The Texan's Inherited Family (Bachelor List Matches)

by Noelle Marchand

  “We’ll probably need a pot or two more. It looks like you have quite a few loads to do.” Isabelle put the last of books back in the case. “So Quinn isn’t a big reader then?”

  “I suppose not.” Helen found her largest pot and pumped the faucet to fill it. “He’s more interested in his music. Besides, he stays so busy that he’d hardly have a chance to read if he were so inclined.”

  Isabelle leaned onto the large farm sink beside Helen. “I thought farmers had more free time in the winter with harvest over and planting season not until the spring.”

  “Well, he has a crop of winter wheat in the ground. He’s also working on an addition to the house.”

  Isabelle took over the pumping for her. “Really? What is he building?”

  “Another bedroom and maybe an extension on the kitchen.” She carried the heavy pot to the stove, careful not to slosh it.

  “Another bedroom? Are y’all planning to add to your family immediately?”

  Helen lost her grip on the pot. Thankfully, it was close to the surface of the stove so it settled with a loud bang and only a small splash. Like unexpected pressure on a bruise, pain made her eyes well and prompted her to answer honestly. “The bedroom is for him.”

  Isabelle was quiet for so long that it seemed Helen could almost hear the thoughts racing through her friend’s head. “That sounds...permanent. Are you all right with that?”

  “Yes.” She blinked away her unshed tears as she mopped up the water on the stove with a clean rag.

  Isabelle squeezed her arm. “This from the girl who was certain she’d fall in love with her husband without a problem?”

  “I forgot to factor in the possibility that he might not be willing to fall in love with me.”

  Isabelle’s mouth dropped open. “Did he say that to you?”

  “He might as well have.” Helen reached for the cookie jar. “Take one. The children and I made these yesterday.”

  “You can’t shut me up with a cookie even if they do smell delicious. Why does Quinn get the final word on this? You have every right to fall in love with your husband and seek his love in return. In fact, I’m pretty sure y’all promised to love each other before God and a handful of witnesses not even a week ago.”

  “I can’t control his feelings.”

  “Perhaps not, but you can’t give up, either.”

  Helen felt her temper rising so she forced herself to take in a deep breath and calm down. She usually wasn’t a short-tempered person, but this had been a trying week. As in she had been trying really hard to be who she needed to be for the children and Quinn. She was suddenly realizing that some things had fallen by the wayside during that process. Important things, too. Things like Trent’s silence and the fact that her husband was building for a future that didn’t include her. Meanwhile, he didn’t even have a bed to sleep in.

  Isabelle had made an erroneous assumption. That’s what made Helen so mad. She hadn’t given up on her marriage such as it was. She just hadn’t had time to think about it. That needed to change. First, she had to figure out how to do the laundry. Second, she had to cook supper. After that, she had to help the children with homework and put them to bed. Then, once all of that was done and Quinn was avoiding her as usual, she’d come up with some sort of solution to at least one of these problems. She just had to.

  * * *

  Late that evening, Quinn watched the flames in the fireplace abate with grim satisfaction. Something about watching a fire dance always brought to mind things like damnation, the coming judgment and a lake of fire. Nana had become more concerned about those things after his father and brother had gone searching for “fool’s gold” as she’d called it. As a child it had terrified him. Eventually, he’d learned not to show that fear for it only seemed to prompt her to add more detail to her descriptions. If the fear of the Lord was really the beginning of all knowledge, those formative years should have left him a lot smarter than he’d ended up.

  He speared the wooden logs with a metal poker and a bit too much force. His arms, sore from breaking ground for the new addition, protested the motion. He’d known he was overdoing it at the time, but he couldn’t seem to slow down once he’d started—not when every splice of sod was meant to demonstrate his acceptance that he wasn’t good enough for Helen. Surely, God would appreciate his efforts.

