Florinda sashayed out of her room, nearly colliding with Sarah. “Oh, it’s you.”
The woman had a way of getting under Sarah’s skin worse than a chigger. She swallowed back her irritation, knowing the woman was Martha’s guest. Sarah forced a congenial smile. “Was there something you needed?”
“Don’t think you can fool me. I can tell there are no true feelings between you and Quinn.” Florinda narrowed her eyes. “What were you? One of those forlorn mail-order brides? Quinn would never have married you if he’d seen you first.”
Her words cut like a freshly sharpened knife. Sarah knew they stung now, but the pain would be stronger later, after she had time to consider them. She lifted her chin, wishing she were taller. “No. He saw me before we were married—more than once, in fact.”
“Well, he must have been desperate. Not many women would want to be stuck in such a rustic place as this all winter.”
“Then why are you so interested in my husband?”
Florinda laughed and waved her hand in the air. “Oh, you wouldn’t understand. Quinn’s a handsome man, and I’ve always been able to wrap him around my little finger.”
Sarah stifled a gasp that tried to slip out. Surely that wasn’t true. The stuffy heat of the dim, narrow hallway didn’t help the situation. A rivulet of sweat trickled down her temple. Could it be possible that Quinn hid his true feelings for Florinda?
Florinda uttered a harsh laugh. “Quinn will never be satisfied with you. You’re nothing but a tumbleweed bride—scrub brush plain. I’ve planned to marry Quinn ever since the time we met years ago at his grandparents’ ranch in Texas, and I won’t give him up without a fight.”
Sarah straightened, almost looking Miss Phillips in the eye. “You’re too late. Quinn is already married, and we’re pledged to each other before God and the church.” Quinn may not want her, but she’d never tell Florinda that. She’d do everything in her power to keep him. She had to—for the children’s sake.
Miss Phillips waved her hand in the air like a fan. “I plan to make myself available to Quinn for when he tires of you.” She eyed Sarah up and down. “Which won’t be long, I’m sure.”
Sarah clenched her fists under her apron skirt. It was true. There was nothing special about her appearance. She’d even overheard one of her uncle’s gang say she looked two days of hard riding from pretty—at least she thought they were talking about her. Why would Quinn want her when he could have a beauty like Florinda—even if the woman was as prickly as a cactus?
Miss Phillips lifted her chin, spun back into her room, and slammed the door. Sarah stood there stunned. Never in her life had anyone directed such a vicious verbal attack toward her and made her feel so insignificant. She’d always been a peacemaker, and most folks liked her because of her kind ways.
Worry swirled in her mind like a dirt devil, spinning and gyrating up negative thoughts.
Did Quinn regret being forced to marry her?
Would he send her and the children packing even before his grandmother died? Which didn’t look to be anytime soon. Or was she doomed to live her days in a marriage with a husband who didn’t love her?
She rushed to her room, tears streaming down her cheeks. At the settee, she fell to her knees and laid her arms on the cushion and cried. After a few minutes, she lifted her head and dried her eyes.
Nothing would be accomplished by giving in to her worries. There was only one thing that would help. She lifted her face toward the ceiling. Please, Father, show me how to make my husband love me and not Florinda. Teach me how to be gracious even to her.
❧
“Good afternoon, Quinn.”
The sound of Florinda’s voice so near made Quinn cringe. He continued uncinching his horse and tossed the saddle over one shoulder. Maybe the odor of sweaty horse would drive the woman back to the house. She was more persistent than a swarm of gnats.
He nodded to her as he passed by, walked into the barn, and slung his saddle and pad over a block in the tack room. He grabbed a grooming brush and turned to exit the stuffy area, but Florinda blocked the doorway. Why was she sticking closer to him than a sand burr?
Maybe if he quit avoiding her he would find out. “Did you need something?”
Florinda’s pink lips wrinkled in a pout he was sure some men found charming. But he wasn’t one of them. “You’ve been so busy since I arrived that we haven’t had time to talk.”
“A ranch is a busy place.”
