The Unexpected Wife (10 page)

His hard thighs pressed against her buttocks. She stood rigid, afraid to move forward or back.

He pointed to the small lever above the trigger
guard with a long, tanned finger. “This is the release switch. Flip it up and you can open the gun. Go ahead and open it. Show me how to take the slug out and put it back in.”

Her heart beating against her ribs, she pushed the lever up.

“Good,” he said, his face close to her ear. “Now, open the gun.”

Gritting her teeth she pushed the barrel down. To her amazement, the gun opened easily. Inside the tip of the shell gleamed at her. With a bit of satisfaction, she pulled it out. “There.”

“Excellent. Now put it back and close the gun.”

She complied and was happy, if not a little relieved, to hand him back the gun.

“Now we shoot.” He nodded toward the first branch. “Watch.” He positioned the stock against his shoulder, lined up the first stick in his sights, then placed his finger on the trigger. He inhaled a deep breath, then exhaled slowly before he pulled the trigger.

The loud
crack
startled Abby as she watched the first stick explode in half. She glanced back at the boys who continued to play with their sticks.

“They’ve grown up around guns,” he said, following her line of sight. “They’re used to the sound.”

She pressed her fingertip to her ear. “I didn’t expect it to be so loud.”

He motioned her forward. “Now it’s your turn.”

He reloaded the gun and stood beside her. “This gun’s got one hell of a kick when you fire it, so I don’t want you to hold it up to your shoulder when you shoot. Hold it next to your hip.”

Matthias wrapped his arms around her and positioned the gun low against her hip. He moved the gun back and forth. “It’ll jerk back when you fire it. Don’t be afraid.” He draped calloused fingers over her hand. “Now aim at what you want to hit, and then place your hand on the trigger and squeeze.”

In the corner of her eye she saw the thick rich hair of his chest peeking out of the V formed by the unfastened buttons of his shirt. Her pulse quickened. Abby tore her gaze away and focused on the task at hand. Mimicking Mr. Barrington, she drew in a breath and let it out slowly. She pulled the trigger.

Ten paces ahead the dirt exploded in a plume of smoke.

“Looks like you managed to kill a patch of dirt,” he said, a bit of humor in his voice.

Her hands trembling, she stared at the small un
even hole in the ground. “I was aiming at the tree over there.”

His gaze trailed hers. “It takes practice. We’ll work on it a little each day.”

She arched an eyebrow. “A little each day? You mean until I leave?”

He stiffened. “Exactly.”

That night when Matthias fell asleep, he dreamed of Abby.

In his dream, he climbed the ladder to her loft. She was waiting for him, lounging on a pillow, her long honey-blond hair loose over her naked breasts.

“I want you,” she whispered.

His erection throbbed painfully as he slid off his pants and straddled her body. Candlelight glistened on her white skin. He slid his hand up her thigh over her flat belly. She felt hot and so very soft.

Her fingers skimmed over his shoulders and down his lean waist. She cupped his buttocks, lifting her pelvis, pressing her womanhood against his arousal.

Cupping the back of her head, he drew her up. Her nipples brushed his wiry chest hair, sending bolts of white-hot desire through him. He kissed her, pushing his tongue past her full lips. She
moaned as her hand slid around and began to stroke him.

When he broke the kiss, he looked into her eyes. They flamed with a pure, sensuous hunger.

Neither spoke as he positioned himself at the center of her moist heat. In one swift move, he slid inside her. Her warm moisture enveloped him. He began to ride her, moving in and out as if he were half possessed. She moaned his name. He exploded inside her.

Matthias awoke with a start. His body was covered in a fine sheen of perspiration and he was breathing hard.

What was happening to him?

O
ver the next couple of days, the chilly days of spring quickly gave way to the hot, blistering ones of summer. Abby began to develop a routine with the boys and her chores, and she was starting to feel a measure of control.

Though Mr. Barrington worked his ranch during the day, he was home every day at sunset. He clearly hadn’t forgotten Holden’s warning.