  Satisfied with the glow of the banked fire, Quinn set the poker aside to lay out his bedroll. He found it wasn’t where he’d left it that morning or anywhere else in sight. He’d been married less than a week but already knew that nothing was truly lost unless his wife couldn’t find it. He went to knock on her bedroom door only to discover someone else had already beaten him to it. Helen’s voice sounded through the partially open door. “And just what are you doing out of bed, little lady?”

  Clara’s giggle induced him to peer through the gap in the door just as Helen swept the seven-year-old onto her lap. Clara tilted her head back to use what Quinn called her “pleading doe eyes” on Helen. It was hard to deny the child anything when she pulled that weapon from her arsenal. “I was hoping you might read a little more of Treasure Island to me. It’s so exciting.”

  Quinn barely quelled a groan that would have given his hidden position away. Books. Why was his whole family suddenly fascinated by books? It used to be they were happy if he had time to play them a few songs after supper. Now, the three older children weren’t satisfied unless Helen read about pirates and buried treasure. It was a wonder they settled down to sleep at all with that nonsense filling their heads. Yet, they enjoyed it so much that he couldn’t speak against it. It would have been highly suspicious for him to do so, anyway. More suspicion was the last thing he needed after Helen’s discovery that there was not a single bookshelf or book in the house besides the ones that her parents had sent. There was his Nana’s Bible, of course, but if he mentioned that she might wonder why she never saw him reading it.

  Clara’s lips pouted slightly. “Please Aunt Helen? I like to hear you read.”

  The girl was being a scamp, but he couldn’t argue with her choice of flattery. Helen was a good reader. No, she was a great reader. She made a person feel like they were part of the story. So much so that he’d found himself caught up in the fantasy, too. That scared him a little. He didn’t want to find books interesting because that just meant there was more that he was missing out on. As if the notification he’d originally received about his brother’s death, his own marriage certificate and any letters from his in-laws weren’t enough.

  “Thank you, darling. I’m glad you’re so eager to hear more, but you know I can’t do that. It wouldn’t be fair to the others.” Helen lifted an eyebrow and added a hint of mystery to her voice. “There’s another reason, too. I’ll tell you what it is if you can keep a secret.”

  “I can keep a secret. What is it?”

  Helen whispered rather loudly. “It’s past your bedtime.”

  “That isn’t a secret!”

  Helen placed a finger over her own mouth. “Perhaps if you’re very quiet, Uncle Quinn will carry you back to your room.”

  Caught, Quinn could do nothing but smile as Helen met his gaze. Clara, at least, was surprised at his presence so he winked at her. “Say good night.”

  “Night.” Clara kissed Helen’s cheek then rushed toward him. He lifted Clara into his arms and carried her down the hallway to the girls’ room.

  Clara automatically started to whisper once they entered her room so as not to wake Olivia. “Uncle Quinn, I don’t want to go to sleep. I want to stay awake with you and Aunt Helen.”

  “But we’re going to sleep, too,” he whispered as he pulled back the covers and set her on the bed.

  Her mouth scrunched into a sideways pout. “It isn’t fair. I don’t get to see Aunt Helen as much as Olivia and Trent do because I have to go to school. It is
n’t nearly as fun there without her.”

  “Well, tomorrow is Thursday. Starting on Friday, you’ll have the whole weekend to spend with her.” He knelt beside her bed and tucked in her recalcitrant form. “The fastest way to get to tomorrow is to sleep.”

  “But I’m not finished with today yet.” Her long dark lashes closed in a drowsy contradiction.

  “Oh, yes, you are.” He leaned over to kiss her forehead. “Good night, Clara. Snuggle in tight and tomorrow will be here before you know it.”

  Her words came out more as a heavy sigh than a whisper. “Good night.”

  He closed the door behind him quietly and found Helen waiting in the hallway. “Did she settle down?”

  “Yeah, she’s practically asleep already. By the way, I seem to be missing my bedroll. Have you seen it?”

