Bittersweet Bride

  Copyright

  ISBN 1-58660-526-7

  © 2002 by Denise Hunter. All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the permission of the publisher, Truly Yours, PO Box 719, Uhrichsville, Ohio 44683.

  All Scripture quotations are taken from the King James Version of the Bible.

  All of the characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events is purely coincidental.

  One

  Mara Lawton’s tiny feet drew to a halt the moment she saw him. Her hands, in their vain attempt to smooth her already perfect gown, fell forgotten to her side. Her breath caught and held, but her heart seemed to keep tempo with the fiddle music pouring through the barn doors.

  He stood surrounded by men, his foot propped on a bale of hay, watching the couples swirl in the stale night air. The lantern light flickered, and dark shadows shifted on the harsh planes of his cheekbones. She was suddenly very glad she’d turned down two suitors, opting to attend unescorted.

  “Stand up straight, Mara—you’re slouching.” Her mother fussed with Mara’s hair as she pulled back her shoulders, drawing her torso erect.

  “Go on in, Princess.” Her father guided her through the door with a hand on her waist.

  Her gaze hadn’t shifted from the newcomer, and she noted the broad set of his shoulders, the way he stood a head above the men around him. My, my, my.

  She drew as deep a breath as her corset allowed and attempted to regulate her breathing. The air, still pungent with the odor of manure and musty hay, filled her lungs.

  “Howdy, Mara.”

  She pulled her gaze from the man to see Daniel Parnell shifting at her side, his fingers crumpling the brim of his hat.

  She offered him a smile and a brief nod. “Daniel.”

  A smile wobbled on his face. “I—I hope you’ll save me a dance.”

  She pulled a fan from her reticule and fluttered it before her face. “Certainly.”

  After offering to get her a drink, Daniel scurried off to the refreshment table.

  Mara’s gaze instantly sought the other man, but the spot in which he’d stood was empty. She glanced casually around the packed barn, and by the time Daniel returned with a drink in hand, she had found him once again.

  Two hours later, with feet that ached from dancing, she stepped into the arms of Thomas More, taking care to keep a proper distance between them. The strains of “Lorena” floated through the building and up to the lofted beams of the ceiling. Mara exchanged pleasantries with her partner while keeping an eye on the man she’d found out was named Clay Stedman. She also knew he was Martha Stedman’s nephew and had come to help with the ranch. It never failed to amaze her how much information one could glean from eager suitors. Clay had moved around the room throughout the night, talking with various men. He had danced with no one, though.

  Not even her.

  She tilted her chin and tossed a practiced smile at her dance partner. When she again glanced in Clay’s direction, he was talking with Will Mathews, but his gaze was fixed on her. Her step faltered, but she quickly recovered and turned back to her partner with a coy smile that was more for Clay’s benefit than Thomas’s. Mara saw her partner’s eyes light at the attention she bestowed on him, but the whole core of her being was focused on a man fifteen feet away.

  Thomas whirled her again, and Clay was once again in her sights. She cast a casual glance toward him, delighted to find his attention still on her. This time she allowed her gaze to linger a moment, tilting her head and effecting a demure smile. The dance steps turned her away from Clay before she could see how he responded.

  With a slow downward stroke of a bow, the tune ended, and she slipped from Thomas’s arms, thanking him for the dance. Surely Clay would ask her to dance now. She’d danced with every other available man tonight.

  Mara strolled to the refreshment table, a move that had her walking past Clay and Will. Her straight posture and dainty steps came naturally, as did the casual toss of her head that sent her blond curls dancing. As she approached the table, she noted the music had started again, a waltz.

  “Hello, Jane,” Mara said to the tall, skinny woman serving punch.

  “Would you care for a drink?” Jane’s face flushed an unbecoming shade of red, and the scar she had received from a riding accident remained ghostly white.

  “Yes, please.”

  A tap on her shoulder sent her pulse hammering. Finally he’s asking me to dance. She turned, her lips tilting in a welcome smile. “I don’t believe we’ve—oh, it’s you, Edward.” The muscles in her face relaxed.

