by Renee Ryan
“It’s fine. Just fine.” But the look on Pete’s face said it was anything but fine.
Confused by the sudden shift in her husband’s mood, Rebecca eyed him curiously. His shoulders were set at a stiff angle while a muscle twitched in his jaw.
The change in him didn’t make any sense. Unless. Unless he didn’t like watching her converse with another man in such a casual manner. Maybe Pete cared for her, after all. Maybe just a little? Was that why her heartbeat had picked up speed?
Puzzled, Rebecca continued staring at her husband.
Unfortunately, he’d already turned to face Clint. “Now that you’re here, I’ll leave the horses to you.”
Clint nodded. “I’ll get right to it.” He shifted his hat to the back of his head. “Nice seeing you again, Rebecca.”
“You, too.”
The cowboy headed toward the back of the livery with long, easy strides.
Once Clint was out of sight, Pete cleared his throat. “I need to get to work, too. We’ll finish our tour another time.”
“Oh, all right.” Had she done something wrong?
As though understanding her concerns, Pete’s expression softened. That was something, she supposed.
“I’ll be in the smithy if you need anything.” He turned to go.
Desperate to hold on to what little camaraderie they’d had before Clint arrived and ruined the mood, Rebecca called out, “Pete, wait.”
He stopped.
She hurried to him and touched his sleeve. “Would you like me to bring supper home tonight? We could share it together.”
His brows scrunched together as though he didn’t quite understand what she was asking. Then, Oh, thank You, Lord, he smiled. “Yes, Rebecca, I’d like that very much.”
“Then it’s settled.” She lifted on her toes, just as he leaned forward. Her lips connected with his cheek.
They both jerked back, eyes wide. And then…
Pete grinned. A full, heart-stopping, teeth-flashing, genuine grin. “Until tonight, Rebecca. We’ll finish our tour. And our conversation.”
Frozen in the moment, she simply stared at him. And stared. At last, she managed a slow nod.
Without another word, Pete exited the livery.
Rebecca watched the empty doorway for a full minute after he was gone. Regardless of how much she told herself not to read too much into Pete’s behavior just now, hope filled her. They’d made real progress this morning. And it was only their second day of marriage.
An hour later, Rebecca’s heart was still full of hope. Perhaps…maybe…possibly…she was on the right path to building a true marriage with Pete. Ah, but hope was a tricky emotion, one that could bring pain as quickly as joy. In fact, she’d been disappointed by her parents too many times during her childhood to trust the emotion growing in her heart now.
Exasperated with herself, she shoved her hair out of her face and smiled at Emmeline’s younger sister. “Well, Bess, you and I are going to make kringler this morning.”
Bess nodded.
“We’ll get started as soon as I put away this last pot.”
Bess sat down, folded her hands together in her lap and lifted an expectant gaze.
Still smiling, Rebecca wiped her palms on her apron and then went to the pantry to gather the ingredients she would need for their baking project. She chattered to Bess as she went. But without the girl responding, her own mind worked as fast as her lips, bouncing from topic to topic, worry to worry.
With so many thoughts colliding with one another in her mind, Rebecca felt unusually helpless. There was too much she couldn’t control. But she didn’t have the luxury of time to worry.
After a brief pause, Rebecca gathered what she needed to make the pastry, only to come up one ingredient short.
“Looks like we’re low on flour,” she said aloud for Bess’s sake. “Low” being an understatement. Rebecca was sure to run out before the end of the day. Normally she wasn’t so careless with her supplies, but thanks to the chaos of the past few days, she’d forgotten to place an order with Mr. Johnson.
“We’ll have to run to the mercantile.”
Bess calmly unfolded her hands, rose from her chair and walked straight for the back door. Rebecca couldn’t fault the girl’s cooperation.
There was a spiritual lesson here—Rebecca sensed it—but she was too busy dreading her trip to the mercantile to grasp what it could be. This would be her first trip back to the store since Mrs. Johnson had turned her away.
