Mock Wedding (Grass Valley Mail Order Brides Book 1) by Georgia Grace

Author:Georgia Grace [Grace, Georgia]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2016-02-26T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 8

Mary sat in the saloon bar where she had first talked to Silas, drinking the last dregs of a cold cup of coffee. She had hardly any money to her name, and even the money which Silas had said he would give her would not be enough to cover all of her expenses. How could she save the money to travel back, even as far as Sacramento, when she could barely afford to stay in this small town? The barkeeper was watching her carefully, repeatedly circling her part of the room. She would have to put down the cup soon and leave, and possibly go without even seeing whether Silas would leave her the money that he promised.

She stared out into the street, hoping to see Silas and his cart. From time to time, she saw a pony, but it was never Henry, with his side-to-side gait, and it was never the friendly, uncovered cart which she had grown used to. She sipped the last of the coffee and reluctantly stood up. Silas wouldn’t break his promise to her, would he? She knew that he had held back miners’ wages in the past, when they had done something to displease him. She didn’t know whether he would treat her in the same careless manner. Doubt crept into her mind, but she quickly pushed it away. One thing she knew about Silas, he was honest, sometimes so honest that he couldn’t overlook the faults in other people. She paced the side of the street next to the bar, half-hiding, half afraid that if Silas saw her, he would not stop in town.

At last she saw him, and dashed across the road, not caring whether the other carts knocked her down. She shouted his name once, and saw him turn slightly towards her, and then sharply move away from her. He didn’t look up again to see if she was following, he was simply walking towards the post office as though no woman were running after him, becoming increasingly breathless. She managed to catch up with him, coming to a knee-aching halt before standing by his side in the line.

“Silas,” she said, gasping his name as she gathered her breath.

“Mary.” He said nothing else, and stared straight out in front of him, as though the post office store had suddenly become incredibly fascinating.

“Silas, please let me explain.” She was trying to will him to look at her, and eventually she touched his arm with her fingertips, feeling the warm skin through his shirt.

He turned to her then, looking at her through hard eyes. “You don’t need to offer me any explanation, Mary. I am not one of your men, desperately seeking a woman. You needn’t look at me as though I’ve given you the mitten, either. I wanted you in my house, and now I don’t, that is all that interests me, and the rest of it is not my funeral. You can call yourself what you like,” he paused. “But not in my house, and not in my company.

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