The Unexpected Wife (6 page)

Abby stared at him as if he’d lost his mind.

Moving past her, he strode across the room toward the bed. Gently, he lay both children down.

Quinn stirred for a moment. “Pa?”

Mr. Barrington smoothed back the hair off the boy’s face, then tucked the blanket under his chin. “Go on to sleep now, boy, we’re home.”

“Good,” Quinn said.

Mr. Barrington started at each boy a beat longer and then rose. In the dimming light his face was all angles and shadows. “You didn’t answer my question.”

She couldn’t read his expression but there was no missing the challenge in his voice. “What question?”

He took a step forward. “Are you ready to leave?”

Smoothing her damp palms down her skirt she concentrated on keeping her voice steady. “Why should I? The place is lovely.”

He let the seconds tick by, then shook his head. “You’re a bad liar. But I suppose that’s a good thing.”

It was a backhanded compliment at best, still it pleased her.

“We both best get to bed,” he said. “Tomorrow, like every other day out here, is going to be a long one.”

The mention of bed swept away her fatigue and had her nerves dancing. “Where do we sleep?” Grateful for the fading light, she could feel the color burning her face.

“I’ll bunk with the boys for now. You can have Frank’s loft,” he said quickly. “It’ll give you some privacy.”

She glanced up toward the loft. She prayed she didn’t roll out of it in her sleep. “Okay.”

“Do you have any other bags?”

She retrieved her bundle. “No, this is all I have.”

“It’s light for such a long trip.”

She shrugged, unwilling to discuss her midnight flight from her uncle’s house. “I don’t need much.”

His eyes narrowed. “You running from the law?”

A grim smile twisted her lips. “No. But there’s no going back for me.”

The news deepened his scowl. “Don’t expect any happy endings out here, Abby. What’s between us is strictly business.” He turned and left through the front door.

Large tears welled in her eyes. Tipping her head back she refused to let them fall. Her lantern in hand, she climbed the small ladder to the loft. On her knees, she stared at her new room. The loft’s crude floor was covered with a pallet and several thick quilts. There was just enough room for one person to sleep.

She thought about her nightgown, her brush and tooth powder still wrapped in her tablecloth. She longed to wash the grime of the day off and brush out her hair, but in the darkness the task was impossible.

This day was over as far as she was concerned and she was glad of it.

Her clothes and shoes still on, she crawled up on the pallet and, lying down, she pulled the blankets
up to her chin. Using her bundle as a pillow she put her head down. She blew out her lantern.

Despite her exhaustion, thoughts collided in her mind. Outside she heard an animal howl. Tales of wolves mauling pioneers dug their way out of her memory.

“Look at it this way, Abby,” she whispered. “It can’t get worse.”

The next morning, it got worse.

W
hen Abby woke hours before dawn, she was freezing. The roof overhead creaked and groaned and a cold chill whisked through the loft. She burrowed deeper under the thick quilts.

For the last ten years, she’d risen before dawn to begin breakfast. In San Francisco the mornings had been her favorite time. A little peace and quiet, just her, her pots and pastry recipes before the day began.

But here the day’s tasks felt as formidable as the mountains she’d crossed.

Abby had told Mr. Barrington Montana would not get the better of her. But she’d never prove that to him lying in bed.

Abby rose from the bed and reached for the lantern and match. She lit the wick. Squinting against
the light, she wished she could sleep another half hour, even as she tossed back the covers. Because of the rat, she’d kept her clothes and her boots on all last night. Rubbing her hands on her arms, she summoned the courage and climbed down the ladder to survey her kitchen.

Mr. Barrington’s deep, even breathing filled the quiet cabin and like a moth to a flame she turned and looked toward his bed. He lay on his side, his long muscular body filling the bed. His arm was draped over the boys, who huddled close for warmth. There was no doubt the man loved his sons.

Smiling, Abby turned from the scene. Her smile vanished when she saw the supplies from town, unloaded by Mr. Barrington last night, littering the floor. Sacks of flour, beans and sugar were piled high on boxes that contained tins filled with fruits and vegetables. She’d need more light to sort through the goods, so she maneuvered past the store-bought goods to the kitchen.

Abby set her lantern down on the shelf above the cold stove. As she turned to search for kindling and matches she stumbled over a child’s shoe. She lurched forward and caught herself on the kitchen table. A plate on the table rattled like a church bell.
A few choice words she’d learned from the cook staff came to mind.

In the silence, her toe throbbing she heard Mr. Barrington turn over in his bed. She peered past the glow of lantern light into the darkness and watched him roll to his back. For a moment she imagined that he was watching her.

Standing perfectly still, she waited, hoping she’d not woken him or the boys. She didn’t need Mr. Barrington seeing just how awkward and clumsy she was this morning. Several seconds passed. He didn’t move and soon, his deep even breathing filled the morning stillness. Relief washed over her. At least he wouldn’t be hovering close waiting for her to fail.

Abby soon found a pile of wood in a metal wood-box and near it matches. Kindling in hand, she opened the small door at the base of the stove and laid the wood inside.

