The Unexpected Wife (8 page)

Abby moved toward the mare and her colt. She held up the lantern. The mare eyed her with big brown eyes, then moved forward an inch as if to shield her baby.

“Don’t worry, girl. I won’t hurt your baby.” Abby held out her flat palm, waiting for the horse to sniff her hand.

The horse snorted and did not approach. “Do you have a problem with me, too?” Despite the animal’s haughtiness, she continued to hold out her hand. If anything, Miss Smyth was good at being patient. She’d spent the last ten years being nothing but patient.

A full minute passed before the horse sniffed, as if trying to figure out if Miss Smyth had a treat in her hand.

“Sorry, it’s just me tonight.”

The animal pawed at the dirt and turned her back, clearly uninterested in Abby.

Even the animals on the ranch seemed to have no need of her company.

She wasn’t sure how long she stood there, watching the mare and her colt. The creak of the barn door opening had her turning.

Mr. Barrington stood in the doorway. Abby turned back to the horse.

“You going to stay out here all night?” Mr. Barrington’s deep rich voice echoed in the barn.

Her stomach tightened and her skin grew hot. “Maybe. I like it out here. It’s peaceful.”

He strode up to the stall. When he stood next to her she realized just how tall he was. Abby had been taller than a good many men in her family, but Mr. Barrington stood at least five inches taller.

So close his shoulder nearly brushed hers. His masculine scent, a mixture of sweat and fresh air, spun around her. Annoyed by her reaction to him, she tightened her fingers into fists. She’d have left, but where would she go? Back to her loft where she could lie awake listening to him move about the cabin?

Neither spoke as he held out his hand to the mare. The animal approached instantly.

Stupid to feel a stab of jealousy over a horse, but she did. Every square inch of the homestead from the roughly hewn logs of the house, to the split-rail fences of the corral bore Mr. Barrington’s mark. Elise’s presence was all over the house and yard as well. Today, she’d wanted to make her mark, if only a small one, on the ranch.

“I put the boys to bed.”

“Thank you.” She’d imagined she’d be the one putting them down—saying their prayers, giving them a kiss good-night as she tucked the covers under their chins.
Dreams.
There she went again letting her dreams set her up for sadness.

“Temperature is going to drop off quickly,” he said.

She’d never been good at small talk or ignoring a problem when it was staring her right in the face. “What does the temperature have to do with the
fact that you were rude to me just now in front of the boys?”

He stared at her, no apology in his gaze. “This situation is awkward.”

She tipped back her head, hysterical laughter bubbling inside her. “I’ve never heard a greater understatement spoken, Mr. Barrington.”

“You’re very direct,” he said. His voice was as hard as his gaze.

“So I’ve been told.” Her forthright manner had gotten her in trouble with her uncle and aunt more than once.

“I can take you back to town.”

A bitter smile twisted her lips. “I didn’t come this far for a twenty-four-hour stay on a ranch. I came out here to marry you.”

He tightened his fingers on the stall doors until the faint sound of wood cracking had him loosening his hold. “A lie brought you here, not me. And the truth is, I’d make you or any woman a lousy husband. Loving Elise—” He paused as if just mentioning her name hurt. “Well, loving her used up all the love that was in me. There’s just none left.”

The admission had cost him and as much as it hurt to hear his words, she appreciated his honesty.

Her aunt and uncle hadn’t loved her. She supposed loving Joanne had used up all their love as
well. Then there’d been Douglas. He’d had a fiancée back east. “I have a talent for attaching myself to people who can’t love.”

His eyes narrowed a fraction. “You’ve been married before?”

“No.” Her penchant for honesty grated her own nerves. She wasn’t interested in talking about her past, especially Douglas. “Just a family who didn’t quite know what to do with me.”

A slight breeze blew through the open door, teasing his thick black hair. She inhaled the scent of leather and fresh air.

He was a powerful man, who commanded the space he occupied. No wonder she felt a tug when he was close.

She wished she had a bag full of eloquent words that could magically make his pain and hers go away. Instead, she spoke plainly as she always did. “Elise is gone, Mr. Barrington, and for your sake and the boys, I am sorry.”

His folded his arms over his chest, his face a rigid mask.