She spun the handle of a lacy pink parasol that rested against one shoulder. “I’ve missed chatting with you. It’s been two years since I last saw you.”
So? he wanted to say. And when did they ever chat with each other? She gabbed, while he tried to talk with the men or get away from her. He’d never seen her do an ounce of work. Never once offered to help his mother the previous times she’d visited. As far as he was concerned, she was as useful as one of those odd French poodle dogs that one of his grandmother’s wealthy friends in Bismarck owned.
He resisted heaving a sigh. Some host he was. “What did you want to talk about?”
Her lips twisted in a wry grin. “Tell me how you met Sarah.”
“Why?” He narrowed his eyes. What did that matter? Florinda already looked down on his wife. She didn’t need more ammunition.
“Oh, just curious. She doesn’t seem the kind of woman you’d choose to marry.”
Sweat trickled down his temple from the closed-in room. He didn’t normally stay in the small, windowless area any longer than was necessary. Besides not having ventilation, it reminded him of when he’d been locked up in Will’s jail for a crime he hadn’t committed. He moved closer to the door, but Florinda didn’t back up. She gazed up at him as if he was her long lost love. He swallowed the lump that rose to his throat.
He wanted to shove his way past her, to completely ignore her, but her father had bought a lot of cattle from him over the years. He couldn’t afford to lose Tom’s business because of a row with his daughter. At least near the door he could breathe in fresher air. “Just tell me what you want, Florinda. I have work to do.”
She cocked her head and batted her lashes. “I want to go riding with you. To see your ranch.”
He didn’t have time for casual riding, but if it meant keeping Tom’s business, he’d have to make time for it, unless he could discourage her. “You know we don’t have any sidesaddles.”
For a moment the young woman’s composure seemed rattled. “Couldn’t you borrow one from someone?”
He shook his head. The nearest neighbor was nearly an hour’s ride from him, and none of them owned sidesaddles. “If you want to ride, you’ll have to do it astride.”
Florinda’s lips pursed. “All right, I’ll manage. If it means spending time alone with you.”
❧
Florinda alternated between pouting and struggling to stay on her horse as the caravan traversed the rocky countryside. John and Tom drove the supply wagon, and Tom cast concerned glances at his daughter every few minutes. Sarah held back a smile, not wanting to take too much pleasure in the other woman’s discomfort, but she had brought it upon herself by trying to get Quinn to ride alone with her. Sarah swatted at a mosquito on her hand and then adjusted her felt hat.
She rocked along, comfortable on the bay mare Quinn had saddled for her. If they stayed, would he give her a horse of her own? She’d never had one before but had learned to ride on her father’s big mule. The little mare was much less intimidating.
Beth waved with one hand while keeping a hold on the saddle horn with the other. Sarah felt sure her sister was safe riding in front of Quinn. He wouldn’t let her fall.
Ryan rode alone on her right on a black gelding with a white diamond on his face. Her brother looked happier than she’d seen him in months. He saw her watching and smiled. “This was a good idea Quinn had, wasn’t it?”
She nodded, remembering how Quinn had approached her about riding with him and Florinda.
“I�
�m in a bind,” he’d said. “I’m hoping you’ll help me out. Florinda asked me to take her riding, but I don’t want to go alone, and I’ve got the ranch hands all working on projects.” He stared at the ground a moment and then looked up with those coffee brown eyes. “Would you go riding with us?”
That he didn’t want to be alone with Miss Phillips set Sarah’s delight soaring. Other than to care for his grandmother, it was the first thing he’d ever asked of her. “What if we took the children, too?”
Quinn nodded and smiled, stirring her heart. He smiled so rarely that when he did it was a magnificent sight. “Good idea.”
When they’d told the children at dinner about the ride the next day, the men had begged to come along. Ryan mentioned an overnight ride, and the next thing she knew, a camping trip to sleep under the stars had been planned. Florinda was the only one scowling at the table. Sarah sighed. She’d hoped the prissy city gal would decide not to go, but that wasn’t the case. At least Florinda wasn’t out riding the range alone with Quinn.