  “I took it apart and washed all of the blankets for you. I was about to bring them out to you.” She led the way into the bedroom and grabbed the stack of blankets from the top of the dresser. “You know, Quinn, I still don’t like the idea of you sleeping on the floor. This room is plenty big enough for the both of us. We could fit another bed in here across from mine. Perhaps under the window? We could put up a changing screen for a bit more privacy. That way you’d have a real bed to sleep in until the addition is done. Or, if it worked out well enough, you may not have to build anything extra. What do you think?”

  The idea of having his own bed and a little privacy again was more than enticing. To tell the truth, sleeping on the floor was getting old fast. It was cold—not to mention uncomfortable—and he had a long way to go on the addition to the house. He’d broken the sod, but that was only step one. He’d need to dig down to the house’s foundations, gather stones to lay a new one, build the frame for the floor and the floor itself, the framing for the wall... The list went on and on. It would be expensive, too. He’d known that from the get-go and had been willing to put down the money to secure Helen’s place as the mother to his children. Or, had it been out of self-preservation? For his own protection against whatever penance the Almighty might demand for such a blessing? Whatever his motivation, he’d still be building onto the house if he accepted her offer. He just wouldn’t have to sleep on the floor while doing it.

  He nodded. “I reckon we could try it out, Helen. It will probably take me the weekend to make the bedframe and stuff a new mattress. My first night in here would probably be Monday. Does that work for you?”

  “Certainly.”

  He took a step back toward the door. “Well, I guess I’d better get on back to the floor for now. Thanks for washing these for me. Have a good night.”

  Quinn determinedly pushed away his misgivings as he reconstructed the bedroll in the living room. God would understand the change of plans. As he drifted to sleep, Quinn repeated that assurance to himself until he began to believe it.

  Chapter Eight

  After Quinn left her room with the blankets, Helen finally had the time and privacy she needed to read the letter Isabelle had brought from Helen’s parents. She picked it up from her nightstand and sat at the small desk Quinn told her had belonged to the cabin’s original owner. She’d never seen him use it so she doubted he’d mind if she did. She opened the lone drawer in search of paper and ink. All it held was a dusty Bible and a jumbled assortment of papers so she shoved the drawer closed, gathered writing materials from her trunk and settled back at the desk to read the letter.

  From the start of her parents’ letter, it was obvious they were shocked by the announcement of her marriage. She’d sent the news by letter, telling them that the wedding had been planned so quickly that she hadn’t had time to invite them. She grimaced. That wasn’t entirely true. She hadn’t told them until after the fact because she hadn’t wanted to take the chance that they might try to discourage her from going through with it. They might have humored her by helping her get the teaching job; however, they hadn’t hidden their belief that she’d soon tire of it and come home where she belonged. Instead, she’d gotten married.

  She was somewhat relieved to find that their only protests seemed to be directed not at the marriage itself, but rather the fact that they hadn’t been notified in time to attend the ceremony. Her father didn’t try to hide his disappointment at not being able to walk her down the aisle. Her mother, on the other hand, tried to disguise her hurt and confusion at not being invited by offering cautious congratulations. Helen grimaced, feeling downright guilty as those words became more genuine as the letter progressed.

  I know that only the deepest love could have moved my daughter to act so quickly to secure it.

  “More like the deepest desperation,” Helen whispered. “And fear. Fear that I’d never have the chance again.”

  I remember all too vividly the night your first engagement ended.

  Helen froze, seeing the memory play out even as her mother described it.

  While your father sent the guests home, I held you and you cried as I have never heard you cry before. It was only then that I realized how deeply that riding accident had scarred you—not just physically, but emotionally.

  Helen rubbed her hand across her lower abdomen. She hadn’t realized it until that moment, either. Thomas’s rejection has confirmed what she’d known since the accident. As normal as she looked on the outside, she was broken on the inside in ways that could never be fixed. Tears filled her eyes as the emotion of that night rushed back to her. She blinked away the blurriness to keep reading.

