The Unexpected Bride (The Brides Book 1) (24 page)

Hair?

With a flash of clarity, he remembered his concerns for Rebecca’s health, how the past couple of days she’d moved stiffly and grimaced whenever she rose from her seat or bent over. She’d ignored his concerned questions, but now he suspected the reason.

This was
Rebecca’s
hair.

A falling branch had hit her—he was sure of it. Testing the weight of the branch, he felt a chill of fear. She could have been killed.

Why she’d been so far from the cabin was a puzzle, but a more pressing question was who had felled the tree and put his wife in danger? And why hadn’t she told him? Didn’t she trust him? She could have come to him for help. He would have taken her down the mountain. She needed to be seen by the doctor.

She could have been killed.

Isaac threw the branch aside, willing it far away from him. It fell not a foot away because it was so heavy, not nearly as far as he would’ve liked. He ground his teeth, frustration and anger welling up inside him, hot as a forest fire.

No one
felled a tree on his land without him knowing who, where, and why. No one.

***

The sun poured in through the window and lit Becky’s face. Blinking against the intrusion, she buried her head under the covers. Ugh. She’d missed Isaac again this morning. She hadn’t gotten up to milk the goat. She hadn’t made Isaac’s breakfast. What must he be thinking?

They were small things, maybe, but they were things she could do. Usually.

It was just she was so tired all the time lately.

After the accident, she’d felt tender and sore, but she was moving freely now. She just had some ugly patches of yellowing purple on her back where her bruises were turning color.

That was all.

She was practically better.

But evidently, her body had decided against her will that she needed more sleep. Once again, she’d woken up well past her normal time.

She hadn’t even put a toe out of the bed when her door swung wide and Isaac barged in. His face was red, angry. He stopped short at the side of the bed and looked her over.

“You know something about a tree being felled north of the trail?” he demanded.

At least he was giving her the benefit of the doubt, Becky thought wryly.

Not likely.

She could see the way his eyes were gleaming with accusation. The way his presence filled the room.

“Tree?” she croaked. She tried to fix an innocent expression in place, but feared her guilt was written plainly on her face.

“I think you know what I mean,” he responded quietly—a little too quietly.

She let out an indistinct little murmur, wishing she were standing facing him fully dressed instead of tucked up like a young girl under her covers.

He came closer, a look of worry crossing his features. Without asking her permission, he ran his hands over her limbs as if looking for something broken.

Becky felt heat flooding her face. “I’m fine,” she protested.

“You’re not fine.” His voice was so deadly calm. It scared her. Not that he would hurt her. She just feared at some point he’d snap.

“Where are you hurt?” he demanded softly.

“My back,” she whispered.

“Let me see.”

“Isaac,” she pleaded.

He just stood there waiting. He flexed his hands, making her realize he’d been standing there the whole time, his hands in fists.

She quickly wrapped the bed covers around her legs. A kind of mortification filled her at having him see her like this. It wasn’t like she was beautiful right now, covered in yellowing purple blotches.

“Here,” she whispered. She tugged up her nightgown so he could see just enough of her back to assess her wounds. She knew he’d seen what he needed to see because his face went dark again. Embarrassed, she jerked her gown back down and pulled the covers up to her chin.

“Can you breathe all right? It’s not a rib, is it?” he asked, his voice sounding gravelly and harsh to her ears.

She shook her head, miserable.

How had he found out?

She supposed it was only a matter of time before he found out. It was his land after all. She knew he and his father where constantly scouting the area.

Jem should have known that too.

“It was that young fellow, Jem, wasn’t it?”

Her gaze flew up to his, her heart thundering against her breastbone. “Jem?” She could never have been a military spy, she realized, desperately trying to school her features.

“Just wait ’til I get through with that boy!” Isaac slammed his fist against the wall, then glanced at her. “You stay right there. I’m not finished with you yet. You have some explaining to do, but from the looks of it, you had a lucky escape.” He stalked away, his caulked boots clattering like hailstones on the wooden floor.

