Lisa Plumley - [Crabtree 02] Read online

  Just as encouragingly, she hadn’t had to charm him, cajole him or engage in silly flirtatious maneuvers to coax him into matrimony. It was just as well. Such feminine fripperies had never been her strong suit. With Daniel, they weren’t needed. He already knew and appreciated her. Wasn’t that why he’d issued her the proposal in the first place?

  Indeed, if Grace was the independent, practical Crabtree sister and Molly the coddled, pampered Crabtree sister, Sarah had long considered herself the clever, creative—if overlooked—Crabtree sister. Daniel probably valued her qualities of imagination and verve—two she’d forgotten, in her surprise over his quest for a suitable wife, to enumerate.

  She’d simply have to do her best, Sarah vowed, to show them to Daniel at every opportunity. A man would never want a wife who bored him, she reasoned. She would make sure, above all, that their life together was filled with stimulating changes.

  Soon she and Daniel would be sharing that life together, along with their days, their laughter…their marriage bed. At the thought, Sarah felt a frisson of excitement rush through her. Despite its unconventional start, soon enough their marriage would be real. From there, anything could happen.

  In the foyer, the big grandfather clock chimed three. Instantly, everyone quit moving to stare in its direction.

  “Heavens, we’re late!” Fiona Crabtree cried. “Get up, Sarah, get up! There’s no time now to indulge in those daydreams of yours. Daniel will be waiting for you.”

  Tying her hat ribbons beneath her chin, Fiona bustled into the parlor. She grabbed her reticule, then Sarah’s elbow. An instant later, Grace was at the other side.

  “Yes. You mustn’t be late. Your life of domestic servitude awaits.”

  “Grace!”

  Sarah didn’t know how her mother could continue to be scandalized by Grace’s unconventional views. She would have to have been blind—or to be sporting a much larger hat—not to have spied the women’s suffrage posters, picket signs, political texts and other rebellious accoutrements in her elder daughter’s attic room.

  “Someday you’ll be nicked by Cupid’s arrow yourself,” Adam Crabtree warned Grace as he entered the parlor. Absentmindedly, he fiddled with his necktie. “Love makes strange bedfellows, you know. Just look at your mother and me—”

  “Adam! I resent that,” Fiona protested, goggle-eyed.

  “Or Molly and Marcus.”

  Molly gave a yelp of protest. Marcus Copeland, her husband of only a few weeks, gave his wife an indulgent smile.

  “We need to talk. About that ‘domestic servitude’ idea.” His grin widened. “I may be missing a prime benefit of marriage.”

  “Keep up talk like that,” Molly returned archly, “and you’ll be missing my next batch of cinnamon buns. Don’t forget, Grace taught me how to properly stage a protest.”

  She whirled on her heel, first out the front door. Marcus followed. Soon, Sarah heard much laughter coming from the front porch—along with the unmistakably intimate murmur of a couple in love. She wanted to sigh with yearning. How long would it be before Daniel used those same romantic tactics on her?

  Not long, she vowed, and swept toward the door.

  It wouldn’t do to keep her future love waiting.

  Sarah looked beautiful.

  Daniel blinked, but nothing changed. She still looked the same—unusually pretty as she moved toward him on Adam Crabtree’s arm. They walked beneath the paper garlands someone had decorated the small church with, their passage setting the carefully cut flowery shapes aflutter. Piano music played, courtesy of old lady Harrison. Bright territorial sunlight streamed in through the church windows.

  Sarah’s dress was not white, as he’d imagined, but a pale blue the color of a summer sky, with lacy cuffs and a big lace collar. He’d probably seen it a million times before. But today it looked different—as different as Sarah herself did, all at once.

  She held her head high, meeting his gaze directly. That wasn’t different. She smiled at him, as though they shared a private jest. That wasn’t different, either. But the blush in her cheeks was new, the sparkle in her eyes was new, and the intriguing curve of her lips…that he’d never noticed before, either. Confused, Daniel tilted his head.

  Then her father released her. Sarah stumbled slightly.

  “Horsefeathers,” she muttered, righting herself.

  All at once, she became herself again. Daniel relaxed. Things were going to be fine.

