Not yet.
“I apologize. I was merely taken aback at how quickly it was to happen.” Well, that and the very thought of marriage made him want to scamper like a rat into a hole. But he wasn’t about to tell her that.
Besides, she was right. The advertisement had clearly stated its intent. And he’d replied, acknowledging his willingness to marry. It had seemed so easy to do, back in his cramped room in New York, desperate to get out of the city and away from Sullivan and Garrity Shane.
But now that he was here, and an honest-to-goodness beautiful woman was waiting for him to lead her to the church and promise her forever, it felt awfully real. And awfully final.
Jack swallowed. What else was he to do? Go dig coal in some hills back East? Or kill himself laying track for some railroad company? Besides, would it be so terrible to be wed to a woman as intriguing as Mrs. Thornton? He held out an arm, crooked at the elbow. “Mightn’t you escort me somewhere to wash up first . . . What is your Christian name? I can hardly go on calling my intended by her formal name.”
She blushed again, sending a grin across his face and making him feel as if he’d struck gold. Perhaps Last Chance would be where his fortunes finally turned.
“Celia. Well, it’s Cecilia, but I much prefer Celia.” She looped her arm around his and gave him a shy smile.
“Celia.” He tested the name. “I like it. It suits you. I’m John Preston Wendler, known to most as simply Jack.”
“Jack,” she said, looking up at him, and he thought he’d never tire of hearing her say it. “My sister will let you wash up at her home.”
He wasn’t so sure about that, considering the downright skeptical looks the other Mrs. Thornton had given him earlier, but he let her accompany him to the boardinghouse to collect his bag. As she lead the way to the post office, he sent up a prayer of thanks that it appeared Celia had a home separate from that of her sister. He wasn’t certain if he could live with the other Mrs. Thornton’s withering looks day in and day out.
Celia explained her request to her sister, who scowled at Jack as he stood near the door. At least she wasn’t crying. He could handle outright loathing better than weeping any day. She made him wait in the front room and brought a filled pitcher, washbasin, towel, and small mirror to him.
When Celia retreated to the rear of the house, Mrs. Thornton stood against the doorway that led to what Jack supposed was the home’s kitchen. She watched him, frowning.
He tried to ignore the hostility that emanated from her, concentrating instead on locating the comb within his bag. He’d have preferred a bath, but that appeared not to be an option. Perhaps he could get one once he arrived at Celia’s home. Why hadn’t she taken him there? It must be located at the far end of town, and besides, he supposed it would have been improper for him to be alone with her in her house when they weren’t yet married.
“I don’t trust you,” Mrs. Thornton said, so out of nowhere that Jack nearly dropped his comb.
“I beg your pardon?” He smiled at her, but that only seemed to make her frown even more.
“You’re a fast talker. Words slip off your tongue much too easily, and I didn’t like the way you began flirting with my sister the very moment you met her. I suspect you act in that manner with every pretty woman you meet.” Mrs. Thornton crossed her arms, the gold of her wedding band glinting in the late-afternoon sunlight streaming in through the windows. Jack hadn’t seen nor heard of a Mr. Thornton. And given the way the woman cried so easily, he suspected she too was widowed.
It hadn’t escaped his attention that Celia wore no ring, and yet was also clearly widowed, given the way in which she’d introduced herself.
Jack set the comb down, satisfied that he’d gotten most of the dust from his hair, and turned to face Celia’s sister. “Contrary to your impressions of me, I am not a rake. I enjoy the art of conversation, which has treated me well in business circles.” Well, that was a stretch, but he would have done well, if he’d only landed on the right idea. He’d certainly had no trouble attracting investors. “I promise to treat Celia well.”
She watched him with narrowed eyes, and Jack felt as if he were speaking to Celia’s father, instead of her sister.
“I’ll hold you to that promise. If you break it, I’ll see to it that you regret it mightily.”
He raised his eyebrows, but he didn’t doubt her words. Mrs. Thornton clearly cared deeply for her sister.
“If you’ll excuse me, I must get back to my work.” She turned away and slipped behind the long counter.
Curiosity got the better of him. “Do you run this place alone?”
Without looking up, she said, “I am the town’s postmaster and telegraph operator since the death of my husband. So yes, I do the work alone. As you’ll find most businesses in this town are run.” Her voice cracked a little, and petrified he’d make her cry again, Jack turned back to the mirror.
He finished up the best he could with a lady present and then excused himself to change his clothing. When he emerged, Celia was waiting for him in the front room. She’d put on a pale green dress that set off her brilliant hair and seemed to match her eyes. She looked like an enchantress from some old legend, and Jack couldn’t look away.
“You look very nice,” he said, which barely scratched the
