A Sensible Arrangement (17 page)

Marty turned, surprised to find the young woman there. The blond-haired girl smiled. “I hope I didn't startle you.”

“Only a bit. And, yes, I suppose you can go ahead and post this letter.”

“Did you tell your sister . . . about . . . Mr. Wythe?” Alice asked.

This time Marty didn't chide her for the personal question. “Yes.”

“Do you think she'll be angry about your marriage?”

“I honestly don't know what Hannah will think or feel. She's always been very protective of me, but I know she would want me to be happy.”

“And are you happy?”

Alice was the only one with whom Marty had shared the truth about her arrangement with Jake. As her personal maid, Alice was already well aware that the couple never shared the same bedroom.

“I'm content,” Marty finally added. At least that much was true. “I prefer it here to Texas, and I find it's better for me to pretend there is no Texas and no family living there worrying after me.”

Alice shook her head. “Pretending doesn't make it so.”

Marty gave a heavy sigh. “No, but it does give me a little peace of mind. Very little, I'll admit, but enough for now. Hopefully Hannah and Will can accept my choices and will forgive me for my secrecy. Then there will be nothing more to worry about.”

She met Alice's doubtful expression and knew the young woman didn't believe a word.

Jake put aside the newspaper and turned his attention back to the ledgers he'd been working on. It seemed that the missing money he'd been tracking had been returned very nearly in full. He frowned. How could this be happening under his nose?

Arnold came in with a stack of papers. “These letters will need your signature before they can go out.”

“What are they?”

“Mostly notifications. The usual. Mortgage payments that are behind, loans that have been in arrears. We're calling in the notes on most.”

“Foreclosing on the mortgages?” Jake asked. “Who arranged that?”

“Mr. Morgan himself. He brought this list in when you were at the Denver Club. You can review it to make sure there are no mistakes.”

Jake nodded and took the papers. Looking through them, he frowned. Most of the notices were to homeowners who were behind on their mortgage payments. The addresses listed revealed homes from modest to lower income areas, suggesting the common man and his family.

“How can we foreclose on these people?” Jake asked aloud. He glanced up to find Arnold giving him a confused look. He shook his head and placed the papers on the desk. “I suppose the bank must have its money, but it seems heartless to put families out on the street.”

“Indeed,” Arnold agreed. “However, Mr. Morgan seemed to think it important for the health of his banks.”

“I suppose.” Jake drew a deep breath and blew it out. “Seems mighty unneighborly,” he drawled.

This didn't sit right—but neither did the direction of his own life, especially in these uncertain times. Mr. Morgan was constantly speaking to him about promotion and an increased salary. He liked the way Jake handled himself and the bank and had even commented that he would like to put Jake in a position to oversee all of the branches. It sounded
quite daunting to a man who longed only to be back in the saddle.

Arnold turned to go. “Please close the door on your way out,” Jake called after him. The younger man did as instructed, leaving Jake to the quiet of his office.

“I'm not where I want to be,” he whispered and glanced upward. His first love, Deborah Vandermark, would have told him he should pray on the matter. It had been a long time, however, since Jake had done any real talking to the Lord. He touched the scar on his right hand. He'd cut it while working for Deborah's family. She had been training to become a physician and had sewed it up for him. Whenever he saw the scar, he thought of her kindness to him and her faith. She was a strong woman of God. . . . How different from Marty, who obviously struggled when it came to the Almighty. He smiled. Hadn't he had his own issues? He couldn't fault Marty for feeling untrusting when he had some of the same problems.

“I suppose it wouldn't hurt to mention a few things to you, Lord.” Jake got up and walked to the window. He couldn't help but wonder what Marty would think if she knew that he was beginning to wish for more in their marriage. More in his life.

Taking it to God in prayer was something his mother had always encouraged. He knew a Christian was supposed to pray, read his Bible, live a life pleasing to God. Jake knew, too, that he'd been focused only on survival—doing whatever it took to get one step closer to Texas.

Marty had been an important part of that, but the more time they spent together, the less inclined she seemed to be toward the idea of returning. He wasn't entirely sure why she held Texas a grudge. Maybe it had to do with the death
of her first husband. She had loved him a great deal; that much was evident. No one had ever loved Jake that way, and it made him just a little bit jealous.

Pray about it.

The words seemed to burn deep into his heart.

“I wanna go home, Lord,” he finally prayed. “I wanna go back to Texas.”

“The Morgans do love to entertain,” Marty declared as they made their way home in the carriage. “And how interesting to have a May Day party complete with a Maypole. I have to admit I've never seen the dance involved, but it was quite lovely with all those ribbons.”

