The Bartered Bride (The Brides Book 3)

by Lena Goldfinch

  “She’s done something to her paw. Can’t see well enough to tell if it’s bleeding.” He glanced down quickly at Mae, as she buried her face against his neck. “But she’ll be fine,” he said reassuringly, “I’m sure of it. We’ll just get her back to the house and cleaned up. She’ll be fine.”

  His eyes met Annie’s and she suddenly wasn’t so sure he meant what he said. He was worried about Sugar. That much she could tell from the way his brow was creased, from the shadows behind his gaze.

  “Can you carry her if I lift her up?” he asked, inclining his head toward Sugar.

  She quickly nodded and mounted her horse, waiting for him to hand the dog up to her. He had to set Mae down to do it, and Sugar cried out from being lifted. The tight set of Jem’s mouth revealed the strain he was under. That was all. Otherwise, he kept up a steady flow of reassuring comments.

  “You’re going to be just fine.”

  “There you go, Annie. Hold her just like that.”

  “Up you go, Mae. You’ll ride with me. Hold on tight.”

  And so on.

  He kept it up all the way home as night fell, and the darkness closed in around them. Only the light of a full moon lit their way, brightening the shadows.

  Back at the ranch house, he was again all business, marching around with Mae in his arms, handing out orders for the men to take care of the horses, for Annie to hand Sugar down to Ben. Orders for Ben to “have a care with her,” and get her up on the porch on the pump end, where they’d bathe her.

  He only released Mae because he was the best qualified to see to Sugar’s injury, and only after he’d squeezed Mae long and hard and told her, “Don’t you ever run off again. Ever. Do you hear me?”

  “Yes, Daddy,” she mumbled drowsily. Once he let her go, she put her tiny hand in Annie’s and followed her to a warm tub that Ray had already set up in the center of the big pantry—a room lined all the way around with shelves and packed with jars and other food stuffs. A big bin of flour served as a table for a stack of folded towels, a bar of soap, and shampoo. The space doubled as a bathing room, equipped with a galvanized metal tub big enough for a grown man.

  Annie washed Mae up good, getting all the mud out of her hair, and put her to bed. She kept watch over her until Jem made his way up, his steps dragging as he came down the hall to Mae’s room.

  “How is she?” he asked, lowering his voice when he saw Mae was fast asleep, her mouth dropped open in a contented snore.

  Annie smiled hesitantly at him, and got up from the bed, so he could take her place. She looked at him expectantly and made a pair of floppy dog ears against the sides of her head.

  “Sugar’s going to be fine. She tore up her back paw. Must’ve stepped on something sharp, a rock maybe. Who knows? I’ve got her patched up for now. She’s going to need some rest.”

  Annie let out a sigh of relief. They were both home. They were safe. And Sugar might have an injury, but she was going to be fine.

  “You can read, Annie?” Jem asked, seemingly from out of the blue.

  She nodded, tapping her foot once out of habit. His question caught her completely off guard.

  “Right,” he said, more to himself than to Annie, “she can read.” He shook his head and kicked his boots into the corner, giving little thought to their muddy state. Her own beautiful going-to-church boots were caked in mud, sitting by the back door.

  Annie watched as Jem squeezed his long body along the edge of Mae’s bed atop the quilt, resting his head beside hers on the pillow. He looked prepared to spend the whole night with his arm draped over her small body, making sure she stayed put. And kept breathing. Like a good father did after a scare like this, Annie thought.

  She took a step backwards, toward the door.

  “Annie,” he said quietly. His steady gaze pierced right through her.

  She stopped, her heart seized with sudden anxiety.

  “You need to watch her. I need you to watch her. Do you understand?” His utter calm communicated his urgency more than a yell would have. It was a testament to his great self-control that he didn’t yank Annie out into the hall and storm at her for hours. Other folks might’ve. But Jem simply waited, his expression withdrawn.

  A whisper of sadness went through Annie, as if she’d just lost something, something she might not get back.

  Yes. She repeated her nod and tapped her foot on the floor. Yes.

  He turned back toward Mae, seemingly done with talking. He lifted one hand to Mae’s face and tucked a strand of her damp hair behind her ear.

