Handpicked Husband (Love Inspired Historical)

by Griggs, Winnie

  “Thanks.” He sat at the table, determined to maintain the polite detachment he’d assumed yesterday.

  Then he took a good look at her as she set a plate in front of him. Dark smudges underlined her eyes, as if she hadn’t slept well. But gone was the vulnerable, cowed woman from yesterday. There was determination in the set of her shoulders, a glint of challenge in her eyes, purpose in her movements.

  She’d apparently recovered from whatever crisis of conscience she’d been feeling.

  Regina set her own plate on the table and looked him square in the eyes. “We have to talk,” she said firmly.

  He picked up his fork. “I’m listening.”

  “My confession yesterday outraged your personal moral code—I understand that. However, there’s nothing I can do to change what is in the past. I need to know what I can expect from you going forward.”

  He detected no guilt in her demeanor, no sense that she felt shame or remorse. Only a determination to regain control over her situation.

  “If you’re referring to our time here,” he said, “I think it would be best if we had as little interaction as possible. In fact, I suggest you proceed for the most part as if I’m not here and I’ll do the same.”

  He noticed a tightening of her jaw, there and gone from one heartbeat to the next. “And when we return to Turnabout?”

  “I believe we’re both capable of maintaining an air of civility when we’re around others. I will, of course, take a separate bedroom.”

  “And will your ‘civility’ extend to Jack also?”

  “Don’t worry. I plan to treat Jack as if he were my son.” He’d try to make sure Jack never felt neglected or unwelcome.

  Then he paused with his coffee cup halfway to his lips. “As a matter of fact, I suppose Jack’s actually my stepson now.”

  She leaned forward. “I’d still like to formally adopt him.”

  He nodded cynically. “That way you can finally have him call you mother without revealing any embarrassing little secrets.” He set his cup down and gave her a hard look. “I believe you gave up that right when you gave him up.”

  She flinched, the first sign of vulnerability he’d seen today. “Are you saying you’re opposed to my adopting him?”

  “Our adopting him, you mean. Of course I’m not opposed, but let’s resolve some of the bigger issues first, like having that talk with your grandfather.”

  He pushed away from the table. “Thank you for breakfast. Now, I think I’ll take Trib out for a bit of exercise.”

  * * *

  Reggie didn’t watch him leave. She pushed the food around on her plate with a fork until she heard him step off the porch.

  Is this what she had to look forward to—chilly politeness and stilted conversation?

  If so, she’d have to make it work. She couldn’t let Jack see her misery. But was she that good an actress?

  Reggie took her time cleaning up from breakfast. Once that was done, she stood in the middle of the cabin, at a loss for what to do next. She didn’t have her camera equipment with her or even a book to read. She had to find something to keep herself occupied, something to keep her maudlin thoughts at bay.

  Grabbing a rag and scrub brush, she set about cleaning the already neat cabin with a vengeance.

  Adam came back from his ride about lunchtime. What little conversation they had consisted mainly of excruciatingly polite requests to pass one dish or another.

  As soon as he’d finished, he once again pushed back from the table. “I noticed you’re getting low on firewood. I assume there’s an axe here somewhere I can use to cut a fresh stack.”

  She nodded. “There’s one out in the feed crib. But this is the hottest part of the day. You should wait until later this evening when it cools down a bit.”

  “I’ll be fine.”

  Was her company so distasteful that he’d rather work out in the midday heat than sit in the same room with her?

  Fine. Let him go. He could work himself down into a little puddle of sweat for all she cared.

  He moved toward the door. “When I’m done with the firewood I’ll probably try my hand at some fishing.”

  Not trusting herself to say anything, Reggie merely stood and began clearing the table. She took her time with the housework, but there really wasn’t much to do. As she put away the dish rag, she compressed her lips in a determined line. She was not going to just sit here and mope.

  A vigorous walk was just what she needed.

  It was late afternoon before she saw him again. His indifference was harder to take than anger would have been. If only she could force some emotion from him.

  Any emotion!

  She had to find a way to get through to him, to make it difficult for him to continue to ignore her.

  Hearing him outside, she stepped out on the porch to find him sitting on the steps, whittling on a stick.

  She hesitated, then stepped forward and leaned her stomach against the porch rail. “No luck with the fishing?”

  He didn’t look up. “I don’t seem to attract good luck in much of anything I do.”

  Reggie mentally winced. Not a promising start.

  Just keep talking.

  “I checked the food hamper. There’s only a little of the ham left. But there’s cheese and bread and some fruit preserves, too. It’s not fancy vittles, but I should be able to fix us something filling for supper.”

  He shrugged. “Don’t go to any trouble on my account. I’m used to prison fare, remember?”

  Reggie doggedly tried again. “Thank you for refilling the water barrel and for taking care of the firewood.”

  His knife bit a deep gouge in the wood. “Don’t worry, I intend to carry my share of the load.”

  Something inside Reggie snapped. Her feelings of guilt gave way to good old-fashioned anger.

  She stomped down the stairs and whirled around to confront her stony-faced husband. “I’ve had enough of you trying to make me feel like I’m a no-account jezebel who’s less appealing than snail slime. Yes, I did something terrible and foolish seven years ago. But I was only sixteen, for mercy’s sake! And I’ve been paying for it ever since.”

