Wanted: Husband and Father

Stunned that his sister ordered him a mail-order bride, John Wallin insists he’s not the husband Dottie Tyrrell needs. The scholarly logger knows Dottie will make the perfect wife—for some other man. Yet he’s compelled to invite the lovely widow and her infant son to stay with his family...but only until she can find her own way.

Dreams of true love are for other women. Betrayed by her baby’s father, Dottie just wants a safe home for her precious child. But who could resist a man with John’s quiet strength? When her secret past brings danger to their door, they may yet find this mail-order mix-up to be the perfect mistake...

“Forgive me, Mr. Wallin, but I find your offer altogether unequal. What do you get out of the bargain?”

He frowned as if puzzled by the question. “Why, the chance to be helpful, ma’am.”

“In my experience, people are not nearly so helpful.”

“Then perhaps you know the wrong people, Mrs. Tyrrell.”

She had no question on that score. Her experience with Frank had soured her on a lot of things.

She gazed down into Peter’s dear face. His blue eyes, more gray than hers, gazed back, trusting. He offered her a smile as if to encourage her, and she couldn’t help smiling back.

Didn’t her son deserve something more than this narrow hotel room, the company of strangers? If what John Wallin was offering was even half-true, she could provide Peter a safe home and good food, perhaps even friends. Shouldn’t she take the chance, for him?

“I believe your sister said Wallin Landing is about five miles from Seattle,” she told John. “I’d be willing to move out, see if the area will suit Peter and me.”

His smile was relieved. “Thank you, Mrs. Tyrrell. I promise you, you won’t be disappointed.”

She couldn’t make herself believe that, either.

REGINA SCOTT has always wanted to be a writer. Since her first book was published in 1998, her stories have traveled the globe, with translations in many languages. Fascinated by history, she learned to fence and sail a tall ship. She and her husband reside in Washington state with an overactive Irish terrier. You can find her online blogging at nineteenteen.com. Learn more about her at reginascott.com or connect with her on Facebook at Facebook.com/authorreginascott.

Mail-Order

Marriage Promise

Regina Scott

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Blessed are the peacemakers,

for they will be called children of God.

—Matthew 5:9, New International Version

To everyday heroes, making our world safer and more peaceful, and to our Heavenly Father, for allowing even those of us who aren’t heroes to contribute to His kingdom

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

About the Author

Title Page

Bible Verse

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Dear Reader

Extract

Copyright

Chapter One

Seattle, Washington Territory

April 1874

Dottie Tyrrell sat in the Pastry Emporium wondering what her groom looked like.

Not that she found looks all that indicative of character. Certainly Frank had been handsome, and he’d turned out to be a despicable rat. But it did seem odd to have traveled all the way from Cincinnati to Washington Territory and not have any picture in her mind of the man she had come to marry.

She settled her blue-and-purple-striped skirts around her on the wooden chair, then pushed a blond curl back from her face. Oh, but she was fussing, and why not? It wasn’t every day you expected to see your husband come walking through the door.

His sister had tried to describe the fellow to Dottie in her letters, but Beth Wallin’s reference points had meant little.

“John isn’t as tall as Drew and Simon, our oldest brothers,” the young lady had written, “but he has a bit more muscle than Simon or James. His hair used to be red, but it’s darkened over the years to look more like madrone tree bark, and his eyes are a darker green than Ma’s were.”

So Dottie had no idea of his height or weight. She’d never seen a madrone tree, but she could only assume John’s hair was some shade of brown. Not particularly helpful!

She took a sip of the tea she had ordered earlier. The liquid trembled in the bone china cup. She was about to marry a stranger. Why, with everything she’d written to his sister, John Wallin knew more about Dottie than she knew about him!

Very likely he’d be able to pick her out the moment he walked in the door. The bakery was cozy, with a wide counter at the back next to a glass cabinet, where all manner of delicacies lay waiting for a hungry buyer. Six small wooden tables, all occupied, were clustered to one side so patrons could stop and enjoy their treats. The scents of cinnamon and vanilla hung in the air. With few women in the bakery, and all of them attended by a husband or children, the mail-order bride Mr. Wallin’s sister had arranged for him would be glaringly apparent.

Dottie drew in a breath as she set down the teacup. A part of her, the part that remembered a mother and father deeply in love and that had gloried in stories of courtly romance, urged her to jump up and flee. Marriage was a sacred institution, meant to unite those committed to making a life together in love.

Funny how she still believed that even after Frank had made a mockery of their vows.

She pushed away the memory and her troubled emotions. She had given her word and accepted Mr. Wallin’s money to travel to Seattle. She could sigh all she liked for what might have been, but she had to remember she had someone else depending on her now. For her son’s sake, she would marry a man of stability and property, even if that meant tucking her heart away in a trunk with her wedding veil.

Another gentleman entered the restaurant, the fifth in the past quarter hour, and Dottie sat straighter, made herself smile in greeting. The telegram she’d received in San Francisco on her way to Seattle had said to meet John Wallin in this bakery, on this day, at this very hour. Was that her man?

He seemed more heavy than muscular in his plaid suit; she was certain the floorboards squeaked in protest as he marched to the counter. The tweed cap hid his hair, but his bushy beard was reddish brown. The same young lady with dark brown hair who had served Dottie tea nodded in welcome, and he snapped out an order for cinnamon rolls before turning to survey the crowd with narrowed eyes, fingers clasped self-importantly around his paunch.

Please, Lord, not him.

Dottie dropped her gaze to her gloved hands. That was unkind. She had no reason to expect anything special in her husband. She’d come all this way hoping to find a compassionate man who could provide for and protect her and little Peter. Perhaps someone who enjoyed literature as much as she did, though she wasn’t even sure John Wallin could read or write, as his sister had corresponded for him.

Beth had explained that her brother was a very busy man and the lot of finding him a bride had fallen to her. Her writing had been so friendly and open that Dottie had dared to hope John Wallin would be equally so. If Dottie had been less than entirely open, it was only because she had learned the hard way to be more cautious. She’d said nothing to Beth about Peter and had arranged for him to stay back at the hotel with a lady they’d met on the boat. Time enough to introduce him once she’d had a chance to meet with John Wallin.

Now she made herself raise her head and return the gaze of the burly man at the counter. He lifted his brows, then grinned at her, and her stomach squirmed.

“Mrs. Tyrrell?”

Dottie blinked, then refocused on the young woman who had stepped up to her table. She had pale blond hair, fashionably done up like Dottie’s to fall behind her, and wide, dark blue eyes. Her gown of sky blue crepe trimmed in ecru lace was right out of Godey’s Lady’s Book.

“Yes,” Dottie said. “I’m Mrs. Tyrrell. Do I know you?”

The young lady’s smile broadened on her round face and brightened the rainy day. “You most certainly do. I’m Beth Wallin.”

Before Dottie could offer a greeting, John’s younger sister pulled out the chair across from hers and took a seat. “I’m so glad to meet you in person at last! I’ve been waiting for this moment for so long, but then so have you. You’re exactly as I pictured you. I just know John is going to love you.”

The tea bubbled up inside Dottie, threatening to choke her. She didn’t believe John Wallin would love her. She certainly had no expectation of falling in love with him. She would be a good partner—working beside him on his farm, keeping his house. Beyond that, she was not willing to promise.

“Are we expecting your brother soon?” she asked, almost afraid to look toward the fellow at the counter again.

She nearly slid from her chair in relief when Beth glanced at the door instead. “Any moment. He had other business in town. He’s very conscientious. And kind. And thoughtful. But I told you all that already.”

She had. Dottie hated to admit even to herself how she’d clung to the words in Beth’s effusive letters. “Kind” had been repeated many times. So had “sweet” and “good-natured.” Even the initial ad that had opened their correspondence had seemed thoughtful, hopeful. Small wonder she’d chosen that one to answer.

She’d been in a bad way then, desperate enough to riffle through the local paper that reprinted ads for men seeking brides. The moment she’d sent off the letter in response to the ad from “a gentleman from Seattle,” she’d regretted it. How could she, who had been lied to so cruelly, trust another man to tell her the truth? How could she take such a chance?

Because she needed to give Peter security, safety.

Beth Wallin’s letters had calmed her spirit, made her feel welcomed, valued. But still doubts persisted. She had forced herself to take each step—giving up her one-room flat in Cincinnati, boarding the train to California, taking a ship north to Puget Sound. Now here she sat, waiting to meet the man who would be her new husband.

The young lady who had been behind the counter approached the table with a smile. Tall, slender and modestly dressed in a gray gown with a frilly white apron, she had brown eyes that seemed wiser than her years.

“Good to see you again, Beth,” she said to John’s sister. “What can I get for you today?”

Beth hopped to her feet and enfolded the girl in a hug. “Oh, Ciara, it’s so good to see you! I was hoping you’d be working today.” She released her, dimple popping into view beside her mouth, then turned to Dottie. “Mrs. Tyrrell, this is my good friend Ciara O’Rourke. Her older sister Maddie Haggerty owns this bakery.”

Impressive. A shame Dottie didn’t have any marketable skills, or she might have been able to raise Peter alone. But then again, what would she have done with him while she was working? That had been the problem in Cincinnati.

Dottie inclined her head in greeting, but Beth hurried on in the breathless way she had. “I see you brought Mrs. Tyrrell tea. I think we should have something to go with it. Did Maddie make lemon drops today?”

The girl shook her head. “I’m sorry. But I’m sure she would have if she’d known you’d be in. We do have iced shortbread.”

Beth clapped her hands. “Perfect. We’ll each take one.”

With a nod, the girl hurried off.

Beth sat and turned to Dottie. “The lemon drops are wonderful. I’m sure we could get Maddie to bake some for your wedding reception. I was hoping you and John could be married out at Wallin Landing, but we haven’t quite finished the church yet. It’s on a beautiful spot overlooking the lake. I just know it’s going to be a wonderful place for a wedding, but not yours. I guess we’ll have to hold the ceremony in Seattle.”

