Renegade Bride (33 page)

Slowly, she pulled herself out of his arms. Her head spun at the thought of all of his plans. He looked at her with such trusting eyes, how could she lie? She couldn't and she knew it.

Confusion furrowed his brow. "What's wrong, Mari?"

Her throat burned. "Seth," she said softly, withdrawing her hands from his, "I'm sorry but... I can't marry you."

Chapter 17

"You
what?"

"I said, I can't marry you." Mariah hugged her arms to herself.

"I heard what you said. I..." His expression was frozen in shock. "I just don't... My God, Mari, why not?" He stared at her for a long minute. When she didn't answer, he asked, "Is... is there someone else?"

She walked over to the window and peered through the wavy glass pane. Outside, life went on as usual. The streets were thick with people, the sun had set, the moon had risen. But inside, she felt dead.
Someone else?

"Not anymore," she answered. "There was someone, though. Briefly. I thought..." She turned to him. "I thought I was in love with him."

"Were you?"

"I... I'm not sure." No, she told herself, this was the time for honesty, not half-truths. "Yes. Yes I was."

"I see." He turned away, plunging his fingers into his thick, wavy hair.

She felt something crack inside her.
I'm sorry, Seth, so sorry.

"And now?" he asked in a strange voice that didn't seem to belong to the Seth she knew. "Are you still in love with him?"

Her finger traced down the window frame as it blurred through her tears. Outside, the noisy ebb and flow of humanity echoed the beat of her heart. "It's over."

"Are you certain?"

She nodded. "Quite certain. But there are things about me you don't know. I—I'm not the same girl you left behind in Chicago."

He exhaled sharply. "I'm not the same either, Mari," he said, taking a step toward her. "Everyone changes. Everyone... makes mistakes."

"No. You don't understand—"

He took her by the shoulders from behind. "I understand that I love you. That I've always loved you. Jesus, Mari, we practically grew up together. We've been intended since I can remember. I never wanted to marry anyone but you. Don't you... love me anymore?"

She whirled to face him, tears streaking her cheeks. "Of course I do. I've always loved you, Seth—"
But not the way I love him.

Relief flooded his face. He took her by the upper arms and drew her close. "Ah, Mari, then I—I don't understand. If you love me..."

His earnest expression broke her heart. "There are things about me you should know. You have a right to know. I—I've
done
things—"

He put a finger to her lips. "No. I don't need to know anything else. Look at me." He tipped her face up to his. "Four years is a long time to be apart. Things happen—"

"But—"

"—so be it. I'm looking at you. Not at the young girl I left behind. Your letters all these years have kept me going. You haven't even seen the plans for the house I'm going to build for us, or... or seen my store yet. I've made a success of it, Mari. I did this all for you, for us. So I could take care of you, make a home for you. It's
you
I want. I want you to have my children. I want to raise them with you."

She bowed her head, unable to meet his eye. "Oh, Seth, I don't deserve you."

"Oh, hell," he muttered. "That's just not true. I've certainly... well, I've made my share of mistakes here," he said, pushing his hand through his swept-back hair. "You can ask Creed if you don't believe me. He's seen me at my worst." She closed her eyes, willing herself not to turn away at the mention of Creed.

"Look," he went on, sliding a hand over her shoulder and down her arm, "I know it'll take some time to... to get to know one another again, to be truly... comfortable. I probably shouldn't have kissed you that way. But I couldn't help myself. God, just to look at you, I..."

He moistened his dry lips with his tongue and tipped her chin up so she was forced to look at him. "Say you'll marry me, Mari. Whatever's happened in the past, we can put it behind us. None of that matters anymore.

"I'll make you happy," he went on. "I promise I will. I'll take care of you. You'll never have to worry about anything. You'll see." His fingers toyed with her sleeve. "Just give me the chance. You'll make me the proudest man in Montana."

She released the breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. She'd tried, hadn't she? She tried to tell him.

We'll put the past behind us.
That's what he said. Maybe, just maybe it was true.

Besides, what good would it do to tell him it was Creed she'd so foolishly fallen in love with? It would probably destroy him—them. And what was the point of that? It was kinder to let him think it was another man in her past.

And easier to let him think it's over.

It
was
over, she told herself firmly. Creed had made it all too clear there was no future for her with him. She was alone in the world, except for the man who'd always been her best friend.

Friendship is important to a marriage, isn't it?

So is passion.

She shut out the thought. It's all for the best. It would hardly be awful being married to a man like Seth—a man who loved her unconditionally. She could be a good wife to him. She
would.

She would forget about Creed Devereaux, put him out of her mind. Forever. She'd be the best wife to Seth he could ever want. And he'd be happy, too.

At least someone should end up happy in all this.

"Mariah?" Seth was waiting for her answer.

She felt her mouth quiver into a smile. "All right. All right. If you still want me, I'll be proud to marry you, Seth."

He sighed deeply and wrapped his arms around her. "You won't be sorry. I promise you. You won't be sorry. I love you, Mari."

For four long years she'd waited for this moment, to hear him say those very words. Now here he was and those same words broke her heart.

She hated herself for what she'd done and what she was doing. His lips brushed her neck and the clean, masculine scent of him filled her senses. She tightened her arms around his back, remembering his solidness, his strength. He was a man she'd always been able to lean on.

The problem was, she'd finally discovered she could stand on her own.

