His Forbidden Bride (The Brides of Paradise Ranch (Spicy Version) Book 7) (14 page)

“Is that all?” he asked, his voice low and dark.

The WSGA men lost some of their swagger. They exchanged looks with each other. Eastman and Lamb looked furious that they hadn’t gotten to lash out and put Solomon down the way they had Honoria. Chalmers refused to look at the others, appearing as though he might be sick. Only O’Brien maintained a poker face as stony as Solomon’s. “That’s all,” he said.

Solomon nodded. “I’ll go get your money.” He turned to go, resting a hand on Honoria’s back to bring her with him. These men may have won the battle, but they wouldn’t win the war.

* * *

H
onoria was
beside herself with grief and frustration by the time she and Solomon, Howard and Mr. Gunn, made it back to the lobby. She understood and admired Solomon’s stoic way of handling the situation, but the whole thing was so wrong, so infuriating, to begin with. And to impose such a mind-boggling fine? She was certain they had made it up solely to break Solomon.

“I can scrape together a little extra cash from my holdings in Ohio and Pennsylvania,” Howard said as soon as they were in a quiet corner of the lobby.

“You’re always welcome to borrow from me,” Gunn added. “Although I’ll have to liquidate a few more assets to provide enough for the fine.”

“No.” Solomon shook his head. “I have cash coming via Western Union on today’s train. It will be enough.”

Honoria practically shook with fury over it all. Fury led to a coughing fit the likes of which she hadn’t had in days. A coughing fit that squeezed her lungs but didn’t produce a single fleck of blood. She frowned.

“Mrs. Templesmith, would you like a glass of water?” Gunn asked, ever considerate.

His tiny offer of kindness broke some of the tension in Honoria’s soul. “Yes, please.”

Gunn smiled. “Here.” He offered Honoria his arm.

Honoria sent Solomon a weary smile, then took Gunn’s arm and walked across the lobby with him as Solomon and Howard continued their conversation with Solomon saying, “This is going to severely drain my assets.”

Honoria squeezed her eyes shut for a second, trusting Gunn to guide her. This was her fault. Like it or not, as beautiful as everything else was, none of this would be happening to Solomon if it wasn’t for her, if it wasn’t for her illness. He was suffering for her.

“I’m certain you will both weather this storm.” Gunn shook her out of her thoughts as they reached the door to the restaurant. He waved for one of the wait staff to bring a glass of water. “Solomon is as tough as he is refined.”

“Yes, and I am an albatross around his neck,” Honoria sighed.

“Don’t say that.” Gunn turned to face her, holding on to her hands. “You’re a remarkable young lady who has given him a reason to fight.”

She couldn’t help but smile weakly. “You’re kind to say so, Mr. Gunn, but at the end of the day, I don’t want to be the cause of his ruin. None of this would be happening if not for me.”

The waiter brought a clear glass of water to Gunn, who handed it to Honoria, then nodded for the worker to give them some space. Honoria was surprised by how refreshing a simple glass of cold water was right then. She was surprised that it didn’t send her into a another coughing fit, that the entire sorry meeting hadn’t doubled her over. Or perhaps it would have been more accurate to say that it made her suspicious.

For the last few days, she hadn’t been able to get one tiny thing Bonnie had said to her as she was leaving her father’s ranch out of her head. Consumptives were supposed to cough blood. Not once, not even when her attacks had been at their worst, had she seen so much as a speck of blood. On top of that, she couldn’t remember ever feeling as whole and healthy—at least physically—in the last two weeks. She needed to find out if Dr. Meyers had returned from his business with the Cheyenne and ask for more details about the usual progress of her disease.

Gunn waited until she had refreshed herself before taking the glass from her, setting it on a side table, and going on with, “This is hardly your fault, Honoria. Ignorant, spiteful men don’t need much to use as an excuse to attack the people they despise on principle. There are many who have resented Solomon’s success for years now.”

“But they chose to attack him because of me,” she argued.

Gunn shook his head. “If it wasn’t you, it would have been something else. And you bring Solomon so much joy.”

She arched a brow and took his arm when he offered to escort her back to where Solomon and Howard still had their heads together in discussion. “Do I?”

“Absolutely,” Gunn nearly laughed.