Dottie found herself gripping her teacup. “Perhaps we should discuss that with your brother.”

Beth waved a hand. “He’ll agree. He’s very agreeable.”

And kind and thoughtful, apparently. Dottie had wanted so much for this arrangement to work, but suddenly she found it difficult to believe this paragon of a gentleman existed. According to Beth’s letters, John Wallin was twenty-eight, five years Dottie’s senior, and had an established claim north of Seattle on Lake Union, in an area known as Wallin Landing, named after his family. He was supposed to be a pillar of the community, supporting civic and church functions alike. Yet he had no time to write letters, had delegated the task of finding a bride to his sister.

What sort of fellow was he?

The door opened again to admit another man. This one was tall and slender, with broad shoulders that showed to advantage in his navy wool coat. The golden light from the lamp hanging overhead sent red flames flickering through his short, wavy mahogany-colored hair. His features were firm, well formed, though his full lower lip hinted of a gentleness inside. She was certain she had never met him, yet there was something familiar about him. He glanced around until his gaze met hers, and something sizzled through her like the fizz from sassafras.

He came unerringly toward the table. Her mouth was dry as she pushed herself to her feet.

“Beth,” he said in a warm voice, “you didn’t tell me you were meeting a friend.”

Beth hopped to her feet again to beam at him. “A very dear friend, to whom I’ve written any number of letters over the last eight months. John, this is Dorothy Tyrrell. I chose her to be your bride.”

John Wallin’s handsome face turned paler than the icing on the bakery’s cinnamon rolls, and Dottie had a feeling that something was very wrong.

* * *

John felt as if every voice in Maddie Haggerty’s busy bakery had suddenly shut off so that all he could hear was the rush of blood through his veins. Dorothy Tyrrell stared at him, her face paling, as if Beth’s announcement shocked her as well.

He’d noticed the lovely blonde the moment he’d started into the room, and not just because she was sitting with his sister. No, it wasn’t every day a fellow saw hair so golden and full, eyes such a purplish shade of blue that reminded him of the lavender Ma used to grow. The fitted blue bodice, with its tiny purple bows down the front, showed a supple figure, and her fingers in her proper gloves were long and shapely. He could imagine any number of men in Seattle rushing to pay her court.

But when it came to him marrying, his sister had to be joking.

“Beth, you shouldn’t tease your friend,” he said with a smile. “I promise you, Miss Tyrrell, I have no intention of proposing marriage.”

Her pretty pink lips had been pursed in an O, most likely in surprise. Now her mouth snapped shut, and she drew herself up. She was tall for a woman, and he was the shortest of his brothers at only six foot, so she could nearly look him in the eyes. That purple drew him in.

“A decided shame, Mr. Wallin,” she said, voice tight, “because I came more than two thousand miles to marry you.”

What was she talking about? He’d never met her before, certainly hadn’t proposed marriage. He’d been busy of late, working on the church, looking for funding for the library he hoped to build next, but surely he’d recall courting such a beauty. He certainly remembered his last courtship, and how badly it had ended.

John glanced between the lady and Beth. “The joke’s on me, then,” he said. “Very funny, Beth. Did James put you up to this?”

His sister did not laugh. Indeed, her smile was rather stern.

“Sit down,” she said, “both of you. We’re making a scene.”

She was right, of course. Already he could see patrons glancing their way. John took the chair beside his sister, and her friend suffered herself to sit as well. Still, those lavender eyes were dark enough to look like storm clouds.

Beth put one hand on John’s shoulder and the other on her friend’s fingers where they rested on the table, as if ensuring they each sat still long enough to listen to her.

“John,” she said, “you know I worry about you, especially since last summer.”

He caught himself squirming and pulled out of her grip. “This is not the time or place to discuss that, Beth.”

“Yes, it is,” she insisted. “You’ve retreated into a shell, won’t listen to anything I have to say. You work yourself night and day for the betterment of the community, but you think nothing of caring for your own needs. You should have someone to help you, stand beside you, support you. So I took matters into my own hands and found you a bride.”

He heard the lady suck in a breath. “Didn’t you have your brother’s permission to write to me? To propose marriage?”

“No,” Beth admitted. “I’m sorry if I gave you that impression. But I can assure you that everything else in my letters about my brother and our family was true.”

John felt ill. “Beth, you proposed to this woman for me? An agreement for a mail-order bride is a binding contract. She’ll have spent money coming here in expectation.”

Before his sister could respond, Ciara approached the table, a plate of iced shortbread in each hand. Her eyes were bright as she beamed at John. “Hello, John. Maddie’s still singing your praises for helping her and Michael install the new ovens. Did I hear someone’s getting married?”

“No,” Beth’s victim and John said in unison.

Ciara set down the plates on the table and backed away as if she thought John and the lady might come after her.

His sister, on the other hand, didn’t look the least concerned as she drew one of the plates closer and picked up a cookie. “Yes, John, I invited Dottie to Seattle for a wedding, but I didn’t ask her to pay her own way. I used the inheritance Ma left me to fund her passage.” She took a bite of the shortbread.

She’d used her inheritance, money that was supposed to have gone toward building her future. It seemed his sister thought he needed it more. The very idea was lowering.

He would have to talk to Beth about what she’d done, find a way to pay back the money she’d spent. But at the moment, he was more concerned about the woman sitting beside him. How horrible this must be for her, how embarrassing. A woman had to be desperate to marry a stranger, from what he understood of the custom of mail-order brides. She had taken the ultimate chance in coming here, and now she had nothing to show for it.

He could not help feeling that it was partly his fault. If he had listened the many times Beth had tried to talk to him about taking a wife, he might have realized his sister’s plans before they’d come to this. He had to find a way to make things right.

“Miss Tyrrell—” he began.

“Mrs. Tyrrell,” she said.

She was a widow. Odd. She didn’t look much older than Beth. How tragic to have already lost a husband. His guilt over how she’d been used ratcheted up higher.

“Mrs. Tyrrell,” he acknowledged. “I can only commend you for your willingness to journey all the way to Seattle. My sister must have painted a very convincing picture.”

“Thank you,” Beth said, icing dripping off her chin.

John continued, undaunted. “But I am not prepared to marry.”

“Yes, he is,” Beth said, leaning forward, half-eaten cookie in one hand. “He has a nice house, a good farm and a steady nature. He just needs the right incentive.”

“Beth.” He had never been a man of temper. Indeed, his brothers were likely to tease him for being the peacemaker in the family. But his sister’s actions were making him feel decidedly less than peaceful.

“You cannot think that a few letters I knew nothing about will encourage me to offer marriage,” he told her. “I’m not interested in taking a wife.”

Beth’s lower lip and fingers trembled, sending a drop of icing to the table. “But, John, look at her. She’s sweet and pretty. She loves books as much as you do. She’d be perfect for you.”

He looked at Mrs. Tyrrell, whose eyes appeared suspiciously moist. Guilt wrapped itself around his heart.

Which was unfortunate, for his heart was entirely the problem. All his life, he’d tried to be the sort of man he’d read about in the adventure novels Pa had left them—bold, daring, determined, willing to brave great things for the woman he loved. His courtship last summer had made him painfully aware that he was no hero. That wasn’t how God had made him.

Besides, Beth seemed to understand that his last attempt at courting had only wounded him. Why would she think he’d be willing to try again, and with a stranger?

“Mrs. Tyrrell is lovely,” he said to Beth, though he kept his gaze on the woman who was supposed to be his bride. “I’m sure she’ll make some gentleman a marvelous wife. But I will not be that man.”

He could see Mrs. Tyrrell swallow even though she had not taken a bite of the shortbread Ciara had left in front of her.

“I’m sorry you feel that way, Mr. Wallin,” she said, her gaze holding his. “But I was promised a husband, and I won’t leave without one.”

Chapter Two

Oh, but she sounded so bold! What had happened to the girl her mother and father had once called sweet? Under other circumstances, Dottie would have apologized immediately, tried to appreciate John Wallin’s position. Now all she could think about was Peter.

She could not return to Cincinnati and risk meeting Frank again. He’d been violent the last time she’d seen him, had warned her what would happen if she ever told anyone what she knew. The bruises on her arms where he’d grabbed her had taken weeks to fade.

Besides, she had no idea how he might react if he knew about Peter. He’d told her how much he wanted children. He might try to claim Peter. She’d used up the last of her money on the midwife to birth her son and most of John Wallin’s—Beth’s—money to reach Seattle, so she couldn’t afford to leave. And without a place to stay and some reliable income, she couldn’t make a new home here, either.

Across the table from her, Beth’s round face was puckering. “This is not how I imagined your meeting to go.”

Very likely not. Though she seemed about the same age as Dottie, Beth Wallin had clearly known little of the world. She still believed in love at first sight and happily-ever-after endings. Dottie had believed in all that, too, had dreamed of marrying the perfect man. She’d been a fool to accept Frank Reynolds’s promises. Now she’d been lied to yet again.

“I could have told you a lady wouldn’t fall in love with me after one meeting,” John said to his sister, his voice kind. “Women don’t react to me that way.”

Well, at least he wasn’t vain. Still, she could imagine another woman setting her cap at him. Forest green eyes and mahogany hair were a potent combination, especially with that warm voice and smile. It certainly seemed as if those broad shoulders could help carry a woman’s burdens.

“And think of Mrs. Tyrrell,” he continued as his sister sank in her chair, cookie falling to the plate. “You raised her hopes and put her in a difficult position.”

Beth straightened with a show of defiance. “Not so difficult. Seattle is a much better place for her than where she was. I knew even if you could not be brought up to scratch, she could have her pick of husbands.”

There was that. Ever since she’d arrived two days ago, she’d seen a predominance of gentlemen on the streets of the burgeoning town. But which of the miners, loggers, farmers and businessmen strolling past with approving looks were honest and hardworking? Which had left a wife behind when they’d journeyed west? She shuddered just remembering the day she’d discovered the truth about Frank.

