A Groom for Celia

by Cat Cahill

  They were barely a half mile outside of town when Celia finally looked up from the mare she’d been petting and talking to the entire way so far. He felt her assessing him before he turned to look at her. She watched him as if he had something out of place.

  “What is it?” he asked, easing his aching hand off the reins only long enough to run it down his coat.

  “You haven’t ridden much at all, have you?” she asked with a slight upturn to her lips, as if she were trying hard not to smile.

  “There wasn’t much call for it in New York,” he said, feeling a bit defensive. “I walked, or I took a hansom cab.”

  “You’re doing quite well with it now.”

  It was a compliment, Jack realized, and it set him at ease. “I had a good talk with McFarland at the livery about how much and what to feed the animals.”

  Celia nodded, although it seemed she was still subduing a smile. Likely because she already knew what he’d only just learned. He could have asked her. He knew that. It was his pride that had driven him to Last Chance to speak with the livery owner. Everything here had been so overwhelming, so new, and as ridiculous as it might have been, sometimes he felt the only thing he was holding on to was his pride.

  “I also met a few other townsfolk. I helped a Mrs. Graham with her new saddle. She was very gracious and said to congratulate you on your wedding,” he said.

  “She’s a good friend,” Celia replied. “Thank you for helping her. She lost her husband also.”

  Jack figured as much. The woman had seemed distracted. “Might I ask about your experience? In the blizzard, I mean. Pastor Collins told me it came on from nowhere—twice—but he then droned on and on about the wrath of God coming to roost in the town. But that’s all I know.”

  “I told you about most of the crops failing because of the heat this summer.” Celia rubbed Tiny’s neck as she spoke, very matter-of-factly, Jack noticed. As if she were telling a story instead of recounting facts that had happened to her just a couple of months ago. “Mr. Barnes in town sold some of his own cattle so people could eat, but it still wasn’t enough to see us all through the winter. So he organized a hunt. Ned went out with the other men, only a few miles from town, when the first blizzard blew up from nowhere. It was the strangest thing, to feel the temperature drop as it did. It was so sudden and so unexpected, that by the time I realized I should have put the chickens in the barn, it was too late. I couldn’t step outside at all, the snow was so thick. And there was thunder! I’d never seen such a thing. There was so much snow, I had to dig my way out of the house to get to the barn to feed the animals and milk the cow. I went back inside, and when it finally melted enough, I gathered the animals that were left and went to town.” She paused and glanced up at Jack. “I believe I already knew Ned wasn’t coming home. I went straight to the livery and then to Faith’s. I was with her when the second blizzard blew in. That was the one that killed her husband. He was out with the sheriff and a few other men, going to look for the ones we knew had already perished.”

  “I’m so sorry,” he said. “It sounds terrible.”

  “It was.” Again, her tone was almost dull. She didn’t appear sad, as if her first husband’s passing hadn’t affected her at all. It was curious, and yet it fit with her actions since he’d met her. She’d taken to his advances without hesitation, even teasing him back in her shy manner. She never mentioned Ned, except in passing, and then without emotion.

  “You didn’t love him, did you?” he asked. It was a bold question, yet one he felt he needed an answer to.

  She looked up at him, her eyes reflecting the pale sky. “What sort of a question is that? Ned was my husband.”

  He said nothing, instead holding her gaze until her lips parted and her eyes looked down. “I did not. It’s a terrible thing, I know. I prayed for forgiveness over my own feelings so many times, and at some point after he passed, it came.” She looked up at him then, the green of her irises defiant. “I refuse to feel guilty for being allowed a second chance.”

  Her determination sent a bolt of lightning through him. This unassuming woman knew exactly what she wanted. And he liked that. “I didn’t mean it that way. I’m sorry you were unhappy. How did you come to marry him?”

