by Mary Burton
Chapter Thirteen
Later that afternoon, Abby sat on a log under the shade of a poplar tree churning butter. Her anger had cooled and she now regretted losing her temper. What was wrong with her? Her emotions were all over the place.
Emotions had turned her life into a disastrous mess eight years ago and now they were doing it again. She’d come to Montana to gain control, not lose it.
The boys’ squeals of laughter had her looking up from her churn. Quinn and Tommy were watching a frog peeking out of a hollowed-out stump. They were such good boys. Leaving them would break her heart.
“Abby, come help us catch the frog,” Quinn shouted.
She pushed the plunger into the churn. It seemed all she did was work. For the first time since she’d arrived, she resented her chores. It had been so long since she’d had a bit of fun.
The clear creek waters glistened and beckoned. Abby glanced at her butter churn then back at the water, tempted beyond reason.
Excitement bubbled inside her. She quickly unlaced her shoes and tugged off her stockings. The boys laughed as she hiked up her skirts and stepped into the stream.
“Abby, you are getting wet,” Quinn laughed.
She leaned down and splashed a handful of water onto the boy. “Now you are, too.”
Quinn swiped the water droplets from his face then ran to the water’s edge. “I thought we weren’t supposed to get wet.”
Abby shrugged. “Once in a while it’s okay, Quinn.”
“Pa says the bears stay close to the water.”
Abby searched the tree line. “It’s okay.”
Tommy laughed at his brother as he ran past him into the water. He splashed Abby and then Quinn.
Not to be outdone, Quinn barreled in and started to kick up water. Abby laughed. The three played and time drifted. Soon water dripped from her hair.
Abby suddenly stopped. She felt the hair on the back of her neck rise.
She sensed Mr. Barrington’s presence even before he spoke. Her back stiff, she looked down at her dress. She was drenched and the bodice fabric stuck to her like a second skin.
“Boys, you know better than to play in the creek. With that bear loose, there’s no telling where it’ll turn up.”
Quinn looked up at Abby. “See? I told you.”
She patted him on the shoulder. “It’s my fault. Quinn did warn me.”
Mr. Barrington reached out and hauled the boys out of the water. “It’s time you went inside and changed into dry clothes.”
“But Pa, we’re playing,” Tommy said.
Mr. Barrington nodded as he tried to brush the mud from the seat of Tommy’s pants. “I can see that, but it’s time to go inside.” The steel in his voice left no room for argument. “Quinn, take your brother inside.”
Quinn took his brother’s hand. “Come on, Tommy.”
Breathless, Abby hiked up her damp skirts and followed the barefooted boys out of the water. Dripping wet with muddied bare feet, she felt like a fool standing in front of Mr. Barrington. “There’re sugar cookies on the stove after you’ve changed, boys. I’ll get them for you.”
Mr. Barrington grabbed her arm, halting her escape. “Boys, you go on ahead. Miss Abby will be there presently.”
“Can we have two cookies?” Quinn said.
“Sure,” Mr. Barrington replied.
When the boys were out of earshot, Abby tugged her arm free. “They’ll eat the whole jar if I’m not there.”
“Let ’em,” he said. He held out his hand to her.
She considered ignoring him, and climbing out of the creek without help, and then decided she was being silly. She laid her hand in his. He closed his long callous-tipped fingers over her hand. Heat seeped up her arm as he hauled her out of the creek.
“You’d be smart to pay close attention while you’re by the water,” he said. His voice sounded gruffer. “I found more tracks out on the range yesterday.”
Her stomach soured. “More bear tracks?”
“I didn’t want to tell you, but the other night when we were together—”
She shot him a look of warning, daring him to bring up what had happened between them in the barn.
He shoved out a frustrated breath. “I was talking about the bear tracks.”
“I know,” she said hastily.
He knew she was lying. “I tracked the bear the next morning but lost his trail half a mile from the ranch. There was no sign of the bear until today. I found more tracks.”
“Are we in danger?”
He stood on the bank, his powerful legs braced apart. “We need to be extra careful.”
She swiped a wet lock of hair off her face. The freedom and joy she’d just felt vanished. “We’ll be more careful.”
Abby lifted her damp skirts and tried to sidestep him. He moved, blocking her path. Slowly she lifted her gaze to his. The lines around his eyes and mouth looked deeper. Tension had tightened the muscles in his body. He looked ready for battle.
Suddenly, her whole body ached with sadness. “We made a mistake, Mr. Barrington, that’s all. My leaving is going to correct it.”
He stabbed his fingers through his hair. “You’re right, we did make a mistake. I made a mistake.”
His admission added salt to Abby’s wounds. He was sorry they’d made love.
Abby lifted her chin a notch. “I don’t really blame you. I should have left town the minute I found out you didn’t want a wife. I pushed when I should have retreated.”
He planted his hands on his hips. “You’ve got spirit. I admire that about you.”
“Admire. Respect.” Bitterness laced her words.
“Admiration and respect are good foundations.”
She searched his dark, clear eyes. “What are you saying?”
“I don’t want you to leave.”
“I will speak to Mrs. Clements about caring for the children.”
