His Perfect Bride (The Brides of Paradise Ranch - Spicy Version Book 1) (6 page)

Franklin dismounted with the help of his ramp, and followed Corva into the house.

“I can fix you something for lunch from the leftovers you have on hand.” Corva rushed ahead of him to the kitchen. “Your pantry is well-stocked.”

Franklin didn’t follow her into the kitchen. Through the kitchen doorway, she could see him studying her paintings. She’d hung most of them before going outside. As she rushed back and forth between the kitchen and the pantry, she couldn’t get a clear view of his expression. Did he like her work, or did he think it was just “nice?” Suddenly, his opinion of her talent meant everything.

She tried not to dwell on it as she put together a plate of cold chicken and some sort of leftover cold bean salad that had been in his icebox. She brought two plates to the table, but was far too agitated to sit.

“Are you sure it’s all right for me to have hung them?” she asked, frustrated at the shake in her voice.

Franklin took his time replying. Every second that ticked by made Corva more anxious. Her husband was the most unreadable man she’d ever met. Not smiling was one thing, but not betraying an ounce of opinion one way or another in how he looked at things was near maddening.

At last, he said, “Since we’re so far away from any city with an art gallery, these will do.”

It was as if the air itself dropped flat to the floor, taking Corva’s stomach with it. These would do? Her whole heart and soul, every stifled, tangled emotion she’d been forced to keep locked away lest she provoke her uncle’s wrath, all her happiness for the past ten years on display for anyone to see…and it
would do
?

She couldn’t speak. Throat tight with tears that she refused to shed, she fled into the kitchen to pour two glasses of water to go with lunch. Through the window, she caught sight of her easel and the new painting she had started. What was the point of starting another one if the best it could ever be was adequate?

Franklin was seated at the table when Corva returned and placed a glass of water at the top of his plate. “They found one of the calves this morning,” he said as if he hadn’t just brought her world down with a careless comment. “At least, we assume it’s one of ours. Cody Montrose found it suckling one of our cows, but it had already been branded by Bonneville. It’s shameless to brand a calf that young.”

All Corva could manage in reply was a nod. She hadn’t been married for a full day yet, and already she despaired that she would never be truly accepted for who she was, no matter what place she found in Wyoming.

The calf that was found in Howard Haskell’s herd bearing Rex Bonneville’s brand was almost certainly one of Howard’s. Franklin mulled over that truth and what it would mean for relations between the two ranches as he drove Corva over the short distance between his house and his parents’. It would be too easy for Bonneville to claim some sort of mistake or negligence on the part of one of his ranch hands, but it didn’t explain the other missing calves. Bonneville wasn’t the sort of man to confess to the crime and make amends. He wasn’t the sort to go on the attack either, fortunately, or they could have an even bigger problem on their hands. Grazing cattle on the open range had already made for some dicey situations between competing ranchers.

A short cough from Corva on the bench beside him reminded Franklin that—for a change—he wasn’t alone. He scolded himself for disappearing into himself to tackle the problems of the ranch instead of focusing on making her comfortable. She’d been so quiet since he’d come back from his day’s work to announce that his parents were hosting a supper for them tonight at the big house. That must have been why she was so withdrawn.

“There really isn’t much to worry about at my parents’ house.” He thought about reaching over to pat her knee to reassure her, but she was seated just a few inches too far away, hands clasped tightly in her lap. “And by that I mean that it will be loud, crowded, and overwhelming.”

She snapped her head up to stare at him with wide eyes. Was she looking more pale than that morning?

His lips twitched into something close to a reassuring smile as he snuck a look at her. “So there’s no sense in worrying when you know it’ll be a madhouse.”

“Oh.” She lowered her head and stared at her hands once more.

Franklin frowned. He barely knew the pretty, quiet woman beside him—even though she was his wife—but instinct told him something was wrong. How could he have messed something so important up so quickly? What had he done?

