done, find a way to pay back the money she’d spent. But at the moment, he was more concerned about the woman sitting beside him. How horrible this must be for her, how embarrassing. A woman had to be desperate to marry a stranger, from what he understood of the custom of mail-order brides. She had taken the ultimate chance in coming here, and now she had nothing to show for it.
He could not help feeling that it was partly his fault. If he had listened the many times Beth had tried to talk to him about taking a wife, he might have realized his sister’s plans before they’d come to this. He had to find a way to make things right.
“Miss Tyrrell—” he began.
“Mrs. Tyrrell,” she said.
She was a widow. Odd. She didn’t look much older than Beth. How tragic to have already lost a husband. His guilt over how she’d been used ratcheted up higher.
“Mrs. Tyrrell,” he acknowledged. “I can only commend you for your willingness to journey all the way to Seattle. My sister must have painted a very convincing picture.”
“Thank you,” Beth said, icing dripping off her chin.
John continued, undaunted. “But I am not prepared to marry.”
“Yes, he is,” Beth said, leaning forward, half-eaten cookie in one hand. “He has a nice house, a good farm and a steady nature. He just needs the right incentive.”
“Beth.” He had never been a man of temper. Indeed, his brothers were likely to tease him for being the peacemaker in the family. But his sister’s actions were making him feel decidedly less than peaceful.
“You cannot think that a few letters I knew nothing about will encourage me to offer marriage,” he told her. “I’m not interested in taking a wife.”
Beth’s lower lip and fingers trembled, sending a drop of icing to the table. “But, John, look at her. She’s sweet and pretty. She loves books as much as you do. She’d be perfect for you.”
He looked at Mrs. Tyrrell, whose eyes appeared suspiciously moist. Guilt wrapped itself around his heart.
Which was unfortunate, for his heart was entirely the problem. All his life, he’d tried to be the sort of man he’d read about in the adventure novels Pa had left them—bold, daring, determined, willing to brave great things for the woman he loved. His courtship last summer had made him painfully aware that he was no hero. That wasn’t how God had made him.
Besides, Beth seemed to understand that his last attempt at courting had only wounded him. Why would she think he’d be willing to try again, and with a stranger?
“Mrs. Tyrrell is lovely,” he said to Beth, though he kept his gaze on the woman who was supposed to be his bride. “I’m sure she’ll make some gentleman a marvelous wife. But I will not be that man.”
He could see Mrs. Tyrrell swallow even though she had not taken a bite of the shortbread Ciara had left in front of her.
“I’m sorry you feel that way, Mr. Wallin,” she said, her gaze holding his. “But I was promised a husband, and I won’t leave without one.”
Oh, but she sounded so bold! What had happened to the girl her mother and father had once called sweet? Under other circumstances, Dottie would have apologized immediately, tried to appreciate John Wallin’s position. Now all she could think about was Peter.
She could not return to Cincinnati and risk meeting Frank again. He’d been violent the last time she’d seen him, had warned her what would happen if she ever told anyone what she knew. The bruises on her arms where he’d grabbed her had taken weeks to fade.
Besides, she had no idea how he might react if he knew about Peter. He’d told her how much he wanted children. He might try to claim Peter. She’d used up the last of her money on the midwife to birth her son and most of John Wallin’s—Beth’s—money to reach Seattle, so she couldn’t afford to leave. And without a place to stay and some reliable income, she couldn’t make a new home here, either.
Across the table from her, Beth’s round face was puckering. “This is not how I imagined your meeting to go.”
Very likely not. Though she seemed about the same age as Dottie, Beth Wallin had clearly known little of the world. She still believed in love at first sight and happily-ever-after endings. Dottie had believed in all that, too, had dreamed of marrying the perfect man. She’d been a fool to accept Frank Reynolds’s promises. Now she’d been lied to yet again.
“I could have told you a lady wouldn’t fall in love with me after one meeting,” John said to his sister, his voice kind. “Women don’t react to me that way.”
Well, at least he wasn’t vain. Still, she could imagine another woman setting her cap at him. Forest green eyes and mahogany hair were a potent combination, especially with that warm voice and smile. It certainly seemed as if those broad shoulders could help carry a woman’s burdens.
“And think of Mrs. Tyrrell,” he continued as his sister sank in her chair, cookie falling to the plate. “You raised her hopes and put her in a difficult position.”
Beth straightened with a show of defiance. “Not so difficult. Seattle is a much better place for her than where she was. I knew even if you could not be brought up to scratch, she could have her pick of husbands.”
There was that. Ever since she’d arrived two days ago, she’d seen a predominance of gentlemen on the streets of the burgeoning town. But which of the miners, loggers, farmers and businessmen strolling past with approving looks were honest and hardworking? Which had left a wife behind when they’d journeyed west? She shuddered just remembering the day she’d discovered the truth about Frank.
She and Frank had been married a mere two months, sharing a little apartment on Poplar, just north of the busy downtown area. Some days she didn’t see him because he traveled for his work, but he was utterly devoted when he was home. That day, when she’d heard a knock on the door after Frank had left for work, she’d thought it must be one of the neighbor wives who liked to come over for a cup of tea. But her smile of welcome had faded when she found herself facing a finely dressed woman wringing her hands.
“I know he’s here,” the woman had said. “The detective agency gave me this address. Please, won’t you let me see my husband?”
Even remembering, she felt the cold sickness sweep over her. She’d thought surely the so-called Mrs. Reynolds was mistaken. Frank would laugh off the story.
After he’d returned that evening, Frank had tried to keep up the pretense when Dottie told him what had happened.
“She’s crazy, sweetheart,” he’d said, taking Dottie in his arms. “You’re the only girl for me.”
But Mrs. Reynolds had returned the next day and the next, until Frank was forced to admit the truth. Unhappy in his marriage, he had found solace in another woman’s arms.
In her arms. Dottie was the second Mrs. Reynolds, which meant she wasn’t married at all. Small wonder she’d used her maiden name ever since.
“A good husband,” she told Beth now, “is not so easy to come by. They generally don’t wear labels like ‘excellent provider’ or ‘kind to cats and children.’”
John Wallin smiled. Another man might have refused to have anything more to do with her after realizing his sister’s scheme. But then again, he didn’t know about Peter yet. Marrying a woman with a baby born out of wedlock might make even the kind, thoughtful Mr. Wallin turn tail.
“You might be better off seeking employment,” he suggested. “My family knows many of the business owners in town.”
And he believed she had the skills to succeed. That was refreshing. Too often men took one look at her lavender eyes and golden curls