The Unexpected Bride (The Brides Book 1)

by Lena Goldfinch

  At Jem’s nod, Isaac bent to examine the boy’s face. He winced in sympathy. “No man has a right to treat you this way.”

  ***

  Isaac straightened. Unable to face Jem’s bruised face or Rebecca’s accusing eyes, he turned and looked around his simple but comfortable home. Pop had always been kind to him. He’d certainly never struck him in anger.

  Jem’s father was a snake. He didn’t even deserve to be called a man. Stalking across the room, Isaac jerked aside the potato-sack curtain and ducked into his bedroom. He dug in the chest next to his bed and found a stash of bills he kept hidden in the bottom corner. There was enough for a fare to California—if that’s where the boy wanted to go—and then some. He stuffed them into his pocket and returned to the kitchen.

  Isaac coughed and began speaking, “Jem—”

  “I know you’re in there, boy!” a man shouted from outside. “You left a trail even that Jezebel ma of yours could have followed. Now, come on out here, Son.”

  Something crashed against the front door. The sound of glass shattering against wood jerked Isaac into action.

  “Stay here.” He threw the order over his shoulder as he ran to the front door. Grabbing his rifle on the way, he stepped outside cautiously, closing the cabin door behind him and blocking it with his body. A big man stood about five paces from the porch, weaving on his feet.

  “I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to get off my property.” Isaac widened his stance. Shards of broken glass crunched under his boots. The smell of stale liquor assaulted him. His jaw hardened.

  “That’s my boy in there.” The man brushed a hand over his whiskered chin. His expression seemed vacant. The whites of his eyes were stained a sickly yellow.

  A drunk, Isaac decided.

  “Well, ‘your boy’ looks like someone took a plank to his face,” he said. Seeing the man was unarmed, Isaac lowered his gun and leaned it against the cabin.

  “That’s none of your concern.”

  “It is now.” Isaac took a step forward, holding his empty hands out at his sides in a show of peace. “Now, why don’t we talk this out like civilized folk?”

  “Look here, mister—” The man staggered onto the porch and stood in front of Isaac. Up close, his foul breath reeked of liquor, a rancid smell, like it was bubbling up from a well deep inside him. The man wasn’t nearly as tall as Isaac, but his bulk was impressive, and his eyes gleamed with malice.

  Isaac’s body stiffened in readiness.

  The man’s gaze darted beside Isaac, and his eyes took on a hateful gleam. “Git over here, boy.”

  Isaac registered a presence in the doorway behind him, as Jem’s father brushed by and jerked the boy forward by his shirtfront.

  Isaac grabbed the man by the back of his shirt and wrenched him away from Jem. “I said—get off my property.”

  The man spun around and shoveled a ham-sized fist into Isaac’s middle.

  Sucking in a quick, painful breath, Isaac grabbed the man’s wrists and held fast. “Jem’s my concern now.”

  “He’s my boy.”

  “He’s a man now, and he can take care of himself.”

  “A father’s got rights!” The man pulled with all his might to free himself. His neck turned red, his veins bulging with strain.

  “You gave up your rights when you used your fists.” Isaac’s grip tightened. This drunken brute wasn’t getting away without a lesson today. Though his hands itched to fist up and slam into the man’s belligerent face, he fought for control.

  The bones in the man’s wrist creaked under Isaac’s grasp. His mottled face took on an ashen cast, and he cried out, “You’re gonna break my bones! For pity’s sake!”

  Appalled at his desire to snap the man’s bones in two, Isaac loosened his grip, but continued to hold the man at arm’s length.

  “You’re going to leave the boy alone,” he said, nearly growling.

  “You got no right!”

  Isaac tightened his grip a fraction.

  “Ahh!” The man yelped and thrashed with both arms, clearly a desperate attempt to free himself. Isaac didn’t let go.

  “You’re going to leave the boy alone,” he repeated.

  “Okay, okay. Whatever you say—just let me go!”

