“Time to go.” Chad waved a hand toward the driver’s seat. “Need to get back before those clouds drop their snow.”
“Of course.” She shook away the thoughts that only led to sadness then stooped to gather her dog. “I’ll hold Biscuit in my lap for the ride.” A look upward informed her the clouds were more ominous than only a few minutes ago. Winter so soon?
His gaze narrowed. “The first time that mutt barks, it goes into the basket in the back. I can’t risk the horses being spooked.” He grasped her waist and hoisted her into the wagon.
The spots where he touched her body still tingled, and she wished the act of being helped up and down lasted longer. With her free hand, she pulled her skirts close to her legs to allow him room.
As he climbed up and sat, the wagon jiggled.
Biscuit burrowed closer.
“The ranch is about an hour away. Is that right?” By holding Biscuit against her chest, the little dog blocked some of the cold air.
“An hour in a wagon. Twenty minutes on horseback.” He snapped the reins and set the horses walking. “You ride, Miss, er, Vika?”
“I don’t. My family always had a carriage during my growing-up years, but Mother disapproved of riding for young ladies.”
“Ah.” He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his thighs.
What did that sound mean? Rubbing Biscuit under the jaw, Vika glanced at the businesses they passed but wasn’t sure what she looked for. Chad would have certain shops he patronized and she’d learn which ones on their next trip. The town was, of course, smaller and looked quite rustic. The wind bit at her exposed skin, making her wish she’d dug out one of the scarves packed in the trunk.
The thought of her luggage brought to mind the meager accessories she hoped would be part of her ceremony—the sprig of dried heather from her mother’s bouquet, the new linen handkerchief she’d embroidered, the ivory lace veil passed down from her grandma, the pocket kerchief in the blue-and-green plaid Carmichael tartan she hoped Chad would tuck into a pocket. As much as she’d wanted the representations of her family close, she had to stop lamenting what could no’ be. The wind gusted again, and she couldna suppress a shudder.
Chad transferred the reins to his left hand then reached under the seat and tapped wood. “Inside this box is a blanket you can use.”
Thank the stars. She moved Biscuit to the side, leaned down, and pulled out the woolen length. The moment she finished wrapping the blanket over and around her legs, effectively blocking the cold air, she sighed. Her legs no longer trembled. “This blanket is wonderful…and so thick.” The color combination was dark gray with thin red stripes that created small blocks of about four inches.
“Thank you.”
Biscuit wiggled her way under the blanket then turned so only her head peeked out.
Thinking he teased, she glanced at him, but his dark eyes held no twinkle. “Yer taking credit for the blanket?” She ran a gloved hand over her lap robe, tucking the lead underneath. “As in, ye wove this?”
“Sure did. My family has raised sheep on our ranch for more than twenty years. We’ve supply the Army with woolen fabric for many years. Horse blankets, too.” Chad flicked the reins, and the horses broke into a trot.
He raised sheep? The mental image of a horse farm dissolved, and she pictured white fluffy animals in grassy fields instead. Holding onto the bench, Vika glanced around and saw only rocky soil and trees. The town lay behind them. “I have much to learn.” And much to accomplish with new clothes and knitted garments for her and the children. She grabbed the edge of the blanket and draped it over her right shoulder, savoring the added warmth.
“Not so.” He flashed a smile. “You already know how to cook and clean. Taking care of those chores and minding the children will be a big help. I can focus on the sheep again.”
How many cute animals lived there? “Then tell me about yer kitchen.” The wagon jolted side to side like the train had, creating a pleasant rhythm. She loosened her posture to sway with the movements.
“It’s a kitchen.” He shrugged. “With a stove and sink, a couple of counters, and some cupboards.”
She suppressed a sigh. “How many rooms in the house?”
“Three bedrooms upstairs and four rooms downstairs. Plus a room along the back porch Ma used for laundry.”
A separate room for laundry? That would be a treat. Just think of the saved steps. She blinked heavy eyelids. His deep voice held a calm tone.
“A big stone fireplace covers half a wall in the sitting room. The stove has…”
Words blurred and swirled together. Her weighted head tilted then held steady.
