His Perfect Bride (The Brides of Paradise Ranch - Spicy Version Book 1) (8 page)

At last, Corva murmured, “He reminds me of my uncle.”

Silence followed. Prickles raced down Franklin’s back. Coming from anyone else, those words would be a simple comparison. From Corva, he could see they meant more.

“Was your uncle a menacing bully?” he asked, part of him dreading the answer.

Instead of answering, Corva crossed the room. She sat as tense as a spring on the far end of the sofa. “My uncle was mean, foul-tempered.” She stared at her hands, clasped with white knuckles in her lap.

Did she need to confess something? Was she answering his earlier question about her uncle’s cruelty? Franklin’s heart thumped faster. Could she actually want to confide in him about something, about her past? The prospect thrilled him. She was giving him a chance to be the man he should be.

He shifted to face her in spite of the twinge of pain caused by bumping his braces against the sofa. “He was the reason you were in Hurst Home, wasn’t he?” If he could help her to say what she needed to say, then maybe this crazy day would be worth it after all.

Corva nodded. Her eyes glistened with unshed tears. She swallowed hard and dragged her eyes up to meet his. “He was well-respected in his social circles. I was forever hearing what a fine man he was, how lucky my aunt was to marry him. But none of those people knew how he treated us at home.”

He didn’t want to ask, but he had to. “How did he treat you?” He wanted to reach across the sofa and take her hands, but she was too far away.

“He was free with the back of his hand and his belt with me,” she confessed, lowering her eyes. “If I did anything he saw as bad—not fixing his food correctly, being sloppy with my appearance, speaking when I was supposed to stay quiet—he would hit me. Frequently.”

“I’m sorry.” He did reach for her hand now, but either she didn’t see the gesture or was too traumatized by her memories to take the comfort he was offering. He pulled back.

“I learned to bear it as best I could. Painting helped. It was a way I could escape. Things were much worse for my aunt.” She swallowed, red splotches coming to her cheeks. “He beat me, but he did…other things to her. He wanted children of his own, you see, and for whatever reason, my aunt never conceived. But that didn’t stop him from trying.”

Franklin held out his hand. He didn’t need any further explanation, and it was clear that saying even the small bit she had said was too much for Corva. But there was more to say.

“In the last few years, as I grew older, he began to look at me that way too,” she continued in a whisper. “He never actually did anything,” she rushed to assure him, meeting his eyes for a fraction of an instant. Just as quickly, her gaze dropped. “Other than a few touches here and there.”

Fury welled up through Franklin’s heart. He wanted to charge off to Nashville to beat the man within an inch of his life, and he wanted to fold Corva in his arms and never let go. But for some reason, being caught between the two, he was frozen and could only listen.

“It was when he started talking more seriously about using me to have his children and somehow passing them off as Aunt Mildred’s that things became desperate,” she explained. She opened her mouth, stopped, shook her head, then went on with, “That’s when a friend told us about Hurst Home. Arrangements were made for me to be secretly moved there, which happened about a year ago.”

“And what of your aunt?” His question came out rough and strangled.

Corva lowered her head, face pinched in misery. “She refused to go. Two months after I disappeared, she was found dead, floating in the Cumberland River.”

“I’m so sorry.”

Corva wiped tears from her eyes. “I can’t decide if I’m sorry or not. Maybe it’s wicked of me, but if she took her own life or if she met with an accident, then I’m happy for her. She escaped. But if he was somehow responsible…”

“Then the authorities should be involved,” Franklin finished when she didn’t go on.

“They were involved.” She met his eyes again. “No evidence of wrongdoing was found. It was ruled an accident. My uncle was remarried four months later.”

Franklin had to clench his teeth to stop himself from calling the blackguard every name in the book. All he managed to say aloud was, “I’m sorry.”

Corva took a deep breath, unclasping her hands and smoothing them along her skirt. “My reaction to the fire was bad enough, but when Mr. Bonneville arrived tonight?” She drew in a steadying breath and forced a smile. “Thank you for deciding to leave early. I’m not sure I could have handled staying after that.”

“Of course.” He stood, painful though it was, because that was the only way he could think to move closer to her. She rose when he did. Her movement was so quick that he couldn’t help but wonder if it was a conditioned response to rules her dastardly uncle might have set.

He should step closer to her, put his arms around her, let her rest her head against his shoulder. He should rub her back and speak soothing words to her…the way he had longed for people to speak to him when he lay, broken and suffering, for so many months after his accident. Maybe, just possibly, they could comfort each other.