  “Faith,” she said with a shrug. “My sister was madly in love with Ned’s brother, Aaron, and he with her. The Thorntons didn’t have much back in Mississippi. Just a little scratch of land their father could barely make a living from. The brothers planned to come here, to a place where Aaron and Ned could start afresh, make their own lives. Faith and I have always been close, and she was always the brave one. I couldn’t bear the thought of living at home without her. She suggested I might marry Ned, considering he had no prospects and would need a wife to keep up the house on the farm he planned to build here. I barely knew him. He’d always kept to himself when we were children. Ned proposed, I accepted, and here I am.” She paused, looking back at Jack. “He married only for the practicality of it.”

  “What do you mean? Was he cruel?” An anger Jack had never felt before sat low in his gut. If the man had ever hurt Celia—

  “Oh, no. He never hurt me. He was . . . distant. I felt alone even when I wasn’t. It wasn’t how I’d hoped a marriage would be.”

  “I see. And you’re right.” Jack stretched out his fingers again, then took her hand and squeezed it, hoping the horse wouldn’t choose that moment to dart off. “That isn’t how a marriage should be.”

  She ducked her head and smiled at him. “Thank you.”

  He took his hand back, only because he feared falling off the horse, and they rode in silence for a few minutes as the bluffs grew larger in the distance.

  “Jack?” she said, her voice small in the vast expanse of prairie around them. “Why did you leave New York? I know what you said in your letter, but why did you really leave?”

  He gulped as he considered her question. He wanted to tell her the truth. But what might she think of him then?

  Chapter Twelve

  Celia eyed Jack as he looked off into the distance. His mind seemed to have instantly gone back to New York when she posed the question, and she wished she could take it back. Perhaps she’d been right when she told Faith about her fears that questions would drive Jack away.

  Still . . . she did want to know the answer. And she supposed his reaction would tell her how much he was—or was not—like Ned.

  As the seconds ticked by and the only sounds were the horses’ hooves crunching through the dead grass and birdsong from off in the distance, she prayed he was nothing like her first husband.

  “I wanted something new,” he said carefully.

  Celia clamped her mouth shut, hoping he would go on. She knew that already—he’d put it in his letter.

  “I told you I was a man of business in New York,” he continued, his eyes on Chimney Rock far off in the distance. “I . . . dabbled in various investments. A meatpacking plant. A company that would manufacture medical implements. An ice factory.”

  “Ice factory?” Celia raised her eyebrows at that one. “How . . .?”

  Jack shrugged. “I had grand ideas. I always have. But unfortunately, none of them were particularly feasible. I was either too late, or too imaginative, or found deals that were too good to be true. None of my plans ever actually happened.” He frowned at that, and Celia’s heart went out to him. It was clear he enjoyed thinking up new ideas.

  “It must have been hard not to see any of your plans come to fruition,” she said, running a hand over Tiny’s shoulder. The mare was a good horse, easy to ride and calm. She’d do well in the fields come spring.

  “It was.” Jack looked at her now, and a measure of understanding passed between them. “Thank you. Not many people understand that.”

  “I do.” Celia felt as if she breathed the words out. She’d had so many wonderful plans for her life when she’d married Ned and they’d left for Nebraska. She got her farm and her horses and chickens . . . but not the
family of her own that she’d craved. No caring husband and no children.

  “I know,” he said. His hand reached for hers again, and Celia’s heart soared. His grip was reassuring, and she thought that maybe—just maybe—her dreams weren’t entirely dead at all.

  “So what made you want to leave that behind and come here? You can hardly build a factory in Last Chance.”

  His fingers intertwined with hers, and Celia’s heart thumped harder. “I disagree. Last Chance is rife with opportunity. I needed to go somewhere I could make a difference. Somewhere I could be forward thinking and not worry about ten other men beating me to the idea. Somewhere I could begin to understand what is feasible and what is not. Somewhere honest. I didn’t expect to find myself on a farm, but here I am.”