“This isn’t just about caring for the children. I want us to build on the respect we have for each other.”
She shook her head sadly. “When I first arrived I thought respect was all I was looking for in a husband. I didn’t want love because it’s too messy and painful. But the other night, my heart opened for the first time in a very long time. For a few brief moments I felt loved.” Unshed tears tightened her throat. “I’ve discovered that I want more from a husband, Mr. Barrington. I want love.”
He tightened and released his fingers. “I don’t know if I have that to give.”
Tears pooled in her eyes. “I know. You’ve been saying from the start and I didn’t listen. But I am now. I understand you can never love me.”
He lifted his hand to touch her arm, and then let it drop as if he feared touching her. “I still think we could manage well of it if you’re willing, Abby.”
“Manage well.” She scraped a tear off her cheek. “Not the words of endearment I was looking for.”
He swallowed. “I’m not a romantic man, Abby. Words are hard for me.”
She could see that he was struggling and she couldn’t watch this proud man suffer for what he didn’t feel. “It’s okay that you don’t love me, Mr. Barrington. I know you are a fine man. You gave your heart to Elise and there’s nothing else left to give. You don’t have to marry me because of what happened.”
“Many couples do well without love.”
“You are right, but for the last few days I’ve been thinking about my parents. Theirs was a love match. What they had was special. And that’s what I want.”
His eyes narrowed a fraction as if he were trying to pry into her brain and analyze her thoughts. “Tell me about them.”
She smiled. “You don’t have to do this.”
“What?”
“Make small talk. Like I said, it’s okay you don’t love me. The other night was my fault as much as yours. Don’t blame yourself.”
His lips flattened in frustration. “I wouldn’t be asking if I didn’t want to know.”
She stare
d at him, trying to gauge his emotions. He stared at her with such intensity; she could almost imagine that he was interested. For reasons she couldn’t explain, she started to talk.
“They met when my mother was working on a charity drive for the local parish. She was just out of the schoolroom. Mother didn’t want to be at the church because her father had sent her as punishment. She’d had a tantrum because her last gown hadn’t been made out of silk. Grandfather wanted to teach her humility.”
Her mother had told her this story a hundred times when she was a girl and she never got tired of hearing it. “Father was a young parish assistant, just out of seminary. He, too, was working the clothing drive. He and Mother were assigned to work together.”
She glanced up at Mr. Barrington to see if he was really listening. To her amazement he was staring at her, listening closely. “At first they hated each other. Mother hated missing her parties and she didn’t like the young idealist minister who had grand ideas of opening a mission church for the Indians. But Father was always teasing her, goading her into fights. ‘No one could get under my skin better than Papa,’ she used to say. Soon an attraction sparked and out of that grew love.
“My grandfather didn’t approve of the marriage. In the end my parents eloped.”
“What happened to them?”
“They had fifteen very happy years. They died in a cholera outbreak.”
“That’s when you went to live with your aunt and uncle?”
“Yes.”
“That explains a lot.”
“What do you mean?”
“My first impression of you was wrong. Dressed in that fancy dress of yours, you didn’t look like you knew the business end of a stove.”
She shook her head. “That fancy dress was a cast-off from my cousin.”
“I’ve underestimated you. You are more than you seem. It’s been a long time since I’ve come home to supper and a clean home. The boys have never been happier. You fit here.”
Again no words of love. “I smooth people’s lives. That what I’ve always done best.”
“That’s why you worked in the kitchens.”
“After the trouble with Douglas and I realized my uncle had every right to throw me out, I decided to make myself so useful that they’d never want to send me away. And it worked. Everyone in my uncle’s social circle coveted my cooking skills. There was a pumpkin spice cake recipe that several fine ladies tried to buy from me.”
“You never sold it.”
“No. If I sold my recipes I could have been replaced.” Looking at him made her heart ache. Traitorous tears filled her eyes. “But I’m tired of just being useful. I want to know that if I got sick or I couldn’t work there’d be someone to take care of me. I won’t be just a convenience anymore.”
“I don’t want you to leave.”
She sighed. “I’ll stay until the end of the summer as I first promised.”
He frowned, frustrated that he couldn’t give her what she wanted.
“Thank you for trying, Mr. Barrington. But it’s best I leave.”
Over the next couple of days, Matthias continued to arrive home before dinner. He played with the boys and tried to stay near Abby. He found all kinds of fool excuses to talk to her, whether it was the boys, the weather or cattle prices.
She was always polite and answered his questions, but she kept her answers short and her guard up. By the third day, he was running out of excuses to talk to her.
To Matthias’s great relief, Holden arrived with his coach midafternoon on Friday. This time he carried three miners and a railroad executive. All the men ate their fill, and Abby was pleased to earn nearly five dollars for her meals. Reputation of her cooking was spreading like wildfire.
The men spent a good bit of time talking about beef and horses. The railroad was going to need both if it was going to bring a rail line up from Butte. With the railroad as a customer, Matthias would do more than break even this fall, he’d make one hell of a profit.