  Isaac pushed the man back and dropped his arms to his sides, breathing hard. His muscles were still tense and ready to lunge forward if the man made another move for Jem.

  “Good for nothin’.” The man spat at Jem’s feet and lumbered off into the forest.

  ***

  Jem stood frozen, gazing after his pa. He wasn’t sure why he couldn’t move. His battered face still felt raw, but he didn’t think that was why. It was Pa’s words—they’d cut deeper this time. Turning to Isaac, he felt a glow of respect and gratitude for the man standing before him.

  “Thanks—for what you did.” Jem stared down at a hole in the toe of his boot for a moment. Nobody had ever stood up to Pa for him. No one, save for Becky, had ever shown a shred of interest in him. Looking up, he said, “What you said to my pa. Did you mean it?”

  Mr. Jessup’s brow wrinkled. “Did I mean what?”

  “You know. Me being your concern and all.”

  His former boss’s hands came to rest on Jem’s shoulders, and he looked intently into Jem’s eyes. His expression was warmer than Jem remembered and full of compassion.

  “Yeah, I meant it.”

  Jem’s eyes burned. Don’t cry in front of the boss. Don’t you dare cry.

  Swallowing, he jerked away from Isaac and began backing away. He stumbled down the porch and righted himself.

  “Well, I’ll be off now. Get out of your way. Thanks again.”

  ***

  Isaac jumped off the porch and took a tentative step toward the young man. He looked ready to take flight any moment.

  “Wait,” he urged Jem. Feeling the hairs prick on the back of his neck, he looked over his shoulder to see Rebecca gazing at him from the cabin doorway. How long had she been watching? His face burned, remembering how he’d nearly lost control and pummeled Jem’s father. He turned back to Jem, trying to ignore the fact that his wife’s eyes were trained on his back. “Wait. You could stay.”

  “Naw. If he hears I’m around, he’ll be back.”

  Isaac had half expected the boy to insist on leaving, but his reason made good sense. Jem’s pa didn’t seem like a man given to calm reason. Isaac was certain he could protect the boy to a certain extent, but what if his father returned when Isaac wasn’t around? What if he went after Rebecca?

  Isaac closed the gap between them and again placed a hand on the youth’s shoulder.

  “Wherever you go, just remember, you’ve got a place here—if you want it.” At Jem’s disbelieving grunt, Isaac continued, “I wouldn’t say it if I weren’t serious.” He reached into his pocket and handed Jem the wad of bills he’d retrieved from his trunk earlier. “Here. Take this.”

  The boy looked down at them, his eyes widening as he leafed through the stack.

  “I heard what you said to Rebecca. It’s not much, but enough to buy a corner on a cargo ship to San Francisco Bay—get you down to California, if that’s where you want to go. There’s some to spare for food too, whatever you need—”

  The youth’s eyes welled up and one tear slid down his cheek. He flung himself at Isaac, crushing him in a quick but fierce hug. Pushing back, he stood silently, his throat working. He finally nodded, and then with a wave to Rebecca, he spun around and strode off with a hitch in his step, favoring one leg. Soon he disappeared into the trees, the opposite direction from the way his father had gone. Smart boy.

  Isaac felt rather than saw Rebecca join him by his side. His heart still thudded wildly in his chest, and his muscles felt strung tight from his struggle with Jem’s father. When she placed her hand briefly on his upper arm, he looked down at her.

  With an intriguing little smile, she whispered, “That was a good thing you did for Jem.”

  His he
art lightened at the warmth in her tone. Before he could answer, she withdrew her hand and hurried back into the cabin.

  Was it possible the look in her eyes had been admiration, or was he seeing what he wanted to see? He straightened to his full height and filled his lungs with air. Whatever the truth, he admitted he wanted her respect. To get it, he’d redouble his efforts to be a better husband.

  ***

  Something had changed.

  It needled at Becky, like a name just barely outside the edges of her memory, so tantalizingly close she could almost—almost—latch onto it. But not.

  What was it?