But no, his damage was his own fault. Hers was cruel injustice inflicted on her by a criminal. There was no comparison. She deserved comfort, he deserved everything he got.

“Everything will be better in the morning,” he said instead of doing what he wanted to do and embracing her. “I’m sure Bonneville will stay away, and you’ll enjoy my mother’s company one-on-one. She’s the steadiest person on this ranch.”

For one brief moment, a twist of sadness colored Corva’s expression. She swayed on her spot, almost as if she wanted to reach for him. Then she looked away. “Yes, I’m sure you’re right.”

He had to do something. Every instinct Franklin had screamed at him to be the husband this traumatized woman needed. But how did he do that? How did he even start? He was next door to a stranger to her, and after what she’d just said about her uncle’s nefarious intentions, would touching her help or hurt? He’d never known confusion like this before.

“Well,” he said at length, his tone far too clipped. “I guess we should turn in for the night so that our better tomorrow can come faster.”

She glanced up at him with…with disappointment? No, that couldn’t be.

A blink later, her expression softened. “Yes. That would be best.”

Neither of them moved. It was his last chance. He needed to move toward her, to open her arms and enfold her, telling her that everything would be all right, that she was safe now, that he would never, ever hurt her, and he would never let anyone else hurt her either.

“All…all right, then,” he stuttered. “Goodnight.”

His legs were unsteady for more reasons than bones that had been broken long ago as he moved to pick up the lamp, then turn and limp off to his room. A part of his soul hollered at him that he was messing things up again, that he should go back and comfort the woman who had put her trust in him.

But no, he had never gotten things right when he tried to take action where women were concerned. And at the end of the day, Corva deserved someone better than him.

She never should have said anything about her past. Those nightmare days in her Uncle Stanley’s house were over. Hundreds of miles separated the two of them, and even if she had stayed in Nashville, her uncle had remarried. He was starting over, and so should she. Talking about the past had only slammed a wall between her and Franklin.

At least, that’s what Corva assumed had happened. From the moment she began telling her story, she could sense the tension that swirled between her and Franklin. It had to be revulsion on his part. That was the only explanation. Why else would he keep her at arm’s length? He behaved with perfect politeness in the morning and evening when they were together, but shouldn’t newlyweds be more intimate? Not that she was in a rush to push herself on Franklin before he was ready. She did like him, though. More and more with each day.

The problem was that he didn’t like her.

No, no that couldn’t be right. He was polite and kind. But he didn’t smile at her as the first handful of days in their marriage slipped by. Then again, she hadn’t seen him smile once since she’d climbed down from the train. He had come to her rescue at the disastrous family dinner, but was that just being kind? He would have done the same for anyone. And he didn’t like her artwork. She’d caught him staring at one painting or another several times in the first week of their marriage, expression blank. That hadn’t stopped her from painting, though, because unlike Uncle Stanley, he hadn’t smashed her easel.

“Is everything all right?”

Franklin bumped her out of her increasingly distressed thoughts. They sat side-by-side on the bench of his wagon, driving to church for Sunday services.

“Everything’s just fine,” she answered. She could feel the heat of embarrassment at being caught wool-gathering.

“You seem a little distant is all.” Franklin wore a frown, but it could be concern instead of disapproval.

Corva chewed her lip and tried not to stare at him after he turned his eyes back to the road. She could be reading the situation entirely wrong. Life had given her very little experience of kindness. A part of her clung to the hope that everything she’d been reading into Franklin’s actions and conversation in the last week could have been nothing more than the effect of years of her uncle’s foulness muddying the waters.

“I’m not sure what to expect from church,” she answered after too long a pause. “I haven’t exactly made a stellar impression so far.”

Franklin shook his head, the corners of his mouth twitching. “That wasn’t you. You’ve done fine. Mother likes you very much.”

Corva’s face flushed hotter. She’d had a nice tea with Elizabeth Haskell the day after the supper debacle, and Elizabeth had visited her at Franklin’s house to admire her paintings.

“It’s not your fault that you arrived in town right as we are having trouble with Bonneville,” Franklin went on, his shoulders tightening.

“Will he be at church?” Corva wasn’t sure if she was ready to face the hulking man again.

“Probably.” Franklin nodded, then reached out to squeeze her knee. “We’ll sit with my family and all of our friends. You’ll be surrounded by supporters.”

“Oh?”

“Yep.” He nodded. “I’m sure you’ll want to meet Charlie Garrett and his wife, Olivia, and their kids for starters.”