Her hands trembled with cold as she squatted before the small opening and lit the dried twigs with a match. Cupping her hand around the flame, she held it under her fragile pile of sticks and waited for the fire to catch.

Slowly the fire flickered to life. The dried wood cracked and popped. Gingerly, Abby laid larger
pieces of wood on the fire, blowing gently until the flames burned bright.

She set back on her heels smiling. She’d started hundreds of stove fires in her life but none had given her more satisfaction.

Over the next hour, she encountered obstacle on top of obstacle. First it was venturing outside into the cold, tramping through the three inches of snow to the rain barrel and cracking through the layer of ice with her bucket to get water for coffee. Then it was sorting through the assortment of empty tins until she found the coffee and then the grinder. Then there was the matter of a clean mixing bowl. With none to be found, she was forced to wash one of the dirty wooden bowls stacked on the counter. It was caked with unrecognizable dough.

No matter which direction she turned there was a roadblock. This cabin, like Mr. Barrington, was daring her to quit.

Like a spoiled mistress, Montana was beautiful but exacting. But Abby was used to the spoiled and difficult.

Her only saving grace was that Mr. Barrington had slept through it all and not witnessed her struggles.

As Matthias lay on his back and listened to Miss Smyth move about the kitchen, he would have sworn a herd of Buffalo made less noise.

He’d awoken the instant she’d turned on her lantern, about four by his reckoning. He’d been surprised when she’d risen so early. Knowing the mess she faced, he half expected her to give up and go back to bed once she got a good look at it. But she hadn’t gone back to bed. She’d continued to plow through the mess, banging her pots and pans as she worked.

To his surprise, as the first bits of morning sun seeped through the window, the delicious smell of freshly brewed coffee filled the cabin.

Matthias propped his hands under his head and looked into the kitchen. He expected to see Miss Smyth, standing tall. But in the deceptive morning light, he saw a woman, kneeling by the stove, her face turned in profile. And for just a moment, he imagined he saw Elise.

He sucked in a sharp breath and vaulted out of the bed. He’d worn his shirt and pants to bed, but the cold air burned through his clothing as he raked a trembling hand through his hair.

Startled, she turned. “You’re awake.”

The sound of her voice calmed him immediately, banishing the specters from the past. “Yeah.”

Regaining his balance, he pulled on his boots and laced them up.

She brushed nervous hands on her apron— Elise’s apron. “Good morning,” she said. “I’ve made coffee.”

Silent, he watched as she poured him a cup of hot coffee from the pot Elise had brought from Missouri.

Unreasonable irritation grated over his bones as he stepped toward the warm stove and reached for the cup she offered. His fingers brushed hers. The cup warmed his icy fingers. And despite his best intentions to remain aloof, his gaze held hers and a fizzle of energy shot through his body. Before Elise had gotten sick, their first mornings had been spent making love and it had taken all that was in him to leave her so that he could do his chores. He’d not allowed himself to think about those days for a long time and the fact that Abby’s presence was fueling those memories churned his guilt.

Blushing under his gaze, she turned back to her sink. “The last thing I expected today was snow. It was so warm yesterday.” Her tone sounded stilted, formal.

“Late spring storms happen, but I’d hoped that after the last few warm days we’d finally turned the corner,” he said.

“Will it last long?”

The morning chill had added color to her cheeks and sunlight caught her hair, casting a honey-blond hue. “Hopefully not long.”

“Do you have a lot to do today?”

“I’ve got to ride out and check the herds. A few calves were born a couple of weeks ago. I need to see how they fared.”

He cradled the cup in his hand then sipped it. To his surprise it tasted good. Real good. Foolish but he was almost sorry for it. He wanted her to do something wrong—something to prove that she was better off leaving.

“I haven’t sorted through the kitchen yet, so I won’t be able to make you a hot breakfast but Frank left behind hard tack and I’ve sliced some ham.”

How long had it been since he’d had a hot meal? “No matter.”

“I wrapped them in a cloth for you to take to the range.”

He frowned down at the bundle she pushed across the table toward him. More irritated, he swallowed the last of his coffee and scooped up the bundle. He’d not grow dependent on her. “I’d best get going.”

She followed him to the door. “We’ll see you this evening.”

He shrugged on his guns and reached for his coat. “You won’t have trouble with the boys?” He couldn’t say why, but he didn’t worry about leaving Tommy and Quinn with her. She’d do right by them.

She smiled. “We’ll be fine.”

No, today wouldn’t be hard. The hard part would come later when she left. Sooner or later she’d realize how harsh this land could be and she’d leave. He resolved to have a talk with the boys. He didn’t want them getting too attached to Miss Smyth.

She held out his hat, standing so close to him that he could feel the heat of her body. Her eyes sparked with a nervous anticipation. He’d always kissed Elise goodbye before he headed out to the range. Logic reminded him that he had hired Miss Smyth for the summer—nothing more, nothing less. And still, he wondered what it would feel like to kiss her, to hold her in his arms, and feel her body nestled close to his.

