The Unexpected Bride (The Brides Book 1)

by Lena Goldfinch

  After the accident, she’d felt tender and sore, but she was moving freely now. She just had some ugly patches of yellowing purple on her back where her bruises were turning color.

  That was all.

  She was practically better.

  But evidently, her body had decided against her will that she needed more sleep. Once again, she’d woken up well past her normal time.

  She hadn’t even put a toe out of the bed when her door swung wide and Isaac barged in. His face was red, angry. He stopped short at the side of the bed and looked her over.

  “You know something about a tree being felled north of the trail?” he demanded.

  At least he was giving her the benefit of the doubt, Becky thought wryly.

  Not likely.

  She could see the way his eyes were gleaming with accusation. The way his presence filled the room.

  “Tree?” she croaked. She tried to fix an innocent expression in place, but feared her guilt was written plainly on her face.

  “I think you know what I mean,” he responded quietly—a little too quietly.

  She let out an indistinct little murmur, wishing she were standing facing him fully dressed instead of tucked up like a young girl under her covers.

  He came closer, a look of worry crossing his features. Without asking her permission, he ran his hands over her limbs as if looking for something broken.

  Becky felt heat flooding her face. “I’m fine,” she protested.

  “You’re not fine.” His voice was so deadly calm. It scared her. Not that he would hurt her. She just feared at some point he’d snap.

  “Where are you hurt?” he demanded softly.

  “My back,” she whispered.

  “Let me see.”

  “Isaac,” she pleaded.

  He just stood there waiting. He flexed his hands, making her realize he’d been standing there the whole time, his hands in fists.

  She quickly wrapped the bed covers around her legs. A kind of mortification filled her at having him see her like this. It wasn’t like she was beautiful right now, covered in yellowing purple blotches.

  “Here,” she whispered. She tugged up her nightgown so he could see just enough of her back to assess her wounds. She knew he’d seen what he needed to see because his face went dark again. Embarrassed, she jerked her gown back down and pulled the covers up to her chin.

  “Can you breathe all right? It’s not a rib, is it?” he asked, his voice sounding gravelly and harsh to her ears.

  She shook her head, miserable.

  How had he found out?

  She supposed it was only a matter of time before he found out. It was his land after all. She knew he and his father where constantly scouting the area.

  Jem should have known that too.

  “It was that young fellow, Jem, wasn’t it?”

  Her gaze flew up to his, her heart thundering against her breastbone. “Jem?” She could never have been a military spy, she realized, desperately trying to school her features.

  “Just wait ’til I get through with that boy!” Isaac slammed his fist against the wall, then glanced at her. “You stay right there. I’m not finished with you yet. You have some explaining to do, but from the looks of it, you had a lucky escape.” He stalked away, his caulked boots clattering like hailstones on the wooden floor.

  “Where are you going?” Becky disregarded his command and scrambled out of bed. She ran to the wardrobe and, without thinking, yanked on her riding trousers and pulled her old coat on over her nightgown. “Hold up! Isaac!”

  But it was too late. He’d already left.

  ***

  Once Isaac got to the logging camp, he spotted Jem outside the cookhouse alone. The rest of the crew was onsite still: felling trees, peeling bark, transporting logs to the stream. He faced the boy, bracing himself for what he knew he had to do. “You’re fired.”

  Jem stared back at him ashen-faced for what felt like a full minute.

  “I want you off my land by sun-up tomorrow. Say your goodbyes and pack your things tonight.”

  Jem simply nodded.

  “Aren’t you going to ask me why?”

  “No, sir. I know why.”

  “I can’t abide a man going behind my back, Jem. If what I suspect is true, you also put someone else’s life at risk. My wife’s life.”

  The youth ducked his head and refused to look at Isaac. “I never meant to hurt nobody.”

  “I believe that much, but there’s no place for recklessness in a logging operation. There’s too much at stake. I can’t have one of my men—not a single one—going off and taking things into his own hands. Do I make myself clear?”

