The Marriage Barter. Christine Johnson

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СКАЧАТЬ the steps. She’d never realized how many there were. Six in all. Was Wyatt there? She looked toward the front windows, but they reflected the late-day sun, and she couldn’t tell if he was dining. Through the door spilled a jumble of conversation and the clinking of glass and flatware.

      The time had arrived. She must do it. For Sasha’s sake.

      She took a deep breath. “Come, Sasha, let’s see if Mr. Reed is here.”

      They climbed the six steps. Charlotte waited for Sasha on each while the men chewing tobacco on the porch watched her progress. With each step, her heart pounded harder.

      Good evening, Mr. Reed. Could I have a moment of your time?

      Perspiration trickled between her shoulder blades.

      I would like to propose a business transaction.

      Her knees threatened to give out.

      A marriage in name alone, so I can keep Sasha.

      Bile rose up her throat.

      You may come and go as you please.

      She couldn’t catch her breath.

      And will be handsomely paid.

      Dear Lord, what am I thinking?

      They’d reached the porch. One of the men spat into an old chamber pot and grinned at her. Would he offer himself as a husband? His gapped yellow teeth made her queasy.

      “Papa!” Sasha cried and, in an instant, slipped from her grasp.

      Papa? Charlotte stumbled after her. She was an orphan, wasn’t she? How could her father be here?

      Sasha raced into the hotel and through the dining room door. Charlotte strode as quickly as she could in the heavy skirts but couldn’t catch up. When she reached the hotel dining room, she halted, stunned.

      The man she’d called papa was none other than Wyatt Reed.

      * * *

      Wyatt hated needless waiting. Stalking a fugitive was one thing. In those cases he was on the move, using his senses and his wit to outfox the criminal. Waiting for a judge was another thing altogether. He had to do something, find some way to fill his time. He couldn’t just sit around the hotel.

      He’d figure out why these orphans mattered so much to the folks here. He could understand the ones that had been taken into homes already, but the unclaimed? It made no sense.

      He picked at his heaping plate of roast beef and potatoes slathered in gravy and then reached for the cup of coffee. Ordinarily Wyatt wouldn’t drink coffee so late in the day, but he wanted to see what went on in Evans Grove after dark. Who visited whom, who took care of the orphans and where. Few houses had curtains, and much as it galled him to look in on unsuspecting people, many a parlor became visible after dark.

      While eating, Wyatt pondered the banker. Brooks was an interesting part of the puzzle. Wyatt had never known a banker to get personally involved in a project like this, particularly in a town where he didn’t reside, yet Brooks had sat right there beside the mayor making policy decisions. Odder yet, everyone approved his interference.

      Maybe that could be used against the town. If he could get the man tossed off that council, then maybe he could win over enough remaining members to finish up this job. Miss Ward was certainly on his side. He might be able to sway that petite schoolteacher gal, too. That left the preacher, the sheriff and the mayor. He’d have to work hard to make inroads with any of them.

      “Papa!” a young girl squealed.

      Moments later, that girl launched herself at him. Wyatt dropped his fork and put his hands up. What on earth? The girl’s raven hair and pigtails betrayed her identity. Sasha. Her thin arms wrapped around his waist. Why would she call him papa?

      Everyone in the dining room was staring at him. Apparently, they had the exact same question.

      “She’s not mine.” He awkwardly patted Sasha’s back and gave the staring diners a half smile. “She must be confused. Maybe I look like her pa.”

      “Not at all,” chuckled an overweight woman with a splotchy yet kind face. “Charles Miller was a big man.”

      “I meant her—” How could he say it? Real father sounded cruel and might remind the girl of the parents she’d lost.

      Miss Ward, who was eating across the room, saved him from finishing. “Nettie, you know as well as I do that the creature has no parents. She’s one of those orphans. She can’t even speak proper English. Charles Miller was bamboozled by that wife of his into taking her in.”

      Her strident denunciation chilled Wyatt. Didn’t she care what Sasha heard? He covered the girl’s ears as the debate heated up.

      “She’s a darling little girl,” Nettie protested, “and Charlotte loves her dearly. I for one hope she gets to keep her.”

      Miss Ward’s already taut expression got even tighter. “No one will keep any of the lot. They’re dirty little urchins.” She lifted a handkerchief to her nose as if the stench overwhelmed her.

      “They’re just children who need to be loved. Why, if our house wasn’t in such disrepair, we’d take one of them.”

      Miss Ward looked aghast. “None of them are staying. If not for that nonsense this morning, good Mr. Reed would have the lot of them out of here already.”

      All eyes turned back to him.

      Wyatt cringed. If that’s how good was measured, he wanted no part of it. He pressed his hands more tightly over Sasha’s ears. “Now is not the time to discuss this.”

      “Sasha, what are you doing?” Charlotte Miller ran into the dining room, and he could tell by the look on her face that she’d heard every appalling word that Miss Ward had uttered. He also saw gratitude there. For him.

      The thought strangely warmed him.

      She moved close to the table, her cheeks flushed and her light hazel eyes shining. “Thank you.” It came out in a whisper.

      My, she was beautiful. He couldn’t take his gaze off her perfectly proportioned features. The brows that arched in exact crescents. Her dainty nose and rosy, full lips. He couldn’t help noticing how soft they looked, just like her skin. The curls peeking from her bonnet promised a stunning cascade of reddish-blond hair. Even in the stiff, black mourning dress, she shone. Her delicate hands and graceful arms fluttered to her neck in a gesture of self-consciousness and humility.

      He forgot to breathe.

      Then her brow puckered, and he looked down to see he still covered Sasha’s ears. He quickly removed his hands. “I don’t know why she ran to me.”

      Charlotte touched her daughter’s back. “Sasha, Mr. Reed doesn’t need you on his lap when he’s trying to eat his supper.”

      “It’s all right.” And truthfully it was. The little girl’s embrace did something to him. He felt alive, like he’d slept for the fourteen years since joining the army, and СКАЧАТЬ