Love Inspired Historical November 2015

by Linda Ford

  She lifted Alyce into her arms and crowded the man. “You’d best accept the inevitable, Wheeler, and hold her. She’s quite persistent.”

  Clearly wary, he accepted the child. Alyce grasped his cheeks with both hands and gurgled. Wheeler’s broad grin revealed his white teeth against his dark skin.

  Tessa turned toward Finch. “I made far too many biscuits this morning. I was hoping you gentlemen could assist.”

  She held out the bag and he reached for it with his left hand. Only then did she notice his right sleeve was pinned back. He’d lost his arm beneath the elbow. She’d thought he’d held the limb at an odd angle the previous evening, but she’d been too immersed in her own misery for closer inspection. Anchoring the bag against his side with what remained of his upper arm, he retrieved one of the biscuits.

  She fidgeted beneath his close scrutiny. This was her first real effort, after all, and there was no need for such a meticulous critique, was there?

  After turning the biscuit this way and that, he took a bite and nodded. “This is good.”

  Tessa expelled a breath she hadn’t even known she was holding. “Thank you.”

  “Where did you learn to cook like this?”

  “I cooked for my father some. I bought a book from the mercantile in town. I simply followed the recipe. The first batch didn’t turn out as well. The stove was too hot, I think.”

  “That stove runs hot. Let me know if you need any help.”

  “I will.”

  He glanced at the biscuit and back at her. “You just followed the recipe?”

  She wasn’t quite certain what he found odd about her explanation. “Yes. The instructions were quite clear. There are more recipes in the book I’d like to try. I’m short of ingredients, though.”

  “There’s a meat shed around back and root cellar near the house.” He jerked one thumb over his shoulder, indicating the general direction. “I’m sure Shane will show you around today. Do you need anything else?”

  She had to give them credit. If the men were surprised Shane had brought a wife home from town as well as the supplies, they kept their curiosity well hidden.

  “That was all. It was nice meeting you.” She reached for Alyce. “You said Shane was in the barn?”

  “Yep.”

  After that brief reply, the silence stretched out uncomfortably. Okay, maybe their curiosity wasn’t that well hidden. The four men stared at her as though some exotic creature had wandered into their midst. As she stepped outside once more, the cold hit her like a blast and she held Alyce closer. At least the wind wasn’t blowing and the snow wasn’t falling. With the bright morning sun sparkling off the snow, she might have lingered over the enchanting sight.

  The barn was only a few degrees warmer than the outdoors, but even the slight change was welcome. A man she recognized from the previous evening, Milt, sat on a low stool surrounded by heaps of corn he patiently shucked, tossing the cobs into the center.

  Shane stepped from one of the stalls and halted. “What are you doing here?”

  Tessa hesitated. It was more than a little disconcerting how surprised he was to see her. The easy companionship they’d shared the previous evening had vanished, leaving a wary edge to Shane.

  What had she done to make him watchful of her? They barely knew one another. What about her, then, made him brace for a showdown each time she appeared?

  Chapter Nine

  Taken aback by his demand, she halted. “Well, uh, looking for you.”

  Owen dashed toward the open stall door. “Scout!”

  She caught him beneath one arm midstride and hoisted him onto her opposite hip. “Let’s hear what Papa has to say first.”

  Her arms strained against the increased weight of carrying both children. Though Alyce remained still, Owen squirmed against her hold. The men were clearly working, and she didn’t want to disturb them more than necessary.

  Milt stood and brushed the corn dust from his hands. “I can take the little fellow around for a visit.”

  Alyce cantilevered her body toward the man and Tessa set her down.

  The little girl tugged on his pant leg. “Scout.”

  Milt grinned. “Yes. You can come, too.”

  Tessa set Owen down as well, rolling her shoulder in relief. “Are you certain?”

  She turned her head toward Shane, and he gave a slight nod.

  Tessa followed their progress. “He’ll keep a close eye on them, won’t he?”

  “You can trust Milt.”

