Love Inspired Historical July 2015 Box Set: The Marriage Agreement\Cowgirl for Keeps\The Lawman's Redemption\Captive on the High Seas (10 page)

Did he not see how
good
he was, at the core? If only he would allow himself to let down his guard, he could be a loving husband. A wonderful father. A—

This line of thinking was getting her nowhere. She rolled out of bed and dressed for the day. Her movements were slow, her eyes gritty, her heart heavy. Streaks of morning sunlight filtered through the seams in the shut curtains. Considering her gray mood, Fanny kept them closed. She preferred the semidarkness.

She'd made quite a mess of her life. She would have to decide what to do next. Her mother would have wisdom to impart, but Fanny didn't want to risk upsetting her. No, she must come up with a solution on her own. Whenever she found herself indecisive, she turned to her Bible.

Proverbs especially had a way of putting matters into perspective, but nothing caught her eye this morning. She replaced her Bible on the nightstand and went to work.

She made her way directly to her office, avoiding the main hallways and staffing areas.

Stepping inside the tiny room where she spent most of her time, she shut the door, and found she wasn't alone.

“Mrs. Singletary?”

The widow looked up from her position behind Fanny's desk. “Ah, Miss Mitchell, I knew I could count on you to show up to work despite the events of last evening.”

Fanny blinked in confusion. Mrs. Singletary was a partial owner of the hotel, but she'd never come to Fanny's office before today. She had to be making some point by sitting at Fanny's desk. Or perhaps the bold move was Mrs. Singletary being, well, Mrs. Singletary.

What was the widow up to now? “Did we have an appointment this morning?”

“No, dear, I merely stopped by to see how you were faring before I head upstairs to visit with your mother.”

Fanny smoothed a hand over her hair. “I am well, thank you for asking.”

Eyebrows raised, Mrs. Singletary stood and then began a slow perusal of Fanny's office. She moved through the room with a relaxed gait, idly touching random books on the shelving to her left, the stack of ledgers on her right. “Have you no news to share with me, Miss Mitchell?”

Affecting a bland expression, Fanny concentrated on the task of setting the ledgers on her desk in neat, organized rows. “I'm not sure I understand the question.”

Mrs. Singletary paused in her inspection of an ink blotter, her eyes sparkling with a shrewd light. “Don't you, dear?”

“I'm afraid not.” Fanny went to work on the pencils next, setting them side by side, their tips in a nice straight line.

“I see I'm going to have to be blunt.” The widow sounded quite pleased with the prospect. “Did Mr. Hawkins propose to you after I left the ballroom last night?”

A sound of surprise slipped past Fanny's lips. She nearly said her relationship with Jonathon was none of Mrs. Singletary's business, but she didn't want to be rude. Besides, she rather liked the widow, when she wasn't being intrusive. “Yes, as a matter of fact, he did propose, and I told him—”

“Oh, excellent, this is most excellent news indeed.” The woman clapped her hands together in a show of absolute pleasure. “Congratulations, Miss Mitchell. You must be over the moon with happiness.”

“You don't understand, Mrs. Singletary. He asked, but I—”

The widow spoke right over her. “I'm assuming you will want a short engagement. There will be very little time to plan your wedding. Let me be the first to offer you my assistance.”

Speaking so fast Fanny couldn't keep up with half of what she said, the widow continued making plans without her.

“Of course, I will throw you and Mr. Hawkins an engagement party at my home next week, seeing as how I played such an important role in your romance.” She winked. “We will invite everyone who is anyone in town, give them a good show.”

The widow was like a runaway train. She had to be stopped. Fanny raised her voice. “Mrs. Singletary, I need you to listen to me before you say another word.”

“Oh, well.” She blinked, surprise evident in her wide-eyed gaze. “Yes, all right.”

“An engagement party won't be necessary.”

“Why ever not?”

“Because there is no engagement. I told Jonathon no.”

Silence filled the room, a somber, dark curtain of gloom.

“Oh, dear.” The widow fluttered a hand in front of her face, as if to fan away her distress. “I am quite confounded. Why would you turn the man down?”

Fanny could give many reasons, but decided to stick to the most simple, straightforward answer of the bunch. “He doesn't love me.”

That, she realized, was not only the truth, but also a direct blow to the heart. If Fanny believed Jonathon loved her, really loved her, she might have accepted his proposal and hoped his stand on children would change in time.

