Brides of Georgia

by Connie Stevens

  She shifted the full basket to one hand and plunked her other fist on her hip. “Nathaniel Danfield, you are not my keeper, so stop being so bossy. I am quite capable of taking care of myself.”

  “Are you now?” He spread his feet and crossed his arms over his chest. “Are you quite capable of fighting off a panther or a bear? How about a pack of wolves?”

  Abby’s chin jutted out and hardheaded defiance outlined her profile. “The most dangerous animal we encountered was a squirrel.”

  “That’s not the point and you know it.” He put both hands on his hips. “I gave your father my word that I would ensure your safety. My word might not mean much to him, but it does to me.”

  Abby flipped her palm up. “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. Wren and I talked and—”

  Nathaniel tossed both hands up. “Haven’t you heard a word I’ve said? Panthers and bears aren’t the only animals that pose a danger. In fact, I’d say the two-legged variety is far more threatening. Some would like nothing better than to find you alone in the woods, completely defenseless.”

  She sputtered, and fire glinted from her eyes. “Is that what you think I am? Defenseless?”

  Nathaniel fastened his eyes on her face. The curve of her cheek, the scowl across her brow, and the upturned tip of her nose all captured his senses. Against his better judgment, he allowed his gaze to drift to her pursed lips, and he nearly forgot why he was angry. He jerked his focus back to the subject at hand.

  This wasn’t the first time he’d witnessed her bravado. Her tenacious will waved like a banner the day they’d battled the outlaws. He took a step toward her. She stood her ground. Defenseless? Not by any stretch of the imagination.

  His arm snaked out and encircled her waist, tugging her into his embrace. She dropped her basket. Her eyes widened, and he heard her soft gasp as he lowered his head to hers and planted a kiss squarely on her mouth.

  When he released her, she wobbled back on her heels. He caught her by the elbow and steadied her. Her dark-brown eyes blinked in astonishment, and her lips formed a perfect O.

  Nathaniel let go of her elbow. What had he done? Whatever possessed him to do such a thing? Never before had he given in to impulsiveness. The shock on her face mirrored that which he realized in his own heart.

  “I’m…I’m…s–s–sorry.” He took a step backward, then another. He half expected her to lunge and take a swing at him the way she had against the bandits.

  But she didn’t. She stood there swaying unsteadily like a stiff breeze might blow her over, her mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water.

  His hands moved as though detached from his body, in sporadic jerky gestures with no apparent purpose. He bent and picked up her basket, shoving in foliage that spilled out when she dropped it. He straightened and held the basket out to her, wondering if she might dump the contents over his head.

  Her stunned, dazed look changed to wide-eyed mortification. Red climbed up her neck into her face. She sucked in a noisy breath as she looked around frantically, presumably to see if anyone had been watching. Pressing her lips into a thin line, she snatched the basket from his hands, spun on her heel, and stalked to the house.

  Chapter 12

  He kissed me.

  Abby stood at the kitchen worktable, kneading bread dough with one hand. The fingers of her other hand touched her lips, checking for the hundredth time if the tingle she felt was real or just a memory.

  For the space of three sunrises and sunsets, she’d kept her hands occupied with various tasks and drove herself to exhaustion each evening. Still, she’d lain awake for hours, remembering the taste of Nathaniel’s lips.

  Had she dreamed it? Wren’s basket sitting by the table represented tangible proof that she’d made her trek into the woods that day. It was no dream. Their heated words echoed in her mind, and she could still see his narrowed eyes. He certainly had a unique way of winning an argument.

  Abby glanced at Beth seated in the rocker working on her knitting and listening to Dulcie read. Neither she nor Quinn had mentioned a word about seeing Nathaniel’s impromptu kiss. Not even Florrie had mentioned hearing about it. Had she known nobody was looking, she might have enjoyed the kiss instead of reacting like he’d insulted her.

  In the tension of the moment, she feared every person in Tucker’s Gap witnessed the embrace. Despite her initial shock, however, three days of rumination had mellowed her indignation. Each time the memory returned, the edges of her annoyance fell away until she could no longer think of a good reason to be perturbed. A twinge of sorrow stung when she remembered he’d backed away, stammering an apology. Was he really sorry he’d kissed her? She couldn’t deny his kiss underscored the growing awareness within her. She was falling in love with him.