“Where are you going?” Becky disregarded his command and scrambled out of bed. She ran to the wardrobe and, without thinking, yanked on her riding trousers and pulled her old coat on over her nightgown. “Hold up! Isaac!”

But it was too late. He’d already left.

***

Once Isaac got to the logging camp, he spotted Jem outside the cookhouse alone. The rest of the crew was onsite still: felling trees, peeling bark, transporting logs to the stream. He faced the boy, bracing himself for what he knew he had to do. “You’re fired.”

Jem stared back at him ashen-faced for what felt like a full minute.

“I want you off my land by sun-up tomorrow. Say your goodbyes and pack your things tonight.”

Jem simply nodded.

“Aren’t you going to ask me why?”

“No, sir. I know why.”

“I can’t abide a man going behind my back, Jem. If what I suspect is true, you also put someone else’s life at risk. My
wife’s
life.”

The youth ducked his head and refused to look at Isaac. “I never meant to hurt nobody.”

“I believe that much, but there’s no place for recklessness in a logging operation. There’s too much at stake. I can’t have one of my men—not a single one—going off and taking things into his own hands. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yessir.”

***

Becky hid behind a tree, where she could see Isaac in the logging camp. At first, she’d hoped to catch up with him, but now, from the cover of the trees, she watched him talking to Jem. She was gripping Siren’s reins so hard the leather dug into her palm, but she scarcely noticed the pain. Though she was too far to hear what they were saying, she could see the grim set of Isaac’s jaw and the stricken look on Jem’s face. She knew what was going on. It was like watching a horse-drawn carriage careening out-of-control. And all she could do was stand by and wait for the wreck. Realizing she’d dressed in her hunting clothes and ridden over bareback, she stepped further back into the cover of trees surrounding the logging camp and waited for a chance to speak with Jem alone.

She watched as Isaac stalked into the cookhouse, leaving Jem standing outside like a wounded pup. The boy stood completely still and glassy-eyed. How would he cope without a job? He had trouble back home—she was sure of it. He’d let slip as much when he was talking to her after the accident. She knew what it was like to grow up not getting along with her father. But she suspected Jem’s situation was far worse. He hadn’t said much, but it had been the way he said it, the misery etched on his face, the bitterness. He’d been hurt bad. He couldn’t go home.

Why wouldn’t Isaac stop and listen to his story?

She wanted to rush over to Isaac right now and try to make him listen.

It was odd. That day after the church service, she hadn’t liked Jem, not one bit. He’d been brash, and his insinuations had embarrassed her. But that hadn’t been the real Jem. That had all been bluff and swagger. Him being a sixteen-year-old boy, trying to impress her, no doubt.

The boy she’d seen in the woods was probably far closer to the real Jem—the boy he was inside. He was lost and scared. He wanted a better life. He was impatient and reckless—she could see that clearly enough—but he wasn’t bad-hearted. And, well, she just felt bad for him. It was almost like he couldn’t help himself.

Her heart broke thinking about it. If only there was something she could do to help. But what?

Isaac certainly wouldn’t want her standing up for Jem. He wouldn’t understand why. It might even hurt him. Not that he was weak, but he was the boss here. He’d feel she was challenging him, that she didn’t respect him. That was a road she didn’t want to go down—not now, not when their feelings for each other were so unsettled.

Jem had said Isaac’s business was near ruin. He’d told her the men hadn’t been paid in weeks. Was it that bad? She didn’t know. What she did know was he had enough to worry about right now without her questioning his actions with Jem.

Lost in her thoughts, she almost didn’t notice when Jem started to run. Once he got started, he sprinted without stopping. He headed into the trees on the other side of camp and kept going. Jumping on Siren’s back, she guided her mare as quickly as she dared in a wide arc around the camp and headed to where she hoped Jem would go. As she rode, she was thankful again that Siren hadn’t been hurt by any falling branches that day in the woods. It was a mercy and a miracle that she hadn’t been hit by a single one.