  “Yessir.”

  ***

  Becky hid behind a tree, where she could see Isaac in the logging camp. At first, she’d hoped to catch up with him, but now, from the cover of the trees, she watched him talking to Jem. She was gripping Siren’s reins so hard the leather dug into her palm, but she scarcely noticed the pain. Though she was too far to hear what they were saying, she could see the grim set of Isaac’s jaw and the stricken look on Jem’s face. She knew what was going on. It was like watching a horse-drawn carriage careening out-of-control. And all she could do was stand by and wait for the wreck. Realizing she’d dressed in her hunting clothes and ridden over bareback, she stepped further back into the cover of trees surrounding the logging camp and waited for a chance to speak with Jem alone.

  She watched as Isaac stalked into the cookhouse, leaving Jem standing outside like a wounded pup. The boy stood completely still and glassy-eyed. How would he cope without a job? He had trouble back home—she was sure of it. He’d let slip as much when he was talking to her after the accident. She knew what it was like to grow up not getting along with her father. But she suspected Jem’s situation was far worse. He hadn’t said much, but it had been the way he said it, the misery etched on his face, the bitterness. He’d been hurt bad. He couldn’t go home.

  Why wouldn’t Isaac stop and listen to his story?

  She wanted to rush over to Isaac right now and try to make him listen.

  It was odd. That day after the church service, she hadn’t liked Jem, not one bit. He’d been brash, and his insinuations had embarrassed her. But that hadn’t been the real Jem. That had all been bluff and swagger. Him being a sixteen-year-old boy, trying to impress her, no doubt.

  The boy she’d seen in the woods was probably far closer to the real Jem—the boy he was inside. He was lost and scared. He wanted a better life. He was impatient and reckless—she could see that clearly enough—but he wasn’t bad-hearted. And, well, she just felt bad for him. It was almost like he couldn’t help himself.

  Her heart broke thinking about it. If only there was something she could do to help. But what?

  Isaac certainly wouldn’t want her standing up for Jem. He wouldn’t understand why. It might even hurt him. Not that he was weak, but he was the boss here. He’d feel she was challenging him, that she didn’t respect him. That was a road she didn’t want to go down—not now, not when their feelings for each other were so unsettled.

  Jem had said Isaac’s business was near ruin. He’d told her the men hadn’t been paid in weeks. Was it that bad? She didn’t know. What she did know was he had enough to worry about right now without her questioning his actions with Jem.

  Lost in her thoughts, she almost didn’t notice when Jem started to run. Once he got started, he sprinted without stopping. He headed into the trees on the other side of camp and kept going. Jumping on Siren’s back, she guided her mare as quickly as she dared in a wide arc around the camp and headed to where she hoped Jem would go. As she rode, she was thankful again that Siren hadn’t been hurt by any falling branches that day in the woods. It was a mercy and a miracle that she hadn’t been hit by a single one.

  When Becky finally found Jem, he was slumped against the trunk of his felled tree. Somehow she knew he’d return here, maybe to relive the incidents that had led up to him los
ing his job.

  He looked up with vacant eyes. “What do you want?” he muttered.

  “I came to see if you were all right, Jem. Isaac fired you, didn’t he?”

  “What do you care?”

  “I didn’t tell him, I promise. He guessed. He must have come out here, saw all this”—she swept her hand out, indicating the fallen limbs and the great tree lying in the middle of it all—“and he guessed.”

  Jem turned his head away.

  “I’m sorry you got fired. Is there anything I can do—?”

  “Just leave me alone. You ain’t my mother.” He spat the words out.

  Becky sank to her knees beside him. He was lashing out at her, but she sensed his anger had nothing to do with her.

  “No, I’m not. I’m not your mother. That’s true.” She paused, noting the twisted expression on his face. Bitterness. Anger. Hurt. “What happened to your mother, Jem?” She wasn’t sure where the question had come from, but it came to her as though prompted from an outside source.