“I know I bring him some happiness.” She blushed at the thought of exactly what form that happiness took. “I just don’t know if that’s enough to make up for the misery I’ve caused.” Misery that could only double when her strange health eventually did take the downturn that was in store.

They reached Solomon and Howard just as Solomon was muttering, “I’m just glad that, because of her illness, Honoria won’t be around to see my life in shambles.”

It felt as though a sharp arrow struck Honoria’s heart. Even when Solomon whipped to face her and said, “Sweetheart, I’m so sorry. That’s not how I meant that at all.” He broke away from Howard and swept her out of Gunn’s grasp and into his arms. “I’m so sorry.”

Honoria managed a weak smile. “No, I understand completely.” She did, but that didn’t mean the entire situation didn’t hurt. “I only wish that I could be there with you to face whatever is coming. It’s my fault that it’s coming in the first place.”

“Don’t let yourself think that,” he said, then followed it up with a kiss. That kiss went farther to set her at ease than anything else he could have said. “I made a promise to you, and it’s a promise I intend to keep.”

Somehow, Honoria’s heart felt light while the world weighed down on her shoulders. She embraced Solomon, leaning her head against his shoulder. His arms felt so right as they closed around her, as if he could protect her from the storm. But she never should have asked him for that protection in the first place.

In the distance, a train whistle sounded. Solomon squeezed her tighter for a moment, then let her go and stood back. “That’s the train with my money on it,” he sighed. “Might as well go pick it up so I can hand it over to your buddies.” He glanced to Howard.

“I may be a member of the WSGA,” Howard growled, “but they are
not
my buddies.”

“All the same...”

They started for the door, waving goodbye to Gunn. Howard parted ways with them at the bottom of the porch stairs. Honoria walked on for a few paces at Solomon’s side before pausing.

“I need to run an errand before I head over to Wendy’s for work,” she said.

Solomon looked confused for a moment before his features softened. “Do you need any help?”

“No.” She shook her head. “I’ve imposed on you far too much already.”

“Darling, you really haven’t.” He leaned in to kiss her. “I married you because I wanted to.”

She wanted to argue with him so desperately, but just like arguing with the WSGA men wouldn’t do him any good, so arguing that all of their troubles were her fault would get her nowhere.

“Those men don’t know a true hero when they see one,” she said instead, fighting to keep the tears out of her voice.

“Or a true heroine,” he added.

He kissed her once more, said a few tender words of goodbye, then headed on to Main Street. Honoria clutched a hand to her heart for a moment, watching him go, before turning and hurrying down Prairie Avenue. She needed to know how much longer she could hold on. She needed to find Dr. Meyers and ask him if she would be gone and out of Solomon’s life soon. As bitter a pill to swallow as it was, the sooner she found her eternal rest, the easier it would be for Solomon to move on without being harassed.

She nearly wept in relief when she saw the shingle out in front of the Meyers house proclaiming that Dr. Meyers had returned from his Cheyenne business. His office was around the back of the house with its own private entrance. The day was balmy and breezy, so he had all of his windows as well as the front door opened. Honoria dashed through the door, ready to learn the truth and get it over with. Dr. Meyers’s nurse, Abigail, lifted her head from the desk where she was going through piles of patient files.

“Oh, Miss Honoria!” Abigail gasped. “I’m so glad you came in.”

“Is Dr. Meyers here?” Honoria didn’t bother to correct Abigail’s use of her old form of address.

“He is, and he’s desperate to see you.”

Honoria frowned as Abigail jumped up from her desk. Before Abigail could even make it to the door to the examination room, Dr. Meyers poked his head around the corner.

“Honoria! You have no idea how glad I am to see you. Come in, come in.” There was something strained and worried in his expression as he stepped aside and invited her into the examination room.

Her heart in her throat, Honoria slipped past him and into the tiny room. Her entire day—the last two weeks, really—had been so out of the ordinary that she didn’t know if the roiling in her stomach was nerves or illness. She needed answers, though, and if she could stand up to a table full of men intent on destroying her husband, she could face the truth of her death.

“Dr. Meyers, I need to know how long—”

“I’ve been desperate to ride out to your father’s ranch to apologize,” he spoke at the same time as her.

Something snapped inside her with a foreboding crack. “A-apologize?”