“Vika?”
Her name, but spoken from so far away. The scent of leather teased her nose, followed by a rough texture rubbing her cheek.
“Vika, wake up.”
“What’s wrong with her, Daddy? Did she go to Heaven like Mama?”
Heaven? Vika opened her eyes at the same moment she realized the wagon had stopped. Then she gazed into Chad’s face only inches away. She straightened away from his right arm where she’d pressed close while she slept. Heat flamed in her cheeks.
“No, Guinie, she’s just tuckered out from the train trip.” He wrapped the reins around the brake handle then jumped down.
“If I rode a train, I’d sit with the engineer so I could see everything.”
Lance’s voice came from right behind her, and Vika pressed a hand to her lower back before glancing over her shoulder. “I’m no’ sure the engine room has seats for children.” She gave him a smile, not wanting to dampen his hopes.
The children reached over the seat to pet Biscuit’s head.
Gaze locked on the overhead objects, Biscuit arched backward.
“Under her chin, please.” Vika lifted a hand to cover a yawn then she looked past the children’s heads for a sight of her new home. She blinked fast. A log cabin? Four-paned windows decorated the front façade—two on each level with shutters at the sides. The front door was a solid plank with a carved arch at the top and square blocks holding a mark in each corner. A dusting of snow wedged in the shadowed peaks of the shingled roof.
Before she’d looked her fill, she spotted Chad, hands filled with her valise, the basket, and her carpetbag, entering the house. She hurried to climb down and swung the bairns to the ground.
They dashed toward the house, passing their father on his exit.
She wanted to be on the porch when her husband delivered the last item so she’d be ready for the tradition she was sure he wouldna overlook. Everyone knew evil spirits lived in the threshold, and she needed to be carried over it to avoid bad luck clinging to her skirts.
Biscuit pranced around her hems, sniffing the boards to the end of her lead.
Vika bounced on the balls of her feet. She peeked through the doorway, anxious to see the house details, then looked back to where Chad struggled to scoot the trunk to the back of the wagon.
He looked up then pushed his hand in a forward motion. “Why are you just standing there? Go inside where it’s warm. I need to get a handcart from the shed.”
Gasping, she tensed then whirled. Tears filled her eyes, but she blinked them away. I canna show my disappointment. Lifting her skirts high enough so no hems dragged, she jumped over the threshold.
Biscuit skittered inside and started her inspection.
Chest so tight she could barely breathe, Vika dropped the dog’s lead. Making such a hasty match denied her so much of a momentous event, but she’d hoped to experience this single tradition to help her feel truly married. Yet another disappointment she must bear. Then she turned and, with a sob she couldna contain, kicked shut the door. At this moment, she cared no’ if she set a bad example for the bairns. If his beliefs were so different, what hope did this marriage have?
Moments passed as Vika mourned the loss of the expectations she’d clung to regardless of his ad and his letter. The man wanted a housekeeper, no’ a wife. Squeezing out the las
t of her tears, she cleared her throat and stepped past the entry with pegs on the wall for coats.
Biscuit sniffed near the stone hearth. The bairn’s voices were faint, but she could tell they were somewhere upstairs.
Warmth came from the banked coals in the fireplace, and she moved closer. Once she removed her gloves, she swiped at her cheeks then studied the layout. Her tiny, two-bedroom apartment could probably fit inside this first floor. The second floor must hold the bedrooms. She’d have to designate a day each to clean the separate floors. As she walked the perimeter, she studied the furnishings.
A davenport with three cushions in rust-colored upholstery faced the fireplace with a spindle-back rocker on the far side. An oval rag rug covered most of the plank flooring. Scuffs and dings marred the wooden davenport parts, and frayed edges showed on a couple cushions. Everything looked mostly clean, but the space lacked the small things that indicated a woman’s presence. No doilies accented the back or arms of the davenport or decorated tables holding lamps. The desk was bare of a vase full of greens or flowers. She ran a finger along a claw-foot table holding an oil lamp and created a mark in the dust layer. Grimacing, she rubbed her fingers together. Maybe she’d better dust this afternoon.