  She paced back and forth across the kitchen, tending to Isaac’s share of the eggs and flipping the flapjacks over. All the while she turned over the events of this morning, trying to figure it out. As soon as Isaac returned, she served him his breakfast. While he ate the overdone eggs and crisp flapjacks, Becky sneaked glances at him out of the corner of her eye. He’d been incredibly generous to Jem.

  Maybe that was it—maybe she hadn’t thanked him. Had she said she was grateful? Maybe not...

  “I wanted to say thank you—for what you did for Jem.”

  He gave her a quick, embarrassed smile. “You shouldn’t have been a witness to what went on with Jem’s pa. I just hope the boy gets on okay. He’s young, seems even younger than his years sometimes.” Snatching some papers from the table, he jammed them into his pocket and returned to his breakfast without further comment.

  Now that was odd, Becky thought, her gaze sharpening on him. “What’s that?” she asked innocently, nodding at the papers peeking out of his trouser pocket.

  “Nothing much. Business matters,” he said, giving her a smile. It was a nice smile, the kind that weakened her knees, but this one seemed a bit too broad, as if he was trying to distract her.

  Business matters. What sort of “business matters” could he have that he didn’t want her to know about? If it had to do with his troubled finances, she wanted to know. If only he’d confide in her. She was more than willing to lend a hand.

  “Anything I can help with?” She raised her brows in an inviting manner, hoping he’d open up.

  “Not really. Nothing I can’t handle,” he added quickly, perhaps seeing the way her face fell. “I should be back for supper,” he said, “but don’t wait for me if I’m late.” Pushing back from the table, he was out the door before she could form a response. He didn’t even seem to notice when she lifted her hand in a wave.

  Now why would he be late?

  Becky let her hand fall to her side, struggling with a rush of disappointment and loss.

  While she was cleaning up the dishes after he left, her skirt brushed a piece of paper on the floor. Bending, she picked up a list of some sort. She recognized Isaac’s handwriting, but the squiggles baffled her. Each item was written in his shorthand, but she didn’t recognize any of the words. Probably some new logging equipment for the business. The column of numbers on the right looked to be the prices. Her eyes grew wide as she read down the column to the total.

  He’d just given Jem a whole fistful of cash, and now it seemed he was going to place a large order. Where was all this money going to come from? She hadn’t discovered any errors in his books, but then she hadn’t finished going through every entry. There could be any number of mistakes she hadn’t found yet.

  His men were going without pay.

  Jem had said so.

  Some people couldn’t manage money. It was a simple fact. Isaac seemed intelligent, but that didn’t mean he had a head for numbers. Why, even her papa, a successful businessman, couldn’t square a dime.

  Isaac was a good man. A generous man. That much she held onto. He wouldn’t treat his men unfairly, not unless he had no choice. If she didn’t step up and say something, she wouldn’t be helping him. Hadn’t she been a burden to him since the day he’d married her? The least she could do was prevent him from harming his business.

  Her heart gave a painful little squeeze at the thought of anything hurting him.

  Because I love him.

  I love him.

  That was it.

  That was the feeling that had been nagging at her.

  She had changed. Well, her heart had anyway. She wasn’t sure when, but it had changed. She wasn’t pretending. Or hoping. This was the real thing: the rush of affection she felt for him, the respect, the slew of positive thoughts surrounding him, the thump of her heart whenever she thought of him, the way her pulse raced if he just barely brushed up against her, or smiled at her, or looked at her in no particular way at all.

  She really really loved him.

  She felt so lightheaded all of a sudden she had to reach for the back of the chair to steady herself.

  She was also aware that the nagging feeling hadn’t gone away. There was something else. That’s when she had the most awful thought: what if he didn’t love her back? She’d seen him looking at her sometimes in a way that made her heart race, but then just as quick his expression would change, like he was disappearing behind a wall of his own making. It could be he had feelings for her, but felt unsure of her. That would make sense. He probably thought she still loved Jack. She’d admitted as much.