The evenings quickly became Abby’s favorite time. For a couple of brief hours the day’s chores were done and with Mr. Barrington present, the cabin sizzled with an unspoken energy.

This evening, like the few before it, the four of them sat at the table by the lantern’s glowing light. Mr. Barrington read to Tommy while she taught Quinn his letters. They were almost like a real family.

“M,” Abby said. She and Quinn sat by the hearth. “M is for marmalade, mud and money.”

“And Mom,” Quinn said.

“That’s right,” Abby said.

Quinn looked up from the page and studied her. “Do you look like my mom?”

Mr. Barrington stopped, then laid down his book.

Abby kept her voice even. “I don’t know, Quinn. I’ve never seen your ma.”

“Pa,” Quinn said turning immediately to his father. “Does Abby look like Ma?”

Lantern light glowed on his chiseled features. His gaze, a mixture of pain and frustration met hers. “No.”

Abby set her piece of chalk down. She wanted for Mr. Barrington to expand on his answer. He didn’t.

She glanced into Quinn’s expectant eyes. “Maybe you could tell us what she looked like.”

Quinn lifted his gaze to his father’s. “Would you, Pa?”

Mr. Barrington’s expression turned fierce as he looked over the boys’ heads at Abby. His voice was barely a raspy whisper when he spoke. “You don’t remember her?”

Quinn shook his head. “No, sir.”

He sighed, his shoulders slumping a fraction.
“It’s been over a year and you were only three at the time. I suppose it’s natural.” He closed the book gently. “She didn’t look a thing like Abby. She was shorter and had blue eyes.”

Abby was shocked to feel a pang of envy for Elise. The dead woman had borne two wonderful sons and had forever captured Mr. Barrington’s heart. She hoped if she worked hard enough she could somehow make up for Elise’s loss but as she looked into Quinn’s young curious eyes, she knew he needed his memories of his mother. “Mr. Barrington, do you have a picture of Elise?”

His brows furrowed, he drew in a steadying breath before he glanced at the boys. They looked up at him with questioning expressions. “I do.”

Abby sat a little straighter at the prospect of seeing the face of the woman whose memory had shadowed her since her arrival.

Mr. Barrington rose and walked to a chest that sat at the edge of his bed. Abby had dusted the chest with the initials EB carved on it a dozen times. She’d been sorely tempted to open it but hadn’t.

Nervous anticipation sizzled in her veins as he lifted a worn Bible out. From the yellowed pages he pulled out two tintypes.

In the soft lantern light, Abby could see Mr. Bar
rington’s face harden with sadness. Deliberately, he closed the chest and rose.

He sat back down at the table, his callous-tipped fingers closed over the tintype.

Abby’s body itched with curiosity but she restrained herself. Folding her hands on her lap, she watched as the boys rose from their seats and stood beside their father.

Mr. Barrington unfurled his fingers and held the image close to the lamp. “This is your ma.”

Quinn lay his small hand on Mr. Barrington’s shoulder as he leaned closer. “How come she’s not smiling?”

“Most people don’t smile in pictures,” Mr. Barrington said patiently. And then before the inevitable “why” came, he added, “You have to sit real still until a big flash goes off. It’s easier not to smile.”

“Why’s she wearing a white dress?” Quinn said. “Didn’t she worry about it getting dirty?”

Whereas Tommy preferred tree climbing and playing to his studies, his older brother was a thoughtful child, who lapped up every bit of learning tossed his way. He missed few details.

Mr. Barrington smiled. “It was her wedding dress. Actually, it had been her ma’s dress. When women get married they often wear white.”

“She’s pretty,” Quinn said.

“She was very beautiful,” Mr. Barrington replied.

Feeling the interloper, Abby shoved aside her own interest and walked to the stove. She pulled a cup down from the shelf and poured a cup of lukewarm coffee for herself. Cradling the cup in her hands she listened as the boys asked questions about their mother.

“What’s the other picture?” Tommy asked.

Mr. Barrington set the first picture on the table. “It’s a picture of Quinn and your ma right after he was born.”

“Where am I?” Tommy said.

