peg and held it out to her. “Shall we go?”
She could stay! The strength garnered from her fear of being forced to return home drained away. She made her wobbling legs move, walked over to him and turned her back. His hand brushed against her neck as he helped her into her coat. She jerked away. The spot spread warmth into her back and shoulder. He waited patiently while she fastened the coat and pulled on her gloves, then he extended her hat and opened the door.
“There’s one thing more.”
What else could there be? And what did it matter? Emory would not find her here. She was safe from his threats. She lifted her muff from its peg and looked up at him.
“John Ferndale knows I was...am...reluctant to marry. Therefore, it’s important that he believes this marriage is a normal, lasting one. And, as small as this town is, that means that whenever we are in public we will behave like loving newlyweds. In private, there will be no personal contact, as we have discussed. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
“Good. I hope you can put on a good act, because right now you look scared to death.”
She lifted her chin. “It is acceptable, even expected, for brides to look a little frightened on their wedding day, Mr. Stevenson. I will play my part well.”
“You’d better let me do all the talking until we have a chance to work out a story about our courtship.” He ushered her through the hotel lobby to the outside door. The wind howled, rattling the windowpanes. He frowned, tugged his hat more firmly on his head. “I’m sorry to make you go out in this weather, but if you’re to stay here, our wedding can’t be delayed until tomorrow. There’s no chaperone.”
She stiffened, fixed her gaze on him. “There’s no need for one.”
“True. But that knowledge is ours alone. To everyone else, we are a loving bride and groom. You’d best leave that muff here so you can hold on to me.” He pulled the door open.
Snow blew into the room, plastered against their coats. She staggered backward. He slipped his arm around her and steadied her, stepped to her side. His body blocked the main force of the wind. She tossed her muff onto a nearby chair, grabbed hold of his arm and walked with him into the storm.
* * *
“We’re almost there.”
Virginia kept her head ducked low and braved a glance around Garret. Faint spots of light glowed dimly ahead. A gust of wind swept swirling snow toward them. She jerked her head back behind the protection of Garret Stevenson’s broad shoulders and tightened her grip on the gloved hand he held out behind him.
“The snow’s drifted across the walk. Stay in my tracks.”
His pace slowed. His booted feet swept side to side with each step, creating a path for her. She added his thoughtfulness to the few facts she had learned about this man she was about to marry, and hurried her own steps to stay close. Her head butted his back. “Oh!”
“Sorry.” He turned and looked down at her. “I should have warned you I was stopping. Hold on to the railing while I clear a path up the steps.”
He stepped forward and the wind hit her, whipped her long skirts to the side and drove her against the railing. “Oof!” She grabbed for a handhold, fought to stand. Hands grasped her arm, pulled her upright. Garret’s strong arms slipped around her waist and beneath her knees, lifted her. Snow crunched beneath his boots as he carried her up the steps and across the stoop. The buffeting wind stopped. She blinked to clear her vision, looked at a red, snow-spattered door and blinked again as it was opened slightly.
“I thought I heard footsteps.” A slender man in a black suit pulled the door wide. Garret stepped into the church, and the man closed the door behind him.
“You’re supposed to carry your bride over your threshold, Garret.”
Heat flowed into her cheeks at the man’s smile. Bride. Her stomach churned.
“In this weather, we’re fortunate to have made it here at all. It’s blowing up a blizzard out there!” Garret lowered her until her feet touched the floor, stood behind her with his hands resting on her shoulders. “Pastor Karl, may I present my bride, Virginia Winterman. Virginia dearest, this is Pastor Karl.”
Dearest. She made note of the endearment, straightened and drew in a breath. She coughed and took another. Snow fell from the fur brim of her hat and melted on her cheek.
“A pleasure, Miss Winterman. Welcome to Whisper Creek. I promise this is not our typical weather. At least I hope it isn’t. None of us have been here long enough to know.” The pastor smiled, dipped his head in a small bow.
She shivered, tried to keep her teeth from chattering, and to return his friendly smile. “Th-thank you...”
“Hold still.” Garret brushed the snow from her hat onto his gloved hand and dropped it onto the rug they stood on, removed his gloves, slid his hands beneath the long curls dangling down the back of her head onto her shoulders, and shook them. His action kept the snow from melting on her neck and sliding down her back. Cold as it was outside, his hands were still warm. She resisted the urge to lean back against them.
“You and your bride must be freezing, Garret. Come stand by the stove and warm yourselves. Ivy will be along in a minute. She went to the house to check on the children.”
They followed him to the stove. The wind howled. The windowpanes on the side of the church rattled.
A door slammed somewhere in the recesses of the back of the church. Quick footsteps sounded. A short woman hurried into the sanctuary, ducked out from under a heavy wool blanket thrown over her head and shoulders, and gave it a brisk shake. Snow flew every direction. “Konrad, I don’t know if they—oh. You’re here.” The woman tossed the blanket over a pew and hurried toward them. “I wasn’t sure you could make it through the storm, Mr. Stevenson. This weather is the worst I’ve ever seen. The parsonage blocks the wind from the path or I’d never have made it back. I wouldn’t have tried if I weren’t needed...” The woman stopped beside the pastor, held her hands out to the stove and smiled.
“Miss Winterman, this is my wife. Ivy will be your witness. Ivy, Miss Winterman.”
She looked down into Mrs. Karl’s warm, blue eyes and some of the tension in her shoulders eased.
“Not for long.” Garret’s deep voice flowed over her. “I’m sorry to rush this, Pastor Karl, but it sounds as if the storm is getting worse. And Virginia is so slight, she had a hard time staying on her feet on the way here. I’d like to get back to the hotel.”
“Yes, of course. You’re right, Garret. I’ll get right to the ceremony. Step up beside your bride.” The pastor looked at his wife and smiled. “We’ll dispense with the song, Ivy.” He cleared his throat. “And I’ll just get to the important part. Oh, did you bring a ring, Garret?”
“No.” He looked down at her. “I’m sorry, dearest, I didn’t know the correct size. I’ll send for a ring after the storm passes.”
She stared up at him, taken aback by the look in his eyes, the warmth in his voice. Garret Stevenson was a good actor. Or a practiced lothario. The thought was discomforting. So was the silence. Her answer was expected. What would she say if