He should have been pleased by the development. After all, the lack of money had always been at the root of his worries. But even the promise of a hefty profit didn’t soothe the tightness in his gut. He was losing Abby and he didn’t know what to do.
Thirty minutes later, Matthias and Holden fastened the last of the buckles harnessing the horses to the coach.
“So how are things going with you and Abby?” Holden said as he rechecked the harness. “Abby seems extra quiet.”
Matthias shoved his hands in his pocket. “Tense.”
Holden shoved out a sigh. “Look, Matthias, I know we all sprung Miss Abby on you out of the blue. If things ain’t working out between you two then I can take her back into town with me.”
“No,” he said, surprised at the force in his voice. “We just need a little more time to work things out.”
Holden lifted an eyebrow. “So you’re glad we sent for her?”
“She’s one helluva complication.”
Holden lifted an eyebrow. “A good complication or a bad one? I’ve had my life complicated by women before and I’ve got to say it wasn’t all bad.”
“It’s not all bad.”
“What are you gonna do?”
“Hell, I don’t know. With Elise the love was there at first sight for both of us. Whatever is between Abby and me isn’t clear-cut or easy.”
Holden laughed. “Sometimes when you got to work for something you appreciate it more.” His gaze drifted past Matthias to Abby who was talking to three very attentive miners. “But you better work fast. There are a lot of men who’d marry her in a heartbeat.”
His gut coiled with hot jealousy as he watched a miner kiss her hand. “What the hell can I do?”
Holden scratched his chin. “For starters, I’d bring her into town for the Fourth of July picnic.”
“Holden, I’ve got more work than I can shake a stick at. I can’t spare two days.”
Holden shrugged. “If you want to keep Abby you better consider it.”
He didn’t want to lose Abby. “What difference will a picnic make?”
Holden laid his hand on Matthias’s shoulder. “Think about it. Women love social gatherings. Mrs. Clements and the other two women in the valley will be there. And you know how women like to talk. There’ll be music, dancing and I bet Mrs. Clements would be happy to watch the boys for the night so you two could get a little privacy.”
“If I tried to touch her right now, she’d likely brain me with a frying pan.”
Holden laughed. “Which is exactly why you need to woo her, win her over.”
“Woo my wife.”
Holden shrugged. “Desperate times mean desperate measures.”
“A picnic? Elise did like picnics.”
“That’s another thing. If you want to win Abby over you’re gonna have to stop comparing her to Elise.”
“Easier said than done.”
“How would you like it if every time you crawled into bed with Abby she was comparing you to another man?”
His jaw tightened just thinking about Abby with that damn Douglas. “Point taken.”
“So we can count on you for the picnic?”
The idea was growing on him. “The boys would sure like it.”
Holden groaned. “This outing is about Abby, remember that.”
He watched Abby walk toward the house, her calico skirts billowing in the wind. There were a hundred reasons why he should love her.
However, he accepted the fact that the chances were slim. His heart had turned to stone, and he doubted anything would bring it back to life.
But for the first time in a very long time, he wanted to try.
Past seven that night, the fire crackled as Abby sat by the fire in a rocker mending a torn shirt that belonged to Mr. Barrington. The boys leafed through a two-year-old copy of Harper’s Monthly magazine while Mr. Barrington reviewed his accounts.
The evening was painfully normal, and there were moments when it was easy to
forget that she was leaving in six weeks.
“The horse roundup is going well. The herd is healthy and strong this year. I should make a fine profit when I take them to the railhead,” Mr. Barrington said as he tossed another log on the fire.
The sound of his voice startled Abby. She looked up from her mending.
“I know you’ve been worried about that,” she said.
“Abby,” Quinn said.
Mr. Barrington glanced at his son, as if annoyed by the interruption, but he said nothing.
Quinn pointed to a pen-and-ink sketch in the magazine. “What’s this?”
She glanced down over his shoulder to the picture. “That’s a bicycle.”
“What’s a bicycle?”
“You sit on it and push those pedals with your feet. The wheels turn and you start moving. It’s kind of like riding a horse.”
“Does everybody in the city ride a bicycle?” the boy asked.
“Not so many people. It’s hard to ride on the cobblestone streets.”
“Have you ever ridden a bicycle?” Quinn said, looking up from the worn page.
She laid her darning in her lap. “No, but I saw one when the carnival came to town.”
“I’d like to see a bicycle,” he said. “Did you like living in the city?”
“Sometimes, I loved it. Sometimes it wasn’t so fun.”
“What did you like about it?” Mr. Barrington asked.
She glanced up at him, startled by his interest. “The theater. I would go once or twice a year. And the shops. In San Francisco, there are always ships coming in from the Orient. There are so many spices to choose from.”
“Are there children there?” Quinn said.
She laughed. “Oh yes. Lots of children. Where I live they all go to the park in the morning to play in the grass. In the summer there is a merry-go-round.”
“What’s that?”
“It’s a big wheel that has painted wooden horses on it and it turns round and round while music plays.”
Tommy frowned. “Why would anyone want a wood horse?”
These children had lived their entire lives in wide-open spaces. Horses were a part of their lives. “It does seem rather silly doesn’t it? But it can be fun.”