“Of course Mr. Hawkins loves you. I have seen the truth of his feelings for you with my own eyes.”

Fanny quelled the tinkle of hope that whispered through her battered heart. No good would come of wishing for something that would never come to pass. “I'm not sure what you saw in Jonathon, but I can assure you, Mrs. Singletary, it wasn't love. Affection, perhaps, but not love.”

“Now, Miss Mitchell, when it comes to romance I am quite the expert.” She gestured to herself with her thumb. “If I had to guess, I'd say Mr. Hawkins fell for you well over a year ago.”

That couldn't be right. Just as Fanny opened her mouth to challenge the widow, a knock sounded on her door.

“Enter,” she called out, with no small amount of relief.

The front desk manager stuck her head in the room. “Oh, forgive me, Miss Mitchell. I thought you were alone.”

“No problem. What can I do for you, Rose?”

“A guest has made a special request I'm not authorized to grant on my own.” She cut a glance at Mrs. Singletary. “But I can consult you on the matter another time.”

“That won't be necessary. I'll come take care of it now.”

With a smile she hoped registered a sincere apology, she said farewell to the widow and then hustled out of the room before Mrs. Singletary could protest.

Chapter Ten

T
wo days after Mrs. Singletary's ball, Jonathon sat at his desk, reviewing the latest report on the San Francisco project. A sense of accomplishment brought a smile to his face. Expenses were well within budget and construction was proceeding on schedule.

At this rate, the newest Hotel Dupree would welcome its first guest by midspring of next year. Jonathon calculated the months between now and then. He would attend the grand opening a married man, with his wife by his side, the two of them sharing in the ribbon cutting. It would be a good day, full of laughter and—

His smile slipped.

There was one large hitch in that plan. Her name was Fanny Mitchell. The woman was proving as stubborn as her father warned. She absolutely refused to allow Jonathon to court her, either by ensuring other people were always around her, or by avoiding him altogether.

How was he supposed to win Fanny over to the idea of marriage if he couldn't even get her alone?

Clearly, he needed to rethink his approach. Time was of the essence. The longer Fanny resisted his suit, the more her reputation would suffer. It was unacceptable.

He shoved away from his desk and got to his feet. Drumming his fingers against his thigh, he contemplated his next move. Now that he'd had time to consider spending the rest of his life with Fanny, he rather liked the idea. They were well suited in nearly every way that mattered.

They had a similar sense of humor, tackled problems with equal amounts of intellect and reason. In fact, they were so compatible they often finished each other's sentences.

They could—no,
they would
—have a satisfying marriage, once Jonathon convinced Fanny to say yes to his proposal.

Impatient to settle the matter, he left his office and strode toward the main lobby of the hotel. Fanny would be at the registration desk, supervising check-in and checkout.

Jonathon rounded the corner, stepped into the open-air atrium and came to a dead stop. The scene before him was worse than he'd imagined, and everything he'd hoped to avoid.

A chill navigated along the base of his spine.

In the four years he'd owned the Denver Hotel Dupree, he'd rarely seen a maddening crush like this one. By his calculation, only half the men and women were actually registered guests. The rest were here for a show, with him and Fanny in the starring roles.

Keeping his expression blank, his movements careful and controlled, he continued toward the registration desk.

The crowd didn't actually fall silent, yet there was a definite lull. He paused once again, reached up and pinched the bridge of his nose.

Conversations slowly resumed. From the bits he caught, Fanny's character was being put into far greater question than Jonathon's. Just as her brother had predicted, and Jonathon had feared.

A proper courtship was no longer an option.

At least Fanny seemed too absorbed in her work to notice the speculation thrown her way.

Eyebrows drawn together, she ran a fingertip along the registration book—top to bottom, left to right—her hand stopping at various points along the way to make marks and notations. Half her face was in shadow, the other half illuminated by a ray of sunlight streaming in from the skylight above her head.

She's so lovely
, Jonathon thought, allowing himself a moment to watch her work. Head bent, she shoved a loose strand of hair off her face. She repeated the process twice more before giving up.

Jonathon couldn't look away, didn't want to look away. This wasn't the first time he'd stood in this exact spot, riveted. From nearly the first day of their acquaintance, he'd been irresistibly drawn to Fanny. Over the years, that fascination hadn't faded.