  She smiled at him, but a new worry bloomed. What if the farm wasn’t enough? Sure, it was challenging for him now, to learn and strike deals for horses. But what if one day next spring, he became bored with planting, or next summer he grew weary of worrying over the crops? What would happen then? Celia drew her lip between her teeth.

  “Besides—” he grinned mischievously at her—“the thought of a pretty widow woman needing my help was hard to pass up.”

  His words immediately buried her worry. “You think I’m pretty?”

  Jack’s eyes widened, and then he threw back his head and laughed. “I find it hard to believe you don’t know that.”

  Celia looked away, suddenly embarrassed. “I never thought of myself as such. Faith was the one who drew attention from the boys at home.”

  “Are you telling me no man has ever fallen all over himself to spend time with you?”

  He was teasing her, she was sure of that. Yet, when she gathered the courage to glance up at him, it was clear he was truly surprised. “No. Never. Why would they? Faith could charm them all with her easy laugh and conversation. Why would any of them work so hard to pry a word out of me?”

  Jack blinked at her and shook his head. “Fools, all of them. Though I should be grateful for that.”

  Celia ducked her head again. How had she gotten so lucky? Surely God had intervened. She’d prayed He might send her someone who truly saw her. And He had.

  The sun was beginning to set and with it, the temperature dropped. They soon arrived back at the farm. Jack took the horses to the barn, brimming with excitement to put everything he’d learned from Mr. McFarland into practice. Celia went inside and began preparations for the evening.

  They ate a meal of bread and butter, beans and ham. Celia tried not to fret over how many beans were left, or how they could afford flour once the last of the hay money ran out. Jack made it easy, entertaining her with stories from the city. He told of buildings so tall, one had to crane his neck back to see to the top. Of so many people, it was impossible to ever be on a street alone. Of the wealthy people he’d known and done business with. Celia listened to each word, enraptured. He coaxed a few tales from her of Mississippi and the perils of starting life anew here in Nebraska, but she felt none of them were nearly as fascinating as Jack’s life.

  He finished and pressed his napkin to the table. “That was delicious, Celia. I’ve never eaten so well.”

  And she’d never received so many compliments. It made her head spin, and she wondered if this was how people became egotistical. “I wish I’d made a dessert, but I fear using up all the flour.”

  Jack leaned forward. “Please don’t fret about that. I’ll figure it out.”

  But how? she wanted to ask. Food didn’t simply appear from nowhere.

  “I know you’ve been up in the middle of the night.” His words caught her off guard.

  “You do?”

  “I hear you moving about. You’re still worried about having enough for winter?”

  Celia looked down at her empty plate. She ought to start cleaning up. But instead, she remained where she was, and she found herself saying, “It isn’t just that.”

  When Jack was silent, Celia glanced up to find him beside her. He pulled his chair over and sat right next to her. “What is it?” he asked, concern tracing his dark eyebrows and making that little scar at the corner of his lips more prominent. She longed to run a finger over that scar, to find out what it felt like.

  Appalled at her own thoughts, Celia clasped her hands between her knees. “It’s nothing.”

  “Clearly it’s something, else you’d be asleep in the wee hours of the morning.” He gently pulled her arm until she let him take her hand. “Please tell me. I want to help, if I can.”

  His eyes caught her gaze, and she couldn’t look away. They were a soft brown in the lamplight, kind, compassionate, and loving. Everything she’d ever wanted.

  Celia took a deep breath. “It’s silly, but ever since the blizzard, I dislike being alone. I don’t even know what I’m afraid of, but it’s like you said before. Every fear I’ve ever had multiplies in the dark. I stayed only a few nights here afterward and didn’t sleep a wink. It’s half the reason I stayed with Faith.”

  He nodded as if he understood.

  “But it makes no sense,” she went on. “I’m not alone now.”

  “Would it . . .” Jack wrapped his other hand, holding hers in the warmth between them. He cleared his throat, and his eyes flicked away before returning to rest on hers, almost as if he were fighting nerves. “Would it help if I slept in your room? On the floor, of course,” he added quickly.