She and Frank had been married a mere two months, sharing a little apartment on Poplar, just north of the busy downtown area. Some days she didn’t see him because he traveled for his work, but he was utterly devoted when he was home. That day, when she’d heard a knock on the door after Frank had left for work, she’d thought it must be one of the neighbor wives who liked to come over for a cup of tea. But her smile of welcome had faded when she found herself facing a finely dressed woman wringing her hands.

“I know he’s here,” the woman had said. “The detective agency gave me this address. Please, won’t you let me see my husband?”

Even remembering, she felt the cold sickness sweep over her. She’d thought surely the so-called Mrs. Reynolds was mistaken. Frank would laugh off the story.

After he’d returned that evening, Frank had tried to keep up the pretense when Dottie told him what had happened.

“She’s crazy, sweetheart,” he’d said, taking Dottie in his arms. “You’re the only girl for me.”

But Mrs. Reynolds had returned the next day and the next, until Frank was forced to admit the truth. Unhappy in his marriage, he had found solace in another woman’s arms.

In her arms. Dottie was the second Mrs. Reynolds, which meant she wasn’t married at all. Small wonder she’d used her maiden name ever since.

“A good husband,” she told Beth now, “is not so easy to come by. They generally don’t wear labels like ‘excellent provider’ or ‘kind to cats and children.’”

John Wallin smiled. Another man might have refused to have anything more to do with her after realizing his sister’s scheme. But then again, he didn’t know about Peter yet. Marrying a woman with a baby born out of wedlock might make even the kind, thoughtful Mr. Wallin turn tail.

“You might be better off seeking employment,” he suggested. “My family knows many of the business owners in town.”

And he believed she had the skills to succeed. That was refreshing. Too often men took one look at her lavender eyes and golden curls and assumed there was nothing behind them.

Beth straightened. “Of course! Maybe Maddie’s hiring.” She pushed back her chair. “I’ll go ask.”

Dottie raised her hand in protest, but Beth was already heading for the counter.

“She means well,” John said. “Her heart just gets in the way of logic sometimes.”

Dottie had been that way once, but she no longer had the luxury.

“I’m not sure about a position,” she told him. “I never learned a trade. And I have some issues with my schedule.” She took a breath and prepared to tell him about her son, but Beth bustled back to the table.

“They’ve just hired two more bakers,” she reported. “So they don’t need help at present.”

Once more, the patrons were glancing their way. Perhaps this wasn’t the best place to confess that she had a baby. Dottie rose, and John climbed to his feet as well.

“Thank you for asking about employment, Miss Wallin,” Dottie said. “I think we should continue this discussion elsewhere.”

Beth glanced around, cheeks turning pink as she must have realized the amount of interest they were still generating. “Of course. Come with me.”

Her brother stepped back to allow Dottie to go before him. She could feel him behind her, a steady presence, as she followed Beth out of the bakery.

The rain had stopped as they paused on the boardwalk of Second Avenue. Muddy puddles spanned the wide streets, and the signs plastered on the businesses on either side were shiny with moisture. The air hung with brine and wood smoke.

“Are you staying at Lowe’s, as I suggested?” Beth asked.

Dottie nodded. The white-fronted hotel was neat and tidy, and she had felt safe staying there alone the last two nights.

“Allow us to escort you back,” John said. He offered her his arm.

Dottie did not feel right taking it. Instead, she started forward, and he fell into step beside her, Beth trailing behind. That didn’t stop her from continuing the conversation.

“Maybe Dottie could farm,” she suggested. “She lived on a farm until she was twelve and her parents died. Then she went to live with her aunt and uncle in Cincinnati.”

A reasonable thought, but not here, not now.

“I remember how to work on a farm,” Dottie told Beth and her brother. “But I don’t know if I could manage one alone, particularly starting from the wilderness.”

John nodded in agreement. Beth, however, would not let the matter go.

“We could help,” she insisted, voice bright. “Our brother Drew logs. I’m sure he and his men could clear the fields for you and help you build a house. Simon has designed several, and John designed the church. I wrote you about my brothers.”

Yes, she had. Dottie felt as if she knew all about the Wallin family. Both parents were gone, the father nearly two decades ago in a logging accident, the mother a couple years back from pleurisy. Beth had five brothers, three of whom had married and were raising families and one named Levi, who had headed north to seek his fortune in the Canadian gold fields. A shame Dottie knew the least about the man she had come to marry.

John walked beside her now, his smile pleasant. The people they passed—mostly dapper gentlemen in tall-crowned hats and rough workers in knit caps—nodded in greeting. Their looks to him were respectful; their looks to her speculative. John cast her a glance as if his green eyes could see inside her to her most cherished dreams. She could have told him she had only one dream that mattered—a safe, secure home for her and her son.

“Farming alone might be difficult,” he agreed. “But we bear the responsibility for bringing you out to Seattle, Mrs. Tyrrell. I promise you I won’t rest until you have a situation that suits you.”

He sounded so sure of himself, so certain he could solve her problem. If only she could feel so sure, of Seattle and of him.

* * *

Mrs. Tyrrell did not look convinced by his statement, but John knew it for the truth. He still couldn’t believe his sister’s audacity in bringing him a bride. Did he truly seem so helpless?

Now Mrs. Tyrrell shook her head, her golden curls shining even under an overcast sky.

“I appreciate the thought, Mr. Wallin,” she said, her voice soft yet firm, “but you know nothing about me. How could you possibly understand what would suit?”

“He may not know,” Beth said, “but I do.” She tugged on her brother’s shoulder to get him to glance back at her. “I told you she enjoys reading, John. You should hire her for your library.”

That Mrs. Tyrrell liked books was certainly a mark in her favor. Indeed, as John faced front once more, he saw a light spring to her eyes, making the lavender all the brighter.

“A library?” she asked, and he could hear hope in the word.

“John is building a free library at Wallin Landing,” Beth said, “so everyone has a chance to improve.”

“Admirable,” Mrs. Tyrrell said, eyeing him as if he had surprised her.

Did she think everyone in Seattle illiterate? He’d seen articles from the newspapers back east that talked of the primitive conditions, the dangers from natives and animals, when they hadn’t had a problem in years.

“Our family is committed to building a town at the northern end of Lake Union to honor our father’s dream,” John explained. “We have a school, a dispensary, a new store, a dock on the lake, decent roads and soon a church. We’ve even applied for a post office. A library seemed the next most important civic improvement.”

“That’s why John came into Seattle to ask the Literary Society to donate funds,” Beth told Mrs. Tyrrell, and John nearly cringed at the proud tone. She tugged on his coat again, and he glanced back at her.

His sister’s dark blue eyes sparkled with interest. “How did it go? Did they see the logic? Agree to support you?”

The six women of the Literary Society, which included his longtime friend Allegra Banks Howard, had seemed more interested in quizzing him about why a fine upstanding gentleman like himself hadn’t married. He had been no more ready to confess his shortcomings to the most influential women in Seattle than he had been to the lovely lady beside him.

“Suffice it to say it will be some time before I have funds enough to build and staff the library,” he told his sister. “I’ll have to find some other occupation for Mrs. Tyrrell.” He turned to Dottie. “Do you have enough money to see you through the next few days while I ask around?”

Her step quickened, as if she would distance herself from the very idea. “I can’t take any of your money, Mr. Wallin. Now that I know we will not be married, it wouldn’t be proper.”

At least she wasn’t a fortune hunter, not that he had all that much fortune to hunt. He leaned closer to her, catching a scent like fresh apricots over the salt from Puget Sound. “I wouldn’t want to do anything to damage your reputation, ma’am. But my sister’s promises that I would marry you are responsible for bringing you here. You must allow us to see to your needs.”

She slowed her steps, body stiffening, until she reminded him of one of those golden-haired wax dolls on display at the Kellogg brothers’ store. She had every right to be offended by this entire affair. She was likely questioning his character, and Beth’s sanity.

At last she nodded. “Very well. I would appreciate it if you were to pay my room at the hotel for the next week, and I could use ten dollars for food and sundry.”

It was a reasonable number, but he hadn’t brought that much money with him to Seattle. “I’ll return with the funds tomorrow, along with a report on my progress.”

They were approaching the hotel, and she seemed loath to even allow them to enter the lobby with her. He supposed that was wise. Neither her future employer nor husband would approve of a rumor that she had received a gentleman caller in her room.

“Give your name at the front desk, and I’ll come down to meet you,” she told him. Then she dipped a curtsy. “Good day, Mr. Wallin, Miss Wallin.” She straightened, then swept into the hotel.

Beth sighed as she and John turned for the livery stable, where their wagon and team were waiting. “I’ve made a mess of things, haven’t I?”

“Yes,” John agreed. “You meant well, Beth, but I wish you would have consulted me first.”

“You would only have tried to dissuade me,” she said, her chin coming up as they passed the mercantiles on Second Avenue. “You persist in seeing me as your little sister, John, for all I’m a grown woman.”

She was wrong there. John and all his brothers knew she was grown. So did the gentlemen they were passing. Their smiles were appreciative as they tipped their hats in her direction. Beth paid them no heed whatsoever.

“Maybe you should think about your own wedding,” John suggested with a smile, “instead of mine.”

Beth’s lips thinned. “My wedding is years off, if I even consent to marry. You, however, have been pining away. Oh, but I could shake Caroline Crawford!”

“She is entitled to marry a man she can love and respect,” John said, finding his strides lengthening. “I am not that man.”

“Then she is foolish and temperamental,” Beth declared, scurrying to keep up.

Caroline hadn’t seemed so to him. Indeed, when she and her parents had first moved out near Wallin Landing, John had thought he’d at last met the perfect wife for him. Petite, delicate, with great gray eyes, sleek raven tresses and a slender figure, Caroline Crawford had hung on every word of advice she requested from him after driving with him into Seattle for church services each Sunday for a month, her parents in a wagon just behind. Her attentiveness and bright smile had made him begin to hope for a future together.

