her.
Dora talked and Emmet listened, and then Emmet would talk while Dora listened. More often than not they ended up laughing together over some trivial incident from either her past or his. They played checkers—clouded eyes or not, he was a wicked competitor.
And then, Emmet suggested she marry him.
It wasn’t a proposal so much as a business proposition. Dora was sitting in one of the two parlor chairs, rubbing her foot through her lisle stockings, as the sole had finally worn through her left slipper.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Now, don’t jump ship before you hear me out.” Emmet had buttoned his blue shirt up to his neck and put on his best denim trousers. His ankle had healed enough that he was able to get around quite well. “I’m an old man. Like I said, my sand’s running out. While I’m still able to get about, I’d like to see things settled between us. Now, Grey, he means well, but he might take a notion to send you on your way once he gets back—ought to be showing up most any day now. If I remember correctly—and I gen’ally do,” he added with a familiar twinkle—”this house is mine for my lifetime, then it goes to my widow and any issue I might have. Otherwise, it turns back to St. Bride.”
Frantically thinking of all the reasons why such a match was absurd, Dora hardly heard what he was saying about his house. St Bride was on his way home. He would find her and…what?
Emmet waited patiently for her reaction. Having presented his case, he left the decision to her.
Could she stay on as his companion if she said no? If not, where could she go? Could she even afford to leave the island? She had no desire to marry. On the other hand, such an arrangement would benefit both and harm neither.
Dora took a deep breath. Then, suppressing second thoughts, she accepted.
The wedding was held the next day, before St. Bride could return and object. It was quite small. Clarence was there, his smile bright enough to light up the whole church. And the two carpenters, James Calvin and Almy Dole. By then Dora had met several of the local men. She couldn’t help but feel relief at not being thrust into a stranger’s arms by Lord St. Bride.
Clarence was nice. Red-haired and freckled, he had an engaging smile. She rather thought he was an intelligent man, but on the few occasions when they’d met, she hadn’t been able to think of a single thing to say to him.
As for the boat-building carpenters, James Calvin and Almy Dole, who were cousins, according to Emmet, they both seemed equally decent. Both were dark haired, dark eyed, really quite attractive men, but painfully shy. If Emmet was right and St. Bride had picked out one of those to be her husband, what on earth would they ever have found to talk about?
She sighed, waiting for the minister to stop clearing his throat and get on with the marriage service. Emmet didn’t need to be standing for any length of time. Besides, St. Bride was expected at any time.
Somewhat surprisingly, the church was filled, all three rows. Most of the men appeared to have made an effort at grooming for the occasion. Hats in hand, hair slicked back, each one bowed gravely as Emmet introduced them to his bride-to-be. Instead of flowers, the church was beginning to smell distinctly like fish.
Suddenly struck by the absurdity of the situation, Dora managed to swallow her mirth just as the preacher said sonorously, “Friends…we are…gathered here…”
He did, indeed, speak slowly, just as Emmet had warned. It wasn’t so much a drawl as an emphasis on each word spoken. Halfway through the proceedings Dora was ready to scream, “Get on with it, do, before I lose my courage!”
But she gripped Emmet’s arm and they supported each other until they were finally pronounced man and wife.
On the way back to the cottage, having been showered with shy smiles, a few mumbled blessings and even a bow by a courtly old gentleman wearing faded denim and rubber boots—Dora walked slowly, aware that Emmet was tiring. His ankle was largely mended, but he still had a limited amount of strength.
She’d been able to take most of his daily tasks on herself, even if she didn’t do them particularly well. After nearly a week she was still discovering strengths and weaknesses, as well as abilities she might never have known about if her life hadn’t taken such a sudden turn.
They had almost reached the front gate when Grey St. Bride came riding over the dunes on a big, shaggy bay horse. “Oh, dear, he’s back, she murmured.
“Heard he was due in,” replied Emmet equably.
Suddenly the animal reared. Silhouetted against the sunset, the man appeared to Dora almost like a centaur. Her mouth went dry and her heart began to pound until she could hardly breathe.
Shading his eyes against the lowering sun, Emmet said cheerfully, “Good evening, to you, St. Bride. I reckon you’ve met my wife. Sorry you missed the wedding.”
Protectively gripping her husband’s arm, Dora heard with amazement the cocky note in his voice. Weak or not, he suddenly sounded far younger than he had only moments ago.
St. Bride looked from one to the other before his gaze settled on Dora. “The devil, you say.”
Chapter Four
“Aren’t you going to congratulate me, Cap’n?” Emmet asked, grinning broadly by now. “I reckon you had in mind marrying her off to James or Clarence, but I need her more than them two does.”
Slowly, his eyes never once leaving Dora’s, Grey St. Bride swung down from his horse. “Madam, I told you—”
“You told me I wouldn’t do. That I was too weak. Well, you don’t know me at all. I’ll do just fine!” Pain from all the wounds that had been inflicted over the past few months suddenly coalesced into raw anger.
Emmet patted her arm and stepped between them. “I’ve enough laid by to see to her care and feeding,” he told the other man, quiet pride lending him stature. “You’ll not be inconvenienced.”
Though his intent was clear, there was a tremor in his voice that warned Dora he was overreaching his limited resources. Fearing that he might actually challenge the younger man, she stepped forward and tucked her arm through his again. “If you’ll excuse us now, Mr. St. Bride,” she said firmly, “I’d best get started cooking our marriage dinner.”
Not waiting to see the effect of her words, she tugged Emmet toward the gate and ushered him through, wondering if she had taken leave of her senses, deliberately taunting the man that way. Among several qualities she had recently developed was a rather alarming strain of recklessness.
However, she couldn’t resist glancing over her shoulder just before she closed the front door behind them. Grey was still standing in the middle of the road, threat implicit in every inch of his tall, powerful body.
The bigger they come, the harder they fall.
Had she heard that somewhere, or only read it?
Never mind, just so long as it was true.
Emmet headed for his favorite chair and collapsed, fanning his face with his straw hat. “I reckon we set the boy in his place,” he said, looking smug despite his flushed face. “Don’t fret, Doree, Grey won’t give you a speck of trouble. He’s a fair man. Gets his dander up when things don’t go his way, but you have to remember, the boy owns near about the whole island. Him, and his father and grandfather before him.”
Which went a long way toward explaining his arrogance, she allowed grudgingly. Even so, he was too tall, too strong and entirely too male. “I don’t like him,” Dora said flatly. “I don’t care if he owns every twisted tree and every grain of sand in sight, he doesn’t own me. And he doesn’t own you—and he doesn’t own our home.”
Emmet smiled, but it seemed somewhat forced. He’s tired, Dora thought ruefully. Walking to the church, then having to stand there