Free The Substitute Bride by Janet Dean

his debts?
    But of course he did. Hadn’t he always told her so?
    “What’s the dog doing in here?”
    Tippy hung his head, appeared to shrink into himself. “Doesn’t he live here?”
    “Not inside, he doesn’t.” He opened the back door. The doggave one last pleading glance at Elizabeth. “Out you go, boy. You know better than to come inside.”
    “I don’t see why he can’t stay.”
    “He’s a working dog, not a house pet. And the way he sheds and attracts mud, you’ll be glad of it, too.”
    “Then that must be his mud in front of the rocker?”
    He harrumphed.
    She smothered a smile.
    The teakettle whistled. Ted gathered two cups and a blue willow pot, then rummaged through a cabinet, mumbling. His broad shoulders filled every inch of space between the wall and table. Elizabeth squeezed past him as if she thought he would bite, then pulled a container marked Tea from behind a bag of cornmeal.
    Her gaze lifted to his. She swallowed hard. “Here it is.”
    He reached for the tin, his fingertips brushing hers. “I…ah.” He blinked. “Thanks. I spend half my time searching for things.”
    She smiled, remembering Papa’s inability to find something right in front of his nose while she could spot a sale on gloves from three stores away. She picked up the kettle and filled the teapot with water, dividing the rest between the two round pans, then added dippers of cold. She chuffed. And Martha said she didn’t have a domestic bone in her body.
    Ted waved a hand at the mess. “They’ll wait till morning.”
    “No time like the present.” She sounded smug even to her own ears. But keeping busy meant avoiding her new husband.
    The sink hung in a wooden counter supported with two legs at one end and a cabinet at the other, the space under the sink skirted. What an odd arrangement.
    “What’s the mirror for?” she asked.
    “I shave there sometimes. And it helps me keep track of Henry.” He smiled. “Like having eyes in the back of my head.”
    In no time, Elizabeth worked up some suds by swishing a bar of soap in the pan, then dipped a plate through the bubbles, but dried yellow food still clung to the plate. She scrubbed with the dishrag. Still there. Running her thumb over the hardened mess, she crinkled her nose as the nasty stuff filled the space beneath her nail. Well, she wouldn’t let dried-on egg yolks defeat her. She rubbed harder. Her thumbnail gave way and tore. She dropped the plate into the pan. It hit bottom with an ominous clunk.
    Ted stepped up behind her. “What was that?”
    Elizabeth brought up the plate. It looked fine. Fishing beneath the water, she found a cup, a handle-less cup. “Oh, my.”
    Ted didn’t say a word, merely turned away, but from the tight expression around his mouth, she imagined he blamed her for squandering his possessions.
    “The cup isn’t the only thing that’s broken. My nail is practically down to the quick.”
    “Around here nails take a beating.”
    Obviously she’d get no sympathy from Ted. Well, she’d finish washing these dishes if it cost the nails on both hands.
    Careful not to let them slip between her fingers, she attacked bowls of dried oatmeal. The fork and spoons ranked the nastiest. Finally she’d laid the last utensil to dry and dumped the water down the drain, smiling at her achievement.
    Then she shrieked. Water gushed over her shoes—her only shoes, and formed a puddle of water and debris on the planks.
    Pulling himself away from staring out the back door while she killed herself in his kitchen, Ted grabbed two towels off the hook alongside the sink and mopped up the mess.
    “The drain leads to a bucket under the sink. Reckon it needed emptying.”
    “What kind of a drain does that?” she wailed, looking at her shoes.
    His brow creased into a frown. “ My drain,” he said in a want-to-make-something-of-it tone.
    He gathered the drenched towels and draped them over the lilac bush out back. She stepped aside so he could