  A loud clunk echoed through the church. As one, the friends and family gathered in the frontward pews turned toward the sound. Without a shred of guilt, little Eli bashed his foot on the pew in front of him. Another thump was heard.

  Daniel shot the boy his sternest look. ’Twas possible he should have given a better explanation than he had for the day’s events. Especially if he expected Eli to behave himself. But it was too late now. Eli would just have to settle down on his own. The sooner he did, the sooner this would be finished.

  Standing beside him before the minister, Sarah drew in a nervous-sounding breath. The bodice of her gown swelled accordingly. Again Daniel experienced that strange sensation. Never in his life did he recall having noticed Sarah’s bosoms. Yet there they were—drawing his attention in a way he wholly disagreed with.

  Clunk. Eli again. With relief, Daniel speared the boy another quelling look. Then, feeling more like himself again, he returned to the task at hand. He was about to marry Sarah. When the ceremony was done, she would doubtless know how to tame the little ruffian. Daniel wouldn’t have to worry about it anymore.

  A blessing and their vows followed. Feeling uncomfortable—no doubt due to his scratchy suit—Daniel answered in all the right moments. He even produced a pair of wedding rings. Gruffly, he held out his Irish grandmother’s plain gold band, prepared to slip it on Sarah’s waiting finger.

  At the surprise in her face, he felt a curious warmth spread all through his chest. She liked it. He was pleased. She gave a small “Oooh!” and raised her gaze to his…but there were tears in her eyes, too.

  Panicked, Daniel hesitated. Tears? He didn’t know what was wrong. Would Sarah prove as blubbery as all women? Was she, despite all her schoolmarmish practicality, secretly sentimental? Misgivings assaulted him. If she expected their marriage to become more than it was…

  Fortunately, Eli chose that moment to cough loudly. And repeatedly. Truly, he sounded as though he’d swallowed a pound of chalk dust and was determined to dislodge it. Despite the sympathetic pats the boy received, Daniel knew nothing of the kind was true. Not when Eli kept sneaking glances ’round him to make sure he was fully disrupting the proceedings.

  By the time Fiona Crabtree had calmed the boy with a hanky and—Daniel would swear—the whispered promise of one of Molly’s special snickerdoodle cookies, Sarah’s weepy moment had passed. She straightened her spine and regarded Daniel expectantly. Again he felt reassured. At Eli’s shenanigans, another woman would likely have gone all fussy. But Sarah was different. That was why this marriage arrangement was going to succeed between them.

  Confidently, Daniel relaxed the taut muscles of his shoulders and neck. He slipped the ring on Sarah’s finger. She admired it, briefly tilting her hand while Daniel waited for further instructions from the patient minister. He’d been to many weddings—everyone in Morrow Creek had. But he’d attended far more to the ale that followed afterward than to the boring ceremony itself. He had no idea what came next.

  Sarah seemed to, though. Nervously, she again drew a breath. Wise to that trick by now, Daniel determinedly sent his gaze to the minister’s dusty shoes. She would not catch him flatfooted more than once. He might not know marriage, but he did know women—and he decidedly knew Sarah. From here, things would go exactly as he expected.

  Except they didn’t. The minister droned on, describing the obligations, duties and wonders of marriage. In the midst of his talk, Sarah reached forward. She took Daniel’s hand.

  Her touch jolted him. He realized he’d never
touched Sarah with anything but commonplace courtesy—or, more likely, teasing intentions. But now he felt her fingers twine with his, felt the steady pressure of her grasp, felt the smoothness of her skin…and the cool contact of their wedding bands. All at once, the reality of what they were doing struck him.

  This was not a game. Not a prank. Not even strictly a convenience. This was a union between them. It was as plain as the ongoing clunk of Eli’s little boots against that pew. Sarah regarded this as seriously as she did everything else in her life.

  Belatedly, Daniel remembered how easily hurt Sarah could be when her various hopes and plans failed. How solemn she could be, in between jesting with him. How very earnest she was, and how everything she felt tended to show upon her face.

  She’d never been able to so much as fib to him. Not even the time when he’d misguidedly grown a dandy’s mustache and waxed it to within an inch of its scraggly life. She’d told him it looked as though his chin hairs had migrated north and received a terrible fright in the process, most likely from finding themselves in the shadow of his oversize nose.