Mr. Barrington smiled. “You weren’t born yet.”

“But I am now,” he said.

“By the time you came along, we didn’t have time to sit for pictures. There was so much going on. I promised your ma we’d have another family portrait done in the fall, but then she got sick.”

“She’s pretty,” Tommy said.

Abby sat back at the table. She set her cup down and as casually as she could manage, she picked up the first tintype. Her throat tightened as she looked into the beautiful face. Elise Barrington had smooth, clear skin and pale blue eyes. Ringlets the color of gold framed her oval face. The white silk
dress trimmed with lace molded to her delicate shoulders and slender neck. Elise’s pale eyes sparkled, as if she knew a secret no one else did. Abby had never learned to flirt. Joanne had been a master, but she’d found she was simply too straightforward to manage it.

As she looked at the picture, she felt clumsy and too tall. “She’s lovely,” she said.

When she looked up, she realized Mr. Barrington had been staring intently at her. In the lantern light his blue eyes looked sharper, more alert as if he were trying to read her mind.

Managing a faltering smile, she sipped her coffee. “May I see the other picture?”

Quinn handed it to her proudly. “That’s me and my ma.”

Elise sat in an upholstered chair and held a swaddled baby Quinn in her arms. Behind them stood Mr. Barrington, wearing a black suit, his hand on Elise’s shoulder. Mr. Barrington looked proud and stared directly into the camera.

What struck Abby most about the picture was how much Elise had changed in the year and a half. Her eyes no longer possessed the coy spark. The ringlets had been traded for a tight chignon. Yet, despite the changes Elise was still a lovely woman.

“Quinn, you are a handsome baby,” she said. “Why, you don’t look bigger than a sack of sugar.”

“He was a small baby,” Mr. Barrington said. “But he had a cry that would shake the rafters.”

Quinn looked closely at the picture. “I’m still pretty loud.”

“You are indeed, son,” Mr. Barrington said, laughing.

“Was I a small baby?” Tommy said.

Mr. Barrington ruffled his hair. “You were a big baby. Well over ten pounds. And you could cry just as loud as your brother.”

Tommy looked at Quinn and grinned. He was clearly proud of his capacity to make noise.

Abby felt a twist in her heart. “I hope my babies are as handsome as you two boys.”

Mr. Barrington’s smile vanished instantly. He rose, lifting the boys under either arm. “It’s time for bed, young bucks.”

She knew she’d said something to make him angry. Already, she’d learned to gauge his moods.

He carried the boys to their large double bed. Earlier she’d washed their faces and hands and wiped their teeth with tooth powder. He tucked both under the covers, whispered something to them that made them smile, then kissed them good-night.

The nighttime ritual had fallen into a predictable
pattern. As soon as Mr. Barrington had finished his good-nights she moved in behind him. She and the boys said a simple prayer her mother had taught her and then she kissed the children.

Tonight though, the air was charged with energy. The pictures and her mention of children had left them both unsettled.

Mr. Barrington rose and walked outside to the front porch.

Abby followed him outside, quietly closing the door behind her. The air was crisp, but the sky was clear. Countless stars twinkled.

He turned around. Pale moonlight glowed on a fierce expression that took her breath away.

She leaned her shoulder against the rail post. “If that look is meant to frighten me, it doesn’t. You might as well save it for the renegades and rustlers.”

Respect flickered in his eyes before he turned. “I don’t understand why you are here.”

She struggled to keep the emotion out of her voice. “I like it.”

“How could you like such a life? The work is backbreaking, the hours long.”

“This place breathes life into me. I’ve never felt more alive in my life.”

He tightened his hands over the railing. “Don’t
set your heart on this place or me. You’ll end up hurt or worse.”

She sighed impatiently. “You are a frustrating man, Mr. Barrington. I am in Montana because I want to be. I’m not chasing your dream, but my own.”

“Then you’re a fool.”

She shrugged. “I’ve been called worse.”

He studied her. “I don’t understand you. Why come out here? Why didn’t you marry in San Francisco? You are good wife material.”