Camp was set up alongside a tributary of the Little Missouri River. Cottonwood trees sheltered them from the warm summer sun, and an abundance of knee-high grass kept the stock well-fed. Quinn had gone hunting for some meat for dinner while Tom and Uncle John attempted to start a fire. Sarah grinned at their feeble effort. If they didn’t improve, everyone would be eating cold biscuits and cheese for dinner.
Two rough tents had been erected for the women from quilts strung over rope that had been tied to tree branches. Sarah laid out additional quilts and wool blankets for her and Beth to sleep on and then put several in Florinda’s tent also. With that chore done, she turned to check on the children. Both of them had headed down to the creek as soon as the supplies had been unloaded from the pack horse. She could just barely see the top of Ryan’s head.
Florinda sat on a log, looking completely out of place in her frilly blouse and the brown split riding skirt Quinn had insisted she wear. Her fancy hat was tied down with wide lavender netting and secured in a showy bow under her chin. She flicked a leaf off her lap.
Ryan approached Miss Phillips, holding something behind his back. Beth followed her brother, giggling with her hand over her mouth. Sarah’s stomach tightened. What were those two up to?
Her brother stuck out his hand and dropped something into Florinda’s lap. She looked down, and her bored features transformed into horror. She soared to her feet, dancing and screeching so loud that the horses tethered to a nearby line backed up and snorted. Laughing, Ryan and Beth disappeared in the nearby bushes. Uncle John jumped up and jogged toward the horses.
Tom Phillips spun around and raced toward his daughter. “What’s wrong?”
“Oh! Th–those horrible children.”
Tom’s gaze surveyed his daughter from head to toe. “Are you hurt?”
Florinda dusted her skirt with jerky hands and scanned the ground. Sarah knew the moment she spotted the frog.
“There! They put that horrid creature on my lap. Oh, Father, I’ll probably get warts now.” She fell into Tom’s arms and he loosely patted her. His questioning gaze collided with Sarah’s, and she pointed to the frog. Tom’s mouth swerved to one side. He stepped back, looking embarrassed and annoyed. “It’s just a toad. It can’t hurt you.”
Sarah grabbed the innocent frog and couldn’t resist holding it up. “I’ll just take him back to the creek. I’m sorry it frightened you.”
Florinda shrank back. “Those rotten children should be punished for scaring me half to death.”
Tom patted her shoulder. “Now, now, they were just having some fun.”
Puffing up, Florinda glared at Sarah. “Their behinds should be paddled good and hard.”
Sarah narrowed her eyes and walked past Uncle John, doubting Florinda had ever had a spanking. He pounded two rocks together in an attempt to spark some kindling to life. “Elke put some matches in the crate with the cooking pots.”
John straightened and gave her a perplexed but humorous stare. “We have matches? You knew that and let us make a fool of ourselves for the last half hour?”
Sarah grinned. “I didn’t want to spoil your fun.”
He chuckled and shook his head then walked toward the crates of supplies. Sarah set the frog on the creek bank and took in the tranquil setting. Water bubbled along the rocky bed, gurgling its way to the mouth of the Little Missouri. She probably should punish the children. But they were just playing and having fun. She rubbed her neck. What would her mother have done?
Tears blurred her eyes as she remembered her parents. She’d never wanted to be fully responsible for the children and didn’t know how to handle a situation like this one. If only her mother could give her advice—could hug her one more time. She’d never even had a chance to say good-bye.
Beth giggled off to her right, and Sarah turned to see her siblings squatting in the dirt near the creek bank. What were they up to now?
“Look at this huge one.” Beth dangled a squirming worm in the air.
“Yep, that fellow’s big and fat.” Ryan took the worm and placed it in an empty can.
Sarah tiptoed nearer. “Just what are you two doing?”
Beth jumped and studied the ground, as if afraid to look Sarah in the eye. Ryan shrugged one shoulder. “Just digging up worms. Quinn said he’d take us fishing.”
Sarah eyed the two, not sure if she believed them. Beth looked too suspicious. “You are not going to put those in Miss Phillips’s lap.”
Ryan glanced up, shaking his head. “Of course not. Her screaming just about broke my hearing.”
