Bride School: Mary (The Brides of Diamond Springs Ranch 4) (3 page)

Her heart dropped and she glanced around, worried
Fontaine might be lurking behind her. “What do you mean? He said he is from
Boston.”

Milly sighed in relief. “Then you don’t know him?”

“No. Why?”

“Mr. Harris said John Hermann is from right here
in Sage River, like you. Are you certain you’ve never seen him before?”

Mary laughed, somewhat relieved herself. “I’m not
from Sage River. I came from Snowy Range, to the north.”

“Snowy Range, the mountain?”

“Yes. I’d only been to Sage River a few times as a
child.”

Milly grinned. “I’m so happy to hear it,
Alexandra.
It could have caused trouble, you know.”

Mary nodded, but in her chest her emotions warred.
On one hand, she wished she could beg off and hurry back to the ranch where she
could give up the pretense. Though it was fanciful thinking, she truly feared
something might happen to expose her, something to turn her carriage back into
a pumpkin. And if that happened, the real Alexandra Campbell might be in
serious trouble with Mrs. Carnegie.

But on the other hand, she still wished to make
the most of the adventure and spend just a little while longer on the arm of
Prince Charming. That defensive, cantankerous feeling was gone and there was
every chance another waltz would be played before the evening came to an end.
Why not make the most of the dancing time she had left?

“There you are, Mr. Harris.” Milly patted Mary’s
arm and stepped away as a man headed toward her with a dripping cup in his
hand. If there was a swallow left in the bottom, Milly would be lucky.

Mary studied John while he chatted with James
Jarvis, the toe stomping school master, and looked for something familiar about
the man from Sage River. He smiled and his now-familiar dimples appeared like
before. But were they familiar because she’d simply stared at the man while
they’d danced?

She felt no danger of falling in love with him in
spite of his good looks and clever words. In fact, she doubted she would ever
be able to fall in love with whichever man she eventually married. As it happened,
she’d been very young when she’d given her heart away to a boy named Rebel. And
since a body had only one heart, she wasn’t likely to find another one in her
pocket, was she?

John Hermann couldn’t have been more accurate when
he’d said he wouldn’t be breaking her heart. But another look at those dimples
left something niggling at her just the same…

John was in a pickle.

All his life, he’d been a great believer in signs.
But he couldn’t understand why God hadn’t given him some sign, some omen, to
stay away from the assembly hall that night. Surely God knew how he would react
to the sight of Alexandra Campbell. Except for the deep color of her hair, she
looked exactly as he’d imagined Mary Radley might look when she was grown.

Why would God punish him so?

Was He telling John he shouldn’t have deprived his
parents of his company when he had so little time left in town? Should he have
stayed behind when his father seemed to be softening, if only enough to call
him ‘son’ once again?

If so, the penance seemed harsh. Other than an
actual blow to his gut from a ham-fisted giant, nothing could have sucked the
breath out of him and left him clinging to the wall at his back like a glimpse
of Mary, the first girl he’d ever kissed. The thrill had been stolen quickly,
though, when the woman in blue had stepped forward to tell him the girl’s real
name, and then doomed him to dance with the look-alike as much as possible.

Exquisite torture.

He took a cup of water and drained it, then found
a cup of punch and turned back toward the dance floor. But before he could take
a step he was waylaid by Jarvis.

“Mr. Hermann.” Jarvis nodded.

“Mr. Jarvis.”

“As soon as this dancing business is finished
let’s say you and I go back over to the saloon and finish our conversation.
What do you say?”

John would rather have walked barefoot in the snow
than spend another hour with the school teacher rambling on. But he was very
interested in finishing the discussion with the rest of the men in the room.
While passing time in the saloon, he’d determined just how to destroy the wall
between himself and his father, and those would-be bridegrooms would be able to
start the ground shaking.

Surely such a plan would make up for abandoning
his parents for the night.

He looked at the teacher again and wondered if the
man might be part of his penance. He forced a smile. “That sounds fine, sir,”
he said. “But let’s not get ahead of ourselves. These fine ladies have been
promised a night of dancing, and we’d better do our part.”

Jarvis turned to look over the females who waited
patiently for their promised punch, and he frowned slightly as if he’d
forgotten they were even there. “You’re right of course.”

“You’ll excuse me.” John stepped around the
shorter man and headed toward Miss Campbell. As he wove through the other
dancers he was struck, once again, by how old the rest of the men seemed. Well,
not
old
so much as…
not young
. During conversations over cards,
and then again while waiting for the women to arrive, John had never once
considered their ages. But business was business. Money was money. Age played
no part.