As though sensing his eyes on her, she lifted her head and looked over at him.

Their gazes locked, held.

The chattering grew frantic, a fast staccato of high-pitched whispers and suppositions. Every move Jonathon and Fanny made from this point forward would be discussed over pots of tea later that afternoon. In a few cases, the events would be reported truthfully. In most, they would be expanded upon, while in others, embellished to disastrous proportions.

He should not give the gossips additional fodder. Yet he couldn't seem to pry his gaze free of Fanny, nor did she seem to be able to look away from him. Seconds ticked by. Everything inside Jonathon settled. Doubt disappeared. He knew exactly what he wanted. Fanny. He wanted Fanny.

The woman understood him better than anyone else. She anticipated his preferences and made suggestions accordingly.

She must become his wife as soon as possible. Jonathon would allow no other outcome to prevail.

Just as he set out in her direction, she abandoned the registration desk and headed toward him. She moved purposely. She hadn't looked that willing to speak with him since the ball.

He paused in his own pursuit, overwhelmed by her fierce beauty. She'd arranged her hair loosely atop her head, with several strands cascading free. The tousled effect captivated him.

He swallowed, forced back a wave of attraction that went far beyond friendship. He'd meant what he'd told her. Their marriage would be in name only. It was the only way to ensure another generation escaped tragedy.

But he was getting ahead of himself.

Fanny still had to accept his proposal.

She closed the distance between them, careful to leave a respectable gap, proving she was fully aware of their audience.

They stared at one another. She looked unusually tired. Exhaustion etched across her features and there were purple bruises under her eyes, a visible sign she hadn't slept much since Mrs. Singletary's ball.

He desperately wanted to soothe away all her worries, to spirit her off and protect her from the cruel world. If only she would allow him that privilege.

“Good afternoon, Miss Mitchell.”

“Good afternoon, Mr. Hawkins.” She gave him a perfectly polite smile. It was a valiant effort to remain detached, but Jonathon recognized the nerves beneath her flat expression.

“As you may have noticed,” she said, sighing, “the hotel is at full capacity, plus a wee bit more.”

“The atrium has always been a favorite gathering spot for our guests.” He glanced to his left, then his right, dropping a quelling look on the closest men and women in the process. “Plus a wee bit more.”

Her lips twitched. Ah, now they were getting somewhere. He almost had her smiling.

Finished giving the nosy onlookers something to see, he extended his hand.

“It's a beautiful afternoon.” He had no idea if this was true. He'd been inside all day. Nevertheless... “Come for a walk with me, Miss Mitchell.”

Looking slightly caged, she took a step back, shook her head decisively. “That's a lovely offer, Mr. Hawkins, but I'm afraid I must decline. Duty calls.”

“Duty can wait.” Before she could protest yet again, he took her hand and guided her toward the exit.

For several steps she obliged him. But then she stopped and drew her hand free. “You do realize it's snowing.”

Was it? He looked out the windows and saw that she was right. “So it is.”

“We aren't dressed for the weather.”

A problem easily remedied. “Get your coat and meet me back here in five minutes.”

She hesitated, clearly pondering the wisdom of spending time alone with him.

Her reticence hit a nerve. He'd had enough of her avoidance.

“Get your coat, Fanny.” He leaned in, his voice for her ears only. “You'll put me off no longer.”

She opened her mouth, an argument clearly on the tip of her tongue, but the crowd pressed in and she simply sighed. “I'll be back shortly.”

“As will I.” Jonathon went to retrieve his own coat. He found his assistant waiting for him outside his office, shifting from foot to foot, his expression bleak.

“Is there a problem, Mr. Galloway?”

“Possibly.” Eyes hooded, Burke consulted his notebook. “Judge Greene has asked for a private meeting with you as soon as possible.”

Jonathon lifted his eyebrows. The timing of the request could not be by chance. “Did he mention the nature of his business?”

“No, sir.”

Jonathon considered the request, his annoyance tempered by a jolt of curiosity.

“Tell Judge Greene I will see him this afternoon.” Jonathon had resisted meeting with his father long enough.

Burke made a notation in his book. “What time should I tell him to arrive?”

“I'll meet with him in my office in one hour.”

Jonathon would have preferred to spend the entire afternoon with Fanny, but until she accepted his marriage proposal, it was best to keep their public interactions to a minimum.