When Becky finally found Jem, he was slumped against the trunk of his felled tree. Somehow she knew he’d return here, maybe to relive the incidents that had led up to him losing his job.

He looked up with vacant eyes. “What do you want?” he muttered.

“I came to see if you were all right, Jem. Isaac fired you, didn’t he?”

“What do you care?”

“I didn’t tell him, I promise. He guessed. He must have come out here, saw all this”—she swept her hand out, indicating the fallen limbs and the great tree lying in the middle of it all—“and he guessed.”

Jem turned his head away.

“I’m sorry you got fired. Is there anything I can do—?”

“Just leave me alone. You ain’t my mother.” He spat the words out.

Becky sank to her knees beside him. He was lashing out at her, but she sensed his anger had nothing to do with her.

“No, I’m not. I’m not your mother. That’s true.” She paused, noting the twisted expression on his face. Bitterness. Anger. Hurt. “What happened to your mother, Jem?” She wasn’t sure where the question had come from, but it came to her as though prompted from an outside source.

“She left when I was little. Couldn’t take it no more, I guess—being with Pa.”

His eyes never quite met hers, but she could see past his veneer to the hurt boy inside. There was something broken inside him. He was just trying to push her away. Somehow that made him irresistibly vulnerable.

“Where’s she now?”

He shrugged as though unconcerned. His fingers played with a pine needle, bending it, watching it spring back. It reminded her of the way he’d bent that sprig of grass between his teeth, bobbing it up and down. “Aw, I don’t know. She never wrote or nothin’. Guess I meant about this much to her.” He threw the pine needle away and formed an “O” with his thumb and forefinger.

“Surely she loves you, Jem. You’re her son.”

“She don’t love me.” He let out a broken laugh. When Becky reached out to place a hand on his arm, he shrugged her off. “She left me there. With him. It wasn’t safe. She knew it.” He broke his pine needle in two and threw it to the ground. There was something in that action—she could almost picture him as a small boy, left alone with his cruel father.

He swiped his nose on his sleeve, clearly disgusted by his show of emotion. Without looking at her, he sprang up and stalked off, his long strides quickly eating up the distance. Soon he disappeared into the shadows of the forest. Gone. Wanting to be alone. He clearly wouldn’t welcome her chasing after him again.

“Oh, Jem,” Becky whispered, wiping tears from her cheeks.

After taking a couple of steadying breaths, she headed back to the cabin. She wished Isaac hadn’t fired Jem. Couldn’t he see the boy needed help? He needed guidance, not another door closing in his face. But she couldn’t tell Isaac that—she’d seen the look on his face when he realized Jem had felled that tree. It was an offense he simply couldn’t overlook. If there was one thing she’d learned about her husband it was that he held himself to an incredibly high standard. And he expected the same of his men. Of anyone, really. Jem had done wrong—that was true enough—but what about mercy? Why couldn’t Isaac have shown him a scrap of compassion?

A chill swept over Becky, sneaking into the opening of her coat. She tugged the fabric more tightly across her body. Jem had run off again, and this time she knew he wasn’t coming back.

Where would he go now?

Once she got back to the cabin, she practically tore off her riding clothes and shoved them under her bed. She hung her nightgown on a peg inside the wardrobe and took out some clean clothes. After quickly pulling on a simple work dress—as she was beginning to call her plainer cotton garb—she went back to the kitchen to prepare lunch. She chopped onions with a furious intensity. Tossing them in a big pot with a heaping measure of dried beans, she then covered them with water. She watched the pot, staring into its depths, blind to the world around her.

“See anything interesting in there?”

She jumped at the sound of Isaac’s voice.

“No. I don’t see anything.” Her voice came out a little cooler than she intended.

“Uh, I thought you hated beans.”

“I’m not in the mood for anything I like.” She turned away from him and stirred the now boiling contents of the pot.

NINETEEN