Bride School: Mary (The Brides of Diamond Springs Ranch 4) (5 page)

She nodded and got to her feet. For a few
measures, she stared at his tie, afraid of what he’d see if she looked up.

“Would you rather I didn’t go on?” He sounded
worried. “Childhood memories always sound so foolish when we’re grown.”

“Oh, no.” She smiled and shook her head. “I’d like
to hear how the story ends.”

The room passed behind his head in a swirl of
lights and colorful dresses as he spoke. “Well, it wasn’t pleasant business. In
fact, I’ve never told anyone what happened on Snowy Ridge that summer. Until
now. Maybe I should have. Maybe it would have helped me put it behind me
sooner.”

Mary took a deep breath and looked him in the eye.
“So the roses were destroyed. And?”

“I told her I was sorry I’d kissed her.” It
sounded like a confession.

“You didn’t.” She remembered all too well, but she
had to pretend she was hearing it for the first time. And she was dying to know
his version of the rest. If someone interrupted them now, she was afraid she
might scream.

“I’m afraid I did. But she told me not to be sorry
because our kiss was the only thing Fritz couldn’t take away from her.”

“Very sweet.”

“But I reminded her she’d always have the rose I
made her out of wood.”

“That’s right,” she said carefully. “Was she
consoled, then?”

He shook his head. “She’d left it on the wash
stand. We ran back to get it, but Fritz beat us to it. He said he threw it in
the fire.”

Tears leaked from the outer corners of Mary’s
eyes, but he suddenly swung her in a wide circle and the drops flew away.

“Thank you,” she said, suspecting he’d done it on
purpose.

“You’re welcome. But if I’ve already brought you
to tears, maybe I’d better not tell you the rest.”

She shook her head. “Tell me.” It was a priceless
opportunity to know what the boy in those memories had actually been thinking.

He shrugged and she relished the feel of his
shoulder moving beneath her hand. No longer the shoulder of a fifteen year old
boy.

“I told Fritz I was going to stay until his father
got home, to make sure he didn’t hurt his sister.”

She gave him a nod of approval. “Very gallant.”

“Very foolish. I’m sure I made him madder by
thinking he would harm his own kin. That’s when the skirmish started in
earnest. I hadn’t had much experience fighting, but I did my best. I was a
taller boy, so I wasn’t easy to take down. In the end, Fritz gave me a sound
beating. He said I had no business kissing a ten year old girl. Mary confessed
she’d lied to me, but that didn’t earn me any pity from him.

“The last thing I remembered was falling backward
and hitting my head. When I woke up, I was draped over the back of a horse.
Fritz took me down the mountain and left me at the well on the edge of town. He
told me he’d kill me if I ever stepped foot on his mountain again.”

That wasn’t what her brother had told her. When
Fritz returned, he said he’d left Rebel with a doctor, but it didn’t look good,
that the boy would probably die of his wounds.

Mary had wept off and on for the rest of the
summer. Since Rebel never returned, she’d feared Fritz had been the death of
him. It had been a horrible cloud hanging between them. Each time their eyes
met, they were reminded. So it was a relief to both of them when Fritz told her
about the bride school. A chance to be free of one another and the ghost that
haunted them.

But Rebel wasn’t a ghost.
Did Fritz know?

“Tell me something,” she said.

“Anything.”

“Why did you say your name was Rebel?”

His smile slipped quickly from his face. “I don’t
remember doing that.”

She was such a fool!

“You did,” she lied. “In the beginning.”

He frowned. “Did I?”

Mary knew if she couldn’t change the subject
quickly, John would sort back through their conversation and know she was a
liar! But she couldn’t very well turn away from her own question.

“Did your father call you that?” she asked.

The clouds moved away from John’s forehead and he
smiled. “Yes. When I was thirteen he started calling me Rebel, no doubt because
of my even-tempered nature.” His eyebrows bounced up and down, and she laughed.
“When I started school in Boston so soon after the end of the war, you can
imagine why the name Rebel would cause problems. So I went back to my given
name.”

She nodded in understanding, then sought for a new
topic. If he realized he’d never mentioned the nickname, he might suspect who
she was.

The waltz ended, and an instant later, Milly was
at her side with her arm around Mary’s elbow.

“
Alexandra
,” she said. “Come with me a
moment, would you? To visit the powder room?” She gestured to a door along the
back wall, left of the fireplace, while at the same time, she nodded in the
opposite direction.

Mary followed the nod and realized Fontaine had
come in from the cold. Her coat was caked with snow and her back was turned
while she took off her hat and hung it on a peg.

“An excellent idea,” Mary said quickly. She gave
John a bob of a curtsy and strode away with her friend.

