Rhonda Gibson - Groom by Arrangement

Was the woman insane? What did she think she was doing? Jackson felt like digging his boots into the dirt, but he’d already noticed the attention she was getting from bystanders. His temples throbbed; maybe it would be better to let her get wherever they were going and then tell her she’d made a mistake.

“Come along, Mr. Thatcher. I am Eliza Kelly. I am a little tired and would really like to get back to the boardinghouse and get this situation taken care of, immediately. I know none of this is your fault, but I am exhausted because we were up so early yesterday to make the trip here from Cottonwood Springs, then this morning Hannah had to be at the train station by seven, and that’s when she told me about you. My stomach has been in knots all afternoon. At one point I thought I’d be sick. I still can’t believe Hannah would do such a thing.”

He marveled at the fact that she didn’t even take a breath as she continued walking and talking. That the woman had the courage to pull him along also amazed him. Most women took one look at his bulk and turned the other way.

“I hope you don’t mind, but I have made arrangements for you to stay at Mrs. Hattie’s boardinghouse until we can smooth out this mess. Hannah didn’t mean any harm in what she did, but well, I’m afraid she put us both in a very bad situation. You see, I am a widow.” She stopped and glanced over at him. A puzzled look crossed her pretty features before she pressed on. “But she probably wrote you that already, at least I hope she did. Anyway, I have asked Mrs. Hattie to make us a nice pot of tea so that we might discuss the situation.”

The woman talked faster than anyone he’d ever had the pleasure to meet. Her brown eyes sparkled, or maybe he was still seeing stars from the knock to the head, as she chattered on about Hannah and letters. The scent of vanilla filled his nostrils as he inhaled her fragrance.

When she took a deep breath, he decided now was the time to tell her she was mistaken, that he wasn’t Mr. Thatcher. “I...”

“Now, let’s not discuss it out here on the street.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “I would hate for the town to find out that you were brought here under false pretenses. Of course, I’m sure Hannah didn’t mean for it to happen like that.” She paused and her voice returned to normal. “Well, maybe she did. Although, I want you to know that she did apologize to me and promised never to do such a thing again.”

Jackson felt as if his brains were swimming in a sea of words. Curiosity caused him to ask, “What did she do?” He noted that they’d arrived at a two-story house with blue shutters. The sign on the front lawn stated they were at Mrs. Hattie’s Boardinghouse.

Eliza reached forward and pulled the door open. Once they’d entered and she’d closed the door behind them, Eliza said, “She answered your mail-order bride advertisement. Only you didn’t know it was her—you thought it was me.”

He allowed himself to be tugged into a sitting room. The furniture was a little worn, but everything looked clean and in its rightful place. Her last words sunk in, and Jackson pulled his arm free of her. He’d not placed any mail-order bride ad and had no intention of marrying Mrs. Kelly or her friend Hannah. Just when he opened his mouth to say so she interrupted again.

“Oh, I’m making a mess of this, aren’t I?” Before he could agree or disagree, she continued. “Sit right there.” She indicated a rocking chair by the front window. “And I’ll go get the tea.” Her skirts made a soft swishing sound as she hurried away.

Did the woman ever stop talking? Jackson watched her disappear down a short hallway before he eased into the chair and took a deep breath. The smells of baking bread filled the air and his stomach growled in response.

What had he gotten himself into? He was in a strange town, without enough money to make it to Silverton, with a fast-talking woman who didn’t make sense. He rested his aching head in his hands and sighed.

“It’s not that bad,” Eliza said as she reentered the room. “I know you were expecting to get married today but—”

“What?” Jackson raised his head and looked at the woman. The sudden action sent new pain through his temples, and he groaned aloud. She’d taken off the silly bird hat, and dark brown hair curled about her face. A very pretty face. He still had no intention of getting married. As soon as she settled down, Jackson planned on telling her so in the nicest way he knew how.

He’d not be ruled by another woman.

“I am sorry, Mr. Thatcher.” She continued forward with a tea serving tray extended before her. “Since I didn’t write the letters, I would think you’d understand that I can’t marry you. I know this has to be a disappointment to you.”

Jackson held up his hand to silence her incisive chatter and tell her he was far from disappointed. He was surprised when the action worked. She placed the tea set and sandwiches on the table in front of him and waited.

The calluses on his hands scratched his cheeks as he ran them over his face. He shut his eyes for a brief moment to gather his thoughts and figure out a way to break the news to her. If only his head would stop hurting.

Jackson sighed and looked her in the eyes. “You have the wrong man.”

She picked up the teakettle and opened her mouth to speak.

He quickly raised his hand again to stop the flood of words that he was sure would be forthcoming. “My name is Jackson Hart, and I’m a blacksmith headed to Silverton, Colorado. I’m not your Mr. Thatcher.”

The metal teakettle slipped from her fingers and clattered to the floor. Hot tea splashed his legs and boots.

Chapter Two

Eliza placed a finger against the throbbing pulse in her neck and felt the color drain from her face. Her stomach did a flopping thing, and her hands shook. For the second time today, she felt as if she were going to be sick. Her mind frantically worked to make sense of his words. If he wasn’t Mr. Miles Thatcher, then who was he?

It abruptly dawned on her that she’d dragged a complete stranger into Mrs. Hattie’s boardinghouse.

Her gaze moved to his boots and pant legs. A dark stain ran down his limbs, and liquid pooled at his feet. “I am so sorry. You must think me a complete fool.” She picked up the teapot and saw a crack across the bottom. “Oh, I’ve ruined Mrs. Hattie’s teapot, your boots and pants. What more can I ruin today?”

Hattie hurried from the kitchen, carrying a dishcloth. “Are you all right?” she asked Eliza. Her eyes swept the room and landed on Jackson and the pool of tea he now stood in.

Tears sprung to Eliza’s eyes. “I’m fine, but I’ve made quite a mess of things.” A sob tore from her lips as she covered her face to hide her shame.

His clear deep voice echoed the statement she’d said to him earlier. “It’s not that bad, Mrs. Kelly.” When she uncovered her face, he continued. “I can take the pot to the nearest blacksmith and he’ll fix it up. Boots can be wiped off and pants washed, so see? No harm done.”

Hattie patted her shoulder. “He’s right. I have another teakettle and we can clean up this spill in no time.”

No harm done? Who was he kidding? She’d dragged him from the train station and rambled on about being a mail-order bride. And to make matters worse, she had no idea where the real Mr. Thatcher was or what he looked like.

She studied the man before her. How could she have mistaken him for a scholar? He was big, taller than her by at least a foot. Large sinewy hands and brawny arms marked him as a man who was used to physical labor. Guarded cobalt-blue eyes stared back at her. Fresh flames of heat licked up her neck and into her cheeks.

Eliza jumped to her feet. “I have to find the real Mr. Thatcher. I’m so sorry to have caused this inconvenience, Mr. Hart. If you will excuse me.” Hoping she hadn’t sounded as breathless as he made her feel, she hurried from the room and scooped her hat from the kitchen table. She took a couple of deep breaths before returning to the main room.