However, after meeting Alexandra Campbell—knowing
she’d been sent to Sage River as a potential bride for one of these men—every
whisker, every gray hair and shining pate was an insult to her youth. How dare
they suppose a pretty, intelligent young girl should be robbed of an equally
young man at her side? The idea was akin to pouring new milk in with sour.

The girl deserved better. She deserved younger.
She deserved to see the world a little—to have the chance to meet men with
different-colored eyes, different shades of hair. How could a woman of her age
and limited experience possibly have the sense to know which man in twelve
would be the best husband for her? And what a horrible waste if her life’s
experience was limited to little more than a dirt road between Sage River and a
homestead where she would choke on dust until the day she was laid low beneath
it.

Once again he thought of the mountain girl and
that fateful kiss. And though that kiss had cost him a friend and ruined the
remainder of a very fine summer, he wouldn’t have changed a thing. Mary
would’ve been about 17 years old by now. But she was probably tucked safely
under her father’s roof, far away from any man that wasn’t family.

Mary.

If he saddled a horse in the morning and headed up
through the snow, would he find Fritz and his family again? He’d looked before.
When he was sixteen, he’d gone back up the mountain, but the house had been
empty. The horse was gone, the other animals too. There had been no word in
town of what might have happened to the Radleys. For all he knew they could
have caught a fever and died. She might be lying in a grave marked with nothing
more than a pretty rock, or a clumsy cross.

Or maybe they had returned to that house…

Mary Radley was with him still. Everywhere he went
he took her along. The symbol he used as his signature on all his work may as
well have been a portrait of her face. And he thought of her each and every
time he used it. In fact, if not for that mountain girl he might have never
discovered his talent and his love for art.

A week after that fateful kiss, he’d been unable
to sleep, restless with regrets. He’d wandered into the shop and found his
father’s tools, and on a piece of scrap leather, he’d used those tools to give
form to his memory of Mary. That was the beginning. And now, seven years later,
that little emblem was as much a part of him as his own name. More, maybe.

John handed Alexandra her cup of punch and tried
to ignore his imagination. The female fiddle player climbed back upon her box.
The dances had gone in the same order as the week before, and his heart lurched
when he realized what the woman was about to say.

He quickly turned to the girl. “You’ll have to
dance with the others now. Everyone will be forced to dance with everyone else.
If we try to stay together, someone will get their nose out of joint.”

The caller gave instructions for everyone to trade
partners, and to keep doing so with every verse of the song.

“Miss Campbell, I think this would be a good time
for you to decide if you’re ready to marry. Unless these men are blind, they’re
gonna take a good long look at you. It wouldn’t be…
fair
to mislead them.
Would it?”

She looked a little green, like the idea of being
a married woman didn’t sit well with her either, and he was relieved. “What
should I do?”

“Tell them the truth. Tell them you’re not ready.
They’re honorable men, so they’ll understand.” He reached out and gave her hand
a squeeze, then together they turned and faced the rest of the dancers coming
toward them.

A woman with a familiar, hungry look in her eye
hurried to his side and slipped her hand around his elbow claiming him like a
prize—a prize she might have won for having the widest smile. Two men stepped
up to Alexandra and pretended not to notice each other. Both held out their
elbows and left it to her to decide with whom she would dance first. She
glanced John’s way and grimaced. She took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and
laid her left hand on the nearest arm. The losing man smiled good-naturedly and
went in search of another dance partner. But the look in his eye promised he’d
be back for his turn with her.

John watched closely as Miss Campbell was led onto
the dance floor. The music suddenly drowned out any conversation, and he was
left wondering how the girl would tell the man she was no longer in the
running.

“My name is Mary Lou,” said his partner. John’s
attention caught on the young woman on his arm. Colorless hair, calculating
eyes.

Not even close to Alexandra Campbell .

“I’m John.”

Luckily the dance steps required all their breath
and most of their concentration. Ever so subtly, he was able to guide his
partner closer to Miss Campbell, not that he wanted to be near her—he just didn’t
want to miss the look on her partner’s face when he realized the pretty bird in
his arms was not his to keep. But it seemed the other couple had little breath
to waste on conversation either. And worse, they seem to be enjoying
themselves. The man stumbled, trying desperately to keep from stepping on her
toes, and she laughed.

She laughed like Mary.

Though he knew it was irrational to think of her
that way, he couldn’t seem to separate Miss Campbell from his mountain girl. In
his mind, she was no longer safely tucked beneath her father’s roof. If there
was a row of simple wooden crosses on a hillside, with a small bush of pink
roses growing at the base of one, he no longer wondered if Mary lay beneath it.
In all the world, it didn’t matter where the real Mary Radley was; she was
suddenly there, before him, dancing with a man who was far too old for her to
marry.

