The Bartered Bride (The Brides Book 3)

by Lena Goldfinch

  Frowning, he turned back to the hall and eyed Annie’s door.

  “Annie,” he whispered through the panels of her door, leaning the heel of his hand against her doorframe. “Is Mae in there with you?”

  No response. Not even a single thump of her heel against the floor.

  Her boots stood in the hall outside her door, propped neatly side by side, with the backs up against the wall. They looked dark with rain and mud, most likely because she’d taken Sugar out earlier. Given that her boots were here by her door, she was most likely in her room right now.

  He drummed his fingers against his thigh.

  After debating with himself for a matter of moments, he decided he could either knock louder and risk waking them all up, or open the door a crack and peek in.

  It could take hours to get Mae back to sleep in a storm like this...

  But he didn’t like to just open Annie’s door. It wasn’t something he did. It was her room. Though they were married—on paper, at least—it wasn’t as if he had the right to open her door any time he wished.

  Even though Annie didn’t seem as much a stranger to him as she had at first, it wasn’t like they were on door-opening terms. She had a right to her privacy.

  Another crack of lightning sounded directly overhead, and the window down at the end of the hallway lit up with a bright blue light.

  And he still didn’t know where Mae was.

  He eased Annie’s door open.

  TWENTY-ONE

  Annie heard her door creak open and lifted her head from her pillow.

  “Didn’t mean to wake you,” Jem said quietly. He brought with him the subtle scent of rain. A summery smell that reminded her of thunderstorms they’d had back home in Tennessee. “Just checking on Mae,” he added by way of explanation.

  She nodded, clutching the sheet up under her chin for modesty’s sake. Not that the fluffy white nightgown she was wearing didn’t cover her from neck to toe already.

  It didn’t surprise her much to see Jem standing there, a lantern in his hand. Mae had scampered over to Annie’s room a while ago, with Sugar tagging along. She’d let the little girl crawl into her bed, and they’d snuggled in, both of them burying their faces into their pillows until they fell back asleep. Sugar had jumped onto the bed at some point too, for Annie felt the warm weight of the dog at her feet. Jem must’ve come back from the stable and checked in on Mae. When he’d found her missing, he’d gone looking for her.

  Annie would’ve done the same. In fact, she’d half expected his visit and had been dozing in and out, waiting for his knock. She wasn’t sure how she’d missed it, though perhaps the constant dull drumming of rain on the roof above had masked the sound. Also, she’d found her eyelids quite heavy. It was possible she’d simply drifted off to sleep.

  Jem stood framed in the doorway, his hair dripping, his shirt plastered to him. For a second, it looked as if he might come around the bed to kiss Mae on her forehead, or at least say something about the storm, but he simply retreated without another word, closing the door with a soft thump behind him.

  She lay staring up at the ceiling in the dark.

  What a puzzle he was, always running away.

  Here she’d thought to win him over by sticking herself into his world so he couldn’t ignore her. She shook her head at her thinking. Jem wasn’t that sort of man. Not that she knew entirely what sort of man he was. But she did know—somehow—that forcing her way into his space would’ve been a mistake.

  So how? How did she get through?

  Mae loved her. Sugar was a given. Even Ray seemed to have softened toward her. Ben, she couldn’t begin to think about.

  But Jem.

  Jem who’d spoken to her last night on the porch. Shared his birthday with her. Invited her to sit next to him on the steps. Made her dream impossible dreams.

  She couldn’t give up on Jem. Something about him tugged at her heart. She thought about him all the time. Caught herself staring at him at dinner. After dinner. Whenever he came near. There was just something about him. His “handsome features” weren’t in question, because his features were mostly hidden behind his beard. He had nice eyes, of course. She knew that very well. He had a striking figure to watch as he worked. Tall. Strong. Masculine. Those broad shoulders. Impressive. All things to appreciate, but...

  Bu there was more. Something more elemental.

