Big Bad Professor(47)
“Yes, that’s right,” Amy finally spoke up, bringing his attention back to her face. “I did not come alone.” She paused here, adding as she inclined her head sharp in his direction, “My baby, in fact, is the entire reason that I’m here today. I need work, and badly. I need a good amount of income that I can send home to my aunt, so she can hire me a couple of ranch hands, to help me work my own land.”
Thomas nodded.
“I see,” he mumbled, although his shockingly wide eyes and gaping—if full and appealingly soft—lips betrayed the fact that he did not see—at all. “Well Miss, I am sorry to say that I may have misrepresented myself in my advertisement; this probably owing to the fact that I am a right shoddy writer, at best. The fact remains, though, that I advertised in particular for a mail order bride.”
With these words he ducked his head, shuffling his booted feet beneath him as he mumbled embarrassed, “I was seeking a wife, not a ranch hand. And, no offense intended Ma’am, but you already seem to be somebody else’s bride—or so it would appear.”
Amy couldn’t help herself. For what seemed like the first time since her husband’s death, she guffawed outright; doubling over to let loose with a robust laugh that did much to relieve her tightly held tension.
The relief was momentary, however, as she considered how to respond to her host’s confused words.
“Well the truth is, Mr. Wyatt, that I am another man’s bride,” she revealed, adding as she cast her own gaze downward, in the direction of her host’s signature crop, “When I see these beautiful roses that you grow, I’m reminded of my wedding bouquet; the flowers that I carried down the aisle to marry Vance Phillips, the man of my dreams and heart.” She paused here, adding as she stared him straight in the eyes, “The only man, I must tell you, that I will ever love.”
Thomas stood up straight at this news, his sculpted cleft chin flying upward as he met her gaze in full.
“Then why are you not at home with him?” he asked, his deep tone now reflecting the abject coolness he heard in his visitor’s voice. “As opposed to standing here with me, telling me that—although you have answered my ad for a mail order bride—you have no earthly intention of ever loving me?”
Amy sighed.
“You are correct, Mr. Wyatt,” she relented finally, adding as she folded her arms before her, “I should not have come to this place—only I have to tell you, no one awaits me at home.” She paused here, adding as she struggled to keep an even tone in the face of flooding emotions, “My husband passed away more than a month ago. One moment we worked side by side in our fields, enjoying our life together and joyfully anticipating the birth of our first child.” She paused here, adding as she shut her eyes tight, “Then within moments it all fell apart. My husband had a bad heart, and he collapsed in the field; leaving me all alone.”
With these words, her eyes flew open, and her chin again raised; once again she drew that all important second wind, staring her host straight in the eyes as she told him, “In my heart, Mr. Wyatt, I remain the wife of Vance Phillips. I shall not under any circumstances love or even lay with another man.” She paused here, adding as her tone softened and became more tentative, “Only I don’t see how I can work my land on my own, or for that matter manage our bills. I thought that I could come to your ranch and cook for you, maybe clean your house and do a little field work—more after my baby is birthed. I could have been a big help to you….”
She trailed off here, adding as she turned away, “I can see that I’ve made a mistake, Mr. Wyatt. I am dreadfully sorry that I wasted your time—I’ll let you alone and go back to my ranch, where I belong.”
Amy froze as she felt her shoulder grazed by a soft, gentle hand; one that turned her slow but sure in the direction of its bearer.
She relaxed as she beheld the crystal blue eyes that had captivated her from the moment they’d met; and now, she noted, these eyes came filled with a welcome mix of tender and sublime emotions.
Understanding. Empathy. Tenderness. The very things that she needed at this time, that few others seemed willing to show her.
“What kind of a gentleman would I be if I turned away a young woman in your condition, at this time in her life?” he asked, adding with a defined nod, “Furthermore, what kind of a gentleman would I be if I coerced a woman into being my wife?”
With these words, he clasped her hands between his and stared with a smile into her eyes.
“I would like to invite you to stay on with me here at the ranch.,” he told her, tone kind and abiding. “I’ll give you a room of your own with a comfortable bed, and all the food you can eat. When and if you feel up to it, you can help out with the cooking and housekeeping, perhaps do a bit of field work when you need exercise—but I won’t see you overexert yourself. I ain’t no millionaire Ma’am, but I do pretty well for myself. And I’d like to share this ranch, this new life that I’m building, with you.”