Corva brightened. “I would love to meet him. I owe Mr. Garrett so much for maintaining Hurst Home.”

“Then there’s Dr. and Mrs. Meyers,” Franklin went on. “Mrs. Meyers, Emma, is Alice Flint’s sister. And they’re all very close to Aiden and Katie Murphy. Aiden is the Indian Agent in this area. He and Katie were once captured by Cheyenne.”

“Really?” Corva caught her breath.

“It ended well, though. Aiden and Dean—Dr. Meyers—made it their mission to learn to speak Cheyenne, and now they’re crucial to the government’s dealings with the tribe. Though it to hear Aiden talk about it, it’s one of the most frustrating jobs ever. Aiden has the Cheyenne’s best interest at heart. The government doesn’t.”

“I would like to hear his stories someday,” Corva answered, and indeed, she would.

As they pulled up to the church, she was already feeling better. It had been restful to stay at Paradise Ranch, alone in Franklin’s house for a week, but making friends in her new life would be important too.

It wasn’t until Franklin parked in the field beside the church and climbed halfway down from the wagon, struggling as he did, that it dawned on Corva something must have been out of the ordinary. Franklin had a ramp to help him at his house, and one of the ranch hands had been there to assist him at his parents’ house, but at the church, it was a different story. She watched from the bench as more than a few churchgoers froze mid-step and stared at Franklin in surprise.

“Franklin Haskell, what are you doing here?” a man with a thick Irish brogue and a red-headed girl of about six in his arms called across the churchyard.

A red-headed woman with him—a baby in her arm and a boy of about four holding her hand—turned to look too. “Franklin?” A beat later, her face lit. “Oh, this must be the wife we’ve been hearing so much about.”

Corva’s eyebrows were still raised in surprised as Franklin limped around the front of his wagon in time to nod and say, “Aiden, Katie.” He turned to offer a hand to Corva. “They’re who I was just talking about.”

“I see.” Corva took Franklin’s offered hand, but did her best to climb down without putting any weight on him. The Murphys were already approaching, so she nodded and said, “Hello,” as soon as she was on the ground.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Katie said, reaching to shake her hand as best she could with a baby in her arms. “Talk in town has been about nothing but you all week.”

“Well, you and Bonneville,” Aiden added in a quiet growl. As he shook Corva’s hand, Corva blinked at the Indian medicine bag he wore around his neck.

Before she could ask about it, Katie waved him off with, “Ach, don’t let’s talk about him,” and gestured for Franklin and Corva to walk with them toward the church door. “I can’t stand the sight of that man,” Katie went on. “You’ve no idea how much trouble he causes around here.”

“He stirs things up with the Cheyenne too,” Aiden added. He raised a hand to greet another young family, waiting by the church door. “Dean, Emma. Come meet Franklin’s new wife.”

Corva was whisked into a round of introductions before she even made it inside of the church. Dr. and Mrs. Meyers and their children were sweet, happy people. They, in turn, introduced her to Mr. Kline, the shop-keeper, and Mrs. Patton, who worked as the cook at the Cattleman Hotel. A pretty, young maid from the hotel with Swedish coloring introduced herself as Olga, and after that, Corva began to lose track of the flood of new people.

When she was inside of the church searching for a place to sit, she realized Franklin had fallen behind. A stab of shame over leaving him struck her, but he didn’t seem to be in much of a hurry to join the humming, chattering group of friends inside the church. In fact, he only made an effort to climb the church stairs—aided by Travis Montrose, who arrived with his brothers—once Rev. Pickering called people to take their seats for worship.

“Is everything all right?” she whispered to him once they had taken their seats beside Lucy and Gideon’s family, the gorgeous, colored light of the stained-glass windows bathing them.

Franklin’s lips twitched, and he leaned closer to her to say, “Isn’t that what I’m supposed to be asking you?”

A funny tickle formed in her chest, almost as if he’d told a joke. She was more baffled than amused, though. She sat through the entire sermon, barely able to pay attention. Colored light and dark worry swirled around her. When the sermon was over and everyone rose to head back outside for Haskell’s weekly post-church, pre-baseball game potluck lunch, she was determined to ask her question again to be sure Franklin was happy.

“This must be Miss Corva Collier.” A tall, handsome gentlemen with dark, greying hair and eyes that danced with mischief approached her before she could form the question. “No, I’m sorry, that would be Mrs. Corva Haskell now.”

“Charlie.” Franklin nodded to the man, stepping aside so that a few other churchgoers could slip past them. “Corva, this is Mr. Garrett.”