  Oh, how feeble my attempts to comfort you seemed then when I told you that he existed—the man who would love you for everything that you are. I cannot express how satisfying it is to see my words come true.

  The words hadn’t come true. Not yet. The room partition she and Quinn had decided on was a step in the right direction. He would be physically close by, but what good would that really do? They’d shared a house for a week and were still closer to being acquaintances than they were friends or sweethearts, let alone spouses.

  I am so proud of you, my darling, for being a woman of integrity. It would have been so easy not to tell Thomas Coyle the truth. Yet, you did. God saw that and blessed you for it by giving you what you truly desired all along—a husband and children whom you love and are loved by. What an amazing testament to His goodness!

  Helen stared at those words until a heavy tear fell and landed on the paper and caused one word to blur. Integrity.

  She’d always thought of herself as what her mother had described “a woman of integrity,” but could she really make that claim now? While she might have told Thomas the truth, she hadn’t extended that same courtesy to the man who actually mattered—her husband. Why should she when everything she’d longed for was finally within her reach?

  Perhaps because the secret had begun to weigh on her soul. She was so afraid that her faults might make her undesirable as a woman or undeserving of being a mother. No matter how hard she tried to suppress it, it was always lurking in the back of her mind.

  Suddenly, she knew. She was going to have to tell Quinn the truth. Her heart slowed to a steady rhythm. For the first time all week her mind cleared. Her eyes widened as she realized what she was experiencing. Peace. She couldn’t remember how long it had been since she’d felt this way. Perhaps not since she’d agreed to marry Quinn.

  She swallowed hard at the implications of that. She knew that marrying him had been the right thing to do. She knew it. Of course, she hadn’t exactly asked for God’s input or help since then. Now, she was freely admitting she needed help. She might need to tell Quinn the truth, but she didn’t want to be foolish about it. She’d pick the opportune time and place for that to happen. To her way of thinking, a few things had to happen first—like them falling in love. And...well, that was pretty much it.

  She set her parent’s letter aside then dipped her pen in the ink well and began to write out he
r response. She thanked them for their congratulations before telling them truth about her marriage—that it was a matter of convenience not love. At least, not yet. She carefully blew the ink dry as she contemplated how to finish it.

  Quinn doesn’t know about the accident and I don’t plan to tell him until I’m certain he loves me. I’m sorry if I’ve disappointed you by sharing this. I just wanted you to know so that you might pray for me—and for Quinn and the children. I have a feeling this road may not be an easy or a smooth one. However, I am holding on to the hope that it will be worth it.

  She signed the letter and couldn’t help noticing how much better she felt having confessed everything to her parents. Somehow in doing so, it made the task before her seem less insurmountable.

  She’d figured out the household chores this week. Maybe she wasn’t doing them all perfectly but it was enough to build on. Now was the time to enjoy her family and past time to get to know the man who had become her husband. The man her mother had talked about in the letter. The one who would love her for everything she was—in spite of what she wasn’t. Once she knew he did, she would tell him everything. She would. Even though the mere thought of it made her want to run back to the safety of her parents’ arms.

  * * *

  Monday evening, Quinn paused outside door of the room he was supposed to share with Helen for the first time. He wasn’t at all sure what to expect from her since they’d hadn’t been alone with each other since they’d come up with the idea of sharing quarters. He’d made sure of that—not wanting to give her, himself or God the wrong idea about what this move would mean for their relationship. If the perplexed looks she’d been sending him lately were any indication, she’d certainly taken note of the increased distance between them. Hopefully, that distance would make things easier for them both tonight.

  The sound of his knock seemed to echo through the heavens as thunder rolled in the distance promising some much needed rain for Quinn’s crop of winter wheat. His misgivings swelled as Helen bid him enter, but he did so, anyway. There was no sign of her until he spotted a hint of movement behind the changing screen.