Pretending to Wed

by Melissa Jagears

  He took the bucket from her and refilled it with water. Dropping to his good knee, he grabbed a handful of ruffles and dunked the wadded cloth into the pail. “Turn.”

  “What do you mean rub it out?” She did a quarter turn as he dipped more of her skirt into the water.

  “Twist your sole on it until it’s snuffed. Then walk the line doing so, holding your gown out of the way. I’ll work on the bigger flames.” He pushed himself to stand.

  “Are you sure?” She grabbed his arm and held on until he was steady on his feet.

  “Yes.” He had no time to explain. “Go now!”

  She bent over immediately, pulled her skirts up around her legs, and ran out to the growing circle of flames.

  Flinging a wet sack over each of his shoulders and a full pail in both hands, he scrambled to the spot she’d thrown water at earlier. Hopefully he could minimize his water usage because he certainly wasn’t as fast as she was at running with a heavy pail.

  Even if he had two intact legs and all his men helping, he wouldn’t be able to save the barn. Just like he couldn’t stop Corinne from leaving him―his best was simply not enough.

  Smacking the larger flames, he drove himself by swatting to a tempo, despite how much his shoulder protested.

  Corinne ran back. “That’s done. Now what?”

  Taking the chance to breathe, he rewet his bags. “Can’t save the barn.” He huffed. “We can keep it contained though.” He pushed the damp hair from his face. “But if a wind comes, I’m in trouble, so go get the men.”

  “I don’t want you―”

  “Woman! My handicap is less of a problem than your skirts. My arms work just fine.”

  “That’s not what I was going to say!” She yanked him by the shoulders, but he resisted. “Promise me you’ll be safe.” She stepped around to look him in the face. “The ranch is not worth your life.”

  He shrugged. “With me gone, you’d have all the profit.”

  “Why would I want that?”

  “You don’t need me.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  A gust of wind blew in, twirling the loose hair about her face.

  The fire on the side of the barn jumped a foot. He stepped back and grabbed a sack. “I’ve got to―”

  “Nolan.” She grabbed his arm, her fingers digging into his muscle. “Be safe. Promise me!”

  She only waited to see his nod before rushing off.

  As the rattle of the wagon faded behind him, he whapped the flames.

  Whapped, and whapped, and whapped.

  Why not let the fire take him?

  Would that be worse than facing her disappointment? Facing the day she’d write to him from Denver to tell him she wasn’t coming back? That he wasn’t worth coming back to?

  Gritting his teeth, he marched back to the bucket.

  He dunked his sacks in and sloshed out more water than he should have then headed to the tree the wind was driving the fire toward.

  He knew he shouldn’t have gotten married.

  The love his father had had for his mother had waned. Why had he thought it’d be any different for him?

  He drove himself forward, smacking down not only the fire, but every stupid hope he should’ve never let himself entertain.

  Whap. Whap. Whap. For an eternity. Whap. Whap.

  Sweat trickled into his eyes and the world turned dark. Had the smoke choked out all the light?

  The wind rushed across the back of his neck, making him shiver despite the heat. He wiped his face and scanned his surroundings.

  The fire was out.

  The barn was gone, charred black. The boards’ edges glowed orange, but they were no longer licked by fire.

  He let the wet, crispy sacks slip from his fingers and onto the ground.

  He’d done it. Without anyone’s help.

  See, Dad?

  He glared at the sky. “I did it without you!”

  The muscles in his shortened leg took that moment to cry out in pain, but he gritted his teeth to rail more at the sky. “See? You don’t leave people behind because they can’t do everything you think needs to be done! I don’t need you! I don’t need them! I don’t need her! I don’t need anybody!”

  He staggered back.

  “I don’t.” He lowered himself to the ground, his voice choking. “I don’t.”

  Swallowing hard against the rise of tears, he squeezed his eyes shut and slumped over his one bent knee.

  What a lie.

