Love Unexpected (4 page)

“I'm sorry for the confusion,” she began.

“It's my fault,” he said. “I shouldn't have assumed . . . I should have known it was too good to be true.”

Too
good to be true?
Did he think
she
was too good to be true? She, as in ordinary Emma Chambers? She who'd never had a proposition of marriage before?

Even if the proposal was out of necessity rather than love, at least it was something when she'd never had anyone decent offer her the slightest attention. And now here was this godly handsome man offering to marry her and finally make all her
longings come true. How could she refuse him? She had no other prospects except a life of more moving around.

Though Ryan had promised they would settle down in Detroit, he was still too restless. He wouldn't be satisfied working on the docks or in a fishery in Detroit forever.

And where would that leave her? Single, childless, and homeless. Again.

“You just took me by surprise, that's all,” she said, her heart suddenly welling with the need to be married. “I'm not against the idea of getting married to you.”

“You're not?” His eyes widened.

She shook her head. “I've been wanting to get married for some time now. I guess I just assumed it would be to someone I'd gotten to know and . . .” She wanted to say
love
, but the word stuck in her throat.

Did love really matter at this point? Plenty of couples got married out of need, for reasons similar to Patrick's.

“Then you'll consider my offer?” he asked.

“I'm thinking.” She peered into his eyes, the eyes that had been nothing but kind and caring, despite all that had happened to him recently. She had Holy Bill's word that he was a godly man. She'd witnessed the sweet way he treated Josiah.

She'd be a fool not to marry him right here and now. Besides, maybe after they were married a while, love would have a chance to grow between them.

She studied his face, starting with his unshaven cheeks and moving to his eyebrows to the tiny scar above one of them, down his slightly bent nose—likely broken at one time—to his lips that were full and strong.

She'd never kissed a man. If she married him, would he kiss her today? Tonight? The very thought made her insides quiver.
Lest he see the direction of her thoughts, she let her focus drop to his boots.

“You don't have to worry,” he rushed to say, his voice tinged with embarrassment, as if guessing the nature of her thoughts. “I wouldn't expect anything. You'd get no pressure from me. . . .”

She had the feeling he was referring to the intimacies of marriage, of which she knew next to nothing. And since he'd been married before, he obviously knew everything. Yet he didn't say anything more, and she knew that was all the conversation they would have about that particular subject, at least for now.

“I'm not a man of many words. So this is hard for me to say.” All the pain and heartache was back, making the green of his eyes dark and murky. “I'm not the saint Holy Bill makes me out to be. I've done some things I'm not proud of—”

“It's all right,” she cut in. “Holy Bill mentioned it already. He said we should leave the past in the past.” She wasn't proud of her past either, that she'd never done anything to stop her father from stealing and killing. She could have been stronger, could have told him that she was willing to die to live rightly. Instead, she'd turned a blind eye.

“I can't have both Josiah and my job,” Patrick went on. “I'd have to give one up. Unless you marry me.”

The stark truth of his words gave her pause and reminded her that he wasn't all that concerned about physical attraction. He needed her as a mother for Josiah and a helpmate for his job. At least he was being honest about his intentions.

“In return,” he said, “I promise I'll take care of you and make sure you have a good home.”

Maybe he wasn't making any promises of love or happiness, but he was offering her a home. She smiled. A home was all she needed, all she'd ever wanted. “I accept.”

His brow rose. “You do?”

“Aye.”

“Then you'll marry me today?”

Part of her conscience cautioned her to wait and talk with Ryan first, that she shouldn't rush into this without her brother's approval. But the other part of her warned her that he wouldn't agree to her marrying a man she'd just met, that he'd demand she wait and learn more about Patrick first. If she didn't want to lose her one and only opportunity for marriage, then she would have to act fast, before Ryan interfered with her plans.

She took a deep breath to silence all the anxious fluttering in her stomach. “Let's get married right now.”