“Milly!” Fontaine called out.

“Keep going,” Milly hissed. “The door on the left.
Stay inside. I’ll come for you.” She gave Mary a little push and turned back.

Mary forced herself to walk normally until she was
on the other side of the door. When she pushed the portal shut, she leaned back
against it, not trusting her legs to hold her up a moment longer.

“Are you all right, Mary?” Mary Lou sat in front
of a mirror and fussed with her hair. “You and Mr. Hermann seemed to have a
great deal to talk about. I’m sorry if you’ve missed out on the dancing.”

Mary pushed away from the door and took a seat in
front of the farthest of four mirrors on the wall. Lanterns sat on the long,
narrow table and cast warm light up at her face, making her cheeks look high
and her eyes sunken.

“I don’t mind,” she said quietly. “He started
telling me a story and it turned out…to be a long one. But entertaining.” She
lifted away the lace and stared at herself in the mirror. How could she have
ever believed she looked anything like Alexandra Campbell?

Sick with anticipation, she waited to see who
would be the first to call her out for her deceptions—Fontaine, or John. Which
one would be the first to realize she was the unpolished girl from the mountain
pretending to have been invited to the ball?

It couldn’t be eight o’clock, let alone midnight,
and yet she felt her world growing round and orange…like a pumpkin.

~ ~ ~

The Wednesday night dance was called short on
account of weather.

It seemed like ages before Milly came to the
powder room to collect Mary and give her the news, that the men were going to
bunk up together in the hotel so there would be enough room for the brides to
stay the night in town. Fontaine wasn’t going to risk anyone freezing to death
on her watch.

By the time Mary and Millie stepped back into the
assembly hall the men were assisting the rest of the women into their coats and
wraps. A man for each woman, elbows cocked at the ready, they marched them out
the door and into the cold. John, however, was gone.

She and Millie hurried to cover themselves and it
took both of them to gently lay the hood of Alexandra’s heavy cloak over the
little pink hat.

Mr. Harris offered them both an elbow. “Miss
Campbell, John Hermann has gone to help Mr. Willot with the boards. He asked me
to see after you.”

“Thank you,” she said, trying not to sound as
disappointed as she felt.

Elsa opened the door for them and the wind whipped
inside. It swirled a surprising amount of snow into a white tornado that
twirled toward the dance floor as if prepared to take its turn. Without music,
it sank and shattered.

Mr. Harris led them out into the fury and Mary had
to trust the man's sense of direction because she had to bend her head into the
driving storm. Cold, hard snowflakes hit her face and threatened to freeze her
lashes to her cheeks. With one hand clenched on her escort and the other
dutifully keeping her hood in place, she couldn't have reached out to catch
herself if she fell.

Unfortunately, Mr. Harris may have assumed that
the best way to protect two women from the weather was to get them to their
destination as quickly as possible. The man hurried along with no regard to
slippery shoes or the fact that the boards that had been placed over the snow
and slush weren’t wide enough for three people walking abreast. He plowed
toward the wood. She released his arm and tried to hang back, but he clamped
his arm down tight and pulled her along. His determination, however, wasn’t
going to help her walk on water.

Her left foot landed solidly on the board, but her
next step was doomed to land at the bottom of an icy hole. Falling quickly
away, her hand came free, but instead of her toes sinking into the slush, they
lifted into the air. Her entire body was swept up and away from the danger and
she found herself clutched against the chest of a tall man. She held as still
as possible so as not to throw off his balance as he plowed through the
dangerous street. There was no doubt his boots were filling with icy water with
every step, but he made no sound.

Curiosity got the best of her and she looked up
into the concentrating glower of John Hermann. Though he frowned against the
biting snow, he afforded her a wink and a fleeting smile before tramped
purposefully but carefully across the road and up onto the boardwalk.

There, he set her on her feet, then leaned his
face close. “I shouldn’t have left you. Forgive me.”

She smiled and shook her head. Large snowflakes
attacked her chin and the corner of her mouth, but she didn’t want to look away
from him.

“I'm sorry we didn't get a chance for a polite
goodbye, Miss Campbell.” He had to holler to be heard above the wind. “Don't
let them marry you off until you're ready.” He tipped his hat then looked into
her eyes for the length of one heartbeat, then another, and then he was gone.

Mary stood stock still for a moment and watched
him pick his way across the boards and back to the assembly hall where the
musicians were ready to brave their way out.

“Come on,
Alexandra.
” Milly tugged
unforgivingly on her arm.

A long minute later, the two of them burst through
the doors of Mrs. Kennedy's Hotel with Mr. Harris on their heels. Mrs. Kennedy
stood in the entryway and barked orders in four different directions.

