A Bride for Donnigan (15 page)

“Oh yes,” she breathed and then fell silent.

“Would you fancy some hens?” asked Donnigan after a few moments.

“Oh yes,” said Kathleen again. She would love hens—and geese—and ducks and—and maybe even—She checked herself again.

“We’ll get some—come spring,” said Donnigan, and the matter seemed settled.

Kathleen had so many questions she wished to ask. Where was his farm? What did he have there? If there were no chickens, were there sheep? Cattle? She wished he would talk about it. She longed to ask. But she would not make him angry by prattling on while he wished for solitude. She bit her tongue to keep the questions from pouring forth.

At the same time that Kathleen held herself in check, Donnigan was bemoaning the fact of her silence.

We’ll never get to know each other at this rate
, he thought dejectedly There were many things he wanted to ask her. Wished to tell her. But she didn’t seem interested in conversation. He didn’t wish to make her uncomfortable by plying her with questions or to seem boastful by sharing with her about the farm he had carved for himself from prairie sod. But it was difficult to ride along for so many miles in complete silence. He would have been doing more talking if he were riding Black, he decided.

They drew near a small farm and Kathleen felt her heart quicken. Was it their farm? But no, Donnigan made no move to tug on the reins of the horses.

“That’s Wallis’s place,” he said, and Kathleen looked at it with renewed interest. They were almost past when Kathleen spotted Risa. She was in the shade of the small building, bent over a tub of washing. Already a line was filled with clothing that fluttered in the afternoon breeze.

“I see Risa has gone right to work,” observed Donnigan with a smile. Kathleen waved, but the busy woman did not look up from her scrubboard.

It wasn’t long until Donnigan did turn the horse into a farmyard. Kathleen fell in love with it at once. It was so much better than the dark little cottage along the London street. And it was easy to see that it was much nicer than the farm Wallis and Risa occupied down the road.

But Kathleen bit her tongue and tried not to let her intense excitement show. He already thought her a child. He would be more than sure if she bounced up and down on the wagon seat and clapped her hands at the sight of her new home.

Donnigan stole a sideways look. He hoped to see a sparkle in her eyes—but he saw instead a stoical face and hands tightly clenched in her lap.

Donnigan helped Kathleen down from the high wagon seat and deposited her on the ground. He saw her eyes go to the flower beds that he had labored over on her behalf and for one moment they brightened, but she made no comment.

“I’ll bring your things to the house after I care for the team,” he told her. “You go ahead on in.”

Kathleen hesitated.

“Would you like me to go with you—this first time?” asked Donnigan, almost shyly.

“Oh no. No, it’s fine,” replied Kathleen. But she did feel dreadfully strange about entering the home of the man, though she knew it must quickly become her home as well.

She lifted the latch on the unlocked door and stepped inside. The kitchen-living quarters were neat and roomy. Kathleen drew in her breath. It was more than she had dreamed of—her own country home. She wouldn’t have traded places with Erma for anything in the world.

She moved slowly forward, taking in the small shelves that were stacked with dishes, the big black stove with its copper kettle, the table, chairs, the shelf with assorted books and manly items like belt buckles and a checker board.

At last she dared to venture farther and found the bedroom beyond. So much room for only two people. She and Bridget had been forced to share a room where they could scarcely stand up beside the bed.

Kathleen did clasp her hands. She wanted to dance around the little room, but she thought she heard Donnigan coming. She forced her face to become blank, placed her hands demurely at her sides, and returned to the kitchen just as he placed her small trunk beside the door.

“Is everything okay?” he asked soberly, hoping with all of his heart that she would respond with some enthusiasm.

“Fine,” she said simply, with no emotion whatever.

He stood for one minute and then nodded his head. “I’ll get some fresh water,” he informed her and lifted the pail from its shelf.

After he had left the house, Kathleen did do a little jig around the table. It was perfect. Just perfect. She could be happy here. She knew she could.

She looked about again. “It will be so homey with curtains at the windows, hooked rugs on the floor, a throw over the big stuffed chair in the corner, a few bright—”

But Kathleen checked herself. He hadn’t brought her here to totally disrupt his home. If she began to make all of those changes, he would think she wasn’t happy with what she had. He would think her disgustingly demanding. No. Things were quite all right as they were. She would not risk his displeasure. She would ask for nothing.

Donnigan lowered the pail into the deep well, his thoughts on Kathleen’s response to the farm and house. Or rather her lack of it. He hadn’t realized how important it had been to him that she would like what she found. Now he looked at his place through different eyes. What was wrong with it? Did she want a place like Erma’s? Well, if she did, she had the wrong man. Lucas Stein was the only man in the whole territory who could afford a place like that.

He knew his place was—plain. But with a little effort and the few dollars he could give her, she could fix all that. Women knew how to go about such things. He didn’t. Had he known, he would have done it for her—like planting the flowers.

And then he thought of the many changes and the long miles of travel. “She’s just played out,” he reasoned. “Give her a few days and she’ll get things in shape the way she wants them.”