  Behind him, the rattling of the wagon bumping over unseen pasture grew louder. The voices of his men barely registered over the erratic beat of his heart and heavy breathing.

  Corinne pulled up, and Timothy jumped off the wagon before it stopped.

  He jogged toward Nolan. Only one of Tim’s suspender straps was hooked to his pants, his shirt buttoned up cockeyed. “From the way your wife was going on, we thought this was going to be worse.”

  Sal sauntered up, his hair standing up on one side of his head. “What started it?”

  “Don’t know.” Nolan swallowed past the clump in his throat, his limbs shaking more than expected.

  Sal surveyed the damage, hands on his hips. “Have you noticed any static lightning? Is it dry enough for that?”

  Timothy shook his head. “I haven’t, but it’s too dark to figure out anything tonight.”

  Sal clasped the young man’s shoulder. “We might as well go back to bed.”

  Tim didn’t need any more encouragement and headed back to the wagon where Rascal and Abel hadn’t even jumped off.

  Sal came over to offer him a hand up, and he took it, considering his one good leg was nearly mush now. But with the men dangling off the back of the wagon, that meant he’d have to sit up front with Corinne.

  He waved them on. “I’ll walk back.”

  “Then I’ll walk with you.” Corinne set down the reins. “Sal, you drive.”

  Nolan held up a hand. “That’s not necessary.”

  She clambered down before he could stop her, and Sal vaulted himself up into the driver’s seat.

  Nolan groaned. He didn’t want to be alone with his wife right now. No matter what she chose to talk about, how could he ignore the fact that she was only walking beside him out of duty?

  Suddenly his foot thumped straight down into a hole, and a crack of lightning burst through his ankle. “Ah!” His hands instinctively shot out as he fell.

  “Nolan!”

  He rolled over on the uneven grass clumps and clamped his hands around his ankle.

  Stupid cattle!

  Stupid him!

  He hissed sharply. He knew better than to walk in freshly tromped pasture without watching his step.

  The sharp jabs stabbing his ankle were not good, not good at all. A sudden bout of lightheadedness made him reel for a second, and then the pain came back in full force. He couldn’t hold back a growl through gritted teeth.

  “Hold up,” Corinne called to Sal. She whistled high and loud then crouched beside him. “What happened?”

  He’d twisted his ankle. His one good ankle. That’s what.

  After all his self-congratulations on how he’d put the fire out all by himself, he did this. “I need to get up.”

  He tried to put weight on it, but ended back on his backside, letting out another angry growl. Maybe this was far worse than a sprain.

  “What’s wrong, boss?” Timothy was already beside him. The young man undoubtedly had jumped off the wagon again without waiting for it to stop.

  “He twisted his ankle.” Corinne kneeled. “Help me get him up.”

  She slipped her hand under his arm, but he batted her away. “No, I’ll get up on my own.”

  But he fell once again, scrunching his face hard to keep from tearing up. For a minute, he was afraid he was going to lose his dinner on his wife’s boots. He tried not to double over as he pulled in a few long breaths until the nausea passed. “Fine, I need help.”

  Timothy came
around to his other side. “You gotta be careful walking in the dark.”

  If his hands weren’t necessary for putting pressure against the throbbing, he’d have been tempted to slap the boy upside the head. He hadn’t been the one to jump out of a moving wagon twice now.

  “Just help me up and keep any further advice to yourself.”

  “You should put ice on it right away,” Timothy said as he slipped a hand under his arm.

  Had the boy not heard what he’d just said?

  Abel joined them on Nolan’s other side, and once he was on his feet, he tried to hobble forward, but gave up and let the men lug him to the wagon.

  After Nolan slid up onto the bed, Abel lifted Corinne to sit beside him. She put a hand on his shoulder. “After we get the men to the bunkhouse, we’re going to the doctor.”

  He shook his head.

  “Don’t fight me. We can’t have you losing the use of your other leg.”

  Those words might as well have been a bullet to the heart.