“I'll inform Judge Greene of your decision.” Burke spared him one last glance before dashing off.

Precisely five minutes later, Jonathon joined Fanny at the bronze-encased glass doors leading to Stout Street.

Keeping silent, he ushered her out onto the sidewalk.

A blast of cold air slammed into them. Fanny burrowed deeper inside her coat, while he turned up his collar. They fell into step with one another, as they did on all their walks.

Rather than taking their usual route, Jonathon directed her down a side street, around the corner, along another street and finally into a small park.

Snowflakes fluttered from the sky, landing soundlessly at their feet. Jonathon brushed powdery crystals off a nearby wrought-iron bench. “Let's sit a minute.”

He indicated the now snow-free seat angled beneath a large tree, its bare branches coated in ice. Sunlight danced off the white blanket around them in glittering sparks.

Fanny took her time lowering herself to the bench and then smoothing out her skirts. Once she was settled, Jonathon sat beside her. Her scent wrapped around him, a pleasant mix of wild orchid and mint. The air was clear enough that he easily heard the muffled slam of a door, the yapping of a dog. He tuned out the rest.

Turning slightly in his seat, he took Fanny's hand again and protectively cupped it within his. “You're so beautiful.”

Pain flashed in her eyes. Instead of smiling at the compliment, she looked sadder than he'd ever seen her. For the first time in months, he couldn't interpret her thoughts.

Her expression suddenly changed. “My answer is no, Jonathon. I won't marry you.”

Sweet, delightful woman. He should have known she wouldn't make this easy on him. Fair enough. Adopting a relaxed posture, he let go of her hand, leaned back against the bench and smiled. “I don't recall asking you to marry me.”

“Oh.” Her eyes widened. “You...I...
oh
.”

What a wife she would make him. Unpredictable at times, bold at others, sweet. She was so familiar and yet there was still so much he didn't know about her.

A dull ache swirled in the pit of his stomach, a sensation that felt like longing, perhaps even yearning.

He would have liked more time to become better acquainted with her. It would have been pleasant to take his time learning her likes and dislikes, her favorite color and time of day. Was she a morning person or a night owl? Did she prefer chocolate or vanilla?

So much to uncover, so many layers to peel away.

“I want to know everything about you,” he said in complete and total honesty.

Suddenly wary, she stared at him through narrowed eyes. “Why?”

He chuckled softly. “Because you're a fascinating woman. Let's start at the beginning. What was it like growing up on one of the largest cattle ranches north of Texas?”

She gave him an odd look, as if she didn't quite know what to make of him. “There was nothing really unique about my childhood.” She shrugged. “It was like most others, I suppose.”

Certainly not like his. “I can't speak to that. I've not been exposed to many families like yours.”

“Oh, Jonathon.” Everything about her softened, her eyes, her shoulders, her voice. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to sound dismissive. I just...I don't understand why we're out here, sitting under a snow-covered tree, talking about my childhood.”

He pulled her hand to his lips, letting go after making the briefest of contacts.

“We're getting to know one another outside our relationship at work.” He gestured for her to continue. “You were telling me about your family.”

“Oh, yes.” She chewed on the fingertip of her glove, thought a moment, then smiled. “My parents raised the seven of us to pull our own weight. We worked hard, played harder, laughed a lot. When life got tough, we turned to God, and when things were good we praised Him for our blessings.”

Jonathon nodded. None of what she said surprised him.

“With five brothers and one sister running around, I was never alone, never without someone to play with or talk to, or,” she said with a laugh, “fight with. Somehow, everything seemed easier, better, because I had so many siblings.”

“Sounds pretty incredible.”

Her smile widened, while her eyes became wistful, a little distant, as if she'd gotten lost in her memories. “I had a happy childhood. I never questioned whether I was safe or cared for or loved.”

“I take it you're an accomplished horsewoman.”

“My father wouldn't have it any other way. I learned how to ride around the same time I learned to walk.” As she tossed out amusing anecdotes, Jonathon was reminded of his time at Charity House with Marc and Laney Dupree.

He'd been happy and safe in their care. Although he hadn't been with them long, only four years, in that short amount of time Jonathon had enjoyed having a family, siblings included.

Perhaps he knew more about marriage and family than he realized.

But did he know enough to make Fanny a good husband, the kind she deserved?

Or would he eventually let her down, as the men who shared his blood did over and over again with the women in their lives?