  But even if he did have feelings for her—and even if she reassured him of her love for him—who did he really love: her or “Rebecca,” the proper young lady he thought she was?

  The fact was he didn’t know her, not the real her.

  She’d been hiding the real Becky away since the day they met.

  The needling inside her turned to spikes.

  Guilt, that’s what it was.

  Because she had to tell him about the real Becky. She had to let him know who she was. Who she’d always been. That she’d been living a lie, basically.

  She’d have to confess that she’d never ridden sidesaddle—didn’t know the first thing about it. That she’d ridden like a boy since the first time she’d climbed onto a horse. That she’d pretended she didn’t know how to shoot, when she was possibly a better shot than he was—although they might have to have some sort of shoot-off to determine that. She might even have to confess that she’d been the one bringing in all the game for dinner, and not Pop.

  Becky went hot and cold just thinking about it.

  She rubbed her hands together to warm them and started pacing again.

  She had to tell him, didn’t she?

  How could she?

  He’d know then that she was a false kind of person. A person who’d hidden things from him. Deceived him. Even if it was for a good purpose, or so she’d thought. She’d been trying to be a better wife. Surely that had to count for something? But maybe he wouldn’t see it that way. Isaac was an honest man. Bible-believing. Hard-working. Straightforward. There didn’t seem to be much more to him than what you saw. He might not look kindly on her little masquerade. Maybe learning the truth would change his opinion of her. Maybe it was too much to ask him to forgive.

  And any good feelings he might have toward her could completely vanish.

  She could lose him before she ever really had him.

  Becky bit her lip so hard she drew blood. The room faded in and out—ever so slightly—and she had to grab the chair again. If she was dizzy, she told herself sternly, then it was her own fault. She’d brought all this on herself, and she was the one who had to fix it.

  She had to tell Isaac everything. She had to tell him she loved him. And she had to tell him all about who she was. Even if it made her sick. Even if she wanted to die just thinking about it.

  She sank onto the chair and buried her head into her arms.

  Tonight when he came home. That’s when she’d tell him.

  Until then—until then she’d...

  She’d what?

  Drive herself crazy chasing after her wild thoughts?

  Talk herself out of it and back into it a hundred or a thousand times?

  That would be a kind of torture she perhaps deserved—sitting on needle
s all day—but she didn’t know if she could endure it.

  If she wanted Isaac to love her—the real Becky—then she had to tell him.

  But there was no way she could sit around all day waiting to do it, she realized, suddenly on fire with the determination to tell him right away. She had to do it now. She had to get it over and done with. Whatever the outcome.

  Shaking herself out of her thoughts, she realized Isaac must be well on his way to the work site by now. She rose, dumped all the breakfast dishes in the basin, and hurried to her room. Discarding her guise as the perfectly proper young lady, she tugged her old hunting jacket over her dress. Then realizing Isaac might need proof about her shooting skills, she slung her rifle over her back too. An attack of nerves swept over her as she stood with the doorknob in her hand, finally ready to go.

  This was it.

  She took in a shaky breath and let it out real slow-like. No backing out. If she was going to tell Isaac about “Becky,” then he might as well see her as she really was: a wild hoyden. And she may as well do it now. What better time than the present? That was something Papa liked to say.

  So she’d learned at least one thing from her father: No better time than the present.

  Isaac was either going to accept her as she was or not.

  Becky dashed out of the cabin before she lost her courage. Gathering her skirts up, she jumped onto Siren’s back and chased after her husband.

  TWENTY-TWO

  As his mount made its way down the familiar mountain path, Isaac was free to think. So, his wife loved another man. He admitted the truth to himself: he loved her anyway. Maybe with time, she’d come to love him. He’d just have to try harder. A new cabin would be a good place to start anew. He could almost picture Rebecca someday holding a little bundle wrapped in a white flannel blanket. With any luck, they’d have a peck of boys. He couldn’t stand the thought of being responsible for two women, let alone one.Even as he thought it, an image of a sweet, angelic baby girl made him catch a ragged breath. And that’s when he realized the truth: