Would-Be Mistletoe Wife. Christine Johnson

irresistibly toward her.

      “I hope she’s not injured badly,” he said softly.

      “I doubt it.” The uncharacteristic statement sent another flush of red to her cheeks. “I’m sorry, that was uncalled for.”

      Jesse couldn’t help but come to her defense, even though the only battle she fought was with herself. “I suspect you’re right. A break would have caused a great deal more pain.”

      Louise gave him a grateful smile, just for a moment. Then the wall went back up between them. “Well, I should check in on the patient. Good evening, Mr. Hammond.”

      “Mister? Maybe we should move beyond formality if we are working together.”

      Her lips moved, as if she was about to say his given name and then thought better of it. “I must go upstairs. Good night.”

      “Good night.”

      But she hadn’t waited for his answer. She hurried up the stairs, her gaze averted. A moment later, Jesse stood alone in the parlor. Any hint of affection died in the coolness of her response.

      Best concentrate on the opportunity set before him. Tonight he would convince Blackthorn to show him how to work the light. Thanks to Mrs. Evans, he had the perfect reason.

      * * *

      Naturally nothing was wrong with Priscilla. Louise lingered outside the girl’s room long enough to learn that. Under the crowded supervision of Fiona and the other four students, Mrs. Calloway had declared there was no swelling or bruising. Priscilla would be up and about by Monday. However, she would miss tonight’s church supper.

      Louise and Fiona stood in the parlor after Mrs. Calloway departed and the girls returned to their rooms to freshen up before walking to the church.

      “I will stay with Priscilla,” Louise volunteered.

      As combative as her relationship was with the girl, she preferred an evening with Priscilla to the gossip and matchmaking that took place at all community functions. Her position as a widow who’d arrived in town hoping to marry opened the gate for constant suggestions of a suitable match. Not a one of them came close to the type of husband she craved. That included the latest resident, Jesse Hammond. Yes, his handsome features and the way he looked at her made her blush, but that was purely a biological reaction without one iota of sense, common or otherwise.

      Naturally, Fiona objected to Louise’s offer. “You go to the supper. I will stay with Priscilla.”

      “Nonsense. You need to be with your family. This school consumes too much of your time. This is a chance for you all to do something together.” She added the crowning blow. “I’m sure Mary Clare would love to go.”

      Fiona looked like she was going to protest, but the thought of pleasing her niece, whom she was raising, ended the matchmaking effort. A sigh of resignation issued from her lips.

      Louise took advantage. “I insist.”

      At that moment, the four girls descended the staircase, giving Louise the opportunity she needed. She hurried upstairs before Fiona could summon a protest.

      Priscilla’s bedroom door was closed. Though the rest of the girls doubled up in a room, the Benningtons had insisted on a private room for their daughter. At the time, Louise had viewed that request as arrogant, but perhaps it was intended to protect the other girls from Priscilla’s manipulations. Perhaps her parents had tired of retrieving their daughter from school after school. Then again, at eighteen—even though just barely that age—Priscilla ought to be receiving suitors at home. Louise could not imagine why her parents insisted on sending their daughter to a ladies’ school against her wishes.

      Louise rapped lightly on the door, not wanting to wake Priscilla if she was dozing. Mrs. Calloway had insisted on giving the girl a dose of laudanum. Louise didn’t think that wise, especially before supper, but Mrs. Calloway brushed away her objections.

      When Priscilla did not answer, Louise quietly turned the door handle.

      “Mr. Hammond?” The somewhat slurred words trailed off.

      The poor girl was dreaming. She must be. Jesse wouldn’t have promised to return that evening. Surely he had duties to perform at the lighthouse. Dusk was the crucial hour when the light began its daily vigil. Then again, perhaps he intended to go to the church supper after the light was lit. Between Mr. Blackthorn and Jesse, they could take turns tending the light. That would explain Fiona’s insistence that Louise attend but not Priscilla calling out Jesse’s name.

      Louise gently pushed open the door to the girl’s room. The hinges creaked slightly, something that a little oil would remedy. She must tell Fiona’s husband, Sawyer, the next time she saw him.

      Priscilla lay atop the bed, the bedclothes disheveled, as if she had tossed and turned through a night of terrors, yet she could have slept but a few minutes. The girl’s eyes were closed, and her face was flushed.

      Louise caught her breath. Something truly was wrong with Priscilla. She crossed the room and placed a hand on the girl’s forehead. It was warm but not overly hot. Still, something had caused this thrashing about. Louise poured water from the pitcher into the basin on the washstand and then dipped a cloth in it. A cool compress wouldn’t hurt. After wringing out the excess water, she placed it on Priscilla’s forehead. The girl moved her head from side to side and murmured something unintelligible, but she didn’t wake.

      Louise then took the chair from the table that had been intended as a writing desk but had been transformed into a vanity. She set it beside the bed and sat down. Priscilla’s uneaten supper lay on a table opposite. Her glass of water was also untouched. Louise watched the girl intently, but she did not thrash about again. Perhaps the compress was helping. The delirium might be caused by the laudanum, or it might be the beginning of a fever. Either way, someone must watch Priscilla carefully.

      She would hold vigil tonight and as long as necessary.

      Outside, dusk had settled into the early gloom of night. A beam of light flooded the room. The lighthouse! Louise hadn’t realized the light’s beam reached these windows. Her room faced opposite. The other girls had rooms that faced toward the river. Only Priscilla’s room had this vantage.

      Louise hurried to close the blinds. The room ought to have shutters. She grasped the thick velvet curtains, ready to pull them shut, when she noticed a figure on the dune opposite, the dune where she’d first encountered Jesse. From the size of this figure, it must be the assistant lighthouse keeper. Mr. Blackthorn was considerably smaller. Pearl Decker said Jesse had been in town nearly a week. Priscilla might have seen him many times before their encounter on the dune. That was more than enough time for a lonely girl to fantasize about a handsome man walking across the dune outside her window.

      Jesse headed downhill toward the hotel side of the building that housed both the school and the hotel. Priscilla’s delirious mutterings echoed in Louise’s mind. Had she expected Jesse to return? Was that the reason for the fall or feigned fall? That awful twinge of jealousy returned. What was wrong with her? She had no interest in Jesse beyond the professional. One way or another, she must gain control of her emotions.

      So she began to close the drapes. Then she spotted Jesse moving past the hotel in the direction of the church. He must be going to the supper. Late, certainly, but there would still be food. There was always more than enough. Nothing else was located in that direction—except the saloons.

      She drew in a sharp breath and pushed the curtain open again.

      What if he frequented drinking establishments? The terrible thought gave her pause. Jesse didn’t seem like that sort, but what did she truly know of him? She had only seen him on the dune and in school. He hadn’t attended the worship service last Sunday. He might well be a drinking man. Many in town were.

      She shifted so she could watch his progress. He would not see her, since she had not lit a lamp in the room, and the door was closed. In the light from the waxing half-moon, she could make him out. He stepped onto the boardwalk beyond the hotel.