  Daniel reckoned it had been true. But Sarah had been the only one who’d admitted as much to him—and the only one who’d urged him to his razor. He trusted her. And she, him.

  Because of that trust, Daniel made himself a vow. No matter what happened, he would never hurt her. Sarah would never, he promised himself, have cause to regret marrying him.

  He lifted his gaze to hers, determined to communicate his intentions to her. As the minister jabbered on, Sarah looked mistily back at him. She squeezed his hand reassuringly. Relieved, Daniel smiled. He was glad she understood.

  She squeezed his hand again, harder this time. When he didn’t respond, she cast a wobbly smile toward their wedding guests. She did her best to crush his fingers in her fist.

  Confused, Daniel looked around as well. He didn’t know what was wrong. For the moment at least, Eli seemed to have tired of causing trouble and had his head down studiously. That couldn’t be it. He glanced down. His suit coat was still buttoned on, slightly singed at the edges but otherwise fine. That couldn’t be it. The minister was…

  …not talking anymore.

  The silence felt somehow accusatory.

  “Kiss me!” Sarah urged in a whisper.

  Her command seemed nonsensical. Sarah was his friend. Sarah was reliable, schoolmarmish. She was not a woman to be kissed, especially by Daniel.

  “You may now,” the minister intoned, “kiss your bride.”

  A rustle swept through the church. Daniel had the sense this wasn’t the first time they’d heard that suggestion. People were waiting, wondering. In a minute, they’d be gossiping. He didn’t care about that, but he did care about Sarah.

  Resolutely, he lifted his free hand. He cupped her chin, marveling briefly at the unexpected warmth of her skin. Then he lowered his head. A small kiss would do to seal their deal, to finalize their marriage and satisfy everyone gathered there. Most likely, Sarah dreaded this formality as much as he did. For her sake, he’d finish this kiss as quickly as possible.

  His lips neared hers. An uncommon sensation seized him…something akin to anticipation but more muddled than that. His heart pounded. Sarah’s hand tautened in his. Quickly, quickly…

  Something small and wet plinked his temple. Then his cheek. Then his temple again. Hastily, Daniel planted a kiss on Sarah’s waiting lips. That accomplished, he swung his face ’round to see what had struck him.

  Eli sat, defiant and surly, with his fingers at his mouth to withdraw the next spitball.

  “I’ll pound him,” Daniel growled.

  “No, Daniel. Wait.” Sarah grabbed for him.

  But she was too late. Daniel strode down the aisle after the miscreant boy. Widow Harrison took up a cheery tune at the piano. Everyone stood in their pews, looking confused. A scrabbling beneath one of the long wooden benches alerted Daniel to Eli’s position. Scowling fiercely, he hunkered down.

  One long sweep of his arm retrieved Eli, squirming, from beneath the nearest pew. His small suit was covered in dust and torn bits of paper. His round face wore a mulish expression.

  “I don’t care!” he said. “I got you fair and square.”

  “Fair and square has nothing to do with this. I already told you, you had better beha—”

  “You didn’t tell me anything!”

  Sarah gave a startled sound. Daniel glanced at her, stranded beside the minister. Too late, he realized exactly what he’d done. Only two minutes married and already—one look at her face told him—he’d broken his promise to her. Judging by the narrowing of her eyes, she already had cause to regret their arrangement.

  “Well,” Adam Crabtree said heartily, blundering into the awkward silence that followed, “I’d say congratulations are in order!”

  As though his words were a signal, the other guests began milling around, talking. As Daniel attempted to glare Eli into behaving, Adam stepped nearer with the rest of his family in tow. Fiona and Molly dabbed their eyes with handkerchiefs. Even stoic Grace looked a bit red around the nose. Although, Daniel reasoned, that might have had more to do with her dire views of marriage than with sentimentality.

  Jack Murphy stepped nearer. “Shall we all toast the bride and groom?” he asked.

  “Err…” Daniel glanced to Sarah, his grasp still firm on Eli. An ale sounded heartily good to him. But something told him that admitting as much wouldn’t be wise. His demure new bride looked fit to throttle him. Or at the least, to dump a pint on his head.

  “Yes, indeed!” she announced. “An ale sounds fine!”