She should have taken his expression as warning that he didn’t want to hear what she had to say. She didn’t. “But the fact remains, until your herd brings in enough money to pay my return ticket, we are bound together. So how do you propose we make the best of it?”

“W
e don’t,” Mr. Barrington snapped.

His eyes blazed with anger and she could see he was spoiling for a fight.

Abby folded her arms over her chest but instead of getting angry, she switched tactics. Drawing in a breath, she forced her taut muscles to relax.

“Tell me about your wife,” she said boldly. This was a risk. Elise’s death was a raw wound that had not healed. But to save her future she had to understand his past.

Stiffening, he lowered his dark brows. “She’s dead and buried—gone—and I don’t like to talk about her.”

Only feet separated them but it might have well have been a million miles. “I saw traces of her all over the cabin. Like it or not, she is still very present.”

His jaw clenched so tightly a muscle spasmed in his cheek. “She is gone!”

“No, she’s not. The aprons, curtains, the hash marks on the walls showing how tall Quinn was on his second birthday and Tommy on his first.”

Mr. Barrington swallowed as a ghost of a smile touched his lips. “Quinn was standing on his toes that day. No matter how hard Elise tried to coax him into standing flat-footed, he wouldn’t.”

“I see the comment marks she made in her cookbook and the batter stains on the zucchini bread page.”

His muscles were bunched so tight they looked ready to snap. “She wasn’t a natural cook. But she was trying to learn. She wanted to please me.”

Abby wanted to take his hand in hers as comfort, but didn’t dare, certain he’d recoil. “Is that why she followed you out here?”

He drew in a deep breath and expelled it. “It was my idea to move west.”

“Why?”

“The war devastated the south and for those who fought against the Union the bitterness was too great.”

“Did you meet her in Missouri?”

“Yes, Elise grew up in St. Louis. After the war I made my way west. I’d been a sharpshooter in
the rebel army. After the war, I discovered that there was a market for men like me out west. For ten years, I made my money bounty hunting. Six years ago, I tracked down a bank robber and drug him back to St. Louis for trial. This fella was well known and when I dropped him at the jailhouse word spread fast and a crowd gathered. Elise was in the crowd.” He closed his eyes, as if summoning the moment. “She wore a blue bonnet that day. I knew the minute I saw her we’d marry one day.”

Abby felt a stab of jealousy. She’d never been swept off her feet. “And then you moved west.”

Her voice brought him back from the past. “I wanted a place of our own. After my years out west, St. Louis was too crowded for me. I’d been to Montana a couple of times and loved it. I figured it would be the perfect place for us to start our new life.”

“Did Elise like it?”

His expression reflected sadness. “We arrived in the spring. It was an unusually warm spring in ’74. The first few days were like a great adventure. We camped in a tent while I began to build our cabin. But as the days turned to weeks, her excitement soured. She never complained but I knew. And then late that summer she got pregnant with Quinn. She was sick a lot those first few months.” He shook
his head. “I should have pulled us out then. But after Quinn’s birth we were in our cabin and her health rallied.”

“How did she die?”

“Pregnancy was hard on her. It took a lot out of her carrying Tommy. But again she rallied. I didn’t want any more children after Tommy was born, but Elise had other ideas. She wanted a girl. From the moment she got pregnant the third time it was a disaster. She was so sick that winter she couldn’t lift her head off the pillow. I sent for Frank and he came in the early spring. A week after Frank arrived, she went into labor. The baby was a girl, but too early, too small. Elise never recovered from the birthing. She died the next day.”

His story broke her heart. Unexpected death could rip lives apart. Her parents’ deaths had changed her forever. “Montana had nothing to do with her death.”

He shook his head. “She hated this place.”

“She couldn’t have hated it that much or there wouldn’t be so many personal touches around the cabin. A woman who hates a place doesn’t make curtains for it.”

He stabbed his fingers through his hair. “She missed the city.”

“Missing one place doesn’t mean you hate another.”

Lantern light shadowed the high slash of his cheekbones. He looked at her, his blue eyes almost black with anger born in sadness. “We’ve talked enough for one night.”

Abby knew she’d pushed him. Though there were a thousand other questions to ask, she knew they’d made a start tonight. And she understood she’d have more luck carving granite with a butter knife than getting him to say another word.

