face. When he glanced her way, the look had vanished. He squared his shoulders, his reserve going up. “Eberta is finishing with the last customer downstairs. When she’s done, she’ll head over to the diner next door. Amelia’s going with her. George can go, too, if you wish. They can fetch your meals, while you and I talk.”
Talk. Her chest tensed up so tightly her ribs felt ready to crack. “I suppose that sounds like a wise plan.”
“Good.” Cole nodded in his daughter’s direction before turning to warm his hands at the stove.
“C’mon, George. Let’s go.” Amelia hopped forward, skirts swishing, and held out her hand. “The diner has the best cookies. If Eberta is in a good mood, and something tells me that she might be, we can talk her into getting us dessert.”
George quietly took the girl’s hand, hesitating to glance across the room. Mercy recognized his worried look, so she nodded reassuringly, letting him know it would be all right.
“I’ll be right here waiting for you,” she told him, her good boy. He blew out a breath, perhaps shrugging off his anxiety, and took Amelia’s hand. The two trotted off, Amelia chattering away, as if determined to make them friends.
The room felt lonelier without the children in it, with only the two of them and their marriage agreement. Mercy’s palms grew damp as the silence stretched. She didn’t know if she should stand up and join Cole at the stove or continue to wait for him to speak. Since she wasn’t a meek woman, she scooted farther up on the cushion, poised on the edge of it and studied the man with his back to her, rigid as stone.
This wasn’t easy for him, either. That realization made it easier to break the silence.
“George already adores you.” She folded her hands together, lacing her fingers, staring at her work-roughened hands. “Thank you for being so welcoming to him, for being everything you promised in your letters.”
“Why wouldn’t I keep my word?” His tense back went rigid. His wide shoulders bunched. Then he blew out an audible huff of breath. “We agreed to be honest with one another.”
“We did.” She could sense an old hurt in the air, maybe something from his marriage. Heaven knew she had issues from hers. “Amelia is delightful. Everything I knew she would be.”
“Even rambunctious?” A slight dollop of humor chased the chill from his words.
“I suspected from her letters that she had a zest for life.” Slowly, she stood. Uncertain, she bit her bottom lip, wanting to reach out to the man, to her husband-to-be. “I was less certain what you would be like from your letters, although I read so many of them.”
“Likely I disappoint.” More of that humor and something else, something that seemed to make the shadows in the room darken, creeping ever closer.
“No, I may be the disappointment.” She brushed at a wrinkle in her wool dress, hoping he hadn’t noticed the fraying hem she hadn’t been able to mend on the train. “I wasn’t prepared for you to be so prosperous. And, well, I’m—”
“Just what Amelia needs,” he interrupted firmly, turning to face her. Resolute, confident, certain. Muscles jumped along his set jaw. “I learned a lot about you from your letters. You are honest and loyal—you worked hard for your son. You are unselfish enough to endure a marriage to a stranger for his sake.”
“Endure?” Her voice wobbled, betraying her, letting him know how difficult this really was. “That rather sounds like a jail sentence.”
“I didn’t mean it to be.” Part quip, part serious. Sadness eked into his gaze, darkening his eyes to a night blue, as if all the light had drained from the room. He shrugged one capable shoulder. “Maybe we can come to an agreement so we both won’t be disappointed. Rules to live by, that type of thing. We’re going to be bound together in this life. Don’t know why we can’t make it tolerable.”
“Gee, now I’m really excited about marrying you.” She smiled, and her gentle teasing softened the stony cast to his face. He broke into a half smile, and the lean planes of his cheeks creased into manly crinkles. He had dimples. Who knew? Mercy grinned back, feeling a little fluttery. Not only did her new fiancé have dimples, but he was handsome.
Very, very handsome.
“That’s what I want to talk to you about.” He raked one hand through his thick, dark hair. “I know we wrote about a simple wedding. Just the four of us in front of the minister the day after you arrived.”
“Seeing this room set up so comfortably...” She gestured at the nice sofa and matching overstuffed chair, the small drop-leaf end table set up with two chairs near the kitchen area window. “It’s obvious you want to postpone the wedding.”
“For Amelia’s sake.” He blew out another sigh, looking tense again. “I didn’t think to tell her what we agreed to. Something simple, quick, no fuss. But the problem with that is it sets a bad example of what marriage ought to be. This between us is—”
“A sensible arrangement,” she finished for him, seeing how hard this was for him to talk about. It was hard for her, too, remembering the young bride she’d been when she’d married Timothy, so full of hopes and joy she’d practically floated down the church aisle. “You want her to keep her illusions of marriage. You want to protect her.”
“So, you do understand.” Relief stood out starkly on his face, carving into the grooved lines bracketing his mouth. He folded his big, six-foot frame into the chair. “I didn’t realize she had her heart set on a proper ceremony with a new dress and family and friends attending. Not until I spotted this.”
He reached for a child’s school slate set aside on an end table. “Amelia has been dying to show you her plans.”
“For a real wedding?” Mercy’s hand trembled as she reached for the slate. She had to lean in to grab the wooden frame, close enough to feel the fan of his breath against her cheek. She breathed in the pleasant scent of clean male, winter wind and soap.
Little flutters settled in her stomach again, which was strange. Surely she wasn’t attracted to him. She bit her bottom lip, uncertain what to think. Perhaps she’d simply gone too long between meals. Heart pounding, she eased onto the sofa cushion, taking in the girl’s wedding plans, written out in a careful, cheerful script on the slate’s black background.
Her heart dropped at the list. To do: Amelia had written. Invite everyone. Flowers for the bride. Candles for the church. The dress in Cora’s shop window, the one with the lace and velvet for my new ma. A big cake for the celebration. A Christmas Eve wedding. Beside the last item, Amelia had drawn a little heart.
“She has her hopes set higher than I realized,” Cole said quietly, the deep timbre of his voice rolling over Mercy like a touch, as if imploring her to understand. “I know we agreed on a simple ceremony. You said that was what you wanted. No fuss, no pretense.”
“But this way, with your friends as witnesses.” Mercy’s fingertip hovered over the words Amelia had written, over the plans she’d made. Her chest ached, torn between the old and the new. “What will they think?”
“It doesn’t matter. I’m not a man given to pretense. They knew the truth, Mercy. This is an agreement, simple as that.” He swallowed hard, as if he were troubled, too, perhaps plagued with memories like she was, of a love that was gone for good. Burying a spouse was a sorrow that lasted. He shot to his feet, pacing to the window. “I understand if you’d rather keep to our arrangement.”
“I never expected to walk down the aisle again.” Carefully she set the slate aside. Everything inside of her began to spin. Her thoughts. Her hopes. What she’d resigned her life to be. “I never thought such a bright spot could come my way. I really adore your daughter, Cole. I don’t want to disappoint her.”
“Neither do I.” He turned from the window, grateful. “We do this for the children?”
“For the children.”