“Mine, too.” Beth rubbed her ears.
Sarah shoved her hands to her waist. “She wouldn’t have been screaming if you hadn’t dropped a frog in her lap.”
Beth’s eyes glistened with tears. “I told him not to do that.”
Ryan’s head jerked toward his sister. “You did not. You were just afraid to touch the frog and made me do it.”
Sarah sighed and stooped down. “It doesn’t matter whose idea it was. You will both go apologize right now or you won’t have dinner.”
Ryan scowled and Beth nodded. Sarah glanced up at the sky. Oh, Lord, give me patience and wisdom.
❧
The fragrant scent of cooked prairie chickens filled the air, making Quinn’s stomach growl. The traps he and Ryan had set earlier had captured five birds. Sarah and Beth scurried around getting the food items Elke had sent with them ready. Nobody would go hungry tonight.
Ryan held up a plump burlap sack stuffed with grouse feathers that he’d picked up off the ground. “That’s all of them.”
“Good job. Grandma will be happy to have more feathers for stuffing pillows. Put the sack in the wagon and wash up. Dinner’s about ready.”
The boy nodded and cast him a shy grin. “That plucking contest was fun.”
Quinn ruffled Ryan’s hair. “It was indeed. You almost beat your sisters.”
Ryan’s face puckered. “I would have if you hadn’t let Beth help Sarah.”
“I don’t think she was as much help as you believe she was.” Quinn chuckled, as he remembered watching Tom and Uncle John yanking feathers as fast as they could. When they returned home, he could imagine the stories they’d be telling their friends and associates. Florinda had turned up her nose and strode off to read a book when asked if she wanted to participate. She didn’t have one-fourth the gumption that Sarah did.
Ryan walked toward the wagon, the sack of feathers over one shoulder. The boy was certainly thawing. Quinn was grateful for that. He still regretted his outburst when he first saw the children that day he and Sarah were married. He wasn’t one to lose control. The campfire flickered and popped as he stared into it.
“Dinner’s ready.” Sarah held out a plate to him.
Quinn grasped it, and for a moment, Sarah didn’t release the other side. It was as if they were connected. His gaze captured hers, and he felt as if sizzling lightning connected them. Why did she move h
im like no other woman had? She wasn’t gorgeous in the face like Florinda, but she had an inner beauty and kindness that Miss Phillips would never have. Did Sarah feel anything for him?
He blinked, surprised at the train of thought that rippled through him. He pulled the plate from Sarah’s hand and stepped back as if he’d been burned. When had he started caring for her?
Questions filled Sarah’s gaze, but she turned away.
“I fixed a biscuit for you.” Beth handed a plate to Florinda, who eyed it with unhidden speculation.
“I—uh—thank you.” Miss Phillips lifted the roasted thigh and leg of the prairie chicken and peered under it, then set it down. She stirred her spoon cautiously through the cabbage slaw that Elke had sent, examining it, and then picked up the biscuit and studied it for a moment.
Beth hurried back to Ryan, snickering. The boy’s eyes flickered with delight, and both kids spun toward Florinda. Quinn’s gut tightened.
She lifted the top half of the biscuit off and stared. Quinn was ten feet away, but he was certain he saw something move. The young woman’s eyes went wide and her mouth opened, but no sound came out. She leapt to her feet, dropping the tin plate to the ground, and shrieked. Everyone in camp jumped, except Quinn and the kids. Beth covered her ears and grinned. Ryan rolled in the dirt near the campfire, laughing, as Sarah spun around. Three fat worms wriggled off the biscuit and onto the ground.
Tom hurried toward his daughter, but she pivoted and marched red-faced toward Quinn. “You will take me back to the ranch this instant. I will not stay here and allow those hooligans to frighten another ten years off me. This is no place for a lady.”
Thirteen
With a lantern spilling light over the creek bank, Sarah washed the last of the dinner dishes. She rinsed them in the creek and dumped out the sudsy water. She gave each plate and fork a final rinse then put them in the bucket to dry.
Straight For The Heart Page 12