The dining table was longer and held more chairs than a small family like Chad and his children needed. No chandelier hung centered over the eating area. As she looked around at the framed pictures and lamp sconces on the unpapered walls, she remembered this home was where he’d been raised.
Near the head of the table, she spotted a door that must lead to the kitchen. Curiosity about the place where she’d spend many hours moved her forward. Pulling open the door brought sunlight into the room through wide windows running along the back side. Yellow paint on the walls vibrated with the light and bounced it around. A lace-edged valance of yellow gingham decorated the top of each window. Here was a woman’s touch. Vika smiled then inspected the six-burner stove with a big oven and a warming shelf above.
The sound of voices made her turn toward the back door.
The door opened, and a young woman with wavy black hair stepped inside. With hands covered in a thick towel, she carried a cast iron pot. Her bright aqua blouse had billowy sleeves and a drawstring neckline, a garment the likes of which Vika had never seen. Around the rounded waist of her full, black skirt draped a metal belt with shiny disks that jangled as she moved. Laughing, she looked over her shoulder to the person behind her.
Vika heard a deep-throated laugh and spied Chad past her wearing a wide smile. Her heart fluttered at the way his relaxed expression displayed his handsome features. In the three hours since they met, she’d not seen anything but a stern expression or a frown from her new husband. But for this woman, whoever she was, he smiled and laughed?
She squared her shoulders, uncertain of what was happening on this ranch that was her new home.
“Oh, you’re here.” Chad stripped off his hat, and his face stiffened.
Was that a note of guilt she heard? Quite rightly guilt happened when a man sought a hand truck and returned with a female. “That I am. Right here in me own kitchen.” She waited for an introduction.
He glanced between the two women and spun the hat in his hands. “Uh, Vika, this is Neria Pasquale.” He cleared his throat.
The woman scooted around Chad to the side and set the pot on the counter. “I bring food. Arkume.” Then she rushed forward, making her belt tinkle, and wrapped both arms around Vika. “Ongi, Miss Vika. Happy one more woman here.”
One more woman? Blood pounded in her ears. What had she agreed to? Vika inched away from the stranger’s exuberance and widened her eyes at Chad. An earthy scent of herbs wafted from the young woman. “Pleasure, Miss Pasquale.” She disentangled Neria’s arms and stepped to the side. “Chad, I believe I’m due an explanation.”
Chad shuffled his boots. “Uh, Neria here is not a miss. She’s married to Benat, and they watch over the sheep at night.”
“So, they’re yer employees?” The memory of his mention of employees in the church hit. She pasted on a smile and nodded toward the woman.
“More like friends, actually.”
Neria moved around the kitchen, pulling out plates, flatware, and cups before disappearing into the dining room.
Vika glanced over her shoulder to make sure the woman was out of sight then closed the distance to where Chad stood near the door. Jerking up her chin, she stared him straight in the eyes. “Do these people live here? Will I be cooking and cleaning for them, too? This situation is verra different than I thought.” Dropping her chin, she sucked in a big breath because she couldna bear to look into his dark eyes when he spoke an answer that might shatter her hopes.
He rested a hand on her shoulder. “No and no.” He bent his knees to connect with her gaze. “Nothing has changed.” His hand slid down her arm and cupped her elbow then he moved her to the sink and pointed. “See the caravan parked in that copse of trees past the corral?”
At the sensations his touch created, Vika swallowed hard, her breath catching in her throat. A strange-looking wagon with a rounded top and wheels with red spokes stood near a small lean-to. She nodded.
“That’s where Neria and Benat live. She was being a good friend to bring us dinner, because she didn’t know if the train would be on time and figured you’d be unfamiliar with the kitchen.”
“Ahh.” A shriek filled the air followed by hollow thumps from the other room. “A big rat!”
“What the dickens?” Chad turned and strode across the room.
A sharp yip sounded.