What would one kiss hurt? Just to touch her once. Abruptly he stopped the train of thought and took a step back.

“You look angry,” she said. “Have I done something wrong?”

“No.” Matthias shrugged on his coat. He
snatched his hat, jerked open the front door and closed it behind him.

Wind carried the brisk air across the valley churning the loosely packed snow. Tucking his head low, he headed toward the barn to milk the cow.

No matter what his body demanded, his brain understood that Miss Smyth was off limits.

Abby stared at the closed front door, wondering what she’d done wrong. She’d not expected anything from Mr. Barrington, but then his gaze had met hers. And instantly, she had seen the heat. Desire had seared her body. And she’d wanted to feel his lips against her.

But the fire in Mr. Barrington had vanished as quickly as hers had ignited. From the ashes, frustration and anger had risen.

She pressed the heel of her hand to her forehead. How had her life become such a complete mess so fast?

The fact that she wanted a man who didn’t want her scared her more than the wilderness. Perhaps she should consider cutting her losses as he’d suggested all along and simply leave.

She shook her head. There was no going back to San Francisco. Her uncle would have discovered
the missing money by now. He’d never have her arrested, fearing a scandal, but he would see to it that no one hired her if she returned.

Then again, she didn’t have to return home. Chicago was less than a week’s ride. And there was the east.

“Mommy!” Quinn’s panicky voice sliced through her thoughts. He was still asleep, but thrashing wildly. Tommy slept next to him but it would be just a matter of seconds before he’d wake if she didn’t quiet Quinn.

Abby hurried over to the bed, stumbling around a sack of flour in the process. She sat on the edge of the bed and patted the boy on the back. “It’s all right, Quinn, Abby’s here.”

Her touch soothed the boy and soon he settled down. He put his thumb in his mouth and rolled onto his stomach.

Abby’s heart squeezed as she saw the worry lines in the boy’s face. She stroked the bangs off his forehead, studying the sprinkle of freckles there. His frown reminded her of Mr. Barrington, as did his nose. But his lighter coloring and pale blond hair were likely from his mother.

“Momma,” he mumbled, his thumb still in his mouth.

She remembered those long nights after her own
mother had died. The loneliness had been crushing and there’d been no one to talk to, no one to dry her tears. Quinn was only four but his sadness was just as real.

She glanced over at Tommy, who slept on the edge of the other side of the bed. On his back, his mouth hung open. He was snoring. Tommy was so young. Likely, he barely remembered his mother.

But Quinn did remember. Leaning forward, she kissed him on the forehead. “It’s all right, Quinn. I won’t leave you.”

The front door slammed closed.

She jumped to her feet and saw Mr. Barrington standing at the front door holding a bucket of milk. Snowflakes peppered his shoulders and hat. And his expression looked murderous.

“What’s going on?” he said, his voice sharp.

She rose. “Quinn had a nightmare. He was calling for his mother,” she whispered.

Mr. Barrington’s features softened a fraction. “He’s not had those in a while. Frank’s leaving must have stirred up old dreams.”

“He’s back to sleep now. And if you keep your voice down he’ll stay that way for another hour or two. I could use the quiet to get the dishes clean.”

He strode into the kitchen and set the bucket down. He paused for a moment, then shoved out a
breath and faced her. “Maybe it’s best you leave as soon as the snow melts. It’ll be a day or two at the most.”

He was looking after his children. But so was she now.

She stared at him a long moment, then nodded toward the front door. “You forgot your lunch. You best get going. We both have a lot of work to do.”

Mr. Barrington’s eyes narrowed and for a moment she thought he’d argue. But he didn’t. He turned and left. This time there was no hint of a kiss, no jolt of desire.

Abby doubted she’d ever worked so hard as she did this day. In San Francisco, her days had been filled with activity but there’d always been diversions to get her out of the kitchen. Back home, after breakfast was served, she had a quiet half hour to read and enjoy her breakfast. And the midmorning trips to the market were always time for gossip and conversation with the vendors.

But in Montana, the work never stopped. It took her nearly a half hour to scrub caked-on food from the skillet and bowls. As soon as the dishes were stacked neatly on the dish rack, she dug a few cakes of yeast and flour from the town supplies and made sourdough starter so that by week’s end there’d be
bread for the table. Next, it was time to strain the milk.

She’d just begun sorting the supplies when Quinn sat up in his bed and rubbed his eyes.

“I have to pee,” he said.

Hearing his brother’s voice Tommy sat up and yawned. “Me, too.”

She thought about her own early-morning trip through the snow to the outhouse. She shivered. “Well, then, get your coats and boots on. There are a couple of inches of snow on the ground out there.”

Quinn’s eyes brightened. “Snow!” He scrambled out of bed and tugged on his well-worn boots.

Tommy quickly yanked on his boots and ran up to Abby. He thrust his foot toward her. “Tie me.”

Abby knelt down. She pulled the shoe’s tongue up straight and smoothed out his socks before she tied the shoelaces. His toes bumped against the tips of the shoes. He’d need new ones soon.