She laughed. “You make me sound like a plow or a chair.”

Unrepentant, he shrugged. “It was meant as a compliment.”

At first she wasn’t sure if she’d answer him. San Francisco was far away now, and a part of her past forever. But Mr. Barrington had been nothing but honest with her and she owed him as much. “I was trapped between two worlds. My bloodlines put me above the servants yet I didn’t have the social graces that elevated me to my aunt and uncle’s station, either.”

“So you carved out a place for yourself in the kitchens.”

“It wasn’t as bad as you make it sound. I was always so busy. My aunt and uncle had many par
ties and loved to show off my baking talents. Often I cooked for other families as a favor to my aunt and uncle. For a time I considered opening a bakery.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“I wanted a family. I would have had little life outside of work if I owned a bakery.”

“And there was never anyone for you to love in a big city like San Francisco?” She imagined a hint of jealousy underlined his words.

Crimson rose in her cheeks. “There was, once.”

He leaned his head back against the porch post, studying her. “What happened?”

She’d not spoken of Douglas to anyone in years. Her shame had run too deep. This conversation should have been awkward considering that they were strangers in so many ways. But talking to him was as natural as breathing. “His name was Douglas. He was a distant relative of my aunt’s visiting for the summer holiday. Immediately, he seemed to take a fancy to me. He was quite charming.”

Mr. Barrington grunted. “I know the type.”

She shrugged. “Unfortunately, I didn’t. At the time I thought he was the best man in the world. He promised me the moon and I believed him.” She leaned out over the railing and stared at the stars. They’d been the same stars she’d gazed at
with Douglas so many years ago. The stars remained constant, while she was nothing like the girl who’d been fooled by a man who whispered words of love in her ear.

“He lied.”

The night chill seeped into her bones. “Yes.”

He was so close she could feel the heat of his body. He raised his hand and she thought for a moment he’d touch her. Instead, he let his hand drop. “You deserve a man who can give you a proper home and children, Abby.”

“Yes, I realize that now.”

A heavy silence rose between them. “I can never be that man.”

“Why not?” The anguish in her voice was palpable.

“I’m used up. There’s no love left in me.”

Pride had her lifting her chin. “Ah, but that’s where you make your mistake. Love is not what I am after. I simply want a place where I belong.”

“Then you best leave here now. Because you don’t belong here.” He turned and strode toward the barn.

Her insides were quaking and for a moment she struggled with tears that welled in her eyes. A moment passed before she took a deep breath and regained control of herself.

Why was she doing this to herself? Why not take his advice and leave? She certainly didn’t love the man.

Love.

She shook her head. No, not love. She’d never fall into that trap again.

Mr. Barrington had left a lantern glowing for her by the door. Picking it up, she returned inside the cabin, kissed each of the sleeping boys on their cheeks then climbed the small ladder up to her loft. Too restless to sleep, she knelt on her pallet. The lantern burned softly as she changed out of her work dress into a nightgown and unpinned her hair. Unbound, it teased the top of her hips.

She picked up her brush from beside her pallet along with a silver mirror that had belonged to her mother. She started to brush her hair, counting out her nightly one hundred strokes.

Abby knew she was a hard worker. She was dependable. Mr. Barrington had already come to rely on her. She’d taken over the morning and evening milking of the cows and he trusted her completely with the boys.

But did he find her attractive?

Her mind drifted to that first picture of Elise. The young girl had exuded feminine charm. It had been her eyes and the slight quirk of her lips.

Abby picked up the silver-backed mirror and glanced at her reflection.

The sprinkle of freckles across the bridge of her nose had always made her look younger, less sophisticated. And she’d never been fond of her nose, far too short and perky.

Abby glanced down her nightgown. Her breasts were large and full, and it had been her experience that men liked large breasts. More than once she’d caught the butler looking at her body. But she wasn’t petite like Elise.

She propped her mirror against the wall and held her hair up in a looser, more fashionable hairstyle.

The style didn’t suit. No amount of fancy hairstyles or perfume would ever make her as pretty as Elise.