“Albany, New York.”
“And have you close family I should know about?”
“A sister, Judith. She’s married to a soldier who is presently stationed at Fort Bridger. I was on my way to visit her when I met Miss Howard on the train.” She paused, took a breath. “Our mother passed a few weeks ago after a long illness. Father preceded her by two years.”
Two years. 1866. The year his world had collapsed into a meaningless void. He jerked his mind back to the present. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you.” She took a swallow of her coffee, straightened her back and met his gaze. “Have you close family I should know of?”
“No. There’s no one...now.” He put down his cup and forced out words. “I’m not in the habit of lying, Katherine. But to explain the baby, and still protect Miss Howard’s reputation, I told Mr. Ferndale that the young woman I was marrying had taken over the care of an infant when a friend died giving it birth.” He stared down at his cup until he got his emotions under control, then looked over at her.
She was staring at him. “That’s...uncanny.”
“It does seem so.”
“What else have you told Mr. Ferndale that I need to know?”
“Very little. I’ve been deliberately vague with any facts. As Miss Howard and I were not acquainted, I wanted a story that would cover whatever situation I found myself in.” He took another swallow of his coffee and plunged in. “If we are asked, this will be our story. We—you and I now—met through a mutual acquaintance—”
“Miss Susan Howard?”
He nodded approval. “An excellent idea. It will explain our choice of that name for the baby. To continue...while we have only come to know each other through our recent correspondence, we were both lonely and decided to marry. A second reason for our union is to give the orphaned baby a family—” he almost choked on the word “—and a comfortable home. That will explain why we know so little about each other outside of the pertinent facts concerning our present lives. For instance, you know that I’m an apothecary, recently come to open a shop here in Whisper Creek in Wyoming Territory.”
“It seems as if I should know how you learned of this business opportunity.”
“Yes, of course.” He steeled himself to talk about the past. “I was...dissatisfied with my life, and when I came across a notice in the newspaper about the founding of a new town in Wyoming Territory the idea of moving west was appealing. I went to talk with the agent interviewing men interested in building a business and home in the new town. The opportunity was a good one. I signed the contract and sold my business and home in New York.”
“And that’s when you and Miss Howard—I’m sorry—when you and I began corresponding?”
“No. Our correspondence did not start until my shop and home here were built and I came to Whisper Creek.”
“Oh. Then—” She shook her head, took a sip of her coffee.
“Then...”
Her gaze lifted to meet his. “I was only wondering if Mr. Ferndale would wonder why you signed a contract with a marriage clause if you had no intended bride.”
“He already knows that I thought my status as a widower made me exempt from that clause. It is because it did not that I began my search for a woman who was willing to enter into an in-name-only-marriage.”
“You are an adventurous man.”
A desperate one. He took another swallow of coffee to avoid looking at her. “I believe you are the adventurous one, Katherine. Most young women as attractive as you plan to marry, not to travel west on their own.”
“I have no intention of marrying.”
He looked at her. Her cheeks turned pink. She lifted her head and met his gaze full-on.
“That is a strange thing for me to say to you, but you know what I mean. This...temporary arrangement is not a marriage. Anyway...” She raised her hand and brushed a wisp of hair off her cheek. “I cared for my mother through her years of sickness, and when she passed—”
Her voice choked. Tears glistened in her eyes. He looked away, not wanting to witness her grief and sorrow.
“When Mother passed, the house seemed so big and empty I decided to come to Fort Bridger and visit Judith. So I sold the house, packed my personal possessions and boarded the train. It was an act of desperation and cowardice, not bravery and adventure.”
“All the same, it takes courage—”
“The baby is crying!” She jerked to her feet, spun toward the hallway door and hurried from the room.
“I’ll warm a bottle!” The words burst from him, unbidden. He held his breath, listened, hoped. Perhaps she hadn’t heard.
“Thank you!”
Her answer floated down the stairs as her footsteps faded upward. Fool! Getting involved with them. He took one of the prepared bottles from the refrigerator, put it in a pan and filled it with hot water then carried the coffeepot and cups and saucers to the sink cupboard and rinsed them. He adjusted the stove draft for the night and walked out the door through the triangular back entrance and onto the porch.
He breathed deep, laced his fingers behind his neck and gazed out into the night. There had to be an answer to this dilemma, a way out of this situation. He could see a glimmer of hope for Katherine’s freedom. If he couldn’t think of another way, he would simply annul the marriage, accept the loss of his fortune and go to a city back east and find a job. That would free Katherine. But the baby—the baby was a different story. He had given Susan Howard his word to raise the child as his own. The baby would go wherever he went. Unless he could find another way...
* * *
“Slumber on, Baby, dear,
Do not hear thy mother’s sigh,
Breath’d for him from far away,
Whilst she sings thy lullaby!”
Katherine rocked and sang softly. She watched the baby’s eyes close, his little mouth go slack. She blinked tears from her eyes, slipped the bottle Trace had brought up to her from between his lips and put it on the table. He whimpered and drew his legs up. “Shh, little Howard, shh...” She lifted him to her shoulder, pushed with her toes to keep the rocker moving then patted his tiny back and continued to sing the lullaby.
“Slumber on, o’re thy sleep,
Loving eyes will watch with care,
In thy dreams, may thou see,
God’s own angels hov’ring here;
Slumber on, may sweet slee—”
The baby burped. A sour smell halted her singing. She looked at Howard resting against her shoulder, stared at the acrid mess running down her bodice. Her stomach clenched. She cradled his head with her hand, shoved with her feet and lurched from the rocker.
Howard wailed, flailing his little arms.
“Mr. Warren! Mr. Warren!” She raced down the hallway, the train of her long skirt flying out behind her, and almost crashed into Trace Warren as she rounded the corner. He caught her by the upper arms.
“What is it?”
“The baby’s sick!” She gulped the words, swallowed back tears.
“Calm yourself, Katherine. You’re frightening the infant.”
She willed herself to stop shaking, watched as Trace lifted a hand and touched the baby’s cheek and forehead. He glanced at her bodice. “He’s not ill, Katherine. He only spit up. Babies do that sometimes when they eat too much, or if they have