But when he’d emboldened himself to propose, on bended knee in the moonlight no less, she’d refused.

“Oh, I could never marry a man like you, John,” she’d said, as if surprised he’d think otherwise. “You have no gumption.”

No gumption. No drive. No willingness to claw his way to ever greater achievements. He had built a farm from the wilderness, managed it well, assisted his brothers and Beth where he could, helped his neighbors, tithed to the church and supported the school, but apparently that was not enough.

Heroes did more.

Heroes put their own needs aside to raise their fatherless siblings, as Drew had done when Pa had died. Heroes protected ladies across wilderness areas as James had done for his bride, Rina. Heroes fought off dastardly relatives as Simon had done for his wife, Nora. Heroes braved the next frontier, like Levi.

A hero did not sit safely at home, reading adventure novels and the latest scientific and engineering theories while his cat purred in his lap before the hearth.

Yet that seemed to be his role in the family—the scholar, the peacemaker. When Pa had died, John had been all of ten, old enough to feel the loss, to recognize the pain in others. Drew had assumed leadership as Pa had directed him with his dying breath, but Simon and James hadn’t sat well under it. Watching his brothers argue had just made John want to curl in on himself. And Ma had seemed so sad when her children didn’t get along, as if it was somehow her fault she was raising them all alone.

Surrounded by sorrow and strife, John had done everything he could to make sure everyone got along. He encouraged the best in his brothers, helped them through the worst. He pointed out things that made Drew think about how James must be feeling, pushed James to see things from Simon’s more logical perspective, reminded Simon that following Drew was what Pa wanted and tried to be an example to little Levi. Keeping things peaceable was how he contributed.

The trait was still with him. Now when John saw a problem, he was more likely to find a way to solve it quietly than to leap into the fray. He was the one who suggested compromises rather than demanding capitulation. A shame that habit kept him from living up to his image of a hero. Mrs. Tyrrell must have recognized that he lacked certain qualities, for she’d not held him to Beth’s promise to wed. He had no need to drag his bruised heart out of hiding.

Still, he seemed to hear it whispering encouragement as he and Beth reached the livery stable. It would take more than a pretty mail-order bride to get him to listen.

Chapter Three

Dottie climbed the stairs to her second-floor hotel room, feeling heavy. How could she have let this happen? Why had she believed what Beth Wallin had written to her? Had she learned nothing from her terrible experience with Frank?

Of course, none of the letters Beth had sent her or the conversation with John had been anything like talking with Frank. A salesman for a manufacturing firm in Cincinnati, with clients all over the state, he’d had a way of making people feel important. She’d needed that fifteen months ago when she’d first met him.

Her uncle, who worked for the same firm, had brought Frank home for dinner to meet Dottie. Frank hadn’t been the first fellow foisted upon her that way. Uncle Henry and Aunt Harriot lived in a manner her parents had found worrisome—drinking with friends most nights, holding their own riotous parties at least twice a month, saying vulgar words upon occasion and never attending church.

Though she tried not to complain, she could not bring herself to act the way they did, causing her uncle to dub her “Dottie Do-Gooder.” By word and action, they had made it very clear they wanted her out of the house as soon as possible. Only by doing all the cooking and cleaning had she convinced them to allow her to stay past her sixteenth birthday.

Every other man they had brought home to meet her had been just like them, favoring cheap cigars and alcohol. Frank had seemed different—polished, polite, friendly. Small wonder she’d begun to fancy she had found love. Frank had known just what to say, how to act, to get her to go along with his wishes and feel terribly happy about it as well.

Beth had also said all the right things, promising a kind, considerate husband well able to provide for Dottie’s needs. That part hadn’t been a lie. If anything, John Wallin was an even better man than his sister had described, if the way he had responded to Beth’s interference was any indication. Yet what sort of man needed a sister to fetch him a bride?

John seemed neither stupid nor lazy. He was not crippled, and he appeared to be in good health. If he was intent on building a library, surely he wasn’t the illiterate Dottie had feared. Most women would account him handsome. Even in Seattle, where there were far more men than women, he would likely be considered a catch.

So why did he lack a wife? Had he some flaw she hadn’t noticed on first meeting?

She was still wondering as she let herself into the narrow hotel room with its single window looking down toward Puget Sound. Mrs. Gustafson rose from the chair as Dottie shut the door behind her. A heavy woman with button-brown eyes and a wide mouth, she exuded motherly warmth, even in the somewhat Spartan conditions of the hotel room.

“A little darling he was,” she proclaimed in her thick German accent, looking fondly at the blanket spread on the floor. “Never once did he cry.”

Dottie’s son gurgled at her as she kneeled beside the blanket. He waved pudgy arms and begged to be picked up. She obliged, cuddling him close and feeling the soft tufts of his white-blond hair against her chin.

This was why she must stay strong. This was why she could not give up.

“Thank you for watching him,” she told the older woman.

Mrs. Gustafson waved a beefy hand. “Ach, he is no trouble. And your young man, how did you like him?”

Dottie had confided her purpose in coming to Seattle, though she had let Mrs. Gustafson, like Beth, think she was a widow instead of a woman shamed. Now she considered how to answer. In truth, had she met John Wallin before she’d known Frank, she would likely have been willing to let him court her. Now she needed a man ready to take a chance on a woman and an illegitimate baby, a man willing to fight for family. John Wallin, for all his gentle ways, did not seem likely.

“He decided we will not suit,” she told her friend.

The German lady recoiled. “Vas? Is he touched in the head? Such a lovely lady you are. And who could resist little Peter, eh?” She bent closer and stroked the baby’s cheek. Peter watched her, wide-eyed.

“I’ll simply have to find another way to support Peter,” Dottie said. “Surely someone here needs a worker and wouldn’t mind having a baby along.”

Mrs. Gustafson nodded as she straightened. “You could work on the railroad. I saw pictures all along the street here, asking everyone to come help on May Day.”

Dottie had seen them as well, posters plastered to any bare spot on the wall along the streets of Seattle. Come all ye adults of mankind. Nor let there be none left behind. It seemed Seattle had lost its bid to be the terminus of the Northern Pacific Railway, which would be coming to Tacoma, to the south, instead. Now Seattle was determined to build its own railroad.

“I doubt they are planning to pay the workers much,” she told her friend. “And I don’t know how I’d be much help carrying Peter around. If you hear of anything else, though, please let me know.”

“Oh, yah, of course,” Mrs. Gustafson promised. “But I don’t know of any places that will take a mother with child. And we leave tomorrow for the Duwamish. I would ask you to come, but it is my brother’s place, and he only has room for me and my Dieter.”

It was the same story every place Dottie tried that afternoon. Either the business did not want to take on a woman, or they needed her to work long hours away from Peter. The shops in Seattle, it seemed, were open by five in the morning and did not close until nearly ten at night. One of the owners even suggested that she give up her son, claiming many of the farmers in the area would be interested in adopting a baby that would grow into a strong young man. Clutching Peter close, she had hurried from the store. Peter was hers, not Frank’s, not anyone else’s. He was the one good thing to come from her bad marriage.

“You are a blessing,” she told him as she carried him back to the hotel. A passing gentleman favored her with a gap-toothed grin as if he thought she was addressing him. Peter snuggled closer.

That night, after she’d settled her son to sleep beside her on the bed, she allowed herself a moment to pray, asking for help finding work, a safe place for her and Peter to live. But still she found no peace.

Her mother and father had always prayed before bed and at mealtimes. They’d attended church services as well, read to her from the Bible. All that had changed when they’d been killed in a train accident. Her uncle had taken her Bible away from her, told her it was just a book of nonsense. She hadn’t seen the inside of a church in years. She shouldn’t be surprised she no longer felt God’s presence. She’d been the one to move away.

All Dottie could hope was that John Wallin had better connections in the frontier town than she ever would, and that he’d find something that would work for her and Peter.

* * *

John returned to Seattle the next day on horseback, leaving his mount at the livery stable while he canvassed the town. But it seemed Dottie had been unwilling to wait for his help, for most of the places he tried reported that she’d already been in.

“Lovely lady,” the tallest Kellogg brother said when John asked at his store about a clerk position, “but we simply could not accommodate the hours she wanted.”

He heard similar stories at other shops he tried. Dottie seemed determined to work as little as possible. He couldn’t understand it. Had she been so tenderly raised that she had no idea what employers expected? Surely if she’d lived on a farm she knew that work went on from before sunrise to after sunset most days.

He wished he knew more about her. He’d asked Beth as they’d ridden back to Wallin Landing yesterday, but his sister had obviously recovered her usual buoyancy and determined that he was the villain in all this.

“Oh, no, John Wallin,” she’d declared with a toss of her head. “You didn’t wish to heed my advice and marry Dottie Tyrrell, so don’t think you can get back into my good graces by appearing interested in her now. If you want to know more about her, I suggest you talk to her directly. I am quite finished playing matchmaker.”

He didn’t believe that for a minute. Beth had taken great delight in helping all their older brothers fall in love. She wouldn’t stop until every last Wallin male was wed.

But John wasn’t about to help her. He would find a better situation for Mrs. Tyrrell than marrying him.

Now he followed each lead to possible positions and talked to everyone with whom his family had built connections over the years. His quest eventually led him to the home of one of Seattle’s founding families, the Maynards. Doc Maynard, who had first hired Drew’s wife, Catherine, as a nurse years ago, had passed on last spring, leaving his wife as one of the area’s most notable widows. An advocate for literacy, she had been one of the women to whom John had presented yesterday. Today she listened more intently and handed him her card to give to Dottie. Feeling as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders, he hurried to the hotel.

