His Substitute Wife. Dorothy Clark

the trim finished, so there’s the meantime—and it’s obvious Asa Marsh will be of little help. But it’s my own fault. I should have waited to open the store. I was too eager to—” He bit off the words, grasped her left hand and tucked it through the crook of his right arm. “In case anyone sees us walking while I show you around Whisper Creek.”

      “Such as it is...” She took a skip to catch up with his long strides.

      “Sorry.” His steps slowed, stopped. He stared down at her hand resting on his arm. “Where’s your ring?”

      “The ring is safe in its box.” She lifted her chin, looked full into his eyes. “It’s too large and I don’t want to lose it—should anyone ask.” The muscle along his jaw twitched. He nodded and moved forward. She cast about for something to distract him from his tormenting thoughts. “The hotel looks finished outside, except for needing paint and trim like your store. But, I can hear them working inside. When does Mr. Stevenson expect to open for business?”

      “Mr. Stevenson?” Blake stopped walking, gave her a puzzled look.

      Featherbrain! You distracted him all right. How would you know the hotel owner’s name? She widened her eyes in a look of confusion. “Am I wrong? These things were only mentioned in passing.” Oh, wonderful! That will keep him from thinking of Linda. She pressed her lips together and slid her gaze back to the large raw building before more of her knowledge of Whisper Creek and its residents slipped out. Blake was too much of a gentleman to question her explanation, but she could almost hear him wondering how much of his letters Linda had shared with her. Blessed Lord, please don’t let him guess that it was the other way around. That I—

      “The name is correct. Your memory serves you well.” His arm relaxed beneath her hand. She held back a sigh when they started walking again. “To answer your question—Garret Stevenson hopes to open by the end of September on a limited basis. It will be winter before all of the rooms are finished. And then, of course, they will have to be painted and furnished before they can be occupied.”

      “And he will buy the paint and the furnishings from you? That’s wonderful, Blake!” She smiled up at him. His strained look brought her back to reality. “I mean—if you still have the store then.”

      “Which I will—if I can’t come up with a plan.” Bitterness laced his voice. “I’ve tried, but I’ve thought of nothing that will work. If it weren’t for that contract I signed...”

      Her heart ached for him. “It’s not even been a full day, Blake. And this is an...unusual circumstance. You will think of something.”

      “More optimism?”

      His teasing tone fell flat. “No, not optimism. I have faith in your abilities.” She waved her hand forward. “What is the building on the other side of your store going to be?”

      “An apothecary. The owner is not in town yet.” His gaze shifted to their right. “I assume he and his wife will come when the store and their house are finished.”

      She looked away from the twitching muscle along his jaw and followed the direction of his gaze. A narrow path to the side of the stores led into the tall grasses. She lifted her gaze into the distance and gasped at the sight of a large white house with a porch and a round turret situated by the creek that flowed down the long valley. “What a beautiful house. It could sit on the finest street in New York.”

      “It belongs to Mr. Ferndale, the town founder. The smaller, octagon-shaped house under construction is the apothecary’s.”

      “Octagon-shaped? I’ve never seen such a house!” Framework for the eight-sided structure sat beside the creek a fair distance beyond the Ferndale home. Movement caught her eye and she shaded her face with her hand, made out the figures of two men crawling along the roof. The muted sound of hammering floated off down the broad valley. She looked into the distance beyond the homes until her gaze collided with the encompassing snowcapped mountains. “I thought the West was full of cows and cowboys and such.” She drew her gaze back to look up at him. “Where are the ranches?”

      “There aren’t many in Wyoming, though ranchers are beginning to move in because of the land opening up and the railroad coming through. I’ve heard some cowboys bought the land in the adjoining valley and are building a cabin and pens and such. Rumor is, they plan to go back to Texas and bring a herd of cattle up next spring. But it’s only rumor. What I know for certain is that there will be no ranches in this valley. Mr. Ferndale owns all of the land and he refuses to have Whisper Creek turn into what he calls a ‘rowdy cow town’ with drinking and gambling and other...disreputable pursuits. He envisions Whisper Creek as a town modeled after his home village back East. That’s why he advertised for—why he won’t allow bachelor businessmen to invest in the town. He wants men who will build stores and homes and raise families here.” He turned his back, cleared his throat.

      She stared at his rigid shoulders, snagged her lip with her teeth and clenched her hands. Linda Marie Prescott—or whatever your name is now—it’s fortunate for you you’re not here, because I could cheerfully shake you until your teeth rattled! She looked around for a safe subject, found it in the water gushing and splashing down the mountain behind his store. “Is it possible to get closer to the waterfall, Blake? I’ve never seen one.”

      “Yes, of course.” He turned and offered her his arm. “It’s a bit of a walk—if you don’t mind.”

      “Not at all. It’s a lovely day.”

      “All right then. We’ll go around the hotel to reach the path. I’m afraid it is not a good one, merely beaten-down grasses.”

      He led her between a small copse of pines and the side of the hotel, then turned right and walked along a rutted dirt path that ran behind the buildings. She glanced up to get her bearings, stopped and stared at a wide, odd-looking wood barrow sitting beneath the floor of a deep, roofed porch. “What is that?”

      “My cart. It’s how I get my supplies from the depot to the store. That’s my loading dock.”

      She lifted her gaze. “Is that another porch above it?”

      “Yes.”

      “And that building that adjoins the porch?”

      “My stable.”

      Her pulse jumped. She’d always wanted to ride a horse. Perhaps—“You ride?”

      “No. I need a horse to pull the cart. Mitchel Todd—he runs the logging operation here in Whisper Creek—has been allowing me the use of one of his horses until I can buy one.” He released her arm. “The path is this way. Take care where you step—the grasses are treacherous and the ground is rough where we buried the pipe for the water supply. The trail is too narrow to walk together. I’ll go first in case—”

      The blast of a train whistle drowned out his words. His head turned toward the tracks.

      The look in his eyes pricked her heart. He’s hoping Linda is on that train. He wants her to come back to him. Her hope for a pleasant, distracting walk to the waterfall died. She lifted her skirt hems and started up the few steps to the loading dock.

      He pivoted toward her. “What are you doing?”

      “I’ve changed my mind. I think it would be best if we stayed here.”

      “But the waterfall...”

      She shook her head and continued up the steps. “You can show me the waterfall another time. I forgot that Mr. Marsh might tell the porter about your store. You need to be here if any passengers come to make a purchase.” She hurried across the deep porch, wrenched open the door and rushed through the storage room and up the stairs, aware of him following behind her. She reached the top, swung around the newel post into the short hall on the right and peered over the railing. Blake paused at the bottom of the stairs, then walked on. Tears stung her eyes at the anguish in his unguarded expression. She listened to his footsteps fade away as he entered the store.

      Every part