  Annie let herself out, closing the door softly behind her. She leaned her back against it and for a moment simply breathed. Her senses swam with images of the day. In all that had happened, she felt spent, in need of a bath and a bed herself.

  Instead, she busied herself with straightening all she’d turned over earlier looking for Mae. Everywhere she looked she saw signs of her search. Trunks and wardrobes spilt open. As she put away what she could, she kept seeing Jem’s face when he’d answered her alarm. Felt her own ragged panic, then a strange thrill, just seeing him. A dizzying array of emotions.

  And then she’d typed on that machine. She’d put her thoughts into words in a way she never had before. And he’d read it. He’d understood her.

  He’d waited for her to finish, and he’d read it.

  He’d—in a different way—heard her.

  By the time Annie cleaned up at her washstand and put herself to bed, she could no longer see straight. She felt Jem’s presence strongly in the next room, where he slept. Mae’s protector.

  What was she—Annie—to him now?

  She was glad he’d heard her. Her whistle. The words she’d typed.

  How could he have spoken to her so calmly, after what she’d done? She marveled at his patience—how he’d simply expressed his need for her to watch over Mae when he was gone. He hadn’t needed to say it, of course. She already felt bad enough for what had happened. He hadn’t even mentioned her going into his rooms. She didn’t deserve that.

  She hoped he would forgive her someday. Could he?

  She hoped so. It seemed impossible—and impossibly selfish—but she wanted even more than that. She wanted him to see her, really see her. She wanted him to love her.

  Does that mean I love him? Annie wondered.

  The question remained unanswered and invaded her dreams.

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  In the days that followed, Jem kept close to the main house and checked in often on Mae. And Sugar too. That cut on her back paw had begun to worry him. He’d sutured it and bandaged it, but she wouldn’t leave it alone. It didn’t help that she was so young and excitable. It also didn’t help that something had gotten into Mae lately and she was always running around the house—upstairs, downstairs, all over. And Sugar wanted to follow, thinking it was a game. He worried about infection.

  But it was Annie’s guilty expression day to day that haunted him, and his anger toward her gradually faded. She’d made a mistake. A big one, but she shouldn’t have to pay the rest of her life for it. That wasn’t fair. He’d made plenty of mistakes in his life. Some in particular he couldn’t allow himself to think about.

  She couldn’t speak.

  The more he thought about that, the more it bothered him. No wonder she’d been fascinated by Lorelei’s typewriter. He hadn’t even known Annie could read, let alone spell. How on earth had she ever learned that? Amazing.

  He said as much to Ray, who’d helped him create a temporary “surgery” in a stone shed near the house, a neat affair with a swept plank floor and shelves for winter dry goods and preserves. It was cool and quiet here, the roof overshadowed by trees. Just what Sugar needed-- undisturbed quiet. Jem rested his hand on her side, hoping she’d settle into the nest they’d created for her out of clean blankets.

  “What am I supposed to do?” Jem asked Ray, continuing an early conversation about last night.

  “About Annie?” Ray straightened and brush
ed off the seat of his denims. “How should I know?”

  “You know everything, Ray.”

  Ray just chuckled.

  Jem gave Sugar an encouraging pat when she finally relaxed and closed her eyes. Maybe she’d sleep now.

  “Well, it seems there ought to be a place she could learn,” Jem continued. “Perhaps she could learn to sign. Maybe there’s a school in Denver.”

  Ray shrugged. “You could check on that.”

  “I think I will...” Jem’s gaze rested thoughtfully on Sugar. Familiar feelings of self-doubt rose to the surface. “And I’d like to take Sugar here down to the local veterinary office.”

  “Why?”

  “I’d like a second look at that leg, and advice on preventing infection. Ask about the best pain medicine for a dog her size and age. The recommended dose.”

  “You want a second look at her leg...”

  “Ray,” Jem warned. “Leave it.”

  Ray scratched the side of his nose in that way he sometimes did when he wanted to say something, but was holding it back. “Well, all right,” he said finally.

  “I just hate leaving Mae. It doesn’t sit right. Not after what happened.” Jem looked at Ray, willing him to offer to take the pup. Ray had mentioned earlier he was going down to the mill this afternoon.