  “Care to dance, Mara?”

  “Perhaps later, Edward—I’m terribly parched.” Only a few numbers were left, surely, and she had yet to dance with the one who had captured her attention. She gave Edward a dismissing smile, but he intercepted the punch from Jane and placed it in Mara’s hand.

  “Here you go,” he said.

  She took a sip and scanned the room for Clay. The room had thinned as people left the social and made their way home. Once again Clay was nowhere to be seen. Soon the musicians would announce the last song, and she hadn’t even been introduced to the man. Patience, Mara. He’ll be around awhile if he’s working the Stedmans’ ranch.

  “There you are, Darling.” Her mother appeared at her side with Doc Hathaway. Instantly Mara knew she was about to be pressured into dancing with her mother’s latest marriage prospect for her. She suppressed a shudder.

  “I was just telling Doctor Hathaway what an accomplished pianist you are, Dear.”

  Mara forced a smile to her lips. “Good evening, Doctor.”

  “Please, call me Morton.” His smile crinkled the skin around his eyes, making her more aware of his advanced age.

  The musicians announced their last tune, and she nearly groaned, knowing her mother would take full advantage of the opportunity.

  “Well, there you’ve heard it. Why don’t the two of you take a spin while I look for your father and William.” She hurried off toward Mara’s brother before either could respond.

  “How about it, Mara? May I have the pleasure?”

  Smothering her disappointment at the evening’s ending, she acquiesced.

  Later that night as Mara lay in her feather bed, she devised a plan. Clay Stedman was the most intriguing man to step foot in Cedar Springs in years, and she wasn’t about to let him get away. As she drifted off to sleep she wondered if his hair was truly coal-black or if the dimness of the lanterns only made it seem that way.

  Mara rose the next morning feeling unusually chipper. A new man was in town—a handsome, strong, magnetic man—and she intended to have him. If not forever, at least for a little while. All the appealing men in Cedar Springs were spoken for, and she had too easily captured the interest of the others. She had become bored with Edward and Thomas and the wrinkly, saggy Doctor Hathaway. Some fresh, new suitor was just what she craved.

  Disappointment momentarily drained her spirits when she remembered that Clay had not asked her to dance the night before. All the better, she assured herself. A challenge was just what she needed to chase away the boredom. One could only practice piano and read Harper’s Bazaar for so many hours of the day. She needed another pursuit, a diversion, and Clay Stedman was just the thing.

  Later that afternoon Sadie pulled up the sides of Mara’s hair and secured it with a pin. Mara put on her finest hat. She must look her best. The tangy scent of apple pie hung in the air. She would take it to him while it was still warm from the oven. She was just being a good neighbor a
fter all. No need to tell him Sadie had made it. What choice did Mara have? Sadie made the tastiest pies ever, and, besides, Mara couldn’t even boil an egg. Clay needn’t know that though. She would arrive on his doorstep with the pie, wearing her loveliest gown and her new French perfume, and the man would be after her like a bear after honey.

  ❧

  Clay Stedman scooped up his eight-year-old sister, Beth, and settled on the small sofa while his aunt Martha cleaned up the supper dishes.

  “What’d you do today, Squirt?”

  “Aunt Martha showed me pictures of Uncle Edward. He had a beard this long!” She gestured to a line even with her shoulders. “And it was as white as Saint Nick’s.”

  Clay laughed. “That he did.”

  “Aunt Martha said she’s leaving on her trip soon. Can I stay by myself while you work?”

  “Not a chance, Beth. You’re not—”

  “I could do it! I can cook and get dressed by myself and clean—”

  Clay held up a hand to stop his sister’s argument. “Now that’s enough. I told you before we ever came here that we’d have to find someone to stay with you while Aunt Martha’s gone, and nothing’s changed.”

  Beth pouted, her full pink lip sticking out in dramatic fashion. Clay wondered if his aunt had found anyone to stay with Beth. With the grief of losing her husband three weeks before, he doubted she’d had any time or energy to search for temporary help while she visited her children back East.