T
he lake breeze teased Emma's hair so that loose curls tickled her neck. Her bare toes squished against the rocks and sand of the beach, and her damp petticoat stuck to her legs.

She was getting married. The sunshine pouring down upon her bare head was like a blessing from heaven—at least she hoped so. Only hours ago she'd thought she was drowning, that she'd lost all chance of having hope and a future. Now here she was at the edge of Lake Huron, getting ready to take her vows.

She stole a look at the man who was about to become her husband. The brim of his cap cast a shadow over his face, lending him a handsome ruggedness.

He cocked a brow. “Are you sure you're ready?”

Next to him, Josiah had both hands full of rocks of various sizes. Apparently throwing rocks could entertain him as readily as the paper butterfly she'd carefully tucked into her pocket.

“I'm ready.” She forced a smile, trying to ignore the quavering in her legs. Was she really doing the right thing?

Holy Bill opened his Bible and flipped through the thin pages.
“Ah, here we are.” He stopped, smoothed the book reverently, and cleared his throat. “‘Two are better than one, because they have a good reward for their labor,'” he started, reading from the text. “‘For if they fall, the one will lift up his fellow: but woe to him that is alone when he falleth, for he hath not another to help him up.'”

Woe to him that is alone.
That was certainly true in Patrick's situation. He was doomed without her help. But was that reason enough to bind herself to a man in matrimony? After all, it was a lifetime commitment.

Holy Bill continued to quote from the Bible. “‘Again, if two lie together, then they have heat: but how can one be warm alone?'”

If two lie
together, then they have heat.
She resisted the urge to squirm at the words. She couldn't imagine lying together with Patrick. At least not until she got to know him better.

“‘And if one prevails against him, two shall withstand him; and a threefold cord is not quickly broken.'” The reverend looked up and smiled, first at her and then at Patrick. “Marriage was ordained by God in Eden and confirmed by Jesus His Son at the wedding in Cana of Galilee, and is declared by the apostle Paul to be honorable among all men. Let's begin by asking God's blessing on your marriage.”

When both Holy Bill and Patrick bowed their heads, Emma lowered hers in imitation. She had the desperate wish that God
would
bless her marriage. But how could she start praying to Him now and asking for blessings when she hadn't talked to Him in years?

At the reverend's amen, Patrick echoed him softly in agreement with Holy Bill's words. Patrick shifted to face the reverend, and Emma did likewise. Near the water's edge, bunches of goldenrod grew in clusters among the sea grass, dotted with
purple thistle—flowers for her wedding. And the rhythmic crashing of the waves was the music for the occasion.

Maybe she didn't have a pretty dress or a church, but the shoreline was like an outdoor cathedral. She couldn't ask for anything better, even if the familiar stench of fish wafted over them, and the old men working among the drying racks had stopped their work to stare at the scene.

Holy Bill turned to Patrick. “Patrick, wilt thou have this woman to be thy wedded wife, to live together after God's ordinances in the holy estate of matrimony? Wilt thou love her, comfort her, honor and keep her in sickness and in health? And forsaking all others, keep thee only to her as long as you both shall live?”

“I will.” His response was low, but it rumbled deep in Emma's soul nevertheless.

Holy Bill looked at her. “Emma, wilt thou have this man to be thy wedded husband, to live together after God's ordinances in the holy estate of matrimony? Wilt thou obey him and serve him, love, honor and keep him in sickness and in health? And forsaking all others, keep thee only to him as long as you both shall live?”

Keep
him as long as they both lived?

The cool wind blowing off the lake lifted the tendrils at the base of her neck and crept down her back. She peered out over the lake that stretched out forever like an ocean. Her thoughts tossed and tumbled with the waves.

“Emma?” Holy Bill said. “You need to say
I will
.”

She nodded and forced the words out before she changed her mind. “I will.”

Holy Bill reached for Patrick's right hand and then took hold of hers, placing it on top of her husband-to-be's. The moment her fingers brushed against his roughened skin, she sucked in
a breath. The contact was warm and too forward. She could only stare at their touching hands as he repeated the rest of his vows after Holy Bill.