  “She left when I was little. Couldn’t take it no more, I guess—being with Pa.”

  His eyes never quite met hers, but she could see past his veneer to the hurt boy inside. There was something broken inside him. He was just trying to push her away. Somehow that made him irresistibly vulnerable.

  “Where’s she now?”

  He shrugged as though unconcerned. His fingers played with a pine needle, bending it, watching it spring back. It reminded her of the way he’d bent that sprig of grass between his teeth, bobbing it up and down. “Aw, I don’t know. She never wrote or nothin’. Guess I meant about this much to her.” He threw the pine needle away and formed an “O” with his thumb and forefinger.

  “Surely she loves you, Jem. You’re her son.”

  “She don’t love me.” He let out a broken laugh. When Becky reached out to place a hand on his arm, he shrugged her off. “She left me there. With him. It wasn’t safe. She knew it.” He broke his pine needle in two and threw it to the ground. There was something in that action—she could almost picture him as a small boy, left alone with his cruel father.

  He swiped his nose on his sleeve, clearly disgusted by his show of emotion. Without looking at her, he sprang up and stalked off, his long strides quickly eating up the distance. Soon he disappeared into the shadows of the forest. Gone. Wanting to be alone. He clearly wouldn’t welcome her chasing after him again.

  “Oh, Jem,” Becky whispered, wiping tears from her cheeks.

  After taking a couple of steadying breaths, she headed back to the cabin. She wished Isaac hadn’t fired Jem. Couldn’t he see the boy needed help? He needed guidance, not another door closing in his face. But she couldn’t tell Isaac that—she’d seen the look on his face when he realized Jem had felled that tree. It was an offense he simply couldn’t overlook. If there was one thing she’d learned about her husband it was that he held himself to an incredibly high standard. And he expected the same of his men. Of anyone, really. Jem had done wrong—that was true enough—but what about mercy? Why couldn’t Isaac have shown him a scrap of compassion?

  A chill swept over Becky, sneaking into the opening of her coat. She tugged the fabric more tightly across her body. Jem had run off again, and this time she knew he wasn’t coming back.

  Where would he go now?

  Once she got back to the cabin, she practically tore off her riding clothes and shoved them under her bed. She hung her nightgown on a peg inside the wardrobe and took out some clean clothes. After quickly pulling on a simple work dress—as she was beginning to call her plainer cotton garb—she went back to the kitchen to prepare lunch. She chopped onions with a furious intensity. Tossing them in a big pot with a heaping measure of dried beans, she then covered them with water. She watched the pot, staring into its depths, blind to the world around her.

  “See anything interesting in there?”

  She jumped at the sound of Isaac’s voice.

  “No. I don’t see anything.” Her voice came out a little cooler than she intended.

  “Uh, I thought you hated beans.”

  “I’m not in the mood for anything I like.” She turned away from him and stirred the now boiling contents of the pot.

  NINETEEN

  Isaac chuckled uneasily at Rebecca’s comment. Feeling a bit sheepish about his outburst earlier, he’d wanted to smooth things over a bit before he gave her a piece of his mind. Had he actually punched the wall? He shook his head almost imperceptibly as he searched around for a reply. “Is that right?”

  Brilliant, Jessup, he chided himself.

  “Jem’s run off.” She spun around, almost knocking him over.

  “Whoa, there.”

  She jabbed a finger into his chest. “And you made him run off!”

  “What? Did you follow me?”

  “He’s a boy, Isaac. You didn’t have to throw him off the crew.”

  Since when did she know anything about Jem? It almost seemed like she cared about the boy. Had she been spending time with him? When? Where? Here? In the woods?

  And why?

  “He’s a man, Rebecca,” Isaac said, striving for calm. “And he threw himself off the crew.”

  “Threw himself off the crew? You fired him.” She looked strangely hurt, as if he’d somehow disappointed her.

  “Only because he was a danger on the job. And you know why.” Isaac pushed his hand through his hair. He guessed they was past the point where he could “smooth things over.”

