Page 20 of Mail-Order Lady

He crossed to the hearth and stood with his back to it. But now it looked like he was trying to draw attention before stating something momentous.

Were those footsteps on the stairs? Let it be footsteps on the stairs. Please.

Mrs. Wang stepped through the parlor doorway first.

Her dark eyes found him and scanned the length of him once. Maybe he should have found her earlier, let her inspect him like she’d always done when they were boys. Especially when they were about to ride with Mr. Wang to town. Face properly cleaned. Dirt scrubbed from under fingernails. Fresh shirt and no stench of perspiration beneath it.

She gave him a small nod now. Did that mean he’d passed her inspection? A hint of a smile played at the corners of her mouth. Then she moved aside, and…

Clara stepped through the doorway.

Everything inside him stilled, including his breath.

She wore the green dress that matched her eyes—one of his favorites—and Mrs. Wang had done something to her hair. Smoothed it back into a low golden coil that made her cheekbones stand out and the line of her throat look long and pale. Her hands were folded loosely at her waist. Her chin held steady.

She was, absolutely, the loveliest thing he had ever seen in his life.

Those green-brown eyes locked on him, and if he’d ever had a chance to start breathing again, he lost it now.

She walked toward him, and he made himself hold still.

He had stood before prominent men—territory judges and the like. Had ridden through blizzards. Had faced Richard Balfour’s silences across a dinner table every few years when his father deigned a visit. None of it had needed the discipline this moment required.

She crossed the parlor with that fluid, unhurried grace she brought to everything, and the late afternoon light caught the gold in her hair. His chest pulled so tight it might not release again.

When she reached him, she stopped.

Those rich green-brown eyes held no uncertainty.

He had to say something. “Ready?” Not the right thing. He should have complimented her beauty. But how could he possibly find the words?

Her mouth curved in one of those breath-stealing smiles. “Yes.” Her voice didn’t waver. Was she not second-guessing her decision at all?

He offered his arm, and she took it. The warmth of her hand at his elbow burned straight through his coat sleeve and settled against his skin.

He turned them toward the sheriff.

Sheriff Garrett opened the marriage book. “All right then.” His voice came steady. The tone of a man who had done this enough times not to overdo it.

“Friends, we’re gathered here this afternoon to join Robert Balfour and Clara McKinney in marriage. It’s a serious thing they’re entering into, not to be done lightly, but reverently and in good faith. Before God and these witnesses.”

Garrett turned to him. “Robert Balfour, do you take Clara McKinney to be your lawful wedded wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, until death do you part?”

The words moved through him with a gravity he’d not expected.

To love and to cherish. Until death.

He had thought, walking back from the sheriff’s office an hour ago, that the words would feel like instruments. That he would say them the way a man signs a contract—accurately, completely, without putting anything of himself in the act of saying them.

That had been a comforting theory.

Clara faced the sheriff, which meant he could see the steady line of her profile. The small pulse moving at the side of her throat. This woman…

He managed to draw enough breath to force out words. “I do.”

Garrett shifted his attention to Clara. “Clara McKinney, do you take Robert Balfour to be your lawful wedded husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love, honor, and obey, until death do you part?”

“I do.”