Jake nodded but said very little. He seemed glum and restless, and Marty couldn't help but wonder what had been said or done to bring about such a mood.

“Did you have a bad time?” she dared to question.

He looked at her from across the carriage, but the dim street lighting did little to reveal his expression. Who was this man she'd married, and why couldn't she better understand him?

“I didn't have either a bad or good time,” he answered her. “It was just one more party—one more meaningless day.” The weariness in his voice rang clear.

Marty tried not to panic at his comment. Lately Jake was given to speaking more and more of his longing for Texas and the ranch life that he loved. “There are days here when I just want to pack up and walk away. I'm tired of bank ledgers
and businessmen more concerned with their vast wealth than the condition of the people around them. I want more than this, but . . .”

He fell silent for a few moments, and then started in again. “You know how I feel about owning my own spread one day.”

“I do,” Marty said, keeping her tone neutral. She deeply feared what he might say next.

“I was speaking with Dennis Sheedy tonight. You'll remember he used to ranch a great deal.”

“Yes.”

“Well, he advised against any ranching or farming venture at this point. He said the markets weren't good for either. He said it would be a waste of time and money, and I would soon find myself in the same position my father was a few years ago.”

Marty's heart skipped a beat.
God bless you, Mr. Sheedy
. She remained silent, hoping that Jake would tell her he was giving up on his dreams.

“I reminded him that folks will always need to eat, but he said there was already a glut of ranches and farms and that with the economy as it is, there have been a great many foreclosures, as well. I thought that would make it more reasonable for me to be able to buy in. After all, the places will sell dirt cheap.”

“But you would be benefiting from another's loss. That doesn't seem like something you'd be comfortable with.”

“I wouldn't like it, but better that someone continue the dream—don't you think?”

“I don't know,” Marty said, though she had her own opinion about such dreams. “I do know that ranching is a danger
ous business. There are things there that can take your life in a moment's notice.”

“And there aren't here?”

She shrugged. “It's hardly the same. On the ranch a man can die from his horse taking a misstep or crossing the path of a rattler.”

“And that can't happen here—to a banker?” He sounded irritated. “You weren't that far away from Denver when your stage was attacked. Someone's been creeping around the house, probably looking to steal us blind. There's always something or someone looking to do evil.”

Marty knew she needed to rein back her negativity toward ranching. Perhaps changing the subject would help. “Oh, let's not dwell on the sad and bad. I very nearly forgot to tell you about my experience at the orphanage today. I was able to spend some time helping the little ones with their reading. It reminded me of how Hannah used to teach us when we were little.” She paused and noticed Jake was lost in thought.

“There are a great many children in this city who have no one. Did you realize that? There are a dozen or more orphanages and all of them full,” she rambled.

Jake, however, remained silent the entire journey home. She worried that her comments had left him overly discouraged.

“I'm sorry, Jake. I'm sorry if I sounded unfeeling in regard to your dreams,” she said as they approached the house. Marty turned to find they were only inches from each other. The glow of the porch light made it easy to see the sadness in his eyes.

“I truly don't wish to see you hurt. I don't want to lose another husband the way I lost Thomas.”

Jake's head cocked slightly. “Sounds as though you've come to care about me.”

Marty trembled—grateful that Jake wasn't holding on to her arm or he might have felt it and wondered why. “Of course I care about you. We've been together now for more than three months. I've come to enjoy your company and thought you felt likewise.”

“I do,” he whispered.

She smiled. “Then surely you can understand why I don't want to see you hurt. I want to have you around for a good long time. I want to enjoy our life together.”

“And you're content with this and nothing more?”

Marty hesitated, not sure of his meaning. They were so very close, and for just a heartbeat, Marty thought Jake might kiss her. Worse still, she wanted him to. When she said nothing, however, Jake apparently took this as a dismissal.

“I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that. I appreciate that you care. I'm sorry if I've been poor company.”

Disappointment flooded Marty's soul as Jake moved to the open front door, where Brighton awaited them. Why did she feel so out of sorts? Was she losing her heart to this man?

I swore
never again. I never wanted to love another person like
I loved Thomas—especially not a rancher.

She vowed then and there to guard her heart more carefully. She couldn't risk allowing Jake to make her care about him the way she would a husband. Theirs was a sensible arrangement—nothing more.

Brighton followed Jake to his bedroom and helped him with his clothes. “Will you need anything else this evening, sir?”

Jake shook his head. “Please feel free to retire. I will be fine.”

“Very good, sir.” Brighton moved toward the door with Jake's coat in hand. “I'll give this a good brushing and return it in the morning. Good night, sir.”

