Page 71 of I Do, I Do, I Do
“I see,” she said slowly, uncertain how to proceed. “Well, thank you for thinking of me, but I won’t need a…a…” She couldn’t say the word. “And I don’t need these items either.” Frowning, she focused her attention on the other toiletries. A comb and extra hairpins, a washcloth, body powder, replacement buttons, for heaven’s sake. Items one would need to reassemble oneself.
“Juliette.” Clara gave her a hard-eyed stare. “Must you be a shortsighted idiot? If you don’t need these items, fine. If you do need them—and that’s your own business—then you’ll have them.” She closed Juliette’s bag, snapping off conversation.
Now that she knew about Zoe and Tom, Juliette couldn’t take the high road without sounding judgmental and thus embarrassing Zoe. After chewing her lips for a moment, she sighed. “I won’t need these items, but thank you for being concerned about my welfare.” Best to leave it at that. “How do I look?”
“Beautiful!” they said in unison.
Their answer made her smile. She’d never been beautiful, but tonight she thought she approached that happy state as closely as she ever had. They had brushed her hair until it shone glossy brown, then pulled it up and back with her brilliants, and they’d used the curling iron to create long fat curls that fell from her crown to her shoulders. Beneath her heavy trail coat, she wore a black cape, and beneath that she wore the only dress gown she’d packed, a smart combination of black velvet and cream-colored satin. The gown was lower necked and revealed more cleavage than she would have preferred for an evening alone with a man, but the puffy shoulder sleeves worried her more. A gap opened between her long gloves and the sleeves. She didn’t think she was at her best when she was shivering and her teeth were clicking together with cold. On the positive side, she didn’t have to concern herself about dragging the gown’s train through slush and heaven knew what else. Zoe had put her needle to work and had shortened the train to walking length.
As Juliette and Luc traveled down Linderman Lake’s noisy Main Street—such as it was—she eyed the tobacco-stained snow and whispered a silent thank-you to Zoe. She wasn’t dragging a train through the slop. And thanks to Clara, her cheeks had a healthy glow, but the lard had softened and smoothed the chapped rough spots.
For several minutes Juliette believed Luc must have made a mistake as he led her past the last weathered building at the end of the street and they moved onto a sled track lit only by a half moon. Just as she was about to inquire, they entered a curve in the road, and she spotted the shimmer of light at windows.
Luc escorted her to a small log cabin and rapped his knuckles on the door. At once the door swung open, and Ben smiled at her.
For a stunning moment Juliette didn’t recognize him. He looked years younger without the scruffy prospector’s beard. It occurred to her that he was likely in his middle thirties; she had guessed him a full ten years older. And she seldom saw him without his fur hood or a hat. But tonight his hair was carefully parted in the middle and brushed back in dark wings. He wore a tailored three-piece black suit and the only starched collar and cuffs she had seen since leaving Seattle. For a full minute she could not breathe. This Ben Dare was a strikingly handsome stranger.
Suddenly feeling shy, she waited in silence while Ben took her bag before he thanked and dismissed Luc. “I won’t need you any more this evening, Luc. Thank you,” he said pleasantly. Then he turned those blue eyes on her, and her heart skipped a beat. “Let me help you out of your snowshoes.”
He knelt before her, and she steadied herself by placing a hand on his shoulder. Beneath the expensive wool of his jacket, he was rock solid, the hard, honed Ben that she knew.
After placing her snowshoes just inside the door, he led her into the warm cabin. A colorful hooked rug covered the plank floor in front of a crackling fire—that’s what she noticed first. She wouldn’t have to worry about shivering through dinner.
“The windows!” Surprise widened her eyes.
“They’re blocks of ice,” he said, laughing.
Turning slowly, Juliette took in the cabin. The furnishings were sparse, but appeared comfortable. Someone had hung framed magazine covers on the walls, had assembled a collection of books in a low case. A small, minimally equipped kitchen was separated from a claw-foot table by a serving counter. Though small and plain, the cabin was snug and possessed a certain charm.
“Who owns this?” she asked, almost afraid to look at him. She didn’t think she could without staring. Or without causing an odd fluttery eruption in her stomach.
“The cabin belongs to Bill Prather, who owns the general store. He agreed to let me rent his home for three days.”
Juliette knew the price of things in this part of the world. “It must have cost a fortune!” If a pound of butter cost twenty dollars, what on earth had he paid to rent a whole cabin?
For three days. Suddenly her mouth went dry, and her hands began to tremble. Three days. And he had not asked Luc to return to escort her back to the tent.
“Ben…”
“The bedroom is through that door,” he said, curving her fingers around her bag of toiletries. “If you’d care to freshen up.”
They were alone together in a cabin with a bedroom. Which he had rented for three whole days. She licked her lips in indecision.
“A decent woman would remove herself from this compromising situation!” A tiny and indignant Aunt Kibble spoke from her left shoulder.
“At once!” Her tiny mother added from her right shoulder.
“When you return, we’ll have sherry beside the fire,” Ben said, interrupting the flow of admonitions. And then—and then he bent and lightly brushed his lips across hers.
Electricity seared through her body. For an instant, she could not move, could not think, could not function. It was as if lightning had struck and paralyzed her.
“Leave this very instant!” Aunt Kibble demanded, outraged.
“This man is no gentleman!” her mother’s voice huffed.
“He’s only interested in your inheritance!”
“Shut. Up.” Juliette stated the two words silently but with firm command. Throughout her lifetime too many evenings and too many situations had been spoiled as she did the right thing according to other people’s notions of propriety. Tonight she was not going to be timid prissy little Juliette March.