  Celia couldn’t look at him. If she did, she’d never live down the embarrassment she felt. “Yes,” she said softly, “But I can’t ask that of you.”

  “Why not? And besides, you didn’t ask. I offered.”

  She swallowed, somehow feeling as if she hadn’t had water in days. “Thank you. I . . . I think it might help.”

  “Then it’s settled.” He stood. “I’ll move my things after I check on the animals.”

  Celia watched him disappear through the back door, remaining in her seat. She’d been so focused on the all-consuming fears that came at night with no one nearby.

  She hadn’t given one thought to how she could possibly fall asleep with Jack so close.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Celia’s soft breathing was torture each night. Jack tossed off the blankets and rose. It had to be nearing dawn, and as she had been each night since he’d moved his sleeping quarters to her room last week, his new wife was still asleep.

  Too bad he’d barely slept at all.

  He grabbed a clean shirt and slipped through the door into the freezing kitchen. He threw it on, the scent of chilly sunshine and Celia fresh in the cotton. She’d washed it a few days ago. No one had washed his clothing since his own mother had done so. Celia had offered to give him her deceased husband’s clothing, but Jack couldn’t shake the strange feeling of wearing a dead man’s clothes. So instead, they’d brought it into town last Sunday and after services, had given it to some of the nearly grown boys who had lost parents in the blizzard.

  Jack hadn’t attended church regularly since he was a boy. He’d thought he hadn’t missed it, and yet, even with the long-winded and pessimistic Pastor Collins leading the congregation in Last Chance, Jack found an old comfort in the hymns and Bible verses. The extra trip into town on Sunday also afforded him an opportunity to get to know more of the townsfolk. This past Sunday, he’d explored the mercantile, talked again with McFarland, and assisted a flustered woman with carrying some purchases while she chased after four rambunctious children before returning to Celia to visit with Mrs. Thornton. She’d only insulted him twice, and he’d begun to believe he might be growing on her.

  Outside, the freezing air made the well water feel almost warm when he splashed it on his face. While Celia slept, he went to the barn to check on the livestock. The new mare seemed to be settling in, and he believed both she and George had actually accepted him as a friend. The calf was growing well, and as Jack watched her nudge her mother this morning, he wondered if there might be money to be made there. How, he didn’t know, but h
e’d have to think on it.

  He went about the morning chores as if he’d been tending to animals and collecting firewood his entire life instead of only a few weeks. The weather had definitely turned colder, but Jack hardly noticed it. Instead, thoughts of Celia seemed to pervade his every waking moment. The distraction had only grown stronger the more they’d gotten to know each other. He found himself wondering about the most bizarre things, such as whether she took after her mother or father, or whether she preferred pie or cake. He almost overfilled the horses’ water trough as he thought about whether she might enjoy a game of cards or a good book, and then—of course—imagined the curls about her face as she flushed in the lamplight while laying down a winning card.

  He laughed to himself as he stepped outside with the water bucket. Three weeks ago, he couldn’t even imagine himself a married man, and now here he was, dreaming up new ways to make his wife laugh or smile at him.

  “Good morning, Jack,” she said in her sweet voice as he entered the kitchen. She was sliding hotcakes from the pan to a plate. “You came back at just the right time.” She furrowed her brow. “Why do you have the water bucket?”

  Jack glanced down at his hand, not even realizing he’d carried the thing all the way from the barn. “I was distracted, I suppose.” He needed to tame his thoughts, else he find himself falling down the well while dreaming of Celia’s eyes.

  He set the bucket down by the door and shed his coat. The fire he’d built up in the cookstove earlier had warmed the room to a comfortable temperature.

  “Let’s do something fun today,” he said as he sat down. It was an impulsive thought, but it reflected his mood.

  Celia placed a plate of buttered hotcakes in front of him. Jack’s mouth began to water as he lifted his fork.

  “What do you mean?” she asked, sitting down herself.