  She wanted in. She wanted in his world. Dinners were nice. Evenings in the parlor were nice, but not enough. She wanted more, more, more. She wanted everything. A full life. A complete family. Marriage. Since when did she think she deserved all that?

  Annie turned onto her side and pressed her face into her pillow. Since when?

  * * *

  Jem hesitated in the hall outside Annie’s room, with her door closed tight behind him. He’d been relieved to see Mae tucked in her bed. Sugar hadn’t even lifted her head off the mattress, so she must’ve been exhausted from her terrors earlier. But it was the sight of Annie looking up at him from her bed that stuck with him.

  There’d been something so homey and familiar about all of them piled into her room like that. Like a small family huddled against the storm.

  Like family.

  Feeling suddenly restless, he ran a hand through his damp hair. He needed to towel off—that’s what he needed to do. And he also needed to at least try get some good sleep in before morning. He snuffed out the hall sconces first.

  As he was about to open his door, his lantern flame flickered weakly, fading, casting the hallway into gloom. He paused to turn the wick up. As he did so, he again saw how damp and muddy Annie’s boots were. She hadn’t left them downstairs by the back door, which told him Sugar had been a handful and had required all of her attention. Either that, or Mae had been demanding her attention. Or both. He could easily see that happening.

  She was so good with both of them, taking care of them during the day while he was out working the ranch with the other men. Ray helped too, he knew, but he suspected Annie took over most of the care of his daughter. And all the care of Sugar.

  Cleaning her boots might be a nice thank you. He bent to pick them up. The leather was heavy with moisture, streaked with mud. After entering his room and drying himself off as best he could, he carried the boots to his study, where he could more easily clean them. He kept old newspapers, shoe brushes, polish, and a stack of rags on a small chest-high table just for this purpose. In the morning, they’d need a good brisk brushing to get the dried mud off, but for now he could wipe them down.

  Once inside, he set the boots on a sheet of newspaper, then turned one boot over in his hands.

  The toe end of the sole flapped free of the leather upper. A hole gaped open in the ball of the foot too, big enough to stick three or four fingers into. No protection at all. The mud and water must’ve gone straight through, soaking her feet.

  Not fit to give away, let alone keep.

  Who is she? he wondered, not for the first time. What was her story?

  She must not have come from much. The preacher who had taken her in as a foster child—maybe he and his family had lived threadbare lives. Either that or he hadn’t provided very well for her.

  The thought caused Jem to frown.

  Whichever it had been, she hadn’t had much of anything. And what she did have was nearly worn through. In stark contrast, he had so much. Was surrounded by more than he could ever use. Stuff he didn’t need.

  Except for ladies’ shoes, he realized. He’d given all Lorelei’s away to the church, figuring they’d be woefully out of fashion by the time Mae was old enough to wear them. Dresses could be picked apart and reworked—as Annie had proven. Not so easily shoes and boots. And there’d been plenty of poor folks in town who could use them. It had been the right thing to do at the time.

  But that meant he didn’t have anything to give Annie now. What he did have here wouldn’t be of any use to her. She needed shoes.

  He looked around the small room,
taking in the bookshelves that lined the walls and the elegant writing desk that had been Lorelei’s. Her typewriter still stood there, as if waiting for her return. Jem couldn’t seem to bring himself to part with it. And though he never used it, it still had an ink ribbon in it. Occasionally, he might pluck out a few sentences. Tonight he didn’t bother to roll in a sheet of paper. He just struck the keys against the roller, making no impression at all. It all seemed so empty. Lorelei had treasured the contraption, a gift from her father to encourage her writing. She’d used it every day. Jem, on the other hand, would never make good use of it, not like she had. She’d tapped out business letters for him, spun her seemingly endless stories...

