Mail Order Bride Mishap (Into the West #3)

Chapter 13

Edward Townsend was here. Out of all the places he could be on a weekday morning, he was here at Cookie’s, staring at her like she was the Grim Reaper come to take his soul. Steam from the pot she carried rose between them like Hell’s vapors. She wished she could deliver him there, anywhere, so that she didn’t have to look upon his handsome face and know that she didn’t quite measure up to his image of the ideal wife.

On the heels of those musings came thoughts of indignation and self-preservation. She hadn’t spurned him, hadn’t cancelled their wedding. She had no reason to feel ashamed. She was the injured party in this debacle. She could hold her head high and maintain a lady-like silence and allow him to make all the excuses. Insist that people ask him for the whole story. She didn’t have to resort to screaming like a fish wife on a busy Saturday morning, which had always been her method of dealing with injustice in the past. Here was her opportunity to change her behavior. To take the high road, as her Da had always tried to tell her, though he hadn’t had much success toward that path, himself. Ferocious tempers ran in their family, after all.

But, after having spent an almost sleepless night in the warmth of Cookie’s kitchen, viewing and reviewing the sparse options for her future here in St. Helens, her anger, though not her heartache, had lessened to a dull, manageable throb. She had accepted Cookie’s morning advice to take it one day at a time, had instead tied an apron around her waist to help with the breakfast crowd.

Luckily she hadn’t had to go into many details when she’d told Muriel the wedding was off. That woman’s eyes had rounded like fried eggs, and she’d turned a questioning look upon her boss. But he’d remained mum on the subject, shrugging and turning to heat up the stove. He’d gruffly told his waitress to use Fiona as she saw fit, closed the door on that subject with his taciturnity. Only Fiona knew it was all an act, had seen the gentle, comforting side of the old cook just last night. And had fought the urge to hug him after his silence on the subject. After telling Muriel she really didn’t want to talk about it right now, the waitress had subsided easily enough.

Now Fiona stared into the eyes of handsome, heartbreaking Edward Townsend, tried to dredge up the righteous anger that had allowed her to leave the Lawson home yesterday. The wrath that had carried her through the long day until she’d collapsed in Cookie’s presence last night. But the fury had transformed into sorrow, a feeling she could not use to her advantage.

So, while Edward stared up at her approach as if she were the Headless Horseman advancing on him, she took little comfort in the fact that she made him nervous. She’d rather be enticing, not feared.

Conflicted, she held his gaze for long, charged seconds before turning to Noah and pouring coffee into his waiting cup, saying, “I’m sorry I left in a hurry yesterday, Noah. It seemed the best idea at the time.”

“You didn’t need to. Emmie was upset you’d gone.” His kind eyes nearly undid her. There was no censure, no judgment in their depths. Only sincerity. She bit her lip, steadied the quivering pot with two hands. Ignored Noah’s companion, who was a transfixed shadow on her right.

“Perhaps, but this is better for everyone. And Cookie put me up for the night.” She heaved a sigh, forced a brightness into her tone as she asked him, still overlooking Edward, who’d shifted in his seat during their exchange but remained silent, “What can I get you this morning?”

Noah glanced at Edward, then back up at her, a slight frown creasing his brow. She saw the tiny smile as it played around his lips when he heard the very singular “you” in her question, answered, “A coupla eggs, toast, and bacon, if you could, please.” Again he shot a look toward Edward as if reminding her of his presence, but she simply nodded quickly.