  Abby rolled Wren’s revelation over in her mind, more convinced than ever of Nathaniel’s character. Under the circumstances, the court-martial didn’t make sense. The officer who gave the command to open fire in violation of General Scott’s orders should have been the one court-martialed. While Wren’s story answered Abby’s nagging question, it raised a dozen new ones.

  Abby pushed her fists into the bread dough, focusing her energy into pummeling the dough into a satiny smooth lump. She divided the dough into loaves and left them to rise.

  “Beau.” She motioned the little fellow over to her. “Please go out to the barn and get Mr. Nathaniel’s plate and bring it to me.”

  “Yes’m.” He ran out the door. Abby cast a quick glance at Beth who eyed her with puzzlement.

  “Something wrong between you and Nathaniel?” Beth cocked her head.

  The question sent waves of heat rising into Abby’s face, and she gulped. “Wrong? Why would you ask that?” She stared wide-eyed at her friend.

  The corners of Beth’s mouth twitched. “Because you’ve avoided going out to the barn three days in a row.”

  Abby shrugged and scraped thin peels of lye soap into a pan of hot water. “I’ve been busy.” She immersed dirty dishes into the soapy water. “How did that red clover tea work for you? Did you rest better?”

  “I rested fine, thank you. Why are you changing the subject?”

  “I wasn’t aware the barn was a subject.” Abby scrubbed the skillet. Perspiration formed on her forehead and dribbled down her temple.

  Beau came bursting in the door with the plate in his hand. “Mr. Nathaniel says thank you for breakfast.” He thrust the plate at Abby and roared back out the door.

  “Hmm.” Beth’s musing reached Abby’s ears. “Now Nathaniel is using Beau as his messenger. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you two had a spat.”

  Abby dropped Nathaniel’s plate, and the tin rang against the floorboards. A hiccup lodged in her throat, and she was seized with a fit of coughing. Snatching up the plate, she scoured it and dipped it in the rinse water. When she felt she could do so without giving away her inner feelings, she turned to look at Beth.

  “He was just annoyed because I went into the woods alone.”

  Beth’s eyes twinkled. “Is that why he kissed you?”

  “Of course not!” Abby sputtered and grabbed a towel. “He…” Obviously Beth had seen more than she’d let on. How was Abby to answer that question?

  Why had he kissed her?

  Abby wrote the word butterfly in the dirt with a stick. Using the stick as a pointer, she indicated each letter, and Beau told her the sound the letter made.

  “B–u–tt–eerr–fff–1—” Beau’s face drew up into a frown. “I can’t remember how the Y sounds.”

  “That’s all right, you did just fine.” Abby ruffled his already-unruly hair. “Sometimes the Y can sound like E, and sometimes it sounds like I. Which one of those sounds do you think the Y makes in this word?”

  The little fellow scrunched his eyes into a squint as he let each letter’s sound roll off his lips. Abby stifled a giggle at the boy’s intense concentration. As if suddenly enlightened with the answer, Beau’s eyebrows leaped up and
hid under the hair that flopped over his forehead. “I?”

  “So what is the word?”

  “Bb–uu–tt–er–f–l–y.” A wide, triumphant grin spread across the boy’s face. “Butterfly!” He jumped up and ran around in circles flapping his arms.

  Dulcie rolled on her back in the grass and cackled. “You look like a duck.”

  Beau fell into Abby’s lap, laughing and breathless. “I ain’t no duck.”

  “I am not a duck,” Abby corrected.

  He popped his head up and giggled. “You and me ain’t ducks.”

  Abby tugged both children into a hug. “Have either of you ever looked at a butterfly up close?”

  Dulcie shook her head, but Beau piped up, “I chased one once, but I couldn’t catched it, ‘cause it flied up high, and Mama said if I climbed up on the fence one more time she was gonna cut a switch.”

  A snort drew Abby’s attention. She looked up to see Nathaniel pushing the wheelbarrow down the narrow path. A small grin poked a dimple into his cheek.