  She nibbled on the inside of her cheek. Left alone with her husband, Tessa’s unease increased. There were no road maps for this new relationship, no past experiences on which to build. She wasn’t certain how wives were supposed to act, but judging from the odd look on Shane’s face, she wasn’t hitting the mark.

  She stared at her clasped hands. “I thought I’d see you at breakfast.”

  “I ate with the boys.”

  “I figured as much. I made biscuits.”

  Well, that was certainly a good start. I made biscuits. She’d have him swooning at her feet in no time with those honeyed words.

  “I’ll probably eat with the boys most meals,” he said, his gaze not quite meeting hers. “You don’t have to cook for me.”

  By her self-imposed timeline, she had until Christmas to convince him they suited. How was she supposed to do that if they never saw each other?

  “How about dinner?” She scuffed at the ground. “Will you at least have dinner with us? For the children,” she added quickly. “You can spend time with the children that way. We can develop a proper routine. From what I read in Bartleby’s book, routine is very important for a successful family life.”

  Then again, Bartleby had also stressed the importance of accurate references when acquiring new servants and the proper etiquette for receiving morning callers, neither of which applied here. As she’d discovered after reading the first few pages, Bartleby must have been English, and the English obviously had far more rigid procedures and customs.

  The chapter on entertaining sprang to mind. If she ever threw a formal ball, she knew the lady of the house should perform the first quadrille. Whatever that was. Yet the basic advice throughout the book had seemed sound, and stressing the importance of having a routine felt a whole lot more acceptable than begging for a scrap of companionship like an eager chicken pecking for feed.

  “Good idea.” Shane rubbed his chin. “The ladies from town were big on routine as well.”

  “They sound like very wise ladies.”

  “Dinner is a good idea, then, too. What time?”

  Wow. She’d had two whole good ideas in a row. She was on a roll. “Six o’clock.”

  The concession rang of victory, though she felt anything but victorious. Too bad Bartleby hadn’t included a chapter on wooing widowers. She craved something more than this stilted awkwardness. She’d find a way for them to work comfortably together as friends, with or without his cooperation.

  She sucked in a breath and started over. “Finch said you’d show me the root cellar and the meat shed.”

  He tilted his head. “When did you see Finch?”

  “Just now.” She motioned in the vague direction of the outbuilding. “I stopped at the bunkhouse before I found you.”

  “You went to the bunkhouse?”

  Tessa narrowed her gaze. His tone did not sound encouraging. “Yes.”

  His grim expression had her taking another cautious step back. “Was that wrong?”

  His eyes softened and he speared his hands through his dark hair. “Not wrong, exactly, but steer clear of there in the future.”

  His impervious tone raised her hackles. She wasn’t one of the children and he’d best remember that.

  “How come?” She sounded like a recalcitrant child, but since that summed up how she felt, she didn’t care. “Why can’t I visit the bunkhouse?”

  “Because they’re doing stuff.”

  “What kind of stuff?”


  “I don’t know. Man stuff.” He threw up his hands. “They need their privacy. They shouldn’t have to worry if you’re going to barge in.”

  He might have a valid point, she conceded. They had seemed rather shocked by her presence. There’d been all that hasty tucking away of shirttails and secreting away of playing cards.

  Despite the allowance, she wasn’t ready to let him off the hook. “I didn’t barge in. I knocked.” She huffed. “What if I need you for something? Can I knock then?”

  It wasn’t as though they were sharing the same quarters. Concessions must be made. He made it seem as though she was a great inconvenience, and she didn’t relish being thought of as an imposition.

  “Yes,” he replied, clearly exasperated by the run of questions. “You can knock if you need anything. Just try not to need anything too often.”

  Tessa crossed her arms over her chest. “I’ll try and keep my knocking at a minimum. I wouldn’t want to interrupt all your man stuff.”