  And that was why he could never give it away. Just looking at it reminded him of her. He could almost see her now, in the early days of their marriage, when he was building his practice in Iowa. Most afternoons, he’d find her perched at her desk, her fingers poised over the keys, turning to look at him. Her bottom lip caught between her teeth. More often than not, he’d interrupt her then, kissing his pretty new wife, teasing her about how lucky he’d been to find such “good help.” Many a time they’d retreated, laughing—so young and without a care—to their rooms above the veterinary offices for a lazy afternoon of lovemaking.

  He squeezed his eyes shut briefly. When he opened them again, the memories were still there with him, lingering. He fingered each smooth key before him, pressed one down, then another, making no marks.

  What did it all mean anymore?

  TWENTY-TWO

  In her bed, Annie tried to return to sleep, but she heard the strangest sound in the darkness. The storm had passed, and the house had turned quiet, seemingly in an instant. At first she didn’t hear anything at all, then her ear caught the faintest of taps, or more like a small clickity-clackety kind of noise.

  What on earth?

  It couldn’t be a mouse. The noise was more like something mechanical. Like something you might hear from a cash register at the grocer’s, but not quite.

  Unable to bear the mystery any longer, she crept out of bed. Sugar stretched and let out a loud groan. Annie froze, knowing any moment Mae would pop upright, worried about the storm.

  Mae snuggled deeper into her pillow.

  Letting out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding, Annie padded around the outer edge of her room. She kept her arms outstretched, feeling for the dresser and the washstand, so she didn’t bump into them in the dark.

  She eased into the darkened hallway, leaving her door ajar. She looked up and down the hall but sensed no movements. There it was again. Tap-tap-tap.

  She pressed her ear against Jem’s door. Was he awake? He must be. What was he doing?

  Only the sound didn’t seem to be coming from behind his door. It was a bit further down. With no lamp to light her way, Annie trailed one hand along the slightly roughened wood paneling.

  There. It was much louder here, where the small room off Jem’s bedroom was. He had a room inside his room, she knew, a secret place she hadn’t been invited to explore. The door had been locked when she’d once tried the knob, curiosity catching hold of her. Another mystery. He kept a key on his dresser. She’d seen it one day when she’d brought up his clean laundry, but she’d never tried it in the lock. There’d been no reason for her to go in.

  She thought of it as his sanctuary, when in all honesty she didn’t know what was inside. It could’ve been a dressing room. Or perhaps a private office.

  Tap-tap-tap.

  What was that? She needed to know, wanted to know everything.

  She wanted to know him.

  She recalled that moment they’d shared a glance. How she’d touched his hand. She thought about that often.

  She watched him a lot. Even when he seemed to be trying his hardest to ignore her.

  It was just his way. She often reminded herself to be patient. That things weren’t that bad. They’d found a rhythm as a household. She might wish Jem was a bit more...open, but that wasn’t likely to happen soon. Expecting more than he could give right now—when he’d already given so much—would’ve been an act of ingratitude.

  Someday, someday perhaps he would open up. If she didn’t tire of waiting. Or lose heart.

  The tapping sound seemed muffled now. Was it slower? Annie had to press her ear closer against the wall to hear.

  Then it stopped.

  She heard the click of a door from within and the creak of footsteps. Not wanting Jem to catch her spying in her nightgown and bare toes, Annie fled to her room.

  The mystery of the tapping noise kept her awake most of the night. Did she dare attempt to ask him in the morning?

  TWENTY-THREE

  Jem stepped out into the hall the next morning and found himself face to face with Annie. The door behind her was open but there was no sign of Mae or Sugar. They were likely downstairs in the kitchen already, the pup getting underfoot, sniffing around the cook stove. Sugar hadn’t been out since last night before the worst of the storm, so she probably needed a morning walk before she had an accident.

  Ray wouldn’t be...appreciative of that. Best get down and take Sugar out.

  Annie’s gaze fell on the boots dangling from Jem’s fingers and her somewhat confused expression cleared. Just as quickly her eyes clouded with questions and she raised them to his.