He had to cool his heels awhile as Billy Prentice, the porter, went up to tell the lady she had a caller. John had stayed at Lowe’s a time or two when he was needed in town, but looking around the plain white walls of the lobby, the hard-backed benches and brass spittoons, he wondered now whether it was the best place for a lady. As close as the hotel was to the businesses that catered to the workers at Yesler’s mill, the noise at night could be considerable some days. If only Dottie would take the situation with Mrs. Maynard, all her problems would be solved.

Billy came back down the stairs. “Sorry, Mr. Wallin. Mrs. Tyrrell says she cannot see you at present. Perhaps tomorrow.”

Tomorrow?

What was wrong with the woman? She came from a farming background. She had to know he had chores waiting for him, animals to feed, fields to till for spring planting. Wallin Landing was still several hours round trip from Seattle. He couldn’t just make the jaunt when it suited her.

“Tell her I have urgent news,” he insisted. “A position she’ll want to hear about.”

The porter raised a brow, but up the stairs he went again.

John tapped his hat against his thigh. She hadn’t seemed so persnickety yesterday. Indeed, given the magnitude of his sister’s mistake, Dottie Tyrrell had been remarkably calm. Besides, Beth surely would have noticed a high-handed manner in the letters they’d exchanged. Any woman desperate enough to answer an ad for a mail-order bride couldn’t afford to put on airs.

“I’m sorry,” Billy said as he came down the stairs. “But Mrs. Tyrrell cannot see you now.”

John drew in a deep breath. Here he was, known for his patience, and it was about to desert him. “Tell her that if I do not see her now, she will forfeit this opportunity, and I will bear no further responsibility for helping her.”

Billy sighed. “If it wasn’t you, Mr. Wallin, I wouldn’t be going up the stairs again. But I never forgot how you helped me carry that luggage in out of the rain last winter. I’ll try to get you a better answer from the lady.” He turned and trudged up the stairs yet again. John was very glad when he returned with the news that Dottie would see him after all, even if it was in her room.

Odd, when she’d hesitated to be seen in the lobby with him yesterday. What had changed?

He climbed the stairs, then rapped on the door, hat in one hand. Though she had to know he was coming, Dottie took her time answering. When she did open the door, it was the merest crack, as if she expected him to come armed.

“Thank you for seeing me, Mrs. Tyrrell,” he said, trying for a smile that he hoped would put her at ease. “I’ve brought the funds as promised and what I hope is good news. One of the greatest ladies of my acquaintance, Mrs. Maynard, is seeking a companion. She has a fine house right here in Seattle and is well respected by all. I’m sure she’d be thrilled for your company.”

He had hoped for delight at the announcement, but if anything she looked sad, mouth dipping.

“I doubt a companion post will do, Mr. Wallin. I cannot be available the hours that would likely be expected.”

That again. Once more, he felt the temper he hadn’t known he had threatening. “Begging your pardon, ma’am, but most places expect a day’s work for a day’s pay.”

“So I am coming to learn, but I’m afraid I must insist on it.” Behind her came a coo, as if a dove had been let loose in the room.

John frowned, but she thrust out her hand. “If I could have the funds you promised?”

At least he could do that much for her. He dug into the pocket of his coat and offered her the money. “I wish you would reconsider,” he told her. “I sincerely doubt you’ll find another situation like this in Seattle. Folks who come here generally aren’t afraid of hard work.”

The coo had become a whine, accompanied by the sound of material rustling. Were there rats in the room? Perhaps he should find her somewhere else to stay.

“I’m not afraid of hard work, Mr. Wallin,” she said, fingers tightening on the door. “I am simply unable to provide it at present. Thank you for your help, and good day.” She started to shut the door, and a howl erupted behind her.

John’s hand caught the door. “Wait. What was that? Are you all right?”

For a moment she hesitated, her gaze on his as if determining how easy it would be to refuse to answer him. Then she released the door and stepped back. “That, Mr. Wallin, is the reason I was willing to become a mail-order bride.”

She turned and headed for the bed, and John stepped into the hotel room. Now he could see two chubby fists waving in the air above the bed. She bent down and swept up the baby.

“There now,” she crooned. “It’s all right. Mommy has her little man.”

She had a child.

He drew in a breath. That explained so much—her reason for seeking a husband so urgently, her need for additional funds, her stringent requirements for a position. But it also meant his job of finding her a situation had just grown exponentially harder.

The baby calmed in her arms, blinking his eyes as he stuffed one fist into his mouth.

“What’s his name?” John asked, venturing closer.

“Peter,” she said, but so begrudgingly he wondered if she thought he’d argue over the matter.

The lad seemed about four months along. That was generally when they discovered their hands, if his nieces and nephews were any indication.

“I suppose Beth knows all about him,” he said.

She blushed, the pink as deep as the sunrise. “Actually, I never wrote Beth about him. When I first answered the ad, I was rather sick, and I thought I might lose the baby. Why explain something that might never come to pass?”

She bounced the little fellow up and down on her hip, wiggling her nose at him and setting him to smiling. John fought a smile himself.

“And then when he was born,” she continued, “I was afraid to tell her for fear you might not want to send for me. I thought, that is I hoped, you would want him, too.”

And he hadn’t given her the chance to find out. He could feel her yearning now, and something inside him rose to meet it. He shouldn’t give in. She needed a better man than him.

“Is that why you didn’t want me to come up?” he asked instead. “Because of Peter?”

She managed a smile. “I was more concerned that I didn’t have a chaperone. I couldn’t leave him alone to come downstairs.”

John glanced back. “If we leave the door open, that ought to satisfy propriety. And you could have told Beth about Peter. She would probably have sent for you sooner. She loves babies.”

“Do you?” She shot him a look equal parts challenge and concern.

He shrugged. “I’m an uncle eight times over. I’m used to babies.”

Her frame relaxed, but she sighed. “What a very great shame you weren’t the man who placed the ad I answered, then.”

Perhaps it was a shame. But he didn’t feel ready to be a husband, much less a father.

Peter reached out a hand, and John offered him a finger to squeeze. Such a strong grip for a little fellow. He seemed like a healthy lad, with round cheeks and sparkling eyes that might yet turn the purple of his mother’s. His dressing gown of linen with its sweater over the top was clean and tidy, at least for the moment, but John knew exactly how many things a baby could do to clothing and anyone nearby. He’d been spit at, wet upon, and had a handful of hair yanked out at one point or another. That fetching black-and-white checkered gown Dottie wore today didn’t stand a chance.

“What did the ad say?” he asked, suddenly curious as to what would have made this woman take a chance on him. “What convinced you to answer it?”

She cocked her head, a smile hovering. “It said, ‘Wanted—sweet-natured wife who will brave the wilderness and make a happy home filled with love.’”

Good thing no one else in his family knew he was supposed to be the author, or he would never live it down. “I’m sorry Beth raised your hopes.”

Her smile faded, and the room seemed to darken. “So am I. I truly have no idea what to do now. I know no one in Seattle but you and Beth and two friends who just left for the Duwamish. You can understand why working could be difficult.”

“You have no family?” John persisted.

Her mouth tightened. “None that will take in Peter. They suggested I put him in an orphanage.”

John cringed. Having been raised in a big, loving family, he could not imagine giving away one of his siblings. Even his youngest brother, Levi, at his worst had been helped, not shunted aside.

“And his father’s family?” he asked.

“Cannot be contacted,” she said.

Why? Were they as heartless? Or had she and her husband married against their wishes? Yet who would refuse a grandchild, especially if their son was gone, as must have been the case with her husband if she was free to marry again?

As if the baby felt the hopelessness of their situation, his face sagged, and he began to whimper. She drew him closer, rocked him from side to side. Her eyes closed as if she longed to block out their reality.

“I suppose,” John heard himself say, “there’s only one thing we can do. You better come out to Wallin Landing to live with me.”

Chapter Four

Live with him? Dottie clutched Peter close. John Wallin had already told her he had no interest in marriage. How could she live with him?

She felt heat gathering in her cheeks. “I cannot like your assumption, Mr. Wallin. I don’t know who gave you the impression that I’m the sort of woman who would put herself under a gentleman’s protection, but I assure you that you are mistaken. I think you’d better leave.”

His cheeks were as red as hers felt. “Please forgive me, Mrs. Tyrrell. I didn’t mean... That is, it wasn’t my intention...” He squared his shoulders and met her gaze straight on. His green eyes pleaded for understanding. “I have a good, solid farmhouse. You and Peter are welcome to live in it until you decide what to do next. My brother’s logging crew has taken over my parents’ cabin. I’m sure I can bunk with them in the meantime.”

Nothing in that open face shouted of dishonesty. He was either the kindest man she’d ever met, or the wiliest.

Dottie cocked her head, watching him. “You’d give up your home, for me?”

He blew out a breath as if grateful he’d made his plan clear. “Yes, gladly. It’s the least I can do for the trouble my family has put you through. I’ve several cows and chickens, so you can be assured of fresh milk and eggs. We still have vegetables and fruit canned from last harvest. My brothers and I hunt and fish during the week, so there’s usually meat as well. All you’d have to do is take care of you and Peter while you consider your options.”

It was too good to be true. “Forgive me, Mr. Wallin, but I find your offer altogether unequal. What do you get out of the bargain?”

He frowned as if puzzled by the question. “Why, the chance to be helpful, ma’am.”

A laugh popped out of her, and she could hear the bitter ring to it. “In my experience, people are not nearly so helpful.”

He shrugged, a hint of a smile on his lips. “Then perhaps you know the wrong people, Mrs. Tyrrell.”

She had no question on that score. Her experience with Frank had soured her on a lot of things. Yet, was John Wallin the only man who had ever offered help to someone in need? She recalled her father allowing vagabonds to stay in the barn and feeding traveling families on their way to work on farms in the next county. He’d never asked for more recompense than a good night’s sleep.

“What we do for others, we do for God,” he’d said more than once.

She’d never fretted then. She’d been happy on the farm, secure in the knowledge her parents loved her and would always be there for her. The latter had proved a lie.

Would John Wallin prove a liar?