  Their conversation smacked of the ridiculous, and the whole arrangement struck her as a bit irregular. Didn’t Shane realize that he might be the person she needed? She might not know much about being a wife, but she didn’t suppose this was the usual way men and women went about things. Shane had been married before. Surely he knew… She blew out an inward sigh. She mustn’t forget about his previous relationship. She’d practice her patience. As long as he didn’t take too long to come around.

  Battling a surge of remorse for her curt attitude, she searched for a change of subject.

  Alyce and Owen had emerged from the stall and discovered the corn. Owen plucked a cob from the dirt floor and stuffed it in his mouth.

  “No!” Tessa called.

  Owen grimaced and spit out the dried kernels. “Blech. Bad.”

  “Yes, bad.” She took the cob and wiped the drool from his chin. “You needn’t taste everything, you know.”

  Milt gave a slight shrug of one shoulder. “A little dirt never hurt none. My ma always said dirt had healing powers. Why don’t you leave the young’uns with me and take a look around the spread. That sun won’t stay up forever.”

  Rather than debate the healing powers of dirt, Tessa hooked Alyce beneath her arms and set her on one of the low stools. “Would you mind helping Mr. Milt while Papa and I take a walk?”

  Alyce opened and closed her fists with a nod. “Me help. Me help.”

  Crouching, Owen lifted another ear from the floor and tossed the whole thing into the center, husk and all. Milt retrieved the corn.

  Tessa lifted her eyes heavenward. “Don’t help the man too much.” She turned toward Milt. “You’re sure you’ll be all right for fifteen minutes or so?”

  “Right as rain.”

  Shane heaved open the barn door enough for them to pass, then called over his shoulder, “Holler if you need anything.”

  Once outside, he glanced at her feet and paused. “Those are better boots than the ones you had on yesterday.”

  “JoBeth picked them out for me.”

  He halted in his tracks. “Then why didn’t you wear them yesterday? They’d have kept your feet a whole lot warmer. You nearly froze.”

  “Because they’re ugly work boots,” she grumbled. “I wanted to look nice on my wedding day.”

  And there hadn’t been time to change since he’d been all fired up about the weather. She glanced around the serene setting and the light dusting of fresh snow. Clearly his fears had been unfounded, but she wasn’t pointing out his mistakes.

  He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Never mind. I’m sorry. Let’s get on with the tour. We only have a short time before the twins tire of their current activity.” He paused before a building not much bigger than an outhouse. “This is the meat shed.”

  He swung open the door and Tessa gasped. An enormous carcass hung from a hook in the center. She gagged and spun around, holding one hand to her mouth.

  Shane heaved a sigh.

  Oh no, she wasn’t giving him any more fodder. She didn’t know why he’d woken up on the surly side of the bed this morning, but she wasn’t letting him ruin her day. If Mr. Shane High-and-Mighty McCoy thought she was too much of a tenderfoot for the ranch, she’d prove him wrong.

  Him and his big, gusty disappointed sighs.

  “How long…?” She swallowed hard. “How long does it hang there?”

  “Weather like this, when it stays below freezing, it’ll keep for a bit. The meat is cooked or dried or salted. I keep two thousand head of cattle and three hundred horses. The cattle business keeps me afloat when the horses aren’t selling. Horses are an unpredictable business, but the cattle is steady. Everybody has to eat.”

  The carcass wasn’t quite as shocking anymore. She’d been surprised, that was all. She’d noted a drawing of prime cuts in Mr. Bartleby’s Book of Household Management. Although the penciled drawing of that animal had been much less detailed and colorful than the real thing. No matter. With each experience she gained a thicker skin. Later, she’d ask Finch how to carve up the parts. If she caught him outside the bunkhouse, that was. Who knew if butchering was considered important enough for knocking and interrupting man stuff?

  Tessa snorted, her warmed breath puffing vapor into the air. She’d have to skulk around and pounce the instant he walked past. Man stuff indeed.

  Shane turned. “Did you say something?”

  “I was wondering about the root cellar,” she answered blandly.