  She fisted her hands on her hips. “For good or ill, I’m your wife now, and I deserve at least a smidgeon of respect.”

  He very deliberately folded the pocket knife and brushed the shavings from his pants leg. Then he stood, towering over her like someone about to pronounce sentence. Would he give her a blistering set-down? Argue with her? Stalk away?

  But his expression remained maddeningly impassive. “I intend to afford you every respect you are due. If at any time you feel I’ve failed to do so, please don’t hesitate to say so.”

  He stepped down. “Please don’t bother to wait supper for me, I’m going for a walk and—”

  “I know,” she interrupted bitterly, “it may be quite late before you return.”

  Without even a flicker of change in his expression, Adam nodded and stepped past her.

  As quickly as it had come, her anger died.

  It was no use. She couldn’t even rile him to anger anymore.

  Reggie trudged up the steps and sat down on the porch swing. With a listless push of her foot, she set it in motion. She wished she at least had Buck with her. He would have been better company than her so-called husband.

  It was nearly dusk when Reggie finally went back inside. She lit a lantern then stood wondering what to do next. She was too restless to go to bed, but she didn’t really have anything to do.

  She hadn’t packed so much as a book to read.

  Book. That reminded her of something.

  Reggie moved to the wooden chest that rested to one side of the loft ladder, and knelt beside it. She hesitated a moment, then lifted the lid. Pushing aside some linens and blankets, she unearthed Granddaddy Noah’s Bible.

  Plopping down cross-legged on the floor, Reggie set the heavy book in her lap. She brushed her hand lightly, almost reverently, on the leat
her-bound cover, then opened it up.

  There, printed in different inks and hands, was her family history on her mother’s side, all the way back to her great-great-grandfather, Hiram Forrester. It was all recorded here—births, marriages, deaths.

  As a child, whenever she’d seen Granddaddy Noah with his Bible, she’d asked him about those people. He’d tell her wonderful stories about who they’d been, how they’d lived, how they’d died. And he’d always ended by pointing to her name and saying that someday her own husband and children would be listed there, and that she could pass the volume down to one of her children who would continue the tradition.

  She’d look at the blank section and envisioned the unending march of names that would fill it. The thought of all that history, and her part in it, had fascinated her, had given her a sense of belonging as nothing else ever had.

  Regina crossed the room and placed the Bible carefully on the table. Then she searched around until she found some writing materials. With painstaking care, she added Adam’s name next to her own with yesterday’s date. Then she sat back and looked at the entry, bittersweet sadness clogging her throat.

  That would quite likely be the last entry ever made into this book. It all ended with her.

  Jack’s name should be recorded here, of course. But the thought of him stumbling upon the entry had been too daunting. As Adam had pointed out with such moral righteousness, she had given up the right to claim her son long ago.

  And since her new husband had also made it abundantly clear he couldn’t bear to spend even a few minutes alone with her, there would be no children from this union.

  What an awful mess she’d made of not only her own life but Adam’s as well.

  She traced the names listed there with her finger, feeling as if she’d let every one of those people down. When she reached her grandfather’s name, her finger started trembling. “Oh, Granddaddy, I’m so sorry.”

  Then, as if he’d been standing beside her, she heard the words he’d uttered so long ago.

  “But this book contains more than our family history. It contains the glorious story of God’s love for us and the key to true happiness, in this life and the next. Don’t ever forget that.”

  But she had. Somewhere along the way, she’d let her shame push her away from that all-encompassing love. Was it too late?

  And with that, she folded her arms on the table and lay her head on them, finally letting the pent-up sobs come.

  * * *

  Adam dropped the stub of his cigar and ground it with the heel of his boot. Night had fallen and he had only the moon and stars to light his way. Not that he really needed them. He’d walked this path so many times today he had every twist and turn, every dip and bump memorized.

  The cabin finally came into view and all seemed quiet inside. The only light visible was a single lamp shining from the kitchen window.

  Still, Adam hesitated. He wasn’t ready to go inside yet, at least not until he was certain she was asleep. He couldn’t face that bruised look in her eyes again, not tonight. Yes, she’d done something terrible. The same unforgivable thing his mother had done to him.

  But that didn’t mean he enjoyed seeing her spirit crushed.

  He’d actually been relieved when she’d roused enough to give him what for earlier. Not that he’d ever admit that to her.

  Was he being too unbending? She was right about one thing. They were married, and, for Jack’s sake if nothing else, they had to find a way to live together in some semblance of harmony.

  Perhaps before they headed out tomorrow they could sit down and talk about it.

  Satisfied with that decision, and confident that she’d turned in for the night, Adam climbed the porch steps. He slipped his muddy boots off by the door and quietly stepped inside.

  Then stopped. Regina was asleep all right, but she hadn’t gone to bed. She was seated at the dining table with her head pillowed on her arms. A book lay open beside her.

  Should he just slip quietly past her and go up to bed. Surely she’d wake on her own before morning and seek out her own bed. Especially if he made a bit of extra noise settling in upstairs.

