Page 18 of Mail-Order Lady

Should he tell the sheriff down the street that they might need his services?

He should wait for Clara’s answer first.

He pulled the supply list toward him instead. Flour, coffee, salt pork—items he’d already ordered from Nash. He added a note about the axle grease James had mentioned before they left. Then he stared at the notation as the letters merged in his vision.

The window gave him a view of a side street. A freight wagon. Two men in buckskins moving like they had nowhere urgent to be. The Missouri glinted flat and brown beyond the rooftops.

A knock sounded on the door. Three taps, then two.

Clara.

He surged to his feet and crossed in three strides. When he opened the door, Clara stood in the hallway with her hands clasped at her waist. Her expression was composed in that careful way she had.

But her eyes were different. Something in them had settled.

“Yes.” She lifted her delicate chin. “I’ll accept your offer.”

The relief hit him square in the chest.

He exhaled once. Got his face where it needed to be. “That’s good.” He had to say more. “I’m glad.”

The most insufficient thing he’d said in recent memory.

She gave a small nod, and the line of her shoulders eased.

“Tomorrow morning, then?” His voice came out steady. Good. “I can have everything arranged by⁠—”

“I was thinking today.” She barely met his gaze. “If it can be arranged. Today’s date on the paperwork would serve better.”

The corner of his mouth pulled up before he could stop it. “I’ll find out.”

He took his hat from the hook by the door and jogged downstairs without letting himself think too carefully about the warmth spreading through him.

The walk to the sheriff’s office took four minutes. The conversation took ten. Garrett was a plain-spoken man who had apparently married half a dozen couples in the past month alone—mostly trappers with native brides—and found nothing unusual in a man requiring a ceremony on short notice while they were passing through town.

The clerk at the hotel desk agreed to serve as witness. He appeared to find frontier weddings more interesting than ledger work. The ceremony could take place in the hotel parlor at four o’clock, if that suited.

It was perfect.

He went upstairs and knocked on Mrs. Wang’s door. Clara may have already told her, but he should be certain.

It still seemed impossible to fathom that Clara McKinney had agreed to marry him. This woman was so beautiful. So…good. The only lady who’d ever captured his interest. Captured his…heart?

But she was so far superior to his meager appearance and talents, he’d resigned himself to always pine at a distance. To help in every way he could, but always expecting nothing in return.

And now she’d consented to marry him? Perhaps he’d wake up from the dream soon. She may still come to her senses before they spoke the vows.

Until then, he’d keep things moving. Keep hoping against hope that this dream might come true against all odds.

Mrs. Wang didn’t answer, so he knocked again, just in case she was napping.

Behind him came the sound of a latch clicking. He turned as Clara’s door opened, and Mrs. Wang peered out. She filled enough of the doorway that he couldn’t see past her—nor did he need to. She must be helping Clara get ready.

He kept his gaze on the older woman’s face. “You’ve heard about the ceremony?”

She nodded. “We are preparing.”

“Good. The sheriff will be in the parlor downstairs at four o’clock. That’s in an hour. Is that too soon?” Of course it was too soon. What had he been thinking, agreeing to such short notice? Women needed hours and hours to prepare for these events. Days or weeks even.