  He led her across the grounds following a well-worn path scraped clear of snow toward a lean-to cut into the side of the hill. He crouched and flipped open the door set at an angle. “Be careful when you go down the steps. When there’s a melt, sometimes the water leaks inside and freezes.”

  She peered over his shoulder.

  He motioned with one hand. “Ladies first.”

  Stooping, she squinted into the darkness. “Are there spiders?”

  “In the summer, yes. Now they’re mostly dormant.”

  “What about snakes?”

  He heaved another one of his annoying sighs. “The snakes are hibernating as well,” he said with exaggerated patience. “As long as you wear your ankle boots, they can’t bite you anyway.”

  Ankle boots were quickly becoming the bane of her existence.

  She recalled her morning routine with frustrating clarity. She’d practically torn Owen’s boots asunder trying to jam them on his feet. She’d had such enthusiasm this morning.

  Six dozen biscuits, three sinks full of dishes and two pairs of boots later, her cheery mood had waned. Suddenly it was all too much. The cold, the spiders, the snakes, the side of beef swinging from a jagged hook and how abominably difficult it was for a grown and capable woman to place tiny shoes on tiny, squirming feet.

  Shane wasn’t the only one who was a touch cranky this morning. She stared at the jagged edge of the fingernail she’d torn while dressing Owen. A burn on her thumb from the stove throbbed as well. Her new husband’s unexpected dour mood didn’t do anything to lighten her own thoughts either. The sooner this was finished, the sooner she could sit down with a cup of tea and nurse all her bumps and bruises, the mental ones as well as the physical ones.

  She pressed a stiff arm against Shane’s chest. “Never mind. Ladies first, remember?”

  He staggered back a step. Her torn nail caught on his wool coat and she winced, then glared at the spot of blood.

  “I’ll rip out their tongues tomorrow,” she grumbled.

  Shane blanched. “Whose tongues?”

  “The shoes. The boots. Those tiny little boots with a bend where a foot doesn’t bend.”

  “Oh yes. It’s quite a chore, isn’t it?”

  His weary resignation softened her anger. They were in this together, the two of them, by design, by agreement and by the vows they’d declared before a man of God. This was no time for turning on each other.

  “Yes,” she returned shortly. “It’s quite a chore.”

  Already this morni
ng she’d changed their diapers twice. Bartleby needed a chapter on child rearing. That thought brought her up short. How did one transition a toddler out of diapers, anyway? She made a mental note to ask Jo the next time they saw one another.

  Yes, Bartleby definitely needed a chapter on child rearing. Instructions on dealing with tantrums seemed far more useful than knowing where to sit a baroness at the dinner table.

  With Shane staring expectantly at her, she took a cautious step into the abyss, then another. She’d never been overly fond of the dark. Emmett had conducted most of his more nefarious business after nightfall. He’d slip out after he assumed she was asleep, padding across the floor and slipping out the door. She’d listen for the thud, thud of his shoes as he replaced them in the corridor followed by the raspy turn of the key in the lock.

  The moment his shadow disappeared from beneath the door, she’d roll over and light the wick on the oil lamp. After that, she’d wait. The waiting was the loneliest part. She’d imagine all manner of catastrophes the longer the evening wore on. One question had always worried her most. What would she do if he never came home?

  At least now she knew. She’d succumb to a keening sense of loneliness within months and marry a handsome stranger with two adorable children. Ah well. She gave a mental sigh. There were worse fates out there.

  She wasn’t dancing with a smelly cowboy in a saloon for a nickel a song with bells jangling around her ankles. That was something. She wasn’t in a shallow, unmarked grave with one of Dead Eye’s bullets in her chest. That was another something. All in all, things might have turned out worse.

  The stairs had been cut into the dirt and topped with embedded wood slats. Three steps down her false courage ran out and she whirled. “Perhaps we should get a lamp.”

  “There’s plenty of light,” Shane assured her. “We’re not here to read the newspaper.”

  “Right. Of course.”