She must have taken too long to answer, for he sighed, his gaze dropping to the hat in his hands. “If you prefer to stay in Seattle, I’ll pay for the hotel as long as I can. I just thought Lowe’s might not be the best place for a baby.”

Or her. The more she moved about the hotel, going to seek work and returning, the more attention she attracted from the other residents. Several of the men had cast her interested glances, and not in a way she found admiring. And the clerk had told her a guest had complained about Peter’s crying. What if the hotel manager asked her to leave? Where would she go then?

“If I agree to your offer,” she began, setting John to beaming, “I would need assurances that Wallin Landing is a suitable place for a woman and child. Beth told me a great deal about it, but that was before I knew I would not be arriving as your wife.”

He nodded, his hat gripped in his sturdy fingers. “Of course. My claim is the southernmost. It runs from Lake Union west over the top of the hill toward Puget Sound. My brother James and his wife, Rina, are adjacent, but our claims are narrow enough that you can cross them quickly. Just beyond live my oldest brother, Drew, and his wife, Catherine. She’s a trained nurse and runs the dispensary. You’d have experienced medical help should Peter need it.”

That was good to know. In Cincinnati and on the journey west, Peter had proved surprisingly resilient, with few of the fevers and ailments that seemed to trouble other babies. But she knew it was only a matter of time before something made him ill.

“There’s also a school with fifteen students,” he continued, stepping closer as if he sensed her resolve weakening. “Rina is the lead teacher. Beth helps sometimes, when she isn’t working her claim, assisting my brother Simon’s wife, Nora, or trying to boss our brothers or Drew’s crew around. Nora watches the little ones while their mothers are working. The eight of them range from a sweet-natured toddler to a six-year-old who’s convinced she’s queen. I’m certain Nora wouldn’t mind including Peter if you had work to do.”

And she’d have a nanny of sorts, it seemed. Still, that voice inside her warned that it was all a trick. Hadn’t she learned by now that anything good in life could be taken from her?

She gazed down into Peter’s dear face. His blue eyes, more gray than hers, gazed back, trusting. He offered her a smile as if to encourage her, and she couldn’t help smiling back.

Whatever happens, Lord, thank You for entrusting me with this precious boy.

And didn’t her son deserve something more than this narrow hotel room, the company of strangers, here today and gone tomorrow? If what John Wallin was offering was even half true, she could provide Peter a safe home and good food, perhaps even friends. Shouldn’t she take the chance, for him?

“I believe Beth said Wallin Landing is about five miles from Seattle,” she told John, who was shifting from foot to foot as if he couldn’t wait to hear her answer. “I’d be willing to move out, see if the area will suit Peter and me.”

His smile showed his relief. “Thank you, Mrs. Tyrrell. I promise you, you won’t be disappointed.”

She couldn’t make herself believe that.

* * *

She was coming with him. John wasn’t sure why Dottie’s decision raised his spirits so high, but he couldn’t help whistling a tune as he went to the livery stable to see about hiring a wagon and stabling his horse overnight. She’d been reticent, but who could blame her? She’d already left everything behind to come to Seattle on a promise that had proved false. Why should she believe anything he said?

He’d simply have to show her he was a man who could be trusted.

He brought the wagon around to the hotel, carried her trunk down the stairs and heaved it into the bed. James still joked about the amount of baggage he had been required to move to bring Rina out to Wallin Landing to teach. Dottie’s belongings seemed to amount to much less, especially when she was carrying clothing not only for herself, but also for a baby.

“Is there more?” he asked as she passed him by the front of the wagon.

She glanced back. She’d covered her gown with a navy wool cape that fell to her hips, and it twitched as she moved, drawing his attention to her slender figure.

“Just my valise with Peter’s things.” She held the case in one hand and cradled her son with the other.

An unencumbered female. That would be a novelty. Rina and Catherine had come to Seattle as part of the Mercer Belles. The women had followed Asa Mercer to Washington Territory from the East Coast to work and marry, bringing fine silk and wool gowns with them. Nora had also been a Mercer Belle, but she’d brought fewer clothes. Still, she was a seamstress. Now she sewed herself something new on a fairly regular basis. And Beth had been known for her obsession with fashion, as depicted in Godey’s Lady’s Book, since she was ten.

He took the valise and stowed it behind the bench, where Dottie could reach it if needed, then turned to hand her up. Instead, she offered him the baby.

“If you’d hold Peter a moment?”

John accepted the soft weight. Peter regarded him solemnly, as if considering his character. Meeting the baby’s gaze, John stood a little straighter. He felt the chuckle bubble up inside Peter’s chest before the baby grinned. For some reason, John felt like celebrating.

“He likes you.” Dottie sounded surprised. She had climbed up into the seat by herself and paused now to gaze down at her son. “He doesn’t usually like strangers.”

Neither did his mother, but John decided not to mention that.

“I’m used to babies,” he said. “I guess they know that.”

Dottie dropped her gaze, rearranging her skirts around her on the bench. Then she held open her arms. “I’ll take him now.”

Peter pouted as John gave him back to his mother. John felt the same way. There was something warm, something real, about holding a baby. The soft skin and sweet breath made him feel protective, strong. He’d felt the same way holding his nieces and nephews. Drew and Catherine had three children now, James and Rina three and Simon and Nora two.

Yet there was something different about Peter, with his too-solemn face. Perhaps he touched John’s heart more than his nieces and nephews did because John knew they had two parents to love them. Dottie clearly cared about her son, but unless she remarried, the lad would grow up without a father. John remembered how it had felt to lose Pa, but Drew had stepped into the role. Who would step up to help raise Peter?

John came around, hopped up on the bench and took up the reins. “You won’t regret this,” he promised Dottie before calling to the horses to set off. Her tight smile showed she disagreed with him.

She cuddled the baby as they rolled through the streets, passing other wagons, men on horseback, ladies with baskets on their arms. Seattle had grown in the last few years. The fancy houses on Third Avenue that had once stood at the edge of town were eclipsed by the buildings on Fourth and Fifth. New streets with names like Cherry and Spring stretched east and west as well. They ran right up to the edge of the forest, which quickly wrapped around John and Dottie, narrowing the road and the world to the single rutted lane leading north.

Dottie glanced longingly back at the town that was disappearing behind them.

“More remote than you expected?” he asked.

She nodded, facing front again. “A bit. Do you have trouble with wild animals at Wallin Landing?”

“Not much,” he admitted. “The more people move out our way, the more the animals flee. It’s getting harder to find deer or rabbit near the claims. We may get a fox or weasel after the chickens once in a while, but I haven’t seen a cougar up close in years.”

“Well,” she said, “I suppose that’s good.”

She didn’t sound convinced.

“It’s no Cincinnati,” John acknowledged. “But you must have known that much when you agreed to come.”

“Beth’s letters were quite detailed, but I suppose it wouldn’t have taken much for me to want to be elsewhere. I didn’t like living in Cincinnati. I’m sure Wallin Landing will be fine.”

He’d always thought so. “My brothers have done their best by the place. Ma and Pa brought us out before the Indian War here in ’55. They each filed a claim, then each of us siblings, except my brother Levi, who went north, filed a claim when we reached our majority. Pa always wanted his own town.”

John had grown up with the dream, but saying it aloud to Dottie felt odd. After living in a big city like Cincinnati, she could only see their goal of building a community as provincial. Why, Wallin Landing was small compared to Seattle!

She busied herself with her son, tucking the blanket around him, pulling a corner over his head and murmuring assurances. Not for the first time, he felt a stab of loss. Ma had been gone just two years, having met and loved each of her grandchildren, and he still missed her. He thought she’d like Mrs. Tyrrell. Ma had appreciated women who stood up for themselves.

The skies above the firs were heavy with rain, and John could hear it pattering down above them. Under the trees, however, it was drier. The cool air that brushed his cheeks carried the scent of Puget Sound. It might have been a pleasant ride, but he was all too concerned about the lady beside him. She’d come this far and the end of her journey wasn’t in sight. Surely he could find some way to reassure her.

“It’s nearly time to plant,” he remarked. “We’ll have corn and beans aplenty, and each claim has its own garden and orchard for fruit. Our neighbors are good about trading whatever’s extra. You’ll see the farms soon.”

“How many people, all told?” she asked, sitting taller, as if she longed to spot any sign of civilization.

John frowned, considering. “With our claims and the neighbors to the north and south, perhaps sixty people.”

“Sixty.”

She said the word breathlessly, but he was fairly sure the number was far too small for her. He was just glad when they came out of the forest onto farmland, the fields dark as farmers turned the soil for new planting. He spotted neighbors out working as they passed. All raised a hand in greeting, and John waved back. Mrs. Tyrrell regarded him, brows tight over her nose, and he couldn’t tell what was troubling her.

Peter had no such concerns. He closed his eyes and drowsed in her arms.

There had to be something that would please her. Through the trees ahead, he spotted a steeple rising. He pointed toward it. “That’s our church.”

“Beth said you designed it,” Dottie replied, angling her head as if to try to glimpse more of the structure.

He couldn’t quite prevent the pride from leaking into his voice. “I did. But Drew and his men felled the timber, James paid for it to be cut into board at Yesler’s mill and my brothers and I all worked together to construct the building. It still needs paint, inside and out, and there are benches, steps and a pulpit to install.”

“By summer, then,” she said with a nod.

He grimaced. “Realistically, with planting coming, it might be a while before we finish. I’m hoping we’ll start holding services there around harvest time, provided we can find a preacher willing to relocate out this way.”

He spied an opening in the trees and turned the horses west, up the track that led to his house. The forest was thinner here. Drew and his crew had taken out most of the big firs years ago, but John had left a few vine maples and madrone to shield the house from the main road. His home and barn sat on a bench, with fields running down to the road and spreading out on either side, the forest rising at the back. The arrangement had proved both practical and pleasing.

Yet the closer they came, the more he tensed. Why? It was a good, solid house with a sturdy barn, just as he’d told her. He had no reason to feel as if its worth was tied to her approval.