  Clay mussed Beth’s hair and then stood up, tossing her the doll that sat beside him on the sofa. The little girl started a dialogue with her doll, Taffy, and he ambled off to the kitchen to find his aunt.

  He found her in front of the sink, dabbing her eyes with the corner of her apron. He was about to slip away, not wanting to intrude on a private moment, but she spoke before he could leave.

  “It’s all right, Clay. You can come in.”

  He shifted his feet on the threshold. His aunt had always seemed to have eyes in the back of her head. Maybe it came with being a mother.

  She began scrubbing a pan, and he stepped further into the room, not knowing what to say.

  “I just miss him so. It seems so empty here without him.”

  Clay watched her blink back more tears. “It’ll be good for you to visit with Margaret and Philip—and see those grandbabies.”

  She smiled faintly. “I’m hankering for them—that’s true enough. But I leave next week, and I still haven’t found anyone to take my place here. Someone who’s used to cooking for a large crew and good with children. You’d think it wouldn’t be so hard. Some of the church ladies have offered to lend a hand when they can, but we really need someone who can stay the whole two months. I can’t bear the thought of Beth’s being shuffled from one woman to the next. More than ever she needs a woman to attach to.”

  “She’s got that with you.”

  Aunt Martha’s face crinkled up, her lips trembling. “And I feel guilty leaving her—”

  Clay took her in his arms. “Don’t you worry—she’ll be all right.”

  “She’s still missing her mama.” Aunt Martha’s voice quivered. “Her daddy too, but she’s got you at least. “

  Clay patted her shoulder, wishing he knew what to say.

  “This past week I’ve grown close to her, and now I’m leaving. She’ll be so confused—”

  His mind churned for a way to take the pressure off his overburdened aunt. Finally an idea came. “I’ll find someone to take over for you, all right? You just pack your bags, and don’t worry about a thing.”

  “But you don’t know anyone—”

  He gave her a hug. “Now when’s the last time I failed to do what I set my mind to?”

  She laughed and wiped her face with her apron. “You’re as stubborn as your daddy was.”

  He pretended to frown. “I’d as soon call it determined,” he said, his eyes twinkling.

  She laughed then picked up the pan again. “I’ve already asked most of the ladies in church. I don’t know who you’re going to find.”

  “You let me worry about that.” He could always ask his workers for ideas. He had started back to the sitting room when his aunt stopped him.

  “Clay—”

  He turned.

  “I don’t know how to thank you for taking over here. I know you left a good job.”

  “Glad to do it, Aunt Martha. Don’t give it another thought.”

  He slipped from the kitchen and into the sitting room and was surprised to find Beth gone. He sat down on the sofa again. He had left a good job—that was true enough. But the Stedman spread had plenty to offer. Here Beth had a chance to get away from the memories of Ma and Pa and start over. It gave him a chance to start over too. Nothing was left for him in Texas now anyway, and there hadn’t been for some time. With his ma and pa gone, and his relationship with Victoria over—

  Clay picked up the newspaper and snapped it open. Victoria. Even after all these months, the name rang through his head with all the bitterness of vinegar.

  With new resolve he put the whole fiasco in the back of his mind. He had left Austin and Victoria and all her treachery behind. He wasn’t going to let thoughts of her ruin this fresh start at his uncle’s ranch.

  He knew why he was thinking of her for the first time in weeks. It was that Lawton girl. He saw her the moment she entered the barn the night before. He couldn’t miss her. She stood out like fireworks against a midnight sky, with her frilly emerald-green dress and golden curls. He thought of Victoria right off. Even more so after he saw her dancing and trifling with every male within a mile radius. No way he was going to get in that line. No siree. He’d had enough of spoiled debutantes.

  No sooner had he started reading the first column when he heard a wagon approaching. Crossing the room in long strides, Clay reached the door in time to meet the knock.