  Ray pressed his mouth closed and looked down at his fingernails as if examining them for dirt. There wasn’t any, of course. Ray forever had his hands in soapy water.

  “Ray?” Jem prompted.

  He let out a sigh. “Oh, all right. But you’re gonna owe me.”

  “I already do.” Jem stood.

  “What for?” Ray looked at him quizzically.

  “For everything. You’ve held this place together for years. When Lorelei and Ben were young. Always being there for them. Always keeping the ranch hands in their place. Being here for Ben with his dad dying—I know he was your friend too. That can’t have been easy. It’s a lot. I want you to know I’m grateful.”

  Ray brushed that away, his actions almost angry.

  “What?” Jem asked, confused.

  “You think I did all that for thanks?”

  “No, I think you did that for family.”

  Ray stopped mid-turn, about to head out the shed door. Likely about to let it slap shut behind him. He looked over at Jem and his irritated expression softened. “Well, at least someone sees that,” he said, half jesting.

  “I do. And I think Ben does too.”

  “Ben doesn’t see nothing these days but the toes on his own dusty boots.”

  Jem lifted a shoulder, unable to argue.

  “Have I told you happy birthday?”

  “You don’t have to.”

  “Glad to hear it,” Ray quipped. “Sorry about that cake. I plumb forgot with all that’s gone on. And with this trip into town...”

  “It doesn’t matter.” Jem tried to smile away Ray’s apology. The truth was he’d practically promised Annie that Ray was going to make a cake. He always had before. He loved to bake. He made the most delicious caramel icing too. Jem swallowed his disappointment. He couldn’t make a cake—had never really learned to cook. But there had to be some way to make the day special for Annie, it being her first “real” birthday...

  * * *

  As the time stretched out with Sugar gone, Annie strove to occupy Mae. The little girl kept running to the back door and pressing her forehead against the screen, making it bulge out. With the help of Pole, a tall skinny ranch hand with knowledge about woodworking, Jem had installed a contraption high up on the door that “locked” it. To Annie it looked like two simple rectangular blocks, one outside and one inside, but somehow the men had worked it so whether you turned the block inside or the one outside, the door would unlatch.

  Now Sugar couldn’t charge out of it willy-nilly. And Mae couldn’t open it by herself.

  Annie rolled out some pastry dough on the kitchen table and turned it, sprinkling another fine dusting of flour underneath it. Mae returned and watched, propping her chin in one hand, her elbow on the table, creating a small cloud of flour. Brightening, she placed her hands flat in the flour and swirled them around. Somehow in just a few minutes she managed to get flour in her hair, on her face, and streaked down the front of her pinafore and dress. She looked adorable.

  Annie pulled off a ball of pastry from her bowl and rolled it playfully across the table to her.

  Mae lit up, her eyes shining. “For me?”

  Yes. Annie nodded and gave her own dough one smart pat.

  She showed Mae how to press the dough into a circle. Mae imitated her, leaving little fingerprints in the dough. Together, they smeared the bumpy surface with softened butter, brown sugar, and cinnamon—just like Annie had done so often with Mrs. Ruskin, Ruth Ann, and Coralie. An extra “pie,” made especially by the girls. It always baked up crisp, smelled heavenly, and tasted just as divine, for something so simply made. They had done the same with extra biscuit dough at breakfast, sometimes making cinnamon pinwheels.

  Annie rubbed her eyes against her sleeve. She didn’t want to cry in front of Mae. And, truly, it was a happy memory, not a sad one. She just missed them, now more than ever. She wondered if Ruth Ann and Coralie missed her too.

  She briskly laid out her own circle of pastry in her greased pie tin. Mae watched with interest as Annie shaped the edges, pinching the dough between her fingers and making a scalloped pattern. She nodded to Mae, then at the pie tin. Would you like to try?

  Mae practically crawled across the table, she reached so far.

  Annie smiled and guided Mae’s little fingers around the remaining edge, showing her how to pinch the dough and rotate the pan.

  When they finished, Annie set the pan aside and rested her hand against Mae’s cheek. Well done, little one.

  Mae subsided onto her chair, kneeling. “I did it!”