* * *

The Benders' house was situated at the far end of a muddy thoroughfare called Van Buren. The wood-frame structure was separated from a livery on one side and a mud and stone house on the other by a white picket fence. The enclosure boasted ten feet of winter-browned grass and a garden full of rose bushes, red with buds. Raw wood boxes of blooming geraniums sprouted below the waxed-muslin windows.

As she and Seth mounted the wooden steps, the door swung open. The light from within was partially blocked by the broad-beamed figure of a woman in the doorway, brandishing a wooden spoon. Her voice reminded Mariah of a rusty foghorn. "Well, I declare!" the woman cried, planting her fists on her hips. "Is this—?"

"It sure is, Sadie," Seth answered, grinning broadly.

"Saints be praised and hallelujah!" She turned and hollered back into the house. "Wade, look who Seth's brought to dinner." Without waiting for her husband, Sadie hurried down the steps and pulled Mariah into her arms in a bone-crunching hug. "Land sakes, child! You've had us worried sick. What kept you? Seth was about to round the vigilantes up again and set out a'lookin' for you."

"I—I, uh..." Mariah mumbled against the woman's ample shoulder.

"Heavens to Betsy, where are my manners?" She let Mariah go, rocking her backward on her heels. "Here I am a'huggin' you an' we haven't even been introduced formal-like. But then I feel as if I know you already. Seth, here, has talked about you so much."

Mariah nodded, unable to gather a coherent thought. Seth coughed beside her.

"Come in, come in," Sadie boomed, "we'll do our talkin' inside where the chill ain't gonna put frost on our teeth."

Seth leaned close to her ear. "Don't let her scare you. She's a lamb." He straightened and smiled broadly again as Sadie's husband reached a hand to him. Two strapping teenaged boys appeared at their father's side, gaping curiously at Mariah.

Without breaking stride, Sadie rapped each on the head with her spoon. "Catchin' flies with yer mouth ain't gonna win you any points with womenfolk, boys. It ain't terrible attractive. C'mon inside, now."

Mariah stifled a smile as the boys, properly chastised, stumbled back into the house, their mouths firmly closed.

The house was, indeed, warm with a fire burning in the huge stone fireplace that took up the better part of one wall. Most of the furniture was handmade; colorful rag rugs decorated the floor, adding to the coziness. Kerosene lamps brightened the corners and the plank table was set with a mishmash of plates and dishes that suited the house just perfectly. The tantalizing aroma of roast venison made her stomach rumble.

Her gaze went to the smudge of flour on Sadie's cheek and the long white apron that covered her faded blue calico gown. She was plentifully built, with strong hands that Mariah could imagine pushing a plow. There was, however, a grace about Sadie despite her rough manner—an economy of motion that belied her size.

"This here's my husband, Wade Bender," Sadie went on, taking control of the introductions. "And my two boys, Jarrod and Jason. Say hello, boys."

"Hullo," they mumbled in unison.

"Miss Parsons—it's a pure pleasure to meet you at last," Wade replied in a gallant, soft-spoken voice. He held an ornately carved pipe clamped between his teeth. As slender as Sadie was broad, Wade had thinning brown hair and spectacles. His face was gentle, with laugh lines around his eyes and a neatly trimmed beard showing the first touches of gray.

A smile eased the tension of Mariah's mouth. "The pleasure's mine, Mr. Bender."

"And o' course, I'm Sadie Bender," his wife went on, "but I only go by Sadie. Anything more formal just makes me feel old."

"Hello, Sadie." Mariah awkwardly took her proffered hand and Sadie pumped her arm up and down. She sent a helpless look to Seth, who simply grinned.

"Howdy-do, Miss Parsons."

"It's just Mariah, please," she insisted. "I apologize for my inappropriate appearance." She glanced down at her still-grimy pants and shirt, which Sadie seemed not to notice.

"Ain't nothin' inappropriate about you, young lady. You're lookin' mighty fit after a trip like you must have had."

Relief swelled through Mariah. "Seth has told me what a help you were to him when he was ill. I wish there was some way to thank you."

"Pshaw," Sadie retorted with a wave of her hand, urging Mariah into a horsehair sofa near the fireplace. "Friends help friends in times of need. Nothin' more to it. Yer bein' here at last is thanks enough. But to be sure, Seth's lucky to be here at all.

"There were times, girl, I thought I'd be a'showin' you his grave when you came. That fever were the dad-blamedest affliction I ever did see, burnin' him up like a pyre and Wade and me packin' him with blockhouse ice cut from the Missouri last winter."

"Truthfully," Seth admitted, sheepishly, "I don't ever recall absorbing the effect of that particular remedy. I don't recall much of anything for nigh on a week, except the distinct impression that I would shake myself out of my bed."

"Oh, Seth," Mariah whispered.

Sadie shook her head. "That quack of a doctor tried oil of wormwood, vermifuge, quinine... even jalap-of-turpentine." Waving her hand disparagingly, she said, "Then he gave it up altogether, leavin' us to our own resources. Goldenseal. There was the ticket. And my teas—feverfew, yarrow and hyssop. Right as rain after forty-eight hours, he was. He's still a mite peaked though, and he can use a hand at the store with the heavy work for a few days." She looked up at Seth. "Speakin' of which, where's Creed?"

"He's back, too." Seth sat down next to Mariah. "I hope you don't mind that I invited him to come tonight, too. He had some things to do, but he said he'd try to make it."

"Try? He'd better come or he'll miss my bramble-berry pie. An' ya know how he hankers after my pies. Jarrod," she ordered, rapping the youngster on the arm with the wooden spoon, "set another place for Miss Parsons and Mr. Devereaux."