He cleared his throat, scrambling to fix the situation. “My sister, Lucy, will be there with her husband, Gideon, and their children. All you need to do is get Lucy to like you—and my sister likes everyone—and she’ll do all the talking for you all night.”

Corva nodded, still staring at her hands, her lips stretched in a tight line that might have been an attempt at a smile.

Franklin clenched his jaw, stomach turning. What had happened? Things were so smooth this morning? They’d been fine at lunch too. Sure, Corva had forgotten to make lunch, but considering how blissful she’d looked while painting, he didn’t mind at all. Judging by the beauty and brightness of the paintings she’d hung around his house—their house—painting was something she loved. She was brilliant at it too, good enough to have a gallery. That was far more important than lunch.

He had almost found the perfect words to tell her that, and to reassure her that he had no ill feelings about eating leftovers for lunch, when they arrived at his parents’ house.

“Hey, Franklin,” Cody Montrose called out to him. “Need some help?”

Franklin had long since stopped feeling insecure when any of the Montrose brothers offered him a hand, or even when they all but picked him up and carried him, as Cody did when he lifted Franklin out of the wagon. Once Franklin’s feet were on the ground, Cody backed off without a second look, as though carrying his boss around was normal, and Franklin proceeded around the wagon to help Corva down.

“I heard that Mrs. Evans and Mrs. Piedmont mailed off for a bride for you,” Cody went on, studying Corva with mischief-filled eyes, “but I was certain she’d have buck teeth and a hump or something.”

Franklin lifted Corva down from the wagon as Cody spoke. Their eyes met, and Franklin smirked, darting a look in Cody’s direction. “He has an unfortunate tendency of speaking the first thing that comes to his mind,” he confided, too quiet for Cody to hear. “It’s usually not savory.”

For a heartbeat, Corva grinned at him, genuinely amused. Her feet reached the ground, but neither of them let go. It felt right to hold her so close, as if he could banish whatever mistake he’d made earlier by holding her, and maybe kissing her.

A burst of muffled laughter from inside the house reminded Franklin that there were over a dozen people eager to meet Corva and fuss and tease him, and to make quiet moments of hugging and stillness impossible. He let Corva go, retrieved his cane with one hand, and tucked her hand into his elbow.

“She’s actually pretty,” Cody went on as the two of them reached his side. They headed to the porch and the ramp that had been built specifically for Franklin. “Maybe I should ask Mrs. Evans and Mrs. Piedmont to find a wife for me too. Isn’t there an entire house of brides just waiting to come out here?”

“Hurst Home,” Corva answered, her voice shaky at first. “I was living at Hurst Home in Nashville before I came here. I believe the owner, Mr. Charlie Garrett, lives in Haskell.”

“I play cards with Charlie on occasion,” Cody said. “Good fellow. Wicked at a card table, but good everywhere else.”

They reached the front door, and, as if people had been lying in wait, it burst open.

“Here they are.” Lucy stepped into the doorway—belly round with yet another child, arms spread wide. She pulled Corva into the house with a hug that knocked her off-balance. “At last, I have a sister. Thank God in heaven that Aunt Ginny was smart enough to send off for you to come. You have no idea how desperately my brother needs looking after. He’s simply hopeless, always has been, and we’ve been terribly worried about him. But you’re here now, and our worries are over. Come meet everyone.”

Franklin had enough time to catch and squeeze Corva’s hand and to say, “I should have warned you, she talks and no one can stop her,” before Lucy whisked Corva off to the sofa, where the women were fawning over Alice Flint’s newborn.

A flush of awkwardness threatened to close Franklin down. Corva next to Alice Flint. Alice, who he’d made such a fool of himself over all those years ago, who he’d been trying to impress when he climbed up on that wagon of fence rails and upset it.

“She seems nice.” Travis Montrose stepped up to his side, slapping a hand on Franklin’s back and keeping him from sinking into the mire of regrets that should have been long-buried.

“She is, so far,” Franklin answered.