“Biscuit.” Gasping, Vika hiked up her skirts and followed. She burst through the doorway to see the woman with a broom braced over one shoulder. “Stop!” She charged forward and shook a finger at Neria. “Are ye daft? Do no’ hurt my dog.” Scanning the room to find her dear pet, she made kissy sounds that usually brought her running. “Come, Biscuit. Everything’s all right. Trobhad!”
Scowling, Chad stood in the middle of the rug, hands on hips, and looked all around.
The children clambered down the stairs then stopped and clung to the banister, wide-eyed.
Biscuit scampered from under the davenport and ran, ears flattened to her head.
Vika scooped up Biscuit then turned her back and whispered soothing nonsense, hoping to calm them both. “Ye poor wee thing. Yer heart’s pumping so fast.” Tears burning the backs of her eyes, Vika walked into the kitchen and paced. “Ach, why did I travel here? Surely, ’twas another way.” She rubbed her chin over the top of Biscuit’s head, feeling lost. “Nobody wants us, sweet thing.” Stroking the dog’s fur, she crooned a Gaelic lullaby learned from her nana. Through the window was a view of white, fluffy sheep scattered over fields of brown grass that stretched to craggy mountains. “’Tis a wild place we’ve come to, Biscuit. A wild and lonely place.”
“Your singing makes it less lonely.”
At the sound of Chad’s voice, she whirled, no’ meaning for him to hear her lament.
“I hope to hear another song soon.” Then he smiled, and the skin at the corners of his eyes crinkled.
The warmth in his gaze made her suck in a breath. Maybe someone did want her here.
Chapter Six
After latching the barn door, Chad hitched up the collar of his jacket before turning and scanning the yard. No chickens scratched in the dirt…probably roosting early. Low gray clouds shrouded the western mountain range, and a damp chill penetrated his clothes. The predicted snow might not fall tonight, but it would soon. Completing a day’s worth of hoof trimming in only a few hours strained his shoulders. But the ache was welcome, because he accomplished so much more than when dividing his attention between performing chores and supervising his children. Jamming both hands into his pockets, he trudged toward the back porch, reviewing the icebox’s contents. Enough stew was left from the midday meal that could be quickly reheated.
The thought of the midday meal brought him to a stop, his boots skiddin
g on rocky soil. Meal preparation was no longer his duty. As of a few hours ago, he had a wife—a woman who, based on her sharp glare when Neria enter the kitchen, possessed a bit of a jealous streak. But within a few moments, Vika responded with graciousness to the woman’s cheery nature and her offered stew. He’d encouraged Neria to stay and eat with them and thought her presence helped make the meal less awkward. Tonight, he could not count on such a buffer.
A yip-yip sounded.
That infernal dog. He altered his course toward the path at the side of the house to investigate. Rounding the front porch, he heard the door click shut and saw no one in the yard. He vaulted up the steps and scraped his boots on the sisal mat before opening the door. Warm air brushed over his hands and cheeks. Scents of unfamiliar spices and fried meat tantalized his nose. Didn’t smell like lamb stew.
“Hi, Daddy.” Two sweet voices chorused.
With his hand still on the doorknob, he spotted his children lying on their stomachs on the rag rug before the fireplace. Small fists propped their chins. Guinie’s right boot circled in the air above her crooked knee.
They stared at a chair holding a shiny brown lump on a plate. Flames flickered along a big log, giving off toasty warmth.
“What are you two doing?”
“Helping Miss Vika.”
The formal-sounding name, like what Lance called his schoolteacher, made him wince. He hadn’t taken the time to discuss what the children should call his new wife…their step-mother. He probably should consult with Vika on the matter. As he unbuttoned his jacket, he squinted at the unfamiliar item on the plate. “How are you helping?”
Lance rolled to his side until he rested a hand at his jaw. “We’re watching the clootie dry.”
“You’re what?” Chad shrugged off his jacket and rolled his shoulders to work out the kinks.
Guinie climbed to her knees then waved a hand toward the chair. “The clootie dumplin’, Daddy. We’re getting dessert tonight.” She grinned, and the dimple in her right cheek deepened.
A Vow for Christmas Page 4