He pulled the wagon up before the wide front porch he’d insisted on having when Simon had sketched out plans for the place.

“I want to be able to sit under the eaves and watch the sun come up,” he’d told his brother.

Simon had frowned at him. “You get up before sunrise and head for work. When do you have time to sit?”

A literal man, his brother. But John had been firm. It was his house. He could do what he liked with it. Especially as it appeared he would never be sharing it with a wife.

“Here we are,” he announced, setting the brake. He jumped down, tied the horses to the porch rail to make sure they didn’t head for the barn and came around to help Dottie.

Her gaze was on the house. Did she wonder why a bachelor needed a second story or three chairs along the porch? Did she approve of the glass windows brought up from San Francisco? Or the blue paint he’d used to show off the door against the white of the house? Why did he care?

“It’s lovely,” she said, and he thought he might stand as tall as Drew for once.

He offered to help her down, but she merely handed him Peter. Now that the wagon had stopped moving, the baby cracked open his eyes. They widened as if Peter was surprised to see John holding him instead of his mother. John readied himself for the wail of protest. Instead, Peter’s face brightened in a grin.

He kept the baby in his arms as he led Dottie into the house.

“Parlor’s to the right,” he explained, nodding through the open door. “Main bedroom’s to the left. Kitchen runs across the back. Stairs lead up to a sleeping loft. Right now it’s full of furs curing from the winter.”

She wandered into the parlor, touched the bench Drew had carved for him, exclaimed over the woven rug his mother had made. John followed her, rocking Peter in his arms. The baby gazed about him, as if everything he saw was wonderful.

Not everyone was so entranced. A hiss told John he was in trouble. Glancing about, he sighted the ginger bullet on the windowsill a moment before it launched itself at him. John stepped back from the malevolent green glare.

“Oh,” Dottie exclaimed, “you have a cat.”

John managed a smile. “Mrs. Tyrrell, may I present Brian de Bois-Guilbert. He patrols for vermin.”

That sounded a lot more manly than the cat’s typical role—stalking John around the house with demands for attention.

Dottie’s face brightened. “Brian de Bois-Guilbert, like in Ivanhoe?”

At the moment, the cat did indeed resemble the villain of the tale. His tail twitched as his eyes narrowed on Peter.

“No,” John told him. “Down, boy.”

Dottie looked at him in obvious amazement. “Does he obey you like a dog?”

He shrugged. “I thought it was worth a try.”

She shook her head, then crouched on the rug and held out a hand to the cat. Brian refused to so much as glance in her direction. He busied himself licking his white mitten paws.

“Where did you get a cat out here?” she asked. “I’d think they’d get eaten by foxes.”

“I found him in my barn,” John told her, edging back from the cat in case Brian did have designs on Peter. “Pitiful thing, more bones than muscle. Some of our neighbors had cats, so Beth and I thought he might have escaped from a litter nearby. She named him after the knight in Ivanhoe, the one who couldn’t decide whether he was a hero or a villain. I think she was hoping to keep him, but he seems to have attached himself to me.”

As if to disprove it, Brian raised his head and let out another hiss, ears going back and eyes narrowing.

Dottie stood and glanced at Peter. The baby had started at the noise. Now he giggled. Dottie drew in a breath.

John wasn’t nearly so pleased. The cat had been good company when he’d lived here alone, but Brian, like many of his kind, tended to do as he pleased. And he seemed to feel John was his personal companion. Would he attack Dottie or the baby? John wouldn’t feel comfortable putting the cat out of the house on a permanent basis, but neither did he feel comfortable leaving Brian alone with Dottie and her son.

Dottie crouched again, ran her fingers along the rug. Brian watched each movement as if fascinated. Once more, John tensed.

“That might not be a good idea,” he murmured.

Dottie didn’t respond. Instead, she held out her hand again.

Brian eyed her a moment more, then his face and ears relaxed and his back came down. He wandered up to Dottie and ran his back under her fingers.

“Sweet kitty,” she crooned. “Darling kitty.”

As Brian turned for another pass, he glanced up at John as if to say See? This is how it’s done.

Dottie gave the feline another pat before rising in a whisper of wool. “I think we’ll get along just fine.”

So it seemed. But, for the first time, John wondered just how many things would change in his life with Dottie and Peter at Wallin Landing.

Chapter Five

John Wallin had a cat.

Dottie wasn’t sure why that surprised her so much. Perhaps it was because most of the men of her acquaintance preferred dogs, and then for hunting or protection. The majority of the felines she’d known had been barn cats at her parents’ farm. They’d been wild, rangy things, used to hunting for their dinner. John claimed Brian de Bois-Guilbert served the same function here. She found that hard to believe. A lady at the apartment building in Cincinnati had had a cat she treated with the utmost courtesy. Brian had the same sleek, overfed, self-satisfied look.

Of course, for all Dottie knew, Beth had been the one doing the pampering. Dottie must not allow this whimsy to sway her opinion of John. Only time would tell if he was truly a gentleman worth trusting.

“It will just take me a minute to lead the horses to the barn, bring in your things and pack up mine,” John told her now. He held out Peter to her.

That he seemed to be very good at cradling her son was another mark in his favor. Some people had no idea how to treat an infant. She’d had to learn, first from her helpful neighbor Martha Duggin at the apartment building in Cincinnati, and then from Mrs. Gustafson on the boat. Now, as the baby passed between them, John’s fingers brushed her arm, as soft as a caress. A tingle ran through her, and she stepped back lest he notice her reaction. She had to remember that a handsome face and a fine physique were no match for character. She was glad when he nodded respectfully and left the room. A moment more, and she heard the front door open as he must have gone out to the wagon.

Why did the room seem so empty without him?

She was used to emptiness, but she’d been a bit dismayed to find the land outside of Seattle so remote, the farms few and scattered. Beth’s stories had made Wallin Landing sound so alive and vibrant. Dottie had needed to believe in a place like that. After Frank had left her, she’d felt so isolated. But now that she understood how far away the place was from Seattle, she could only wonder whether her isolation would be worse here.

Still, she could not deny that she felt welcome in John’s house. The scrubbed wood floors gave off a patina that was reflected in the whitewashed walls and ceiling. The carved bench that served as the main seat for the parlor was draped with a quilt done in shades of brown and green, and the hearth was of rounded stones, browns and grays and whites, with splashes of gold almost the color of Brian’s hair.

The cat strolled back and forth around her skirts, setting the wool to swinging. Peter reached out a hand as if he longed to touch the softness.

“He’s a very handsome fellow, isn’t he?” Dottie asked. Then she clamped her lips shut. She’d become accustomed to talking to Peter, even before he was born. After Frank had left her with the threat that she should keep quiet or else, she’d stayed in the apartment for days. Talking to her unborn baby had been the only way to stay sane. But if John Wallin had heard what she’d said right now, he might think she was talking about him!

Although she would have been speaking the truth. He was a handsome fellow.

Dottie raised her chin. “Come along, Peter. If we’re going to live here, we might as well know where everything is.”

She started in the kitchen at the back of the house, Brian strolling along beside her. The cast-iron stove along one wall stood between a cupboard and a wood box, both well filled. Copper pots and tin pans hung on the wall on either side. The wood table across from it could seat four, and she wondered who else might join him on occasion. The gingham curtains on the window overlooking the barn had been tied back with bows.

Beth must have done that.

“I’ll be able to cook here,” she told Peter, smiling down at his beaming face. “I can make you applesauce. Would you like that?”

Brian meowed as if he thought it sounded like a fine idea.

She returned down the corridor, heading for the bedroom across the entry from the parlor, and again the cat accompanied her. She felt a little odd peeking into John’s room, but if the upstairs was full of curing furs, she would have no other choice than to sleep here. She was pleased to see the room contained a large bed made from hewn logs. The blue-and-green quilt in a block pattern looked thick and warm. Brian jumped up and dug his claws into it as if to prove as much. With a quick look out the window to make sure John had taken the wagon around to the barn and couldn’t see her, she bounced on the mattress. Not too soft and not too hard. Good.

There was also a trunk at the foot of the bed, the beautifully carved top showing an owl sweeping out over a forest with the moon riding high above. She traced the bird’s flight with one hand. “Look at this, Peter. Do you know what the owl says? Who-hoo.”

Peter pursed his mouth as if he could make such a sound, but nothing came out.

Might as well say “what-what.” What was she doing here so far from home? How could she make a way for her son with no husband, no employment?

From the back of the house, something clanked. Had John come in a back door instead of the front?

Brian’s head snapped up, then he leaped off the bed and darted under it.

A shiver ran up Dottie’s spine. She glanced out the window again but caught no sign of John. She swallowed nervously, then laid Peter on the center of the bed and pulled up one edge of the quilt to cover him. He’d just begun to roll over, but she didn’t think he could manage it with the weight of the quilt.

“Here, kitty, kitty, kitty,” she called, urging Brian out from hiding.

The cat poked his head out from under the bed, then scampered across the floor like a streak of sunshine and flew out the door. Dottie followed.

She cocked her head and called toward the kitchen. “Hello, is someone there?”

In answer, the door swung open, and John moved into the corridor, her trunk balanced on his broad shoulders. It had taken two men to carry that from the cab to the train station in Cincinnati. She had a feeling it hadn’t grown any lighter since then. Yet he walked as if it was no burden.

“Where would you like this?” he asked. And he wasn’t even breathless!

She stepped aside to let him pass. “In the bedroom, please.”

With a nod, he went to comply.

Oh, yes, quite a fine physique.

Blushing, Dottie followed John into the room. Peter was cooing from his bundle on the bed, hands reaching up toward a beam of sunlight that was coming through the window. John smiled as he straightened from positioning the trunk against the far wall. “He looks right at home.”

Dottie felt it, too. But that was dangerous. This wasn’t going to be home, not for more than a week or two at most. It was no more permanent than the hotel room in Seattle or the apartment she’d left behind in Cincinnati.

