Renee Ryan - Heartland Wedding

“I do.”

“Thank you,” she whispered, then lowered her head and sighed. Her hair cascaded forward in a waterfall of golden waves, curtaining her face from his inspection. “But I fear it’s too late. The damage is already done.”

Pete frowned. Something in him threatened to snap at her quiet acceptance of the situation. He might not have presented the issue of marriage with any sort of style, but she was being ridiculously stubborn.

“The destruction is not irrevocable,” he said through a tight jaw. “Our marriage will stop the gossip before it goes any further.”

He would see to it.

Shaking her head, she walked calmly to the oven. A pleasant scent of baked apples wafted through the room as she cracked open the door to peer inside.

“Don’t you understand?” Her words were enunciated perfectly as she closed the oven door and spun back around. “I’m an immigrant. Whether or not you marry me, whether or not the gossip continues, I will never be fully accepted in this community.”

“So you’re new to this country. That has nothing to do with this.”

“It has everything to do with this. If we marry, if you took me as your wife, my reputation wouldn’t be restored, yours would be destroyed.”

Pete felt his mouth thin at the absurd notion. Praying for patience, he rubbed a hand down his face. There was no denying that her words lifted just a little of the shadows from his bitter soul. Rebecca Gundersen actually cared what their marriage would do to him. To him. He hadn’t expected that, nor had he expected to be captivated by her unselfish heart.

Something deep within him shifted toward her, something so small, so slight, he nearly missed it. He wanted to make promises to this remarkable woman. The thought felt like the ultimate betrayal to Sarah.

He took a deep breath. “Rebecca.”

He moved a step closer, close enough to smell her pleasant scent—much like the pies she was baking, a sweet combination of vanilla and sugar and summer fruit. Aware of his own rank odor of coal and melted iron and sweat, he shifted a few steps back.

“Marry me,” he demanded, realizing his mistake as soon as the words left his mouth. He hadn’t asked her. He’d told her.

He tried to rectify his insensitive act, but she was already speaking over him. “Why are you willing to spend the rest of your life married to me, a woman you hardly know, simply to save my reputation?”

“Because it’s the right thing to do,” he said with a confidence that spoke of his life-long convictions. He wasn’t just speaking pretty words. He truly believed the Lord honored a man’s obedience of His commands.

Angling her head, she caught her bottom lip between her teeth and then did something utterly remarkable. She smoothed her fingertips across his forehead. “As sweet as I think your gesture is, you don’t have to save me.”

A pleasant warmth settled over him at her touch. The sensation left him oddly disoriented. “Yes, I do.”

She dropped her hand to her side. “I don’t mind what others say about me. You and I, we, know the truth about that day. But more important, so does the Lord. Our Heavenly Father’s opinion is all that matters.”

Pete caught her hand in his, and turned it over in his palm. Wrapped inside his fingers, her hand looked small and pale. Not soft, but work-roughened, a perfect, miniature version of his own.

He touched the callous under her ring finger. “I told Matilda Johnson we were getting married.”

She snatched her hand free. “You…you…what?”

He spoke slower this time. “I told her we were getting married.”

She did not like his answer. That much was clear by her scowl. “You shouldn’t have done that.”

He didn’t argue. How could he? He’d allowed his anger to speak in place of his common sense. The inevitability of what he’d done weighed like an anvil on his chest.

Worse, he hadn’t thought of Sarah since he’d run into Rebecca this morning, not really, and he certainly hadn’t thought of her since he’d walked into the boardinghouse today. Not with anything other than a sense of betrayal.

Regret. Guilt. Was he to spend the rest of his life feeling both?

“Mrs. Johnson was blaming you for luring me into my own storm cellar. We both know how absurd that is.”

The color leeched out of Rebecca’s cheeks as she sank into a nearby chair. “She actually said that to you?”

“Yes.”

She looked to her left then to her right, and back to her left. “I…I simply don’t know what to say.”

“Say yes. Mrs. Johnson is a bully. She finds power in others’ weaknesses. Our marriage will silence her.”

“I’m not sure that’s true.” There was such sorrow in her eyes that he wanted to slay a dragon for her, as though he were a hero in a child’s fairy tale. But he remembered what Jesus had taught in his Sermon on the Mount. Love thy enemies.

It was an impossible command when his “enemy” had hurt this compassionate woman. Ah, but he knew how to thwart Matilda Johnson. “We’ll marry as soon as I can make the arrangements. I’ll speak with the pastor today and—”

“No.”

“—schedule the ceremony at once.” His words came to a halt. “What did you say?”

“I said, no.” She rose, cautiously, her palms flat on her thighs as though to brace herself. “I won’t marry you.”

“You’re turning me down? After everything that’s happened today?”

“No. I mean, yes. I’m turning you down.”

Tears spiraled in her eyes, but Pete pushed them out of his mind. He knew all about that particular female weapon, and its various uses against a man.

“Rebecca.” He growled past his impatience. “You have no choice in the matter.”

“There’s always a choice.” She blinked rapidly, controlling her emotions with a fierce determination that was admirable.

Nevertheless, Pete refused to be moved by her valiant efforts. “Your reputation—”

“Is my concern, not yours.”

She sniffed, rather loudly, but the tears remained in her eyes, shimmering just along the edge of her lashes.

Pete stood transfixed in the face of her internal battle. Even then, even sensing she was honestly trying not to cry, he waited for Rebecca’s inevitable breakdown with a cynical heart.

Remarkably, she didn’t give into her emotions. Oh, she blinked. And blinked. And blinked. And blinked. But no tears spilled from her eyes. Not one.

Pete pulled in a hard breath. If she’d give into her emotions, he would know what to do and how to feel.

Her lips pressed together into a tight line. Taking several deep breaths, she pressed the bridge of her nose between two fingers. Yet still, no tears.

He’d never been more baffled by a woman.

“We were both in my storm cellar,” he reminded her through a painfully tight jaw. “That means we share the burden of the consequences, equally.”

Blink, blink, blink. “My decision is final.” Blink, blink, blink.

“So is mine. We’ll be married by the end of the day.”

Her breathing quickened to short, hard pants. And then…at last…it happened. One lone tear slipped from her eye.

She might as well have slapped him.

Pete reached to her.

A look of horror crossed her face and she stepped out of his reach.

“Rebecca, please,” he whispered, knowing his soft manner came too late.

“No.” She wrapped her dignity around her like a coat of iron-clad armor. “We have nothing more to say to each other.”

Just as another tear plopped onto the toe of her shoe, she turned and rushed out of the kitchen.

Stunned, Pete stared at the empty space she’d occupied. “That,” he said to himself, “could have gone better.”