Donnigan forced himself to whistle as he headed for the cabin with the fresh pail of well water in his hand.

Chapter Twelve

Settling In

The next morning dawned warm and bright, and Donnigan asked rather shyly if Kathleen would care to see the rest of the farm. She could hardly hide her enthusiasm but kept her face straight while she answered him that she would.

“Do you ride?” he surprised her.

She shook her head slowly.

“I have a mare that I’ve been working on for you,” he went on, “but I don’t think she’s quite ready if you’re not used to riding.”

Kathleen wished to protest, but she bit her tongue.

“How do
you
check the farm?” she asked him.

“I ride Black,” he answered.

“Black?”

“My stallion.” He waited, watching her face, but she was giving him no hints whatever. “He rides double,” he said at last.

Kathleen’s head came up and for one unguarded moment her eyes flashed excitement.

“Would you mind?” asked Donnigan.

“No. No, I wouldn’t mind,” she said simply, hanging the dishcloth over the pan on the wall.

Kathleen may have become an expert at hiding her feelings, but even she slipped when she saw the black. He was magnificent. He was also a bit scary.
Could they both really ride him?
she wondered as the black horse raced around the corral, tossing his head and snorting.

At one whistle from Donnigan, the black dipped his head, snorted, and trotted obediently toward his owner. Kathleen longed to reach a hand out to the silky side of the animal, but she dared not do so without permission, and she refused to ask.

The black was soon bridled and saddled and Donnigan swung himself easily up. He reached down a hand for her. Black stomped impatiently, anxious to be off, but at a word from Donnigan he stopped his dancing.

“Give me your hand,” said Donnigan. “Now, step up on my foot. When I lift, up you come behind me.”

Kathleen reached up her hand, stepped on his foot and was lifted swiftly and easily from the ground to the back of the black horse. Never had she been up so high. It almost took her breath away.

“Put your arms around my waist and clasp your hands together,” invited Donnigan.

Kathleen complied. She was glad that Donnigan could not see her flushed face.

“There’s not much to see in the fields this time of year,” Donnigan informed her. “The hay and crops are all in.”

Donnigan held the black to a walk. The horse snorted his impatience and tossed his head, working the bit between his teeth. They traveled down a long lane, over the brow of a hill and past fields now empty of their summer’s crops. The whole way the black sidestepped and danced and chomped at the bit.

“Does he always walk like this?” asked Kathleen innocently.

“He wants to run,” said Donnigan.

Kathleen was silent for a few moments.

“Do you usually run?” she asked him.

“Usually,” said Donnigan.

“Then—let him run,” said Kathleen simply.

Donnigan half-turned in the saddle. “Are you sure?” he asked her. Kathleen nodded. Donnigan still looked doubtful. “You’ll have to hang on,” he told her.

In answer she tightened her arms around him. He reached down with one hand to hold both of hers tightly and gave the black his head.

The horse answered immediately with a giant spring forward, and then they were rushing over the prairie grasses, the wind whipping at Kathleen’s hair and fluttering her skirts. She had never experienced such an exhilarating sensation. On they went, covering the distance to the horse pasture in long strides, the muscles beneath her seeming to ripple with each forward lunge. Kathleen thought of the gentle roll of the sea.

They came to a fence and Donnigan pulled up the black with a soft “Whoa-a.” Just on the other side of the fence a herd of horses was feeding. The black greeted them with an excited whinny, and many of the mares answered him. The herd began to stir, shifting, whirling, kicking up heels and playfully nipping one another.

The stallion stomped and pranced, eager to be back with his band.

“They’re beautiful!” breathed Kathleen before she could check herself. “Whose are they?”

“Mine,” replied Donnigan, pride coloring his voice. Then he blushed and corrected himself. “Ours.” It was going to take some getting used to—this sharing of property, of their lives.

“Here, let me help you down,” said Donnigan and reached his arm around to circle her waist. Kathleen felt herself being lifted up and out and lowered to the ground to stand beside the black. With one swift movement, Donnigan swung his leg over the black and joined her.

“We usually have to ride in to find them,” Donnigan was explaining. “We were lucky today.”

They stood for a moment watching the horses mill about. A few had approached the fence and extended their noses. The black moved eagerly forward to greet them. Others still ran and kicked and chased one another.

“Do they always act like that?” asked Kathleen.

“Only when the black comes around,” replied Donnigan with a grin. “Then they show off a bit.”

Kathleen would have liked to ask more questions but she held her tongue.

They watched the horses until the herd gradually settled. A few even went back to feeding.

“Ready?” asked Donnigan and Kathleen nodded. He gathered the reins and wheeled the reluctant stallion around, then mounted in one smooth motion and reached his hand for Kathleen. This time she did not need to be invited to place her arms around his waist. Firmly she clasped her hands together, hoping fervently that he would let the black run again. She could not hide her smile when he did. But Donnigan could not see it.