That was all he needed to say. Corva turned to the man—his beautiful, petite, blond wife by his side and four adorable children around them—with a beaming smile. “Mr. Garrett, thank you so much for all of your efforts on behalf of Hurst Home. You have…you have no idea how important it is to those of us who live there.”

Charlie laughed, banishing whatever tears Corva was tempted to shed. “Believe me, I have an idea. My own background and upbringing were more perilous than I ever want to think about again.” He punctuated his remark by laying a hand on his older son’s head with a kind of relief in his eyes that only a parent who knew his children were safe could have. “Come outside, Mrs. Haskell, and see what kind of madness we all get up to on Sundays.”

Corva was so honored to have this man—a man who had changed her life with his generosity—eager to show her around that once again, she left Franklin behind before she thought better of it.

“The Sunday potluck started back when there were just a few families here,” Charlie explained. “We took turns getting together at each other’s houses, but before too long, there were simply too many of us to fit. That’s when we started having them at the church. Shortly after that is when the baseball league started.”

“We like to enjoy ourselves in Haskell,” Mrs. Garrett explained.

“I can see that,” Corva answered. She glanced over her shoulder, searching for Franklin. He had fallen behind entirely, and as the Garretts escorted her to a long, high tent that had been pitched—tables of food lined up in the shade under it—she lost track of him. “Franklin?”

Charlie turned to look where she was looking. “He’s back there. Honestly, I’m surprised Franklin showed up at all today.”

Corva turned to him, brow shooting up. “Doesn’t he usually come to church?”

Olivia laughed. “Not nearly enough, and he never stays for the potluck when he does.”

“Then why is he here today?” she asked.

Of course, the answer was obvious. Because of her. That didn’t answer the question of why he didn’t come in the first place. Judging from the crush of people fixing plates of food under the canopy of the tent, everyone in Haskell came out for Sunday events.

Her curiosity stopped cold at the sound of a familiar, female voice. “
My
spinach pie is by far the best thing on this table. I only use the finest ingredients in my cooking.”

“Give me a piece, Vivian,” another of the Bonneville sisters said. “I simply love your cooking.”

Both ladies spoke in overloud voices, as if trying to draw the attention of everyone there. They were both dressed in fine silks, cut in the latest fashions. Two other girls who were just as pretty and dressed just as splendidly flanked them, although one didn’t seem to be all that pleased to be part of the spectacle. The Bonneville sisters. Corva would have turned and fled, if Vivian hadn’t already noticed her.

“Well, well, if it isn’t Mrs. Franklin Haskell,” Vivian simpered, even louder than before. “Although, oh my. Where is your husband, Mrs. Haskell? Has he lost interest in you already?”

“I wouldn’t be surprised with a skinny, plain thing like her,” the sister who had played off of her over the spinach pie said.

“Melinda Bonneville, you know better than that,” Olivia scolded her.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, Mrs. Garrett.” If Melinda had poured any more sugar into her words, Corva’s teeth would have hurt. “I would never dream of saying anything to offend someone as lovely and important as you.”

“Maybe not,” Charlie muttered so that only Corva could hear, “but I wish those cats would leave my wife alone.”

“Poor Mrs. Haskell is so fortunate to make the acquaintance of a woman as refined as you,” Vivian agreed. “Perhaps you can give her advice about improving her wardrobe.”

Olivia sighed loudly, took Corva’s arm, and steered her away from the table with the sisters.

“What?” Vivian called after them. “I meant it as a compliment.”

“Not likely,” Olivia muttered. “I’m sorry about them. They have more money than they do sense.”

“Or manners,” Charlie added.

“I met them right after Franklin and I were married,” Corva confessed. Charlie and Olivia exchanged worried looks. “Vivian seemed to think Franklin was destined to marry her.”

“Well, at least we don’t have to worry about
that
silly rumor getting back to you,” Charlie laughed. “It’s a relief, actually.”

“Franklin had no more interest in marrying that woman than he had in marrying—”

Me?
Corva thought.

“—a toad,” Olivia finished without pause.

“That’s what Franklin said.” Corva forced herself to smile so that Mr. and Mrs. Garrett would think she believed it. She twisted to search for Franklin in the chattering crowd. “Where did he go?”

“Over there.” Charlie pointed to the far end of the churchyard. Every way Corva turned, families were spreading blankets on the grass and sitting down to enjoy their picnic. Franklin had found a seat on a bench facing the yard. Alone. “Why don’t you go join him,” Charlie said. “Olivia and I will bring you lunch.”