“Yes.” Dr. Meyers winced. “If I had known what Dr. Abernathy would do, I would have made a point of finding you to tell you the results of your tests before leaving for the Cheyenne camp.”

“That wasn’t necessary.” Honoria began to feel dizzy. “Dr. Abernathy gave me the results.”

“But that’s just it,” Dr. Meyers said, looking downright stricken. “He mixed up the files. He gave you the wrong results. Mrs. Bonita, who was in town to visit her nephew, has consumption. You’re just fine. There’s nothing wrong with you at all.”

T
hank God
there was a chair in Dr. Meyers’s examination room. Honoria sat down hard as her knees gave out. Her mind couldn’t comprehend what Dr. Meyers had told her. It was as if everything stopped—her brain, her heart, her breathing. She could only gape at nothing, in total shock.

“Your symptoms were most likely caused by stress,” Dr. Meyers went on, shifting anxiously from one foot to the other. “I know that your situation at home is often difficult, and I believe that your loss of energy and coughing is a result of mental and emotional fatigue. If there was some way that you could get away from your family, if only for holidays, separate yourself from the cause, as it were…”

His words drifted off. He tilted his head to the side and regarded Honoria with concern and more than a little guilt.

“I really am terribly sorry about the mix-up. Dr. Abernathy should have looked at those files more closely. I…I hope this hasn’t caused you any undue trouble.”

At last, Honoria dragged her eyes up to meet Dr. Meyers’s. “I married Solomon.” The words escaped from her in a daze before she could stop herself.

“Solomon Templesmith?” Dr. Meyers’s face brightened. “That’s wonderful! I’ve noticed that the two of you have always seemed fond of one another.” He paused, letting out a relieved breath, and burst into a smile. “This is delightful. Exactly what you need for your health. And let me guess, since the wedding you’ve been feeling hale and healthy and have been experiencing fewer symptoms?”

Honoria blinked and lowered her head. She
was
feeling better. She hadn’t been coughing nearly as much, not at all some days. In her heart of hearts, she’d known that being with Solomon was good for her on a hundred different levels. She should have known the truth, that she wasn’t dying at all.

She wasn’t dying.

“I married Solomon under false pretenses,” she squeaked.

The reality of the situation she was in—the situation she’d put Solomon in—crashed down around her like a house crumbling. She shot to her feet so fast it made her dizzy and clutched her stomach. She’d manipulated a good man into marrying her for selfish reasons, and now those reasons didn’t exist. She’d brought a heap of trouble down on Solomon’s head for no good reason. He was on the verge of losing everything because of her, because of some gallant idea that he could be a comfort to her in the last days of her life. But these weren’t the last days of her life. She could live for fifty years more, and he’d shackled himself to her and all the problems that came with her.

“He’ll never forgive me,” she whispered.

Dr. Meyers reached out to steady her. “I’m sorry, I don’t understand. Won’t Solomon be overjoyed by this news?”

Honoria shook her head, tears stinging at her eyes. “He only married me because I told him I was dying.”

“Oh.” Dr. Meyers frowned…but it was more of a frown as if something didn’t quite add up. “It has to be more than that, though. I’ve known Solomon for quite some time, and he has always had a warm spot in his heart for you.”

She swallowed the urge to be sick and stepped back from him. “My father has attacked him for marrying me. He’s trying to ruin the bank because of me. Solomon is about to lose everything. It’s all my fault.”

Dr. Meyers let out a sympathetic breath and rubbed a hand over his face. “I’m sure he won’t see it that way.”

But Honoria had a terrible, terrible feeling he would. Everything was always her fault somehow. Hadn’t Vivian and Melinda been telling her that for years? She’d fought and fought against their bullying, but now she was seeing it in another light. What if they were right? What if she was every bit as stupid and ham-fisted as they’d always told her she was? She’d certainly mangled her own life, and she’d managed to bring down a good man in the process.

Without waiting for another word from Dr. Meyers, she turned and fled the clinic. She wasn’t sure where she would go—just like the day she’d been given the news that she was dying. She could hardly think beyond repeating “I lied to Solomon. I lied to him about the most important thing ever. I’m a liar” over and over.

Her mother’s dying words began to loop over her own. “Your honor is your shining light… Be honest in all things.” She’d failed her mother as certainly as she’d failed Solomon.