She nodded to Mary and Millie. “You two, into the
parlor to get warm. And you,” she pointed at Mr. Harris, “you'll be bunking
with Mr. Charleston in number four. Collect your things quickly, sir. And thank
you for your sacrifice.”

The doors opened again. Mary turned to see if John
had come for that polite good-bye, but it wasn’t John. It was Fontaine.

Their eyes met dispassionately for a second before
the gunslinger’s regard turned to a glare. The game was up. The charade was
over.

Mary wouldn’t have been surprised if the ceiling
began to crumbling above their heads, but the only sign of danger was when one
of Fontaine’s femininely sized cowboy boots moved to the side, widening her
stance. Mary’s attention went to the other woman’s hip where she knew a gun was
hiding beneath her heavy deerskin coat. But Fontaine’s hand never moved toward
it. And if Mary thought Mrs. Carnegie’s enforcer was angry at being misled, it
was nothing compared to the disappointment on her friend’s face when she
realized Mary half-expected to be shot for the slight.

“Of course you wouldn’t –” Mary took a quick step
toward her. “I wasn’t afraid…”

The gunslinger stomped toward Mrs. Kennedy and
ignored Mary outright.

“I’ve got a room for you, Fontaine,” the
proprietress said.

“I don’t want no room. I’ll be sleepin’ on the
stairs.”

Mrs. Kennedy shook her head. “On the stairs? Don’t
be ridiculous. They’re not children. And they’ve only met the brides tonight—”

“It’s the
women
I can’t trust,” Fontaine
muttered, then headed for the stairs. Mary was sure Fontaine was referring to
her alone. Of course, she couldn’t blame her either. She knew just how anxious
the woman was while Mrs. Carnegie was out of town. And here Mary’d gone and
thrown a hitch in things.

Oh, she wasn’t regretting the fact that she’d
taken Alexandra’s place. After all, she might never have seen Rebel—John—again
had she not been brave for the Scotswoman’s sake. And after wondering for seven
years if a boy had died for kissing her, it was a blessed relief to learn that
he had not. But even more blessed was looking into those eyes again—eyes that
were as heart-wrenching and wish-inspiring as they’d ever been—and hear from
his own splendid lips how he, too, remembered their summer together with
fondness.

But she did regret hurting Fontaine, one of her
firm friends at Diamond Springs Ranch. When students and brides became friendly
with Mary, for one reason or another, it was understood that in a matter of
months, or even weeks, that friend would marry and leave the ranch for good.
But with Fontaine and the other staff, it was more akin to family. They all
expected Mary to move on one day, but it might have been another year or so
before Mrs. Carnegie deemed her ready.

So Fontaine was more like a sister—a sister Mary’d
never had. And now she’d betrayed that sister.

If only she hadn’t turned around… If she’d just
hurried into the parlor as she’d been told, she might have protected that
sister’s heart.

Fontaine was not on the stairs when Mary climbed
toward the third floor room she would share with Millie. She’d lollygagged as
long as she could, waiting to see if John might poke his nose in to check on
her. Since he wasn’t staying at the hotel, it was silly of her to expect him to
come. After all, his boots might have been full of ice water before he’d ever
scooped her up and carried her to the safety of the boardwalk. He would have
needed to hurry indoors, perhaps to his father’s house, before he lost his feet
to frostbite. He was a Wyoming man, after all. He knew the dangers of the cold.
Freezing just a few more minutes in order to see her would have been foolish.

Wonderful, yes, but foolish.

It had been the second most momentous occasion in
her life, discovering that Rebel had survived. It should have been enough
excitement for one night. Finding John and telling him her real identity would
have to wait until morning, but find him she would. The charade was over. No
more need to pretend she was Alexandra Campbell from Chester County,
Pennsylvania. And none of the men from the dance would ask her to tea, so it
didn’t matter to them who she was, or wasn’t.

She paused to catch her breath halfway up the
final staircase. There was no sign of Fontaine, no chance to press her apology.
As heavy as that left her heart, she was equally relieved. If given a bit of
time to think on it, the gunslinger might decide to send Mary back to the ranch
right away, which would remove any chance of finding John in the morning!

Maybe my only chance is to hide from Fontaine
altogether!

She spun on the step before she was aware of her
decision. And she’d tripped down three stairs before she realized she was not
alone.

“Where the blazes to do you think yer goin’?”
Fontaine’s voice was as cold and harsh as the icy snowflakes had been earlier.

Still caught up in the possibilities, Mary turned
back to find her sober friend sitting in a chair off to the right, in a shadowy
alcove between the wall and a large armoire. The dark red dots of the wallpaper
looked like drops of blood spattered down the hallway. It immediately sobered
Mary.