As much as she would like to avoid another altercation with the woman, Rebecca had to buy flour. Surely now that she was married to Pete, Mrs. Johnson wouldn’t refuse her service.
“Let’s get this over with,” Rebecca muttered as she opened the back door.
Bess followed quietly behind her.
The girl’s ongoing silence had Rebecca fighting off a good sulk. Even the weather was plotting against her. A sharp drizzle had started below a dreary gray sky.
Desperate to shake her bad mood, Rebecca tried to lure Bess into conversation. “Are you enjoying life on the Circle-L?”
Bess marched on without answering.
Well, all right. Maybe a more pointed question was in order. “Did Will say anything about the search for the twins?”
Bess’s shoulders stiffened, but she continued walking, her head bent against the pinpricks of rain assaulting them both.
Rebecca let out a long breath. Perhaps she was overstepping her bounds, but she felt compelled to push Bess a little harder than usual. “Do you think Mikey and Missy are nearby?”
Bess’s chin trembled, but no response. Not a sound. Not even a sob.
Guilt reared at the sight of the girl’s obvious discomfort. Rebecca stopped trying to break through Bess’s silence. They were at the mercantile, anyway.
Just as the wind picked up, Rebecca stepped inside the store. Bess scurried in behind her, nearly attaching herself to Rebecca’s back. Only when the door was closed to the weather did the girl lengthen the space between them.
It didn’t take medical training for Rebecca to see that Bess was still traumatized from her experience in the tornado.
Rebecca gripped the girl’s hand and squeezed. “This won’t take long, I promise.”
Bess gave an uncertain nod. Rebecca tugged her into a tight hug, then stepped back.
The aroma of apples and cinnamon filled the air around them. Breathing in the pleasant scent, Rebecca scanned the store only to end up biting back a sigh when her eyes locked with Abigail Johnson’s narrowed gaze.
Like her mother, the girl often treated Rebecca with open hostility, without provocation. Rebecca had no idea why.
On the surface, Abigail had all the advantages. Small-boned and ridiculously petite, she was considered High Plains’s greatest beauty. Her features were perfectly symmetrical, her eyes were a startling shade of green and she had hair the appealing color of golden wheat.
Nevertheless, Abigail had chosen to dislike Rebecca. And with her face scrunched into a hard, unforgiving glare, she looked ready to battle once again this morning.
Rebecca stifled another sigh. At least the store was empty today, save for Clint Fuller.
She shot a swift glance in his direction. He waved at her absently. He seemed intent on studying a row of colorful ribbons. What could he possibly need with ribbon? Maybe he was looking for a gift to buy Cassandra?
How sweet.
Not wanting to embarrass him, she focused on Bess. “We’ll just purchase our flour and go.”
Abigail slapped her hands on the counter. Sneering, she dropped her gaze over Rebecca and then sniffed rudely.
Rebecca bristled. How many times had Matilda Johnson looked at her like this?
“If you’re here to buy flour—” Abigail’s words dripped with disdain “—you should know we only have a few kegs and the large sacks for sale today.”
Neither of which Rebecca could transport on her own.
A wave of frustration cres
ted, but Rebecca kept her expression blank as she gazed at the fifty-pound sacks lined up against the back wall. “I can’t carry one of those.”
“That’s not my problem.” Abigail lifted an indifferent shoulder, then proceeded to study her thumbnail with rapt attention.
Resentment grabbed at Rebecca’s stomach, tying itself into a hard knot. “Could you sell me a portion of—”
“No.”
“Not even—”
“No.”
“You would turn away my business?”
Abigail lifted her gaze. “Apparently so.”
Rebecca had no idea what to say.
Lips curled in an unattractive pout, Abigail continued watching her, her green eyes steady, intense. And mean.
Refusing to be intimidated, Rebecca held Abigail’s stare without flinching. “Perhaps if I could speak with your father…”
She let her words trail off, hoping the thinly veiled threat sounded more like a request. Mr. Johnson always treated Rebecca with respect. He’d even reprimanded Abigail once, when his daughter had been openly rude to her in front of other customers.