  Sarah hitched up her gown. Then, with a tilt of her head, she swept past everyone assembled, headed back to the Crabtrees’ residence for the wedding reception. ’Twas the very last tack he would have expected her to take.

  It was also his very first inkling that things might not go as he’d planned.

  Most likely, though, Daniel comforted himself as he followed her with Eli dragging behind, this would be the last surprise Sarah dealt him. Between turning up beautiful—even temporarily—and ordering him to kiss her, she must have used up her ration of surprises. For a year, at least. She couldn’t possibly have more held in store for him.

  But if she did, he vowed, he’d be sure to be ready.

  Next time.

  Chapter Four

  Just as Sarah was beginning to appreciate the fine qualities of a good ale, Daniel fisted his hand around her cup and took it away from her.

  “I’d say you’ve had enough of that.”

  Stupidly, she stared at the simple gold band adorning his hand. Although her brain commanded that she protest the loss of her ale, all she could do was stare. Stare at Daniel’s big, rough, wonderful hand, so familiar and yet so changed. It was hers now, in a sense. Just as he was.

  They were married. Well and truly married. Or at least they were, provided Daniel’s hasty kiss had correctly sealed their union. Everyone had seemed to consider that meager peck to be adequate. Privately, Sarah had hoped for so much more.

  “I have not had enough,” she informed him. “Of ale or of kissing.”

  He arched a dark brow. Drat it. Had she said that aloud?

  It didn’t matter. Daniel was her husband now. He deserved her uncensored opinions. In fact, her freethinking sister Grace would have encouraged as much. Aside from which, Sarah felt certain that kissing and ale must both hold pleasures she’d missed until now. From here on, she was determined to miss nothing more.

  She shook off her reverie to reach, unsuccessfully, for her cup. “You’ve had four ales. That’s only my second cup. Next to you, I’m a paragon of sobriety.”

  “That might be true. I am a scoundrel.” Cheerfully, Daniel admitted the truth. “A slightly drunk one, in honor of the occasion.”

  He smiled at that, leaving her to wonder if he felt happy to be married or merely giddy at the prospect of not having to scrub behind Eli’s ears anymore. Probably the latter, Sarah mused
. She frowned. Making a proper and loving husband of Daniel McCabe would prove a challenge, to be sure.

  “But I’m not the one who’s been dancing, now, am I?” An unaccountable glimmer lit Daniel’s brown eyes as he settled on the divan beside her. “With arm waving and skirt swinging and…what did you call that thing you were doing?”

  “A fan dance.” If he’d noticed that, she was making progress already. Heartened, Sarah leaned nearer. None too subtly, she whispered, “It’s used for seduction.”

  “Seduction?” Her new bridegroom nearly choked on his next mouthful of ale. “What in God’s name does a woman like you need seduction for? You’re a mother now. And a wife.”

  Daft man. As if that summed her up in any way.

  “I learned it from Molly.” Sarah gave a blithe wave. “She had plans to become a gypsy once, you know. Before she opened her bakery. She can tell fortunes, too.”

  Daniel seemed unimpressed by her sister’s versatility. “She doesn’t need any of that now. She’s a wife, too.”

  He said it as though that settled everything.

  “Marcus doesn’t mind Molly’s interests.” Offering Daniel a nudge, Sarah nodded to her sister and her husband. “He loves her just as she is. See?”

  At the other end of the Crabtrees’ parlor, Molly and Marcus engaged in conversation, smiling at each other. Unabashedly affectionate in spite of the family and friends gathered around, Marcus took Molly’s hand and cradled it to his chest. He listened, then laughed at something she said. They both fairly glowed with happiness.

  Seeing their togetherness, Sarah couldn’t help but feel wistful. What was the matter with her, that her sister could make an effortlessly perfect love match, while she…she endured spitballs at her own nuptials?

  Perhaps this was what came of marrying too quickly. And for all the wrong reasons. And to a man who did not know she was just the merest bit—desperately—in love with him.

  Contemplatively, Daniel also surveyed the newlyweds, a move that offered Sarah the perfect opportunity to retrieve her ale—and to observe him. She hadn’t been able to do so during their vows. Then, the sheer remarkableness of their marrying had occupied her every thought. Now, after a fresh gulp of ale, she peered dazedly at his dark suit, his necktie, his enormous feet in his laced-up dress shoes.