  “Well, if you’d thought to ask him why—ask him about his life—then maybe you’d understand him better.”

  “And how is it you know him so well?” She’d backed him into a corner with her accusations. It was time she answered a few questions.

  She took her time selecting a long wooden spoon and started stirring the beans.

  Beans she didn’t even like.

  “Well, I do, and that’s all you need to know,” she said tersely.

  “All I need to know? So now you’re an expert on ‘all I need,’ is that right?” he asked, stung. Why was she questioning his actions, his intentions? This was his operation. If he said the boy needed to go—he needed to go.

  He wasn’t a cruel man. He was fair. And Jem had gotten what he deserved. He’d go off and find work somewhere else soon enough, and hopefully he would have learned a lesson from what had happened here.

  If Isaac had let him stay on...well, the boy would have had no chance of learning anything by that.

  Rebecca seemed to shrink a little before his eyes. It made him realize how wound up she’d been over Jem and what had happened. It was still a mystery to him why she even wanted to involve herself with the boy. Jem was a prickly sort of fellow. Not someone Isaac would have expected Rebecca to be drawn to. Maybe it was because he was young. In the whole camp Jem had likely been the closest in age to her. Maybe she related to him in some way because of that?

  He was struggling to understand. He hoped she could see that, despite how harsh his last words had come out.

  “I’m no expert, Isaac.” Her voice was calm now, but husky, thick with emotion. “I don’t claim to know what you want. You’re my husband but, at this moment, I feel like I don’t even know you. The only thing I know is that Jem needs a friend right now.”

  “You don’t know me?” Is that how she really felt? Isaac couldn’t let her see how much her comment hurt, so he changed tactics. “You were injured when Jem felled that tree—weren’t you? So why are you protecting him now?”

  She looked away.

  “Tell me.” He gripped her chin, gently but firmly, and forced her to look at him. “You got hurt. And that was his fault. Although why you were there in the first place, I have no idea. Why were you there...?”

  She didn’t answer, but the flash of guilt in her eyes made him uneasy. She’d snuck away from the cabin, gone off on her own. Maybe she’d planned to meet Jem?

  No. That didn’t seem right.

  “I was riding Sir
en,” she admitted.

  He closed his eyes briefly. “You went off on your own?”

  She nodded.

  The warning he gave her every morning hung in the air between them unspoken. Every morning, without fail, he warned her to stay close to the cabin. Every morning she promised him she would. Or it was understood anyway. At least he thought it had been.

  How could he ever know she was safe if she didn’t listen to him? Maybe she didn’t take him seriously. Why would she? What sort of dangers had she faced back East? Certainly not bears in the forest or falling trees.

  “These mountains are wild, Rebecca. This is no place for a woman, not a delicate woman anyway. You don’t belong here—a woman like you.” He nearly choked on his words. “Maybe you’d be better off back home with your family.” He hadn’t meant to say the words aloud, not really, but once they were spoken he couldn’t take them back.

  Rebecca went absolutely still, her face as pale as snow. Too late, he remembered she’d said there was a rift between her and her father. That she longed for someplace to belong. That was her dream. The one thing she wanted. How could he have been so dense, so insensitive?

  “Rebecca, I—”

  She jerked away from him, her eyes a little too bright. Without making a sound, she turned and walked stiffly to her room, closing the door silently behind her. She could have said something—told him he was wrong. Told him he was stupid. Anything, but this silence.

  Feeling like a heel for upsetting her, Isaac paced about the main room.

  Should he knock on the door? Try to go in?

  He banged his fist against his thigh, not knowing what to do, and hating this feeling of indecision. If it were one of his men, he’d know what to do. But with Rebecca...what? What did he do to make things up to her?

  She was right about one thing, he admitted. Even though they were married, they lived like strangers. What did they really know about each other?

  And just how did she know so much about Jem? She hadn’t answered his question.

  Sinking into the rocker, he leaned his elbows on his knees, dropped his forehead into his hands, and groaned.