“My father is not available. He’s pounding nails over at the town hall.”
“When he returns, will you have him—”
“He’ll be gone all day.”
Rebecca refused to give into Abigail’s obvious attempts to thwart her. “Then could you arrange to have the flour delivered to the boardinghouse this morning?”
Jamming her hands on her hips, Abigail rolled her gaze to the ceiling and clicked her tongue in exasperation. “We are not running deliveries at the moment.”
“But, surely—”
“Come now, Rebecca. What’s a little sack of flour to you?” A quick, mean-spirited grin flashed across her face. “You’re as big as a cow.”
Rebecca gasped.
A cow? Had Abigail actually called her a big, dumb animal? Rebecca ducked her head, her fury building. Granted, she wasn’t as small as the petite blonde, but she wasn’t huge, either.
Was she?
She looked down at her waist. Twenty-eight inches was not large, not by most standards in her country. But maybe the expectations were different in America. She hadn’t lived here long enough to know. Pete hadn’t mentioned anything about her weight, certainly nothing negative, anyway.
Bess squeezed her arm in a reassuring gesture, but nothing could keep the shame from building. And behind the shame came rage. Blinding rage.
Rebecca was fed up with the Johnson women and their ongoing attempts to humiliate her. But no matter how furious Rebecca became, she could not—must not—react out of anger. That would make her no better than her tormentors.
Despite her resolve, Rebecca lifted her head and glared at Abigail. The pain from holding her tongue rolled over her, and she had to grind her teeth together to keep the words from spilling past her lips.
Something hot and ugly rolled through her.
Hate. That’s what she was feeling. The same strong emotion she’d struggled with when Matilda Johnson had refused her service.
When will this end, Lord? How do I overcome my anger and hurt? How do I resist spewing my own poison in return? Help me. I don’t think I—
Clint’s voice interrupted her prayer. “Sell Mrs. Benjamin the flour, Abigail. I’ll carry it to the boardinghouse.”
Abigail’s eyes widened as she stared at the man standing somewhere behind Rebecca. “Clint Fuller, you stay out of this.”
Boot heels clicked on the wooden floor behind her, the sound moving closer and closer. “You’ve had your fun, Abigail.”
“But, I…I…”
“Quit stuttering, girl. It’s unattractive.” Clint’s voice came out condescending. “Give Mrs. Benjamin what she came for.”
“Fine.” Abigail’s glare turned vicious as she refocused on Rebecca. “You can have your flour.”
In the face of Abigail’s capitulation, Rebecca gathered enough courage to pivot around and connect her gaze with Clint’s. “I thank you. But I…I don’t think this is a good idea.” What would people say if they knew she was allowing this man, a man not her husband, to champion her like this? And so soon after her hasty marriage with Pete.
Bess squeezed her arm hard enough to get her attention.
“What? What is it?” Not wanting to be distracted, Rebecca’s words came out clipped and impatient.
Certainty filled the young girl’s gaze as she cocked her head toward the cowboy and nodded.
Of course. Bess would know Clint, since she lived at the Circle-L. Yet…
“Are you sure?” She lowered her voice.
If Pete was standing here, championing her like this, she wouldn’t hesitate. But what did she really know about Clint other than he helped out in the livery every now and then?
Bess tugged on her arm and nodded a bit more vigorously than before.
“All right, then.” Rebecca focused her attention back on the cowboy. “Thank you, Clint. I would greatly appreciate your assistance.” She gave him a weak smile.
Abigail snorted in a very unladylike fashion. “Figures you would accept an unmarried man’s help.”
Rebecca gasped. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Ignore her,” Clint said in a disgusted tone. Grinning broadly, he looked down at Bess. “Hey there, half pint.”
Bess’s answering smile spread across her face.
Rebecca blinked. Emmeline’s sister was actually smiling. At Clint. And her eyes had a look of undeniable affection in them. In fact, Bess’s expression reflected the same emotion Rebecca felt whenever she thought of Pete.
Well, if Bess thought that highly of the cowboy, then Rebecca would take a chance on him, too. “Thank you, Clint. I’d be grateful for your assistance.”
“I’m glad to help.” Shooting Abigail a warning glare, he walked to the back of the store and then hoisted a sack of flour over his shoulder.
Rebecca went to finish her transaction. Throughout the exchange, Abigail’s face remained pinched in a sour expression. But instead of feeling threatened this time around, Rebecca had to bite back a smile. High Plains’s most notorious beauty didn’t look quite so pretty at the moment.
The thought kept Rebecca smiling all the way out of the store.
Chapter Ten
Once they were all gathered on the sidewalk, Clint insisted Rebecca and Bess lead the way. Bess kept sending the cowboy quick glances from under her lashes. Unfortunately, her fascination didn’t translate into speech. And since Rebecca had no idea what to say to Clint after Abigail’s open nastiness, the journey from the mercantile to the boardinghouse was accomplished without a word.
Just as they entered the kitchen, Clint spun in a circle. “Where would you like me to put this?”
“On the table, please.” Rebecca pointed to the end closest to the pantry. “And thank you again for your help.”
“Happy to assist.” He set the flour where she’d indicated.
Bess sank in a nearby chair. But instead of lowering her head, she kept her gaze locked on the cowboy. Rebecca didn’t fault Bess her fascination with the man. Now that she looked, she realized Clint was handsome, in a rugged sort of way, with masculine features, dark hair and blue, blue eyes. But she wasn’t surprised she hadn’t noticed before. After all, the last time she’d seen him, he’d been standing next to…next to her husband, and who could blame her for not noticing Clint Fuller when Pete was in the room?
“Rebecca, I—” He straightened and looked awkwardly around him, landing his gaze everywhere but on her. “The way you handled Abigail this morning, well, it was real mannerly.”
“Mannerly?” She enunciated the word carefully, puzzling over its meaning in her mind. “I’m afraid I’m not familiar with that word.”
He took off his hat, then ran his hand down his face. “What I meant is that no one would have blamed you if you’d told Abigail what to do with her, uh, bad manners. You were real polite.”
Polite? Rebecca wasn
’t sure that was the correct word for her earlier behavior. She couldn’t allow Clint to think she was a better person than she was. “Telling Abigail what I thought would not have been right, but make no mistake, my thoughts were extremely ugly.”
“Which is my point exactly.”
Rebecca didn’t understand. “I’m not sure what you’re trying to say.”
“I guess what I’m saying, or rather asking, is—” his gaze darted away from her “—would you teach me how to act like that?”
Act like what? Her mind wasn’t making the connection with the English words Clint spoke. She pressed her fingertip on a spot between her eyes and tried to focus. But she was unable to organize her thoughts. She looked at Bess for help, but the girl’s gaze was still riveted on the cowboy’s face.
Rebecca dropped her hand and took a deep, fortifying breath. “I don’t understand what you’re asking.”
“I want you to teach me how to be mannerly.”
“Mannerly?” She repeated the word with more confidence than before, finally understanding what the awkward-sounding word meant. “Are you asking me to teach you manners?”
He gave her a big, boyish grin. “Exactly.”
He couldn’t be serious. What he asked was beyond strange. And what would Pete think? She doubted he would want her spending time with an unmarried man, no matter how innocent. More to the point, Rebecca didn’t feel right about it.
“Clint, I’m not at all sure such a thing would be proper.”
Mrs. Jennings chose that moment to enter the kitchen. “What wouldn’t be proper?”
Rebecca twisted her hands together, only just realizing the mistake in her word choice. It wasn’t that Clint had asked her to do something inappropriate. Yet surely, such a thing wasn’t done in this country.
“Are either of you going to answer my question?”
Before Rebecca could organize a suitable response, Clint spoke up. “I was just asking Rebecca if she would kindly teach me manners. Nothing fancy, mind you, just the basics. But she told me that wouldn’t be proper.”