But she hadn’t known, that gentle voice in her whispered. Surely it couldn’t be a lie if she hadn’t known the truth.

She ran on, turning onto Station Street and hurrying past the intersection with Main Street.

“Honoria? There you are.”

Her head whipped up as Wendy called her name. Honoria stopped running, but her heart continued to thunder in her chest, and she couldn’t catch her breath. Wendy was standing on the boardwalk in front of her shop, bouncing Emanuel in her arms, but started down the walk toward Honoria. As desperately as Honoria wanted to run, her feet were suddenly glued to the spot. The sudden truth would affect her friends too. She’d deceived Wendy, deceived all of the people who had come forward to be her friends, even if she hadn’t told any of them she was dying.

“Are you all right?” Wendy’s expression flashed to concern as she came near. “You look as though you’ve seen a ghost.”

For some reason, Honoria laughed aloud, though the sound wasn’t joyful. Up until just a few minutes ago, she’d thought she
was
the ghost.

“Here.” Wendy put on a smile and attempted to hand Emanuel over to her.

Honoria stepped back, refusing Emanuel and shaking her head. “I can’t. It…it wouldn’t be right.” Not until she found a way to make up for the magnitude of her deception.

Emanuel fussed as if indignant that “Auntie Honoria” wouldn’t hold him. Wendy hugged him close, continuing to study Honoria with a troubled look.

“Something is wrong. I can see that much. Won’t you tell me what it is?” Wendy asked.

Honoria swallowed, wringing her hands. Part of her wanted to confess. The rest of her wanted to hide. “I’ve done something terrible,” she said. “Terrible and unfair. Solomon is on the verge of losing everything, and it’s all my fault.”

“Oh, now, I’m sure it’s not—”

She couldn’t stand to hear one more person say it wasn’t her fault when she knew that beyond a shadow of a doubt it was. Shaking her head, she turned and ran on, desperate to get home.

But where was her home? Every fiber of her being wanted Solomon’s house to be her home. She had never been happier in her life than she had under his roof, under his care and protection. But she’d obtained that care under false pretenses, and look what it had done.

No, her true home was the same one that it had always been: Bonneville Ranch. It was the home she’d been born to, the home she deserved.

As she burst through the front door of Solomon’s house, she forced herself not to look to closely at the beginning efforts to decorate it that she’d engaged in for the past two weeks. She forced herself not to breath in the comforting scent of new fabric and hints of cooking, and especially not the all-too-familiar scent of Solomon. None of this should be hers anymore. She leaned back against the closed front door and wept—for the terrible decisions she’d made, for the way she’d broken her promise to her mother, for everything that could have been. She hadn’t really believed she was dying before, but she did now. This whole beautiful life was over.

Once she had cried herself out, she headed upstairs to pack her things. She couldn’t stay with Solomon now. He would be furious with her when he learned the truth—just as everyone was always furious with her in the end—so it was better to be prepared. She only packed the things she’d brought with her to the marriage, which wasn’t much. The few gowns and pieces of jewelry that Solomon had bought for her in the past few weeks belonged to him. The only thing she couldn’t bear to part with were her wedding and engagement rings.

With the packing done, she set about cleaning the house. It wouldn’t be right to leave it in any sort of a mess when she left. That would only add more insult to the terrible injury she’d done him. But the more she cleaned, the heavier her limbs and heart got.

When Solomon finally came home that evening, he found her sitting at the kitchen table, listless and pale.

“Honoria!” He’d walked into the kitchen with the slow, somber steps of a man whose business was in trouble, but dashed the last few feet to her like a man who cared. Maybe like a man who loved her.

It broke Honoria’s heart.

“Sweetheart, what’s wrong?” He sank to a crouch beside her chair, smoothing a hand over her hair and cradling her hot face in his hands. “Are you…are you feeling ill?”

If she hadn’t been before, she was now, though not in the way he assumed. Her stomach turned over the thought that all of this concern was for a deathly illness that she didn’t have. She struggled to speak, struggled not to fly out of her skin to escape the pain that threatened to consume her.

“I…”

“Never mind.” With one, smooth movement, Solomon lifted her out of her chair, turned to sit himself, then cradled her in his arms. He held her close, arms closed protectively around her, kissing her forehead, her nose, her lips.