Somehow she managed to repeat her vows as well.

“I pronounce that you are man and wife together.” Holy Bill closed his Bible and bestowed a satisfied smile on them, one that lifted his long white beard and mustache. His crinkled eyes sparked with happiness. “And finally, the best part. Patrick, you may kiss your bride.”

Emma stiffened in surprise.

Patrick started to shake his head, but Holy Bill cut him off with a laugh. “You may as well start things off right, Patrick, and get used to kissing your pretty new wife.”

Pretty?
She started to contradict him, but Patrick spoke first.

“I don't want to rush anything—”

“It's too late for that.” The reverend slapped Patrick on the back. “Besides, Emma isn't Delia. I'm sure Emma won't object, will you?” Holy Bill's smile encouraged her to agree with him.

The whole exchange left her confused and just a little breathless. And when Patrick peeked from beneath his lashes at her as if to gauge her reaction to Holy Bill's suggestion, she realized she couldn't object. She didn't want to start off their relationship by refusing a kiss at their wedding.

She lifted her face to Patrick. Her stomach did several funny flops at the thought of him pressing his lips against hers. He stared at his boots and dug a hole in the sand with the toe of one.

What if he didn't want to kiss her? Maybe he was still grieving over Delia and couldn't imagine having to kiss anyone else. Or maybe he didn't find her attractive enough to kiss.

Should she turn away and object, saving him the embarrassment of having to reject her?

She started to lower her face, but then he jerked his head up, reached swiftly for her cheeks, and cupped his hands on either side, the tips of his fingers brushing against her hair. Determination mingled with his flushed embarrassment as he stared directly at her mouth.

Her breath caught in her throat.

When he bent his head closer to hers, she couldn't move, couldn't think, couldn't do anything but wait. His breath hovered above her lips for a long moment, and she almost believed he wouldn't do it, that he couldn't.

Then, gingerly, his mouth met hers.

Her eyes closed, and her heart nearly stopped. She savored the gentle intimacy. The sweetness of his touch was like nothing she'd ever known before.

But it was over before it had a chance to begin. Before she could respond, before she could give in to her body's sudden longing to kiss him back, he pulled his face away and stepped back.

She wanted to lift her fingers to her mouth, to trap the warmth and the memory of his lips there, but didn't want to cause any more awkwardness between them.

Holy Bill grinned and slapped Patrick on his back again. Patrick only ducked his head.

“What in the name of all that's holy is going on?” called a voice from farther up the shore.

She swiveled in time to see Ryan charging down the beach toward them like an angry bull.

“Uh-oh,” she whispered.

Ryan flew toward Patrick, his fists balled and raised. “Did I just see you kissing my sister?”

Patrick had stiffened at the sight of Ryan's fists, but he didn't move. Unlike Holy Bill, who sprang out of her brother's path.

“I've never let any man take advantage of my sister,” Ryan said, almost shouting now. His eyes were wild, his face flushed with anger. “Rescuer or no, I'm not going to stand back and let you get away with this!”

“Ryan, stop!” she said.

But it was too late. Ryan leaped at Patrick. Even though her brother was lankier than the lightkeeper, he was no weakling. His fist connected with Patrick's jaw with a crack that reverberated through Emma, rattling her down to her bones.

“Don't hit him!” she cried.

Ryan then took a swing at Patrick's gut. His fist bounced off the man like a wave hitting a rock. Patrick didn't move, didn't even blink.

Ryan heaved a breath and swiped his sleeve across his forehead. Dust coated his cheeks, and his hair stuck to his head where his hat had been. He'd obviously been working hard, while she'd been sitting in the sun trying to get warm and dry.

Guilt prodded her forward. “Please, Ryan, I can explain.”

But he lunged at Patrick again and struck him in the chin. “No one touches my sister, do you hear me?”

Patrick's head swayed at the impact, and he gritted his teeth.