  Abby sucked in a soft breath and tried to return her attention to the children, but an unseen force fastened her gaze to the man. The breeze blew his hair across his eyes, much like Beau’s, and sweat glistened off his forearms. His step hesitated for a moment as their eyes met. He gave her the slightest of nods, dipped his head, and shoved the wheelbarrow on its way.

  Abby felt her face flush, and she forced her gaze at the children’s expectant faces. “When I went to the store yesterday, Miss Florrie gave me some scraps of cheesecloth, and you know what we’re going to do with it?”

  While the children tried to guess, Abby snuck another glance in the direction Nathaniel had taken. She found him at the end of the footpath. His wheelbarrow was upturned and empty, and he stood leaning on the raised handles, watching her.

  A tremor rippled through her, and she hiccupped a sharp intake of breath. A rush of nervous energy ignited in her stomach. Her heart rattled against her rib cage.

  “Miss Abby?” Beau pulled on her sleeve. “What’re we gonna make?”

  She yanked her gaze away from Nathaniel and gave the children a shaky smile. “We’re going to make special nets so we can catch butterflies. First we need a branch shaped like this.” She picked up the stick and drew an exaggerated Y in the dirt and pointed to the stem. “This will be the handle, and it has to be a bit long so we can reach those butterflies that fly up high.” She tweaked Beau’s ear. “Then we will sew the cheesecloth here.” She traced the forked area. “But you’re going to have to find just the right branch.”

  Dulcie clapped and Beau jumped up and down. Abby pulled her feet under her, taking care not to snag her hem, when a hand reached down and captured hers.

  “Allow me, Miss Abby.”

  She tilted her head back and looked up. Nathaniel held her hand securely in his. The dimple in his cheek deepened as his mouth pulled into a sheepish half grin. He assisted her to her feet, holding her hand an extra moment. Pressure squeezed her chest, and she couldn’t seem to catch her breath.

  “Th–thank you.”

  He released her hand but didn’t take his eyes off her. “My pleasure.”

  Abby shook out Beau’s wet overalls and hung them on the clothesline. Her lower back ached from bending over the washtub. She twisted first to the right, then to the left, trying to stretch out her tight muscles.

  Quinn had left before first light to go help a farmer cut hay, and Abby glanced toward the livery where Nathaniel worked alone today. She bit her lip. Never before had she been rendered speechless around a man.

  As she bent to pick the next wet garment from the basket, she noticed two scruffy, unshaven men, climbing down the steps from Tucker’s store. Mercy stood in the doorway and waved to the men. They returned her wave as they mounted their mules and pulled the lead rope of a pack donkey.

  Miners. The arrival of miners in Tucker’s Gap usually meant mail. Abby’s stomach tightened, whether with anticipation or apprehension, she couldn’t tell. Just over a month had passed with no word from either her father or her aunt. She shrugged and hung Quinn’s shirt on the line.

  Buried deep in her heart’s secret place she longed to know her father cared. Sorting the reasons from her emotions was too complicated. Her willful attitude and penchant for disagreeing with her father had already carved a chasm too wide to bridge. He’d told her as much the morning she left the fort. Still, hidden beneath layers of defiance and rebellion was a little girl who simply wanted her father’s love. Was it too much to wish? She hurried to get the remaining laundry hung, silently chiding herself for allowing her hopes to rise.

  Abby left the empty laundry basket on the peg near the door and peeked to check on Beth. Her friend was seated in the rocker with mending in her lap.

  “A couple of miners just left the store. I thought I’d see if there was any mail.”

  Beth looked up from the sock she was darning. “I hope you hear from your father, but I suppose I’m being selfish in hoping he doesn’t make you leave Tucker’s Gap.”

  Abby lifted her chin. “I’ll not leave you until you’re back on your feet, letter or no letter.” A twinge of conscience pricked her. Not five minutes ago she wished for her father’s affection, yet she defied him at every turn, even when he wasn’t present to witness it.

  The children tagged along after Abby, and Florrie met them at the door as they climbed the steps to the store. She held up a letter as she gave Abby a quick hug.

  Abby’s breath caught for a split second, but the handwriting was too neat and precise to be Father’s. Apparently Florrie thought so as well.