  She’d obviously been looking for her boots, mystified at their disappearance.

  He cleared his throat uncomfortably. Holding a pair of ladies’ shoes that he’d taken without permission wasn’t a position he normally found himself in.

  “I cleaned them,” he said, perhaps a trifle defensively. He held them out to her, eager to divest himself of them. A whiff of shoe polish wafted off of them.

  Annie took her boots and cradled them to her chest.

  Thank you, her eyes said.

  “You’re welcome,” he muttered, scratching through his beard.

  She lifted her brows, evidently aware he had more to say that he was reluctant to spit out. Smart girl.

  “The thing is...” he began, then stumbled to a halt, unreasonably embarrassed. Why was it so difficult to bring up the subject of new shoes? he wondered in exasperation. They were just shoes, not in the least intimate—not like frilly underthings, for instance.

  She tapped her foot on the floor once and lifted her brows again, urging him to continue.

  Jem swallowed and forged on, resisting the urge to run his forefinger underneath his collar, which suddenly felt tight.

  “I’m heading into town today, for—uh—some supplies. You’ll come with me?” he asked.

  Her eyes widened in what appeared to him to be pleased surprise, and she nodded.

  “Right then,” he said, backing up a pace, feeling not unlike a schoolboy. “We’ll look at some boots for you while we’re there, shall we? Shoes without holes,” he added, trailing off lamely as he saw color tinting her cheeks. She thought he was judging her for her shoes. Must be thinking he looked down on her.

  She simply held her boots tighter to her chest.

  “After breakfast and chores, that’s when we’ll leave. I’ll hitch the ox wagon. Ray can watch Mae, perhaps. Or we could bring her along... We’ll see.” He nodded and strode purposefully forward to pass her, but she stopped him with a hand on his upper arm. Her fingers splayed around his muscle in an interesting way, then she released him, blushing in an even more interesting way.

  She must’ve wanted something, for her brow creased. She set the boots down on the floor before her and straightened. For a moment, she stared full at him, her expression intense.

  “You don’t have to thank me again,” he said hastily.

  Her frown melted into a faintly amused smile, and she waved her hand to clear the air between them.

  “Not that?”

  She pointed to her ear, of all things, then behind him—not at his door, but at the wall beyond it. He looked, but there wasn’t even a sconce there. Curious. What did she want to say or
ask of him?

  An ear. A wall. Was it some sort of code?

  “Something about the wall?” he asked, trying to be helpful.

  She pointed at it harder, then to her ear. Her face was alight with questions he couldn’t answer.

  If only she could at least write. She could carry around a slate. She could scratch out her questions with a bit of chalk, wipe them away in between. As it was, she looked about as frustrated as he felt.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, and her shoulders fell. “I wish I knew what you wanted. Is there something wrong with your ear? A noise?”

  Her eyes brightened at that.

  “Did the lightning frighten you last night?”

  No. She struck two fingers against her palm.

  “A mouse?” he guessed.

  This she wiped away as well. She rapped her knuckle into the palm of her hand, once then twice.

  “Yes, no?” he asked, perplexed. One was yes, two was no, but what did that mean? What did it have to do with the wall? Or her ear, for that matter?

  She rapped again, now against her ear: one, two, one, two, three, three, three. She repeated the motion on the wall. Rap, rap, rap.

  What in the world?

  Jem raised his hands helplessly, repeating the count aloud.

  She breathed in, perhaps to settle her frustration, then she smiled faintly, pushing imaginary words away from her mouth with a resigned air. Forget I asked, she seemed to be saying. Or it doesn’t matter.

  But it did matter, and he wished he knew what she wanted to say.

  She bent to pick up her old boots.

  “We’ll get your shoes today,” he said, returning to their earlier conversation, such as it was.

  She nodded, then trailed after him silently as he climbed down the stairs and entered the kitchen. Whatever she’d wanted to say nagged at him though.