John was moving around the room. He opened his trunk and gathered some flannel shirts and wool trousers. She turned in case he meant to lift out his unmentionables. As she did so, she couldn’t help noticing that even the windowsill was clean of dust.

Dottie frowned. Everything was clean. The floors had been swept, the gingham curtains on the bedroom window recently washed and ironed, and they also sported bows. Not one article of clothing had been strewn about the bedroom. No man she knew kept a house so clean, so lovingly decorated.

Anger flushed through her, and she rounded on John. “You lied to me! You have a wife. I demand that you return me to Seattle, immediately!”

* * *

John recoiled from Dottie’s vehemence. Her face was red, her eyes flashing, and she marched to the bed and snatched up Peter as if to protect him from John.

He dropped his things into the trunk. “I’ll take you back, if that’s what you want, but I don’t have a wife.”

“Really.” The single word held a world of suspicion. “And I suppose you’ll tell me that you clean house for yourself.”

He frowned. “I do. Ma insisted that all her sons know how to cook and clean and wash. Once in a while Beth comes by to help. I think she just likes having someone to look out for.”

Her face puckered. “You really wash your own clothes?”

Was that so odd? As far as he knew, Drew, James and Simon helped on wash day in their houses. It was hot, heavy work, and someone had to make sure the children didn’t go anywhere near the lye.

“Yes,” he said, feeling as if she was questioning his manhood. “A bachelor needs clean clothes as much as anyone else. And I don’t particularly like living in mud.”

She put one hand on her hip. “And I suppose you like bows as well.”

Bows? He glanced around the room, trying to see whether his sister might have left a hair bow lying around. “I’m not sure...” he began.

She stalked to the window and pointed at the fabric holding the curtains back. “Bows.”

“The ties?” Now that he looked at them, they did resemble bows. He’d never noticed before. “Beth made them for all of us last Christmas.”

Brian chose that moment to stroll back into the bedroom. He went immediately to John, wound himself around his ankles and glanced up with a pitiful meow. Normally John would have picked him up, stroked the ginger fur. But with Dottie looking at him as if he was some kind of oddity, he wasn’t about to give her reason to doubt him further.

“I...see,” she said. She drew in a breath. “I’m sorry, Mr. Wallin. I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions.”

It was a strong reaction, but he supposed she had reason. He made himself shrug as Brian bumped his head against John’s calf. “Strange location, strange people. Anyone might have done the same. But rest assured I have no wife or any intention of taking one.”

She nodded, dropping her gaze. Brian reared up and dug his claws into John’s trousers. John refused to so much as protest. The cat dropped back down and stalked out of the room in high dudgeon.

Very likely, Dottie would relax once he was out of the way. John gathered up his belongings again. “All the food is in the cupboard near the stove,” he told her. “The fire burns pretty evenly, but I’ve noticed you have to turn the biscuits to get a golden top all around.”

She was staring at him again. Perhaps biscuits weren’t the most manly thing to discuss, either.

“And there’s a pump in the sink.” That was better. Machinery, logging, buildings: those were things men discussed. “Sometimes it takes a few tries for the water to flow. Oh, and that window sticks when it rains, but you shouldn’t need to open it this time of year.”

She nodded. “I’m sure we can manage.”

He straightened, arms laden. “Just don’t let Brian outside for long. It’s too easy for him to get eaten or end up in a trap.”

She shuddered. “I’ll be careful.”

“Good. Right.” John shuffled his feet. “Well, then, I suppose I better get going.”

He started past her, and she caught his arm.

“Thank you,” she murmured before standing on tiptoe and pressing a kiss to his cheek.

It ought to have been a neighborly kiss, a sisterly kiss, but the floor seemed to be rippling like a wave on the Sound. He had to stop himself from turning his head and meeting her lips with his own.

“Ho! John!”

His brother’s voice seemed to come from somewhere far beyond the little bubble that enclosed him and Dottie. She dropped to her soles, lavender eyes wide. Peter giggled.

James strolled past the door of the bedroom. “John? Are you here? I saw a wagon out back.”

“Excuse me,” John murmured, passing Dottie to the hallway.

James turned at the sound of his movement. “Ah, there you are. What, is it wash day already? What a tidy fellow you are. Ma would be so proud.”

John had a sudden urge to push his brother out the door. “Can I help you with something?” he asked instead.

James smiled. His next closest brother in outlook, James had a few inches on John, though he remained whip-thin. He’d also inherited Pa’s light brown hair and dark blue eyes. “Rina’s tooth is bothering her,” he explained. “Catherine’s given her a powder, but she’d prefer to take the day off tomorrow. She wondered if you’d step in.”

John and Beth had both substituted for James’s wife, who taught in the one-room school at Wallin Landing. Beth must have something else to do tomorrow that James would come for John.

“Of course,” John assured him. “Just have her write down what they’re studying in the various subjects. Last time Danny tried to convince me he couldn’t do more than add so he could get out of working on his multiplication. And perhaps Simon can return the wagon and horses to Seattle and bring back my horse.”

James opened his mouth, most likely to make some quip, as he was wont to do, but his gaze swept past John and no words came out.

John turned to find Dottie in the doorway to the bedroom. She smiled shyly at his brother before focusing on John.

“Forgive me. I just realized. You said you had cows and chickens. Do you need me to feed them? Milk the cows? Gather eggs?”

“I’ll tend to the cows and milk morning and evening,” John promised. “If you’d like to gather the eggs, that would be appreciated. You’ll see the coop at the side of the barn.”

James cleared his throat.

John kept his smile tight. “Mrs. Tyrrell, this is my brother James Wallin. He has the claim next to mine, as I mentioned. James, Mrs. Tyrrell and her son will be staying in my house until she decides where to settle in the area.”

James swept her a bow. “Dear lady, welcome to Wallin Landing. I’m John’s most charming brother and father to three adorable children. May I see yours?”

Dottie widened her grasp so he could peer down at Peter. The baby’s lower lip trembled, and he buried his face in his mother’s arms.

Funny. Peter hadn’t been particularly shy with John. He wasn’t sure why that made him feel as if he’d finally gotten the better of his witty brother.

“Probably ready for a nap,” James acknowledged. “A shame John doesn’t have a cradle.” He tsked as if John had been entirely shortsighted.

“I haven’t needed one before,” John reminded him.

James beamed at Dottie. “I have it! My beloved wife and I have a cradle, and none of our darlings is sleeping in it at present. We’d be delighted to see it go to good use. Why don’t you come with me, John, and fetch it back for the lady?”

Why not? It would keep John from saying more ridiculous things that would only give Dottie Tyrrell a further disgust of him. And the way his brother’s brows were wiggling, he had something to say to John in private.

“I’ll be right back,” John told her. He nodded to James, who bowed again to Dottie and then headed out the front door.

John fell into step beside him, arms still laden with clothing.

“Who is she?” James demanded. “Where did you meet her? Why does she have a baby?”

John started for the trees that marked the dividing line between his claim and James’s. “She’s a widow from back east. She and Beth have been corresponding for months, and Beth convinced her to relocate to Seattle.”

James whistled. “So that’s the mail-order bride. I didn’t realize she’d arrived.”

John jerked to a stop on the well-worn path. “You knew?”

James shrugged. “Beth had to confide in someone.”

“And you didn’t think to warn me?”

“She swore me to silence.” James shook his head. “Besides, it wasn’t as if I expected the woman to agree to come. This isn’t exactly an admirable situation—far from civilization and the things a lady generally prefers.”

John glanced back at the house, barely visible through the trees. “You think she can’t be happy here?”

“Who knows?” James clapped him on the shoulder. “That’s what courtship is about, learning what the other person can tolerate.”

John started forward once more. “We aren’t courting. She’s just staying here until she can determine her next steps.”

“Ah, I see.”

Somehow his brother made it sound as if he saw more than John intended.

“I mean it, James,” John warned. “Mrs. Tyrrell and I are not courting. I have no interest in marrying.”

James matched his stride. “Can’t say I blame you. There are already too many blondes at Wallin Landing, though none, mind you, with quite that glorious shade of gold. And a trim figure, while all the rage in Beth’s precious magazine, probably indicates she hasn’t the strength to muck stalls and haul timber.”

“I’d hardly expect a wife to muck stalls or haul timber,” John protested.

“No? How progressive of you. But it probably doesn’t matter. Very likely Mrs. Tyrrell is too educated for you.”

John frowned at him. “You think so?”

James barked a laugh. “No, scholar that you are. From what Beth tells me, you and Mrs. Tyrrell are evenly matched. I say propose and get it over with.”

“No.” John could hear the obstinacy in his tone. “You and Beth may know all about her, but I don’t. And I’m not sure I want to. A woman like that is looking for a hero. I’m no hero.”

James chuckled, but he didn’t argue the point. “It’s not me you need to convince.”

“Mrs. Tyrrell and I understand each other,” John assured him.

“Oh, very likely,” James agreed. “But you both may be outvoted. Do you really think you can resist the combined forces of the female population of Wallin Landing?”

John felt as if the shadows of the trees crept closer. “You don’t think...”

“I do. Once Beth, Rina, Catherine and Nora learn that Mrs. Tyrrell and her baby have arrived, you might as well go buy the ring, my lad, for you’ll be as good as married.”

Chapter Six

By the time John and his brother returned with the cradle, Dottie had taken herself in hand. She knew why she’d assumed John had a wife, but her reaction troubled her all the same. Everything she’d read in Beth’s letters, everything she’d seen so far, told her that John and his family were kind, helpful people. She didn’t want to judge them, or anyone else she met, by Frank’s behavior. Yet how could she trust her own judgment? She’d been wrong before, with disastrous results.

“That should do it,” John said now, stepping back as if to admire the placement of the cradle next to the bed. The cradle was beautiful, the wood carved with doves and lambs and polished to a warm glow. Already Peter snuggled in the soft blankets, eyes drifting shut.

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