Though the first verse had yet to end, John
reached out and tapped the girl’s partner on the shoulder. “Excuse me, Charlie,
is it? Since you may not know that Miss Campbell there is no longer interested
in marrying yet…” He shrugged, suddenly unsure how to finish. “I wondered if
you’ve met Mary Lou?” He gently turned his partner and urged her forward toward
Charlie Sparks. Then he plucked Alexandra’s hand out of the air where it
hovered, uncertain. He led her around Charlie, then pulled her into his arms
and danced away.

Miss Campbell’s nimble feet scurried to keep up,
but he was more than willing to carry her away from the half-bald Sparks if
need be.

After there was a safe amount of distance between
themselves and the other couple, he finally dared look her in the face. “Before
you scold me, Alexandra, allow me to explain.”

She raised one brow, strongly advising him to do
so quickly.

He chuckled. “You’ll think I’m touched in the
head, I’m sure.”

She smiled and bit her lip.

“Fine. I guess I asked for that.” He struggled to
remember to keep moving his feet, though they were doing little more than
swaying from side to side, going nowhere. The verse ended and Jarvis turned
toward them, but John frowned and shook his head.

The man was only a foot away by the time he
realized he would need to find his next partner elsewhere.

John sighed. “Where was I?”

“Touched in the head, I think.” Alexandra grinned.

“Right. I’m afraid my explanation is a long one.”

She looked at the dance floor. “I don’t think
anyone will dare bother us now.”

She was right. Eleven couples gave them a wide
berth, though it probably had more to do with the heat from the fireplace than
the fact he’d denied Jarvis.

“I was raised here in Sage River,” he said.

“So I’ve been told.”

“Jack Hermann is my father. The tanner.”

She nodded.

“One summer, when I was just fifteen, I held my
hand out to a girl at school and she recoiled. My hands were stained, you see,
from dying leather. Naturally, I was embarrassed. And that night I told my
father I didn’t want to be a tanner anymore. He didn’t take it well, as you can
imagine. We fought for a few days, then I decided to leave home.”

John realized the woman in his arms had stopped
moving. Her face blanched as white as a boiled bone. She slipped her hands from
his and clutched them in front of her.

“Forgive me,” he said. “I was rambling on while
you are clearly distressed. What is it?”

She swallowed with difficulty, then glanced
around. “The fire,” she whispered. “Too hot.”

Immediately, he led her around the dancers and to
the front of the room. If the heat was affecting her, he expected her to be red
in the face, but who was he to question her? Either way, fresh, cold air should
bring her around. But when he reached for the door, she pulled back, eyeing the
thing as if the devil himself stood on the other side.

“Let’s not go outside,” she said, forcing a smile
though her face was no less pale than before. “It is a bit cooler here, away
from the fire. Perhaps I should sit.”

Sitting seemed a wise decision since she was
clearly on the verge of fainting away. Once he saw her onto a bench against the
wall, he took a cup of water outside and added a handful of fresh snow to it,
then returned to her.

“Miss Campbell, try this. It may perk you up.”

She forced another smile and took the drink, but
she looked downright hopeless.

“What is it, Alexandra? Can you tell me?” He sat
beside her, but left a respectable space between them. “Would you like me to
fetch Fontaine for you?”

“No! Please, don’t fret over me. I was
just…overcome. I’ll be fine.” Her gaze lingered on his face for a moment and
her mouth opened. Her lips moved, but she said nothing. Then she closed her
mouth tightly and looked away.

For the life of him, he didn’t know what could
explain the change in her. He’d been boring her, perhaps, with his little
story. He glanced down at his hands, almost expecting to see the stains that
had faded years ago, but they looked normal enough. Backs and palms.
Fingernails and forearms. Nothing of the old stains remained, no trace they’d
ever been.

Two very feminine hands suddenly appeared over the
tops of his own and squeezed them. He looked over to see the color back in
Alexandra’s face.

“Don’t even think it,” she said, and after an
awkward moment of gazing silently into his soul, she pulled her hands away. “Perhaps
there was something in the punch that disagreed with me. I’m fine now. Right as
rain.”

She did look better. In fact, she looked a bit
flushed. And though she tried to hide it by pulling a handkerchief from her
sleeve and waving it around while she spoke, her hands were shaking. Pale, then
flushed? Nervous and shaking?

His heart sank.

It had happened dozens of times before, and he
cursed his face for it. Every once in a while a young woman would act this same
way around him, unable to control themselves, unable to separate their emotions
from nothing more than a pretty picture.

“I appreciate your kindness,” he said, holding up
his hands, referring to her attempt to comfort him. “Forgive me if I—”