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“Well, she didn’t.”
“What did she tell you then?”
“The letters said that your father was dying and that was why you answered my advertisement. When I mentioned that I didn’t want someone to marry me because they needed a place, you…Aimee…suggested we correspond a time in order to get to know each other. Then after a couple of months if neither one of us cared for the other, we would find someone else. But the more I wrote, the more I fell in love with…”
“Finish what you were fixin’ to say, Michael. You fell in love with who? Me or Aimee?”
“I—I don’t know. The woman in the letters?” He placed his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. “Only now I don’t know who that person is.”
“Me, neither.” She hated having to admit that. “There’s only one way to find out. You got them letters with you?”
“Yes.”
“Would you mind fetchin’ them?”
He stood. “They’re in the wagon. I’ll be right back.”
Selina had a sick feeling as he walked away. If her doubts were right, Aimee hadn’t told Michael everything Selina had asked her to. And if Aimee hadn’t, then her best friend had done not only Selina wrong, but also Michael.
But surely Aimee wouldn’t have done such a wicked thing. Her friend loved her and had always treated her kindly. Unlike those other rich folks she’d worked for who had treated her worse than an unwanted critter. Her friend had even rescued Selina when Aimee’s brothers had tried to drown Selina in the river. If Aimee hadn’t shown up when she had, she wasn’t at all certain she would be here today.
Still, she couldn’t help but wonder if Aimee had tricked them. If so, did that mean Selina had up and hitched herself to a man who loved someone else? Namely her beautiful friend Aimee?
Michael took his time walking to the wagon. He needed to get his thoughts together. He had a hard time believing the woman sitting on the log was his bride. The word bride stuck in his throat like a chicken bone.
For years, Michael had prayed for God to send him someone like Rainee, his first real crush, but Selina was nothing like Rainee. His sister-in-law was a woman he admired and respected. She was the epitome of femininity, a Southern belle who was educated and smart, beautiful inside and out, genteel yet strong, feisty but sweet, able to hold her own when need be and a real survivor. Everything he wanted in a wife.
Tired of living alone at the age of twenty-seven, with women still scarce in the Idaho Territory, he had decided to take out an advertisement. After all, it had worked for Rainee and Haydon.
If only it would have worked for him.
If only he would have taken the time to get on that train and head out to Kentucky to meet Selina before actually marrying her by proxy. But he couldn’t be spared.
The coming of the railroad had made getting feed and supplies much easier. Because of that, he and his family had purchased more property and livestock.
Even with the extra hired help, Michael was needed to tend the cattle and hogs, the apple, plum and pear orchards, the hay, wheat, oat and barley fields. His absence would have put too much burden on his family, and he had refused to let that happen.
He thought his heart had been in the right place at the time, but now he was stuck with the consequences of that decision and had no one to blame but himself. With a heavy sigh, he retrieved the letters from behind the seat of the wagon and headed back to Selina.
Her cowboy hat now rested against her back. Sunshine glistened down on her head, exposing rivers of copper and blond streaks flowing throughout her molasses-colored hair.
Her skin was flawless.
Her teeth were even and white and her striking, rich, coffee-colored eyes held a million questions. Questions he didn’t know the answers to.
No denying the woman was beautiful, but none of that mattered. She wasn’t what he had wanted or prayed for. Of that he was certain.
He lowered himself at the opposite end of the log from Selina. Without looking at her, he tugged at the string around the parcel and opened the first letter he’d received from her. He practically had it memorized. Neat penmanship and feminine curves looked back at him, mocking him with their precise, dainty script. Script filled with lies and deception.
“This is the first letter I got from you. ‘Dear Mr. Bowen. My name is Selina Farleigh. I’m twenty-five years old, five-foot-three inches tall with brown hair and brown eyes. I am responding to your advertisement because my father has taken ill. You see, the man my father works for provides our lodging. Once my father passes on, I will have to leave as I will no longer have a home.’”