Was the man just going to stand there and let Ryan beat him without defending himself?

Patrick's eyes narrowed, and his nostrils flared. As Ryan pulled back his arm to level another punch, Patrick stiffened but didn't raise a hand to block the blow.

She darted between the men, spread her arms, and glared at Ryan. “Ryan Chambers, you stop hitting my husband this instant!”

Ryan froze, his arm upraised and poised for another punch at Patrick's face. “Your husband?”

It had felt as strange saying the word
husband
as it did hearing it come from Ryan. Behind her, the warmth of Patrick's torso radiated into her, reminding her of how near she stood to him.

“Aye. We were married just now by Holy Bill.” If she turned, she'd be standing mere inches away, as close as they'd been only moments ago when he'd kissed her for the first time.

“You went and got yourself married?” Ryan dropped his fist, and his shoulders sagged.

“It seemed like the perfect solution to our troubles,” she said.

He jammed his fingers into his sandy hair, making pieces of it stick out like twigs. “I had the situation under control. You didn't need to go and do a thing like this.”

“Emma's right,” Holy Bill said, cutting in. “It's the perfect solution for these two people.”

“It's
not
perfect,” Ryan said. “My sister's married to a stranger now. He could be a criminal for all we know.”

At Ryan's words, Patrick flinched.

Holy Bill shook his head. “No matter Patrick's past, you have no worries, sonny. I've met a lot of men during my years as a traveling minister, and I have to say there aren't many as fine as Patrick here. Your sister has got herself the best husband any woman could ask for.”

“And what makes you the expert?” Ryan asked.

Emma gasped. “Ryan, please—”

“Haven't I always taken good care of you, Em?”

“Aye, that you have. A very good job. But now it's time for you to live your own life without me holding you back.”

“You're not holding me back.”

“You could do so much more if you didn't have to worry about me.”

“I don't mind worrying about you, Em.” His features tightened in earnestness. “I'll worry about you even more now that you're married to God-knows-who.”

“I promise to take good care of her,” Patrick said.

Ryan glared at him. “You'd better. If I find out you're not treating her right, I'll beat you senseless.”

Patrick nodded. “If your sister isn't happy at the lighthouse, I won't hold her to our agreement.”

Ryan started as if he would spout off more threats, but as Patrick's words sank in, he stopped. “You'll let her leave if she wants to?”

Patrick nodded again.

Emma didn't understand what Patrick was saying. They were married. It was official. They couldn't change that now, except by divorce. And she wasn't planning on that. Happy or not, she was bound to him. They'd just spoken the words
for better or worse
, until death parted them.

A shout resounded across the beach. Near the edge of the clearing, Mr. Burnham was motioning to Ryan.

“I have to go,” Ryan said. “I asked Fred for a break to check on you, and he only gave me five minutes.”

“That's not long enough,” she said, directing a frown at the big man wiping the back of his neck with a red-checkered handkerchief.

“Beggars can't be choosers, Em,” Ryan said.

Exactly
, she wanted to tell him. She'd felt the same way about her marriage prospects, which was why she'd wedded Patrick. But instead of arguing, she swept her brother into an embrace. “I'm going to the lighthouse now.”

His arms tightened around her. “I'll be out to visit you as soon as I get some time off.”

“I'll look forward to it.” She clung to him. Even with all her brave words, an ache moved into her throat. This was it. She was finally setting her brother free, and deep inside she knew it was past time to do so.

“After my hard work keeping the men away from you these past few years,” he said, his voice gruff near her ear. “I can't believe I left you for a few hours and you ended up married.”

She pulled back. “You kept the men away?”

“I threatened to beat up anyone who came calling. I didn't want any of them taking advantage of my sister.”

Had Ryan's scare tactics been part of the reason she'd had so little attention from suitors? She didn't know what to say, whether to laugh, cry, or scold him. So instead she said nothing and tugged him into another embrace.

“Are you sure you want to go through with this?” he whispered.