“It is getting late. And it’s been a long day,” she agreed.

Lifting her lantern, she moved past him to the barn door. He trailed silently behind her, closing the barn door after they stepped out into the cold night air.

“That lantern stays with the barn.” Without waiting for her response, he took the lantern from her. He blew out the flame and hung it from the peg by the door.

Without the small flickering flame, the night seemed to swallow them up. Clouds had drifted in front of the moon, and she could barely see a foot in front of her. “Then how do you propose we find our way back?”

“I know every root and gulch on my property.”

“I can’t say the same.”

Strong fingers captured her elbow. “Don’t worry, I’m right behind you.”

The warmth of his fingers against hers sent shock waves up her arm. Her mind drifted and for a moment she imagined those same hands caressing the underside of her jaw, unbuttoning her blouse, and touching her naked skin.

Shaking off the image, Abby lifted her skirts and started toward the house, taking one careful step at a time. Icy snow crunched under her feet seconds before she slipped. She fell back hard and would have hit the ground if Mr. Barrington hadn’t had a hold of her.

The ice made regaining her footing all the more difficult. Instinct had her grabbing onto his coat lapels and pulling herself upright. She found herself facing his dimpled chin, her knuckles pressing against his muscled chest. Their lips were only inches apart.

His heart hammered in his chest against her hand. Warm breath brushed her cheek as he angled his face forward a fraction. Desire pulsed in her veins.

Before she thought, she rose up on tiptoe and gripped his sleeves with quivering fingers. Her heart raced and without a thought to propriety, she pressed her lips to his. Her closemouthed kiss was
chaste by any standards and she felt awkward as he stood as rigid as a stone, staring down at her with eyes as black as Satan’s. Suddenly, she felt foolish. She scrambled for an apology.

She didn’t need one.

His strong arm banded around her narrow waist and he pulled her against his chest, his arousal pressing into her thigh.

For Matthias, Abby’s chaste kiss was like a spark to dry tinder. Desire flamed in him, scorching his veins with a white-hot need. He gave no thought to the past or the future but only to satisfying a lust thrumming in his veins—the lust he thought had died.

In the pale moonlight, he saw surprise flicker in Abby’s eyes as she looked up at him. She’d never been properly kissed, and he thought for an instant that he’d frightened her and that she’d go stumbling back to the cabin to the safety of her loft. In truth, it would be best for them both.

Instead, she leaned forward, pressing her full breasts against his chest.

As if his body had a will of its own, Matthias slid his hand up her back and cupped her neck in his hand. Fisting a handful of hair, he tugged her
head back. Their warm breaths mingled in the chilled night.

The cold night air forgotten, he kissed her on the mouth fully. Moaning, she wrapped her arms around his neck. The fire in his veins burned hotter.

He slid his tongue into her mouth. He explored, demanded, possessed. She tasted as sweet as honey and he was ready to devour her here and now.

She moaned softly as he lowered his hand to her breast and circled the nipple until it formed a hard peak.

He trailed kisses down from her lips to the hollow of her neck. “God help me, but I want you.”

She arched back, moistening her lips with her tongue. “Yes.”

He stared down at her pale face in the dim moonlight. Her breasts pushed against his chest with each ragged breath of hers. Her thighs quivered. White-hot lust surged in his veins and loins.

Consequences be damned. He’d take her back to the barn and on a fresh mound of hay make love to her. His need had grown wild, tormented by too many long nights without a woman.

He kissed her again, nibbling her bottom lip with his teeth as he cupped her full round breast. Frustrated by the fabric that separated him from her bare
flesh, he bunched the fabric in his hand, ready to tear it.

The front door to the cabin opened with a bang. “Pa, are you out there?” Quinn’s voice skidded through the night and struck him like a cold blast of air.

As if he’d been doused with a bucket of ice water, he broke the kiss. Still holding Abby, he stared down at her. Her hair was tousled, her lips swollen and her eyes misty with desire from his kiss.

“What the hell are we doing,” he said, his words scraping over his vocal cords.

She blinked, pressing her fingertips to her lips. The clouds faded from her eyes. “I wouldn’t think it needed explanation.”