  Annie nodded enthusiastically. She rolled another small ball of dough to Mae.

  “Pie! For me!”

  Annie nodded again and smiled. She touched one finger to her chin. Yes.

  “Yes,” Mae said solemnly, and she held one finger up—a bit awkwardly—and touched her cheek, missing her chin entirely.

  Annie stared, not sure she was seeing what she was seeing. Her smile wobbled, she was so moved.

  Yes. One simple word. One simple hand motion. And her world simply unraveled—just like that. Her eyes stung furiously. Were they a bit too bright with tears? Was her nose suspiciously pink? Mae wasn’t even three yet, and she was already trying to learn Annie’s “language.” It—it just meant so much. More than any words Annie could have said, if she could say them.

  Annie hurriedly turned away to spoon mounds of blackberry preserves into her waiting pie crust. She silently thanked Mae for chattering earlier as they mixed the dough. She’d said her daddy loved pie. Seeing Annie’s sudden interest, she’d added that blackberry pie was his favorite. After scraping the last of the preserves into the crust, Annie quickly laid her last strips of pastry in a crisscross pattern over her pie. She popped it in the oven and marked the time on the kitchen wall clock.

  When she turned around, she found Mae making circles in the flour with her fingers.

  So you like to draw, Annie thought. I like to draw too.

  On a whim, she scooped up more flour into her hands and cast it in a cloud over the entire table.

  “Whee!” Mae giggled and clapped her hands. She hopped gleefully to her feet on her chair and made bigger circles.

  Just wait a moment. Annie held up her hands in a staying motion.

  “No?” Mae paused mid-swipe, her brow puckered. She stuck her bottom lip out.

  Annie held up a finger for her to wait one minute. Then she placed her palms over the flour and spread it around smoothly. Done. She beamed in satisfaction. Her canvas.

  Mae watched, kneeling now, her bottom lip tucked between her teeth. Her air of concentration tickled Annie so much she let out a small huff of a laugh.

&nb
sp; She began to draw with her fingertip. Mae leaned in, lifting her chin to see over Annie’s hands.

  “What’s that?” she asked.

  Annie put on the finishing touches and pulled back, waving her hand. Now you can look.

  “Puppy!” Mae grinned up at her. “Do it again,” she said, demanding in that imperious way of toddlers. Annie raised her eyebrows and waited.

  “Please?” Mae dimpled prettily. She was evidently practiced in the art of getting her way—politely.

  All right. Annie spread the flour again, making her thin white “canvas” over the wood. She paused and considered a moment before beginning. This time, she made a face with big round eyes, two slits for pupils, pointy ears, and long whiskers. She finished it off with a flourish—body and swishing tail.

  “Cat!” Mae cried. “Do it again.”

  Annie smiled at her, pleased by her enthusiasm.

  “Please,” Mae added in an obedient fashion, just a hair impatient for more. “Make a horse. Make a horse.”

  Annie restored her canvas with a practiced sweep of her hands and drew a prancing horse.

  “Ooh, pretty,” Mae said, clapping her hands.

  Annie startled at the sound of the back door squeaking open and shut. She looked over her shoulder, expecting to see Jem. Hoping it was him. It seemed her heart stuttered in anticipation, then fell when she realized the man in the doorway wasn’t her husband, but Ben.

  She quickly schooled her expression to one of neutral welcome.

  He must have seen her initial spark of interest though, for he eyed her with surprised at first. His mouth then settled into its familiar sneer. He really didn’t like her, she thought, with a rush of hurt. Why? What had she done to him? She supposed this was his home—the place where he’d grown up. He hadn’t invited her here. He hadn’t expected her.

  It was equally clear he didn’t want her here, in his space.

  She resolved to stay out of his way as best she could. She would’ve preferred to draw him into her circle of family, along with Jem, Mae, Ray, and sweet little Sugar, but he didn’t want to be drawn in. That was clear.

  Her cheeks warmed under his regard, not that there was anything improper about his gaze. It was simply that he saw her. If his knowing smirk was anything to go by, he’d already realized she’d expected Jem, and it amused him. He wouldn’t say anything to Jem, would he? He might. He seemed to thrive on mouthing off and teasing.