“Fontaine! I have to tell you—”

“Don’t want to hear it. High time you got your
fancy pink backside into that room,
Alexandra.”

“You don’t understand. You see, Mr. Hermann, uh,
John Hermann—”

“Went home. No use waitin’ up for him.”

“But he doesn’t know who I am—”

“Course he does. You’re Alexandra Campbell, the
bride that’s not quite ready. Or are you the Scottish bride who decided she was
too good for the likes of Diamond Springs Ranch? So the minute Mrs. Carnegie
left town—”

“That’s not right, Fontaine. The fact is
Alexandra’s already in love with someone back home—”

“Then she shouldn’t have come.”

The woman was never going to see reason as upset
as she was, and Mary was wishing that instead of coming up the stairs, she’d
donned the heavy cloak and gone looking for John straight away. Now that the
other gentlemen were in their rooms, she was free to be herself.

“Inside, Mary. Now. And Elsa will take you back to
the ranch first thing in the morning. Mrs. Carnegie can decide your
punishment…and Alexandra’s.”

“But Font—”

“But nothing. Inside.”

The smallest reflection of the lamplight gave away
the wet in the woman's eye, and Mary’s resistance dissolved. Her betrayal had
done something no one had ever been able to do, at least since she'd arrived at
Diamond Springs. No wedding vows had done it, not matter how touching. No
heartsick brides who failed time and again to be invited to tea. Not even the
death of a particularly adorable puppy with one bad eye…

None of it had ever affected Fontaine…until then.

Mary swallowed whatever explanation she'd been
forming in her head and hurried into the room. Millie’s green dress was draped
over a chair. She’d been huddled beneath a heavy blanket but popped to her feet
the moment Mary closed the door. Millie spun her around and started unbuttoning
her pink dress before she had a chance to speak. Twice, she tried to turn, but
Millie prevented it.

“Mercy, Mary. You've kept me waiting long enough.
If I don't get under those covers in the next ten seconds, the sheets will cool
and the shivering will start all over again.”

“Sorry,” Mary muttered and stood as still as
possible while all hope of finding John fell into a ruffled pile around her
legs. By the time her corset came to a rest on the floor, Millie was shooting
across the bed and grasping the edges of the blankets.

A small pile of embers glowed in the fireplace,
the remnants of what must have been a mighty small fire. But if it had been
set, originally, for a gentleman that had been dancing all night, they were
lucky there had been a fire at all.

Millie must have been too cold to notice the
bedpan propped in the corner and Mary recognized the chance to make up for her
behavior—to one friend, at least. She shoveled the meager coals into the pan
and blew lightly across them, bringing a fiery edge to the black, egg-sized
chunks. The warm air that came back at her reminded her how frozen she was
herself. The long night ahead loomed like a dark cold cavern and she was glad
she'd be sharing a bed. It was many a wintery night in her mountain home when
she was grateful for Jens and Max, her two little brothers who clung to her in
their sleep. She only hoped she wouldn't be the one shuddering at Millie's back
come morning.

Her friend poked her nose out from behind the
sheet to see what was keeping her and squealed when she noticed the bedpan.

“Oh, Mary! Oh, thank Heavens!” She scooted up to
the head of the bed and pulled her legs beneath her.

Mary moved the pan steadily beneath the covers to
take as much chill away as possible, then she dumped the coals back onto the
grate and slipped her under the covers. By the time the cold was gone from her
skin, most of the warmth was gone from the sheets. But at least Millie had
stopped her shivering and lay still beside her.

And in the quiet darkness, as happened hundreds of
nights before, the face of Rebel came to mind. Only this time, he wasn't any
fifteen year old boy from her memory. He was full grown, alive and well.

And he was out there somewhere, in Sage River.
Maybe still awake. And just maybe, instead of thinking about the girl in his
story, he was sparing a happy thought or two for the gal he'd told the story
to.

She shook her head against the pillow beneath her
head and refused to allow her thoughts to wander further. It wasn’t right to
borrow trouble, so she wouldn’t get herself worked up about what some man may
or may not be thinking, even if he was the brown-handed boy. He wasn’t going to
leave town until Friday, so if she had to sit on Fontaine to get her to listen
to her story—a very brief version of her story—then she'd do it. Then she’d
have the whole day to hunt him down and tell him the truth, that she was Mary
Radley from Snowy Range. And if he didn't believe her, she'd find some way to
prove it.

A nice deep breath took the rest of her worries away
and she pulled the blankets up to cover the cold tip of her nose before she fell
into a content sleep.