  “From your aunt, perhaps?”

  Abby turned her attention to the missive. Yes, it was unmistakably Aunt Charlotte’s flowing script. The thickness of the letter hinted at her aunt’s verbosity. She broke the wax seal and unfolded the fine linen stationery—all four pages. Her eyes scanned the first page, noting the date. It was written three weeks ago. Aunt Charlotte must have sat down to write her response the very day she received Abby’s letter. As expected, her aunt was horrified, going on and on about the damage to Abby’s reputation, her responsibility to take her place in society, and challenging her to consider that a respectable man wouldn’t have a young woman who’d spent weeks fetching and carrying for a blacksmith’s wife.

  “For heaven’s sake.” Abby looked up at Florrie’s amused expression. “You’d think she was trying to marry me off to royalty.” She folded the letter and stuffed it into her skirt pocket. “I’ll finish reading this later. I’d rather go play with the children. We have butterflies to catch.”

  Nathaniel smiled at the sound of young Beau’s laughter. He leaned to one side and angled his head to see what had the youngster so tickled. From the shadows just inside the barn doors, he watched as Abby pointed to a yellow butterfly, and the children swung their makeshift nets at the elusive insect. The creature’s flight path hiccupped to and fro, dipping and twisting as if intentionally leading Beau on a dizzying chase.

  “Miss Abby, help me. My net’s caught.” Dulcie’s plaintive call drew Abby over to the child. The little girl’s net was entangled in a low-hanging branch.

  “Don’t pull on it. We don’t want to tear the cheesecloth.” Abby grasped the branch and directed Dulcie to hold it steady while she meticulously removed twigs from the net. Nathaniel watched, mesmerized. Her every movement—from her reassuring smile to the way she concentrated on her task—captured him, and he was a helpless prisoner of her charm. The memory of the softness of her lips caught his breath.

  “Come back here!”

  Beau ran toward the corral fence after his prey. Quick as a squirrel, he climbed over the fence and followed the butterfly into the corral.

  “No, don’t—”

  Nathaniel’s warning came too late. Beau’s exuberance in waving his net startled Shadrach, Quinn’s best horse. The animal reared and shied, lunging to one side, tossing its thick black mane and throwing its rear hooves up in a vici
ous kick. Beau stood paralyzed with his long-handled net in the air, pointing straight at the horse.

  Nathaniel sprinted across the path and vaulted over the rail fence, snatching Beau around the middle. He yanked him out of the way a split second before the horse crashed into the fence inches from where Beau had been standing. With one motion, Nathaniel swung the boy over the fence.

  “Beau!” Abby screamed and came running, wrapping her arms around the boy as he started to whimper. “Are you all right?” She held him away from her, her eyes searching his frame. Apparently satisfied the lad was in one piece, she hugged him tightly.

  Nathaniel caught Shadrach by the halter and spoke quiet, soothing words to him, patting his silky black neck. As the animal calmed, Nathaniel found a gash on the horse’s right shoulder. Blood trickled from the gaping wound. Nathaniel led Quinn’s prize horse into the barn and cross-tied him in the stall. As he grabbed a bucket to fetch clean water, he met Abby at the door of the barn.

  “Thank you, Nathaniel.” She touched his arm. “You saved Beau’s life.” Her eyes glistened with unshed tears, and her hand trembled.

  Nathaniel shrugged. “Don’t know about that. I’m just glad I was there at the right time. Is he all right? I slung him over the fence a bit hard.”

  Abby nodded. “He’s fine, just frightened.”

  Nathaniel looked over his shoulder back into the barn. “Quinn’s favorite horse. He’s got a cut on his shoulder. I need to see what I can do for him before Quinn gets back.”

  Abby cocked her head and looked past him toward the horse. “Is there anything I can do? Yarrow will help stop bleeding, and you can use pipsissewa to clean the wound.”

  Nathaniel stared at her for a moment. Abigail Locke amazed him. Some women he knew would be hysterical from such an experience. Despite her scare, Abby still managed to give of herself.

  A tiny smile tweaked the corner of his mouth. “I’d appreciate your help.”