Releasing her, he shoved his fingers through his hair.

“Pa!” Quinn shouted louder.

“I’ll be right there, Quinn. Shut the door so you don’t let the heat out.”

“Are you coming in soon?”

“Yes, just close the door, son.”

“Okay, Pa.”

When the door slammed shut, Matthias tried to collect the shattered pieces of his composure. His erection still throbbed, a painful reminder of what had almost happened. “I’m sorry.”

Sadness and frustration collided in her eyes. “I’m not.”

“We shouldn’t have done that,” he rasped.

“It’s not a sin to live again.”

In the year since Elise had died he’d lived in limbo. Each day he’d not concentrated on anything more than his boys and just getting through the day. Now in the blink of an eye, he had another woman living under his roof stirring desires so strong they rivaled what he’d felt for Elise.

He’d not done anything wrong, but he couldn’t shake the gnawing guilt in his gut.

He shoved shaky fingers through his hair. Reality and painful memories cooled the remains of his desire. The night’s chill seeped into his bones. “It’s time we got inside.”

“So that’s it?” Her hackles rose and she stiffened. “Don’t you want to talk about what just happened?”

He tightened his jaw so hard he imagined he heard teeth snapping. “No.”

A week later, the sun had warmed the land, banishing the chill. Abby wished it could also melt the chill that had settled between Mr. Barrington and her.

The kiss had shocked them both. For her, she’d
not expected her knees to weaken when he’d touched her. She’d not expected her senses to swim when she felt the hunger in his bunched muscles. She’d not expected to
want
so much.

He’d clearly not anticipated his attraction to her, either. His reaction had angered him. Though he’d not said as much, since that night he’d been overly formal and had kept his distance. Clearly, he’d not wanted to feel anything for her. But he had.

Despite Mr. Barrington’s silence, each time he entered the cabin no matter if she were cooking in the kitchen or lying in her bed at night in the loft, she was aware of him.

His presence filled the cabin. Dominated it. And with each passing day the restlessness she’d felt when he’d kissed her had grown.

Abby punched down the bread dough and sprinkled flour on it. She glanced up out the window and watched the boys playing pick-up sticks, a game she’d fashioned for them out of twigs.

“The stage is coming!” Quinn shouted from the front porch.

Abby looked up from her bread dough out the kitchen window. In the distance the stage, surrounded by a plume of dust, rumbled toward the cabin. She recognized Holden’s coach immediately. “Now what the devil is he doing here?”

Curiosity quickly gave way to excitement at the idea of having a guest. She enjoyed the boys but, after a week living with children and a very silent Mr. Barrington, she welcomed the idea of talking to another person.

She quickly shaped the loaves and set them by the window to rise. Wiping her hands, she moved out onto the front porch next to the boys who both were jumping up and down.

“Mr. McGowan is coming, Abby,” Tommy said.

Abby smiled. “I can see that. What do you think brings him out here?”

“Horses,” Quinn said.

“Horses?”

“Pa trades the tired ones for fresh ones,” Quinn said.

“I didn’t know your pa’s house was a stagecoach stop.”

“People never stay long,” Quinn said. “They don’t think Pa is friendly.”

Imagine that.

The stage rolled to a stop in the yard by the corral. Holden set the brake and tied off the reins. He touched the brim of his hat. “I reckon it’s Mrs. Barrington now.”

She lifted an eyebrow, unwilling to show any
signs that her life was tipped out of balance. “No, sir, the name is still Smyth.”

Surprise flickered and then he climbed down from the driver’s seat and strode over to the boys. The sun had deepened his skin to a dark brown and the trail had coated his clothes with a fine layer of dust. With the boys so close he guarded his words carefully. “Did I hear right? The name is still
Smyth?
”

She glanced down at the boys who stared up at Holden with grinning faces. “Yes.”

Holden scratched his head. “I reckon he was M-A-D.” He spelled the word so the boys wouldn’t get the meaning of their conversation.

She wasn’t ready to let this man, who’d been a party to the deception, off the hook so easily. “Oh, yes.”

He paled a fraction. “I reckon he’ll want to have a chat with me.”

“I’m sure he would, but you’re in luck, he usually doesn’t come in until quite late.”