But he couldn’t get the words out. It was all too humiliating.

  She never claimed to love me. In fact, she’d said she didn’t expect a love match. Was that why? Because she already loved another man?

  The little smile she was giving him turned his belly all soft and warm. She had no call to smile at him that way when she loved another man.

  He had to do it.

  He had to swallow his discomfort and ask.

  Get it out in the open.

  Clear the air.

  Okay then.

  Anytime now.

  Turning onto his side toward her, he propped himself on one elbow and rested his head on his hand. He stared at her for a moment and asked, “Who’s Jack?”

  “Jack?” She stiffened a little and moistened her lips.

  “Yes, Jack. I think you know who I mean?” At her miserable looking nod, he continued, “Didn’t you think I deserved to know that your heart is consigned to another? Before we got married?”

  “I... I...” She stammered, and her brow wrinkled in confusion.

  He waited. His heart seemed intent on hammering as loudly as his construction crew banging on the roof a couple of days ago.

  Her throat worked and, after a minute of looking around the room as if for answers, her gaze met his, and she nodded jerkily. “You’re right. You had a right to know. And I—and I’m sorry. My heart’s not free. That—that’s true. I won’t lie.”

  “I see.” He felt his jaw clench with equal parts anger and hurt.

  “And what about you?” she whispered.

  “I’m not
in love with anybody.”

  Something flickered in her eyes, recognition of what he’d just said, but some other expression he couldn’t read. Some womanly thing probably. How should he know?

  “I—”

  “Never have been,” he added for good measure. Which probably revealed more than he’d intended, he realized belatedly.

  “I mean, what about you not sending for me? What about that?”

  She had a point there. He hadn’t told her.

  He still didn’t feel like bringing it out in the open.

  Now look what you’ve done, Pop. See? What a fine mess.

  “I—”

  “Exactly,” she said, a slight militant glint in her eye, as if she wasn’t going to let him get away with anything. Good to know.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “Maybe I should have said something.” It was a small admission. “I was just trying to spare your feelings.”

  She pressed her lips closed. Maybe she was trying to hold her words back. He also got the impression she was waiting for something, for understanding to catch up with him, and it did.

  To spare her feelings.

  That’s what he’d said.

  And she hadn’t told him about Jack for the same reason.

  It wasn’t nearly the same. He told her that with a level glance.

  The look she gave him seemed a little wounded, as if he’d hurt her. And that wasn’t at all what he’d intended.

  His conscience tweaked him. Okay, maybe a little. But just the smallest amount.

  Because loving another man was on an entirely different scale than the secret he’d kept from her. Entirely different. What Pop had done, they could’ve laughed about that one day, years down the road when they were happy, with a handful of children running around.

  And now he had a headache.

  He’d meant to stay home today, to spend some time showing her around the area, maybe taking a walk down by the stream together. He’d envisioned quite a different day, but now he couldn’t bear hanging around and pretending all was well between them. He needed some space to breathe and to think.

  “I’ve got work to tend to today. Understand? I’ll leave you so you can dress.” He quickly pushed the covers off and jerked on his pants, which were lying over the chair next to the bed. He spared a thought to be grateful that his nightshirt came down over his knees, sparing them both more embarrassment. He flicked a glance at her, seeing her wide-eyed look of apology. Before he could say something he regretted, he grabbed up his work shirt and marched into the other room so he could finish dressing in privacy, leaving Rebecca to do the same.