  If Corinne’s inventions didn’t work out, this place had to float them. He’d promised her that. But a man needed legs to run a ranch.

  If he lost the use of his other one?

  He never should’ve gotten married.

  Hours later, Nolan laid his head on the hard, flat pillow on the bed in the doctor’s convalescing room. He gritted his teeth as Doc Ellis probed his ankle. The burn on the backside of his arm rubbed painfully against its bandaging.

  “I can’t determine whether there’s a break under all that swelling, but with the amount of pain you’re in, it’s possible.” He set down Nolan’s foot and sighed, his eyes heavy with sleep. “We’ll have to wait and see.”

  “What if there’s a break?”

  “All depends on how it heals.”

  “And if it heals badly?” His ankle felt as if it were shattered and both his leg and arm felt on fire. He’d never hurt himself worse than this―besides the one time…

  “We’ll wait and see.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Exactly as I said: we’ll wait and see.” Doc raised his eyebrows in that annoying way he did whenever he felt his expertise was being questioned. He grabbed a pillow and thrust it under Nolan’s foot, starting anew another round of painful sparks.

  “You can stay here for the day, or go home if you promise to lie down in the back of the wagon with your foot elevated and you keep it that way until the swelling goes down.”

  “I’ll make sure of it.”

  Corinne’s voice startled him. He’d thought she’d disappeared into the waiting room.

  “I’ll stay here.” He gritted his teeth as he scooted up to sit, trying his best not to jar his foot. He’d not let her witness him writhe any more than she already had. He especially didn’t want the townspeople watching him get carted home on the flat of his back. “I’m more of a burden than―”

  “No, you’re not.”

  He couldn’t look at her. “You can’t tell me I’m not.” He nearly yelped when the doctor laid the blanket back over his foot. “It’s as plain as day.”

  “A temporary one, maybe.”

  Right. A temporary one. He’d never heard of anyone losing the use of a leg over a turned ankle, but if there were breaks, and those breaks were bad, others had at least one good foot to make up for it.

  Corinne walked over, her brown eyes dark and glistening with worry. How did she have the audacity to look attractive right now―with her hair mussed and soot smeared across her cheeks―while looking at him as if he were a lame horse the cowhands would have to put down later.

  He looked away.

  How foolish he’d been hours earlier, thinking he’d done something on his own. His men might not have helped with the fire, but Corinne had driven him out to the barn and made the ramp for the rain barrels. Without her contraption, he’d have had to awaken his ranch hands―with their two good legs―to lift those barrels into the wagon.

  And even then, if God hadn’t blessed them with no wind… He’d essentially accomplished nothing on his own. Who did?

  So why was he so driven to prove he could? Because he was missing a leg?

  Seemed only right for God to have made him take a tumble to set him straight.

  “Are you thirsty?” Corinne sat on the edge of the bed, making the matress give. He hissed so loudly, she jumped off, which led to him releasing a full-out groan.

  “I’m so sorry.”

  He couldn’t answer with more than the shake of his head. If he tried to respond, he’d likely emit more of a whine than a string of words―and none of them would be good words.

  She leaned closer. “What if I…?”

  “Uhhh.” He was seconds away from either crying or passing out because of pain, not only in his ankle, but from the raw heat emanating from the burn on his arm.

  “I’m sorry, let me―”

  “Just leave.”

  Her body stilled. “Are you sure?”

  The uncertainty in her voice almost made him relent. But he nodded, keeping his jaw clamped tight, his body stiff. He’d not whimper again.

  She stood, heaving out an exasperated breath.

  Once her footsteps retreated and he noted the doctor had gone as well, he grabbed a pillow and bit into the fluffy mass, muffling a bellow.

  After vocalizing until he couldn’t breathe anymore, he lay back and tried to remain as still as he could. He let himself breathe even and deep until he could call for the doctor without sounding like he was about to cry. The medicine was not working. “Doc! I need something more for the pain.”