  But that didn’t feel right.

  With a sigh, Adam moved toward the table. As he approached, the book caught his eye. A Bible? Had she turned to the Good Book in penitence? Or was she searching for answers?

  Then he realized it wasn’t open to scripture, but to the front pages that listed family history. Curious, he peered over her shoulder, trying to read the names. Her elbow covered a portion of it, but it seemed to be a record of her maternal lineage.

  His gaze fell on the last entry. When he saw his name listed beside hers, his breath caught. It was as if a whole clan had reached out and welcomed him into their midst.

  Then he got his first good look at her face.

  She’d been crying! And not just dainty, ladylike weeping. The tracks on her cheeks attested to a raging flood of tears.

  His churlishness had brought her to this.

  Her luminous eyes drifted open, and she gave him a sleepy smile. “Are you ever going to kiss me again?” she asked wistfully.

  A heartbeat later, the dreamy fog cleared from her eyes. She stiffened and her face suffused with color. “I’m sorry. I was still dreaming—”

  “You were crying.” It came out harsher than he’d intended, like an accusation. She’d been dreaming about his kissing her?

  Regina swiped guiltily at her cheeks. “It was nothing,” she said almost convincingly. “I was just feeling sorry for myself.”

  She tried to turn away then, but he stopped her with a hand to her arm. “I suppose I owe you an apology.” He clenched his jaw. “I haven’t handled this whole business very well.”

  She stiffened. “Don’t go feeling sorry for me. I told you, it was a momentary lapse. It won’t happen again.”

  He raked a hand through his hair. It appeared they were going to have this conversation tonight after all.

  He pulled out a chair and took a seat. “We need to talk.”

  * * *

  Reggie rubbed her upper arms, trying to tamp down her embarrassment. What she’d said to him—

  Her cheeks warmed all over again at the memory.

  She glanced his way and his serious expression raised a prickle of apprehension.

  But mostly she felt relief. Whatever else resulted from this discussion, it signaled that he was through ignoring her.

  “I won’t lie,” he began. “I don’t think I’ll ever be able to forget what you did.”

  She thought she’d braced herself for censure, but his words still had the power to lash at her.

  Adam leaned back. “However, I realize I’ve acted churlishly and for that I apologize.”

  Reggie kept very still, her hands clasped in her lap. He’d apologized—that was something.

  “As you said,” Adam continued, “what happened in the past can’t be changed. It’s the present and future we need to concentrate on, and how to make them livable for the both of us.”

  She knew those words hadn’t come easily to him and that she should be grateful. He’d offered an olive branch of sorts, a sign of compromise from a man who thought compromise was a weakness. Expecting more from him would be unrealistic. The least she could do was meet him halfway. “How do you suggest we do that?”

  Was that flicker in his expression a flash of relief?

  Whatever it had been, he suppressed quickly. “We made vows to each other in front of God and your neighbors,” he said. “It’s important that we be true to those.”

  “I never planned to do otherwise.”

  He gave her a tight smile. “Then we’re agreed. It might take some effort at first, but in time it will likely become second nature for us to get along amenably.”

  Now didn’t that just sound like the most romantic way to start off a new marriage?

  Reggie, stood, needing some activity, some distance from Adam. “You haven’t eaten anything tonight.
Let me at least get you some cheese and bread.”

  Adam stood as well. “I could use a bite of something.”

  She unwrapped the block of cheese and reached for a knife while Adam took a clean cup from the drain board and uncorked the jug of cider.

  He stood beside her, so close their shoulders nearly touched. It rattled her for some reason, made her breath uneven.

  Did he feel anything at all?

  Reggie sliced into the cheese with more vigor than care, then jerked her finger up to her lips, wincing at the metallic tang of blood.

  Adam immediately set his cup down, concern furrowing his brow. “Let me see that.”

  She pulled her finger out of her mouth and shook her head. “It’s nothing. The knife slipped. I—”

  “Don’t argue.” He took her hand, examining the cut with a concerned frown.

  Reggie stared down at her hand in his. A tiny rivulet of blood seeped from the shallow cut, curling around her finger and onto his, like a narrow ribbon binding them together.

  Amazing that such large, work-callused hands could feel so warm and gentle without losing their sense of strength.

  “I’m sure it’s nothing serious,” she said. “It doesn’t even hurt.” Not a lie since all she could feel at this moment was his touch, his nearness.

  “Let’s clean it and get a better look, just in case.” Still holding her hand, he dipped a clean rag in the nearby bucket of water, then slowly squeezed it over her finger. Head bent, he gently dabbed at the remaining blood.

  Reggie stared down at his head, so close she could smell the scent of soap and cigar smoke and night air. So close her breath stirred his hair. So close she could press her lips to his temple without moving much at all.

  She pulled slightly back at that very inappropriate thought.

  His head came up, his gaze seeking hers. “Did I hurt you?”

  Not in any way I can explain. She shook her head, not trusting herself to speak.

  “Well then, I think you’re right. It’s not serious. The bleeding’s already stopped.” He let go of her hand. “You’re obviously tired. Go on to bed. I can fix my own meal.”