His Substitute Wife. Dorothy Clark

wounded heart. She shoved away from the railing, grasped hold of her skirts and walked into the bedroom she was using—their bedroom. Everything here was either built or purchased with her sister in mind. There was no place in the living quarters she could go that did not remind her of Linda. And if it was that way for her, how much worse it was for Blake. What had ever made her think coming here to save Blake’s store would ease his agony over Linda’s betrayal? How could he forget what had happened when everything around him was a constant reminder of his lost love? Including her. She never should have come.

      Her back stiffened. It was another mistake she would have to live with. She was here now. And she would make the best of it for Blake and herself until he came up with a different plan to save his inheritance. There was no doubt that he would—or that his plan would be much more sensible than hers. Meantime, she would stop trying to ease his pain over Linda’s desertion and concentrate on making his life, and hers, as comfortable and pleasant as possible under the circumstances—starting with this room.

      She marched to the bed, stripped off and folded the beautiful blue-and-white coverlet, then opened the blanket chest at the foot of the bed. She snatched out a wool blanket the mustard color of an autumn leaf and put the coverlet inside. The silver ring box gleamed at her. She spread the blanket on the bed, snatched up the ring box and shoved it out of sight at the bottom of the chest. The throw on the back of the rocker worked nicely to hide the ornate dressing table. She arranged her grooming items on top of the woven wool, straightened and looked around. Much better. At least she would be able to sleep in this room now.

      Now, for Blake’s room. She set herself, walked the U-shaped hallway around the stairwell, grasped the knob on his bedroom door and froze, unable to open it. It was too...intimate. She whirled about and started back down the hallway.

      The room is empty but for a cot.

      She stopped, turned and stared at the door once more. A deep breath steadied her. She squared her shoulders, marched back and opened the door. A cot stood in the middle of the room, a sheet, blanket and pillow tangled together on top of it—mute testimony of a sleepless night. She blinked away a rush of tears and opened the doors of a sizable wardrobe on the inside wall. There was a canvas bag on the floor with a rumpled white shirt sticking out of it. She closed the doors and hurried back to her bedroom to get clean linens.

      * * *

      It was a challenge. Audrey eyed the cot she’d moved so it sat between the two shuttered windows in the side wall and nibbled at her lower lip. How could she make the bed linens stay in place? There was nowhere to tuck them, unless—She smiled, snapped the sheet through the air, let the excess fall to the floor and then tucked the corners beneath the feet of the crisscrossed legs. That should work. Blake’s weight would hold the corners of the sheet firmly in place. She added a top sheet and then the blanket, tucking only the bottom corners under the legs at the foot of the cot, then shoved the pillow into a clean pillow slip, fluffed it and laid it on top. There!

      She gathered up the dirty linens, shoved them in the bag in the wardrobe, then stepped back and eyed her handiwork. At least the cot looked more like a bed now. And, if her idea worked as she hoped, Blake would be able to sleep without the linens strangling him in a tangled mess. But he needed a bedside table, and an oil lamp—the days were getting shorter. There had to be one she could use somewhere.

      She rushed out into the hallway, glanced toward the door to Blake’s office on her left, then walked ahead to the sitting room. She did not want to overstep her wifely role in this strange marriage. She wouldn’t enter his office unless he gave her permission to clean it. She swept her gaze around the sitting room and spotted a lamp table in the far corner. Would Blake be upset if she took it for his use? Perhaps not, once the deed was done. She carried the table and oil lamp back to Blake’s bedroom and placed them beneath the shuttered window on the right side of his cot. Perfect!

      Now, for his clothes. They would be in a dresser in her room—the bedroom he’d planned to share with Linda. Guilt tightened her chest. She pushed it aside and concentrated on the task she’d set herself. She had to bring Blake’s clothes in here where they would be handy for his use. If he didn’t have to constantly enter that bedroom it would be one less reminder of Linda’s betrayal.

      She returned to her room and opened one of the large bottom drawers of the highboy. Shirts. She’d guessed right—it was Blake’s dresser. Propriety blended with modesty and brought warmth crawling into her cheeks. She closed the drawer and stared at the dresser. This was too intimate. How could she possibly move his clothes?

      Pillow slips.

      The idea brought a smile to her lips. She ran to the blanket chest and pulled out a pillow slip, returned to the highboy, covered Blake’s shirts and pulled the drawer free. The bulky weight plopped her to the floor on her backside. “Oh!” She shoved the drawer off her legs, scrambled to her feet, lifted it tight against her stomach and headed for the door. It was a close fit. She turned sideways and edged out into the hallway.

      “Audrey, I heard a scraping sound. What are you doing?”

      Blake! She whipped around toward the stairs, caught her toe in the hem of her skirt, stumbled and pitched forward, still clutching the drawer that rammed straight into Blake’s abdomen.

      “Oof!”

      His warm breath gusted by her cheek, his hands clamped onto her shoulders, held her steady. She came to a heart-pounding halt bent forward over the drawer with the top of her head pressing against his chest.

      “Are you all right, Audrey?”

      The question was a little breathless. Small wonder with the drawer jammed into his stomach. She was breathless, too. “Yes.” The word was smothered by the cloth pushing against her face. She tried to straighten and failed. He tightened his grip on her shoulders, gently pushed her back until she was upright.

      “Why don’t I take this?” His hands brushed against hers as he grasped hold of the drawer. “Just out of curiosity... What are you doing with my shirts?”

      The shirts and pillowcase were all askew. So was her hair. She could feel the curls tumbling every which way onto her forehead and temples. Wonderful! They would match the red of her burning cheeks. She tugged her bodice back into place, shook her skirt hems straight and looked up. “I thought it would be...handier for you if your clothes were in...your bedroom.” His gaze lifted over her head toward the open door behind her. She snagged her lower lip with her teeth, wishing she could say one thing that did not bring that strained look to his face. “I was taking them there—one drawer at a time so I could manage them.”

      He nodded and cleared his throat, lowered his gaze back to meet hers. “And how were you going to move the dresser?”

      An excellent question. She shoved her hair comb back into place and lifted her chin. “I hadn’t thought that out as yet.”

      “I see.” He frowned and blew out a breath. “I appreciate your...concern, Audrey. But I don’t need to be protected. Nothing can change what has happened. Linda chose another. And while that knowledge is raw and painful, I will come to grips with it given time. Now, come and show me what you intend to do in...my bedroom. And the next time you get an idea like this, call me. I don’t want you hurting yourself.” He stepped aside.

      She swallowed back a protest that she was not protecting him, only making things more convenient, and walked ahead of him to his bedroom. She glanced up at his face when he entered. He looked in the direction of the cot and the table, stopped and stared.

      “What’s all this?” He put the drawer down on the floor, bent down and looked at the corners of the blanket and sheets trapped beneath the legs of the cot. He shook his head, straightened and scrubbed his hand across the back of his neck. “That’s clever, Audrey. I wish I had thought of it. My feet would have been a lot warmer these past couple of months.” A smile touched his lips, then faded.

      She released her breath, thankful he wasn’t angry with her presumption in making over his room—or was pretending not to be. “I hope it works.”

      “It looks as