  “I’m working on it already,” came the muffled reply.

  As he waited with his fists clamped, he shook his head slightly. He couldn’t end up bedridden. Corinne might not want him as a husband in truth―but that hadn’t been why she’d married him to begin with. She’d married him to provide for her, and he’d have to do that, no matter what.

  But to do so in a wheelchair?

  Could sheer force of will cause a bone to heal correctly?

  She’d have to go to Denver and stay as long as it took her to do well. Perhaps forever. Her life there might give her more than she’d ever hoped to get out of their pretend marriage―freedom, time to tinker, money for her projects, patents under her own name, no disappointment of a husband.

  Being separated from him wouldn’t break her heart.

  He’d not allow himself to think of what it would do to his.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Running her hands atop the neatly folded piles of linens and pressed shirts, Corinne couldn’t help but marvel at how different the laundry looked from the last time she’d been in. “You’re doing such a wonderful job. Seems only right I left this place to you.”

  Leah gave her a playful shove as she walked past to set down another neat pile. “Before your hands got in the way, you were doing as well as I am.”

  Corinne flexed her fingers, still amazed she was free of constant pain. Some days her hands reminded her she wasn’t taking enough breaks, but never with the constant cry from every muscle and tendon. “I still chose the right person to take over. Thank you.”

  Leah’s laughter sounded more like a coal miner’s than the soft feminine chuckle Corinne remembered, but it was still good to hear her happy.

  “It’s I who should thank you. I’d not realized how dire our finances were until Bryant was sent away. And without him…” She stopped folding a pair of trousers to look at Corinne, her eyes more compassionate than usual. “I should’ve had more sympathy for you when you were running this place on your own. My son-in-law doesn’t make much, but I was never in danger of being homeless. But you…”

  Leah’s lopsided smile practically beamed as she laid a hand atop Corinne’s. “I’m glad you’re married now and have financial security.”

  And then Leah’s smile went limp. Was she thinking about Nolan’s accident or Bryant’s incarceration?

  As much as it’d be nice to b
elieve marriage could guarantee they’d face no want, every woman dealing with wayward husbands, illnesses, natural disasters, bearing more children than they could afford, and other such problems, warned otherwise.

  Nolan would do all he could to make their ranch prosperous, but if he ended up in a wheelchair? The ranch would then be at the mercy of the best men they could employ, which required the best pay to attract them.

  She leaned against the counter. She had to be practical. She had to use the head for business God had gifted her with. Which meant she couldn’t ignore Uncle Matthias’s offer. He was already leery of her because she was a woman. If she appeared too weak to jump on an opportunity when it was hot, he might not attempt to work with her again―especially if she insisted on taking credit for her inventions.

  Leah leaned across the counter from the other side, her head dipping to catch her gaze. “Something seems to be weighing you down.”

  Corinne nodded. No use denying it.

  She wasn’t exactly upset about having to go to Denver, but rather, why didn’t Nolan seem to care?

  He’d been surly at the doctor’s office and the day after when he’d endured the ride back home―but she’d attributed that all to pain. Since then, he’d gone quiet―as if he didn’t care if she left or not.

  She looked through the window to the empty wagon.

  Nolan, with his turned ankle, hadn’t been able to ride in with her, so she’d brought Timothy. But even if her husband’s foot had been in perfect shape, she wasn’t sure he would’ve come. His mood was so dark lately. She’d attributed it to wounded pride, yet despite his pain abating, he still seemed discouraged, which probably meant he was worried they were in a mess he couldn’t get them out of.

  She took a deep breath. It was time to ask Leah what she’d come to ask. “Would you be willing to keep the laundry going for the rest of the year? I know Bryant’s due back before then, but I’ve an opportunity to go to Denver with Nolan’s uncle to see about putting my inventions in his catalog. With Nolan’s injury―well, if he doesn’t get better and my inventions don’t gain traction, I might need to return to work.”