“Yes, good night,” Jake replied and all but closed the door in Brighton's face.

Pacing the room in his trousers and shirt, Jake couldn't stop thinking about Marty. She had looked so beautiful tonight. When they'd arrived home, she had mentioned caring about him and Jake had been certain she would have allowed him to kiss her.

So why didn
't I?

He stopped and stared at the door that adjoined their rooms. It would be easy enough to open it and pass through to her dressing room. He could hear her in there. Alice was no doubt readying her mistress for bed, combing out her silky blond hair and braiding it for sleep. He could go to them on some pretense.

But why bother? Even if she has
come to care about me, it doesn't mean she
wants anything more.

Jake began pacing again. There had to be something more, however. He was so discontent with the way things were. He felt that life held no meaning. He had married because the bank had insisted he have a wife, but now he found himself feeling something more for his wife . . . and it stood to ruin everything.

Am
I in love with her?

The question seemed simple enough, but Jake struggled to even allow the thought. He had been so certain that he would
never love again. Of course, he'd been just as certain that he would never marry again, yet here he was . . . a husband.

At least there were no children to worry about. But that thought caused just as much anguish. He had wanted children, had always seen himself as fathering a large family. A family who could help him run the ranch and inherit the fruits of his labors.

Brighton had laid a small fire in the hearth—just enough to ward off the chill of the evening, but Jake couldn't help but feel cold. He was cold from the inside out. It was like sinking in quicksand and knowing you weren't going to get out.

Maybe it had been a mistake to marry Marty. He frowned. “But I can't imagine my life without her now.”

He heard laughter from the room next door and longed to be a part of it. He went to the door and put his hand out to touch the polished wood.

If only you
knew how I felt. If only I could help you
see that we could have something more—something deeper—richer
.

Jake spent the rest of the night in a restless sleep. He dreamed of Marty and how their marriage might be. He awakened several times almost sensing her nearness, only to realize it had been nothing more than his imagination at work.

He heard the clock chime four and wondered if he would ever again be able to enjoy a restful night. With that beautiful wife of his so close, yet so far away, it seemed doubtful.

I could woo
her
.

The thought seemed reasonable enough. Jake rubbed his jaw.
I could court my wife and show her that there
could be a great romance between us.

But what if that wasn't what she wanted? What if Jake put his heart and soul into winning Marty's affection, and
she turned out to despise him for it? She might accuse him of altering their marriage agreement. She might even decide to have the marriage annulled, and he certainly didn't want that.

She said she cared about me
. Jake wrestled with that thought. Wasn't that enough to build on? He'd never claimed to know much about courting and wooing, but he felt confident that the friendship they shared was a good foundation for something more.

We enjoy
each other's company. We have a great deal in
common
.

Thoughts poured through his mind—all the reasons why this courtship should work. Jake grinned in the dark. He felt a surge of excitement and a rush of energy that made him feel like a youth again. He could be charming. He could make Marty fall in love with him. He was convinced of it.

He put his hands under his head and his smile broadened. “She thinks ranch life has its hidden dangers,” he whispered to the night. “Wait until she sees what we Colorado bankers are capable of.”

Trinity Methodist Church was beginning to grow on Marty. Or at least the music was. The organ's four thousand pipes were not to be ignored when sounding a hymn. Jake had once commented that this church made you
feel
the music deep within your soul. Marty agreed.

She listened only halfheartedly to the sermon. The minister was teaching from the book of Genesis, about Isaac and Rebekah. Abraham had arranged for his servant to go back to the country of his origin and get Isaac a wife. It was a story Marty remembered well from childhood.

Rebekah
was rather like the original mail-order bride
, Marty reasoned.

She listened momentarily as the Word was read. “‘And they called Rebekah, and said unto her, Wilt thou go with this man? And she said, I will go.'”

Marty gave a quick side glance at Jake, who seemed completely caught up in the sermon. He was such a handsome man—more handsome than she'd even noticed when she'd first married him. And he was kind and generous. She couldn't fault him for much of anything. If only he would put aside his desire to return to Texas.

I can't go back there. There's nothing there
for me—just memories
. Even if she gave Jake the ranch and they started their life together there, the ghost of Thomas would always be between them. It wouldn't be a real marriage at all.

It isn't a
real marriage
, she reminded herself.

A longing stirred deep within her, and Marty did her best to squelch it. Desires, however, came unbidden, as they were known to do. She wanted a real marriage with Jacob Wythe. She wanted a lifetime of love and laughter—of children and growing old together. The thought brought tears to her eyes.

Why must
I feel these things now?