Luke Chance stepped up to his other side. “Congratulations, boss. But the real question is ‘Can she cook?’”

Travis chuckled. Franklin’s lips twitched close to a grin. “She made a mean breakfast. Well, we made it together.”

“That’s all a man needs.” Luke nodded.

Franklin shook his head. “A man needs far more than a good cook.”

“Right. There’s
that
too.” Luke winked.

Franklin heated and cleared his throat, turning to where Corva was now seated on the sofa beside Alice. She looked bewildered as the baby was handed into her arms. Franklin’s ten-year old niece, Minnie, bounced by Corva’s side, torn between giving her attention to the baby or her new aunt. Minnie never could sit still.

“Actually, it turns out that Corva is an amazing artist,” he told Travis and Luke. “She brought a bunch of paintings with her, and they’re astounding. I might suggest she talk to Mother about places she could display them.”

“If she’s really that good, she should talk to Mr. Kline at the mercantile about selling them,” Mason Montrose suggested as he crossed behind Franklin on his way to the supper table. Franklin’s brother-in-law, Gideon, nodded in agreement from several feet away and edged closer.

“She is that good,” Franklin said, although maybe it wasn’t the best idea to go talking about his new wife where anyone passing could eavesdrop.

“So what’s this I hear about Rex Bonneville stealing newborn calves?” Gideon asked.

“I swear, the next time I see that man, I’m going to give him a black eye.” Cody stepped over to join them.

All talk of Corva was forgotten as the men launched into a heated discussion of rustling and strategies of how they could thwart Bonneville and expose his thievery. Franklin let the others take the lead in the conversation, listening in, but also keeping an eye on Corva. The baby had brightened her up considerably, and even though the men moved away from the front parlor where the women were gathered, he watched her greet the gaggle of children—his nieces and nephews, and Jarvis and Alice Flint’s children—with relaxed friendliness. A hitch formed in Franklin’s chest. He hadn’t asked Corva outright if she wanted children of her own, but clearly she was good with them.

Children. Her children would be his children. What kind of father would he make? How would it be between them conceiving those children?

“Ladies and gentlemen, supper is served,” Virginia announced from the hallway that divided the dining room from the front parlor. “Food’s on the table, but you’ll have to find a seat somewhere else, since there’s too many of us to fit.”

Chaos followed as family and ranch hands alike jostled to get to the dining room table first. It was something of a tradition to act like heathens when a banquet was being served in Howard Haskell’s house.

“A little healthy competition is good for the soul,” Howard declared—as usual—over the rush and noise and laughter that followed.

Franklin always hung back at these stampedes. With his braces and cane, there was no way he could muscle his way to the front of the pack, and as much as his father encouraged him to use his cane to beat away the competition, Franklin would rather end up with table scraps than raise a hand against anyone, even in jest.

“What’s going on?” Corva whispered breathlessly, squeezing close to his side as Minnie tore past, burrowing through the adults to get to the table.

Franklin looped his free arm around Corva’s waist to shelter her from Mason as he carried his plate above his head back into the parlor, looking for a seat. “We have a tradition of chaos at the supper table in the Haskell house,” he explained. “Hang back or you might be trampled.”

He meant it as a joke, but Corva made a strangled noise, as though she took him at his word. “I’ve never seen anything like this,” she whispered. “In my uncle’s house, anyone who made any noise or pushed and shoved like this, besides him, would have seen the strap.”

Her words were like a punch in his gut. He tightened his hold on her waist, peeking at her. The reflection of old fear in her eyes had him ready to forgo his pledge of non-violence. “Your uncle.” He swallowed, not sure how to form the question that needed to be asked. “Was he…cruel?”

Corva tensed beside him, staring down at the floor. It was a clearer answer than her reply of, “This isn’t the time to talk about it.”

Anger burst through Franklin’s chest. In its wake was an even stronger feeling of protectiveness. He knew that Corva had come from a sad background, but in that moment, he felt it too.