  Two

  Mara straightened her hat with her free hand while balancing the apple pie with the other. Sadie had laid a beautiful lattice crust on the pie and baked it to golden perfection, and Mara knew from past experience the taste would be as impressive as the appearance. She hadn’t a clue how the woman turned out one masterpiece after another.

  She approached the Stedmans’ two-story clapboard home, her heart double-timing her footsteps. Would his eyes light up when he saw her? Maybe he would even invite her in for a slice of the pie. Oh, she hoped Martha Stedman wouldn’t answer the door. That would ruin everything!

  Mara pressed her lips together to give them color then bit them for good measure. She knew the ice-blue satin of her gown brought out her eyes and made the most of her creamy, flawless skin. Her mother said so every time she donned it, and the mirror didn’t lie, after all.

  Clearing her throat, she tapped lightly on the door. Her skin warmed with the flush of anticipation. She didn’t know what she would say when he appeared, but she needn’t worry. Words always found a way to her lips at the right moment.

  Footfalls sounded behind the door, and she unconsciously checked her posture. The door creaked open, and she found herself staring into Clay’s startled gray-brown eyes. Up close he was even more handsome. His disheveled black hair gave him a roguish look that left her breathless.

  “Good evening, Mr. Stedman. I’m Mara Lawton.” She held out her gloved hand, and he enveloped it with a strong grip. She saw a flash of admiration in his eyes and felt a twinge of satisfaction.

  He nodded. “Miss Lawton.”

  “I’ve brought you a little welcoming gift, since we’re practically neighbors.” She pulled back the cheesecloth and presented him with the pie.

  He blinked and pulled his gaze from hers to the offering in her hand, seeming to recover his wits. “Thanks, I—it looks good.”

  In his hands the pie suddenly looked half its original size.

  “My, my,” Mara said. “Does Texas breed all her men as tall and brawny as you?” The lilt in her voice was perfection itself. She completed the effect with a sau
cy smile.

  His chin tipped back, and he narrowed his eyes. “I reckon my pa had more to do with that than geography.” She noted his coolness and attempted a charming laugh. “Touché, Mr. Stedman.” She batted her lashes effectively. “One’s ancestors truly are the source of one’s attributes.”

  He nodded. “Well, thanks for the—”

  “I’ve most certainly acquired a trait or two from royalty myself. My family is directly descended from Queen Elizabeth the First, you know.” Mara tilted her lips in a grin. He would surely be impressed by that.

  His lips tightened. “Well, again, thanks for the—”

  A little girl suddenly appeared at his side. “Aunt Martha said. . .”

  Mara lost the rest of the words as she watched the girl wrap her arms around Clay. She had his shiny black hair, and her eyes were a deep sable-brown. Disappointment coiled in the pit of her stomach as she realized this must be his daughter. The black hair, the dark skin, the narrow nose. Anyone could see the resemblance.

  “Please,” the little girl pleaded.

  “Mind your manners, Beth.” His gaze met Mara’s once again. “Miss Lawton, this is Beth. Beth, this is Miss Lawton.”

  “How do you do, Ma’am?”

  “Beth.” Mara nodded as she recovered. He was married! No wonder he hadn’t asked her to dance. No wonder her suitors had been so free with information at the dance. He was no competitor of theirs if he was married.

  “I reckon it’s all right,” Clay told the girl. “But you be back by nightfall.”

  “I will.”

  Mara moved aside as Beth scurried past her through the door.

  Mara realized how foolish she must appear to Clay. Making eyes at him at the dance, bringing him a pie, flirting boldly with him on his own doorstep. Suddenly Mara was eager to leave. “Well, it’s been nice meeting you, Mr. Stedman. I do hope you enjoy my pie.” The polite words flowed effortlessly despite her embarrassment.

  “We will—thanks again.”

  She nodded, turning away as the door closed. What a waste of time! Sitting still while Sadie curled her hair, fussing with her clothes, and all for nothing! She seethed all the way back to her house. Why had no one told her he was married? Sadie had known she was taking him the pie, and surely she knew he was married, since she was such good friends with Clay’s aunt.