It was heaven and hell at the same time. Right or wrong, she wanted nothing more than to stay there in his arms, to curl up against him and let him continue to believe she was dying and that his horrible losses were all for a good cause after all. Weak though it made her, she buried her head against his shoulder and hugged him.

After a long, tragic silence, Solomon murmured, “We both knew there would be bad days eventually.”

Her heart ached in her chest. There would be plenty more bad days for her after she did the right thing and left him, but at least his life would get better. His business would go back to normal, his finances would thrive, and the bitter, bigoted men of the world would only glare at him instead of attacking him outright. He’d been so willing to sacrifice himself to help her, now it was her turn to sacrifice for him.

“Why don’t we go over to the hotel for supper tonight,” Solomon suggested after more silence.

Honoria shook her head against his neck. “No, I want to stay here.” The words were more true than he would ever know.

“All right.” He smiled and kissed her forehead. “Are you sure you’re up to fixing supper, though?”

Dredging up every last bit of courage she had, she lifted her head and nodded with a weak smile. “Let’s cook something together.”

His grin widened and he laughed. “Sounds like the perfect activity to bring a little humor into an otherwise gloomy day.”

She did her best to laugh with him, but her heart was breaking into pieces. She would always remember that about him, his optimistic attitude and willingness to see the good side of things. Although she was honor-bound to set him free and lift the pressure of prejudice from his shoulders, she would give herself this one last evening of happiness. One last evening to carry in her heart during all those times ahead when things would be wretched.

“I can try making biscuits again.” She worked to get the pitifulness out of her voice. “I bet I can get them to come out better than last time.”

“There wasn’t anything wrong with them last time,” Solomon laughed. “Well, not much.”

They stood and swayed into motion. Honoria headed to the pantry to fetch flour, lard, and salt for the biscuits while Solomon stepped outside to the root cellar to bring up the chicken they’d bought the day before. For just a while, it was easy to pretend that nothing was wrong, that the world hadn’t just come crashing down, and that Solomon’s feelings toward her wouldn’t change completely as soon as he found out what she’d done.

“What do you think?” he asked after settling the chicken in the roasting pan. “Just salt and pepper and a little olive oil, or should we try out that spice mix you found in the cookbook the other day?” His smile was so genuine, so relaxed.

“Whatever you want,” she replied, trying not to break down into tears as she did. If this evening was meant to be the memory she took with her to warm the rest of her dark days, then it should be the kernel of goodness Solomon could hark back to in the moments that he wasn’t cursing her name for ruining him.

Unaware of her thoughts, he nodded. “Spices it is.”

They went on with their cooking, Solomon chatting animatedly about everything going on in town except the trouble at his bank. He mentioned a story Luke Chance had told him about his and Eden’s son. He recounted the positive developments in keeping the peace that Sheriff Knighton had shared with him. He even had a cute story about some trouble Athos Strong’s children had gotten into while pretending they were musketeers. Honoria smiled and laughed along, but inside she wilted.

When they finally sat down to eat, Solomon reached for her hands across the table. He lowered his head and closed his eyes before saying, “Lord, we thank you for the boundless gifts you’ve given us. We thank you for the beautiful time we have together, no matter how short it might be.”

After that, Honoria could barely choke down her food. The only thing that consoled her was knowing that after she left he would see that she was truly sorry and had never meant any harm. If she was brave, she would tell him right away, as they cleaned up their simple feast, but that one last, selfish part of her craved a final memory to take away with her.

“If you’d like, we can keep reading
Around the World in Eighty Days
,” Solomon suggested once the last dish was dried and put away. He slipped an arm around Honoria’s waist and drew her close. “I, for one, am desperate to find out if Phineas Fogg is able to rescue that Indian princess,” he added with a fond grin, kissing her lightly.

How was she ever going to summon the courage to do the honorable thing? And how would she bear Solomon’s wrath once he learned the truth?

“What if the Indian princess was lying about having to throw herself on the raja’s funeral pyre?” she asked, her voice choked.

Solomon furrowed his brow, giving her a strange look. “But she wasn’t. It’s the custom in India for the wife of a royal man to die with him.”

“Is it?” She lowered her head, watching as her fingers pressed into the fabric of his shirt over the broad muscles of his chest.