The Texan's Inherited Family

by Noelle Marchand

  “Quinn, is that you?”

  “Yep.” He felt heat crawling up the back of his neck. He chanced a glance over his shoulder to find her watching him with a lifted eyebrow as she belted her dark pink dressing gown at her waist. He offered what he hoped was a passable smile. “Are you done in there?”

  “It’s all yours.”

  “Thanks.” He grabbed his sleep shirt then waited for her to move aside before he slid past her and behind the screen. These things weren’t meant for men. He could tell that by the flowery fabric and the fact that it barely came up to his chin. Feeling a little foolish, he changed clothes before leaping under the blanket of his bed as nonchalantly as possible. He stared at the ceiling for a long moment then couldn’t resist peeking at Helen again.

  She was brushing her hair with a frown on her face. Perhaps she was as ill at ease with this situation as he was. He cleared his throat. “If you’re uncomfortable with me being in here, I can leave.”

  She set the brush aside and turned to face him. “Why should I be uncomfortable? You are my husband, aren’t you?”

  He felt his jaw tighten. “I reckon so.”

  “Do you? That’s funny. You’ve been acting more like a stranger than anything else.”

  There was no way he was going to get into that with her. Not even if she was right. Obviously, this sleeping arrangement had been a mistake. He could only hope that God wouldn’t hold it against him. Mindful of Helen’s watchful gaze, he grabbed his pillow and a blanket. He only got halfway across the room before she caught his arm. “Where do you think you’re going? We aren’t finished with this conversation.”

  “Yes, we are.” He shook his head, unable to reconcile the woman standing before him in defiance with the sweet-tempered woman he’d married. “What has gotten into you?”

  She blinked her long dark lashes then loosened her hold on his arm until it became gentle and disturbing for an altogether different reason. Her tone softened though it retained an underlying strength and thoughtfulness. “I don’t know, Quinn. Maybe it’s the way you’ve been avoiding me for the last three days. Even before that, we hardly ever had any real conversations. And now...now, you can’t even look at me.”

  All the charges she laid against him were true except one, so, of course, he needed to focus on that one. “What are you talking about? I’m looking right at you.”

  “No.” She slowly shook her head. “You aren’t looking at me. You’re looking through me. You aren’t really seeing me at all.”

  He wished he could say that she was speaking in riddles, but he knew exactly what she meant. He’d been trying to block her out of his senses. It had worked moderately well so far... Well, except for the fact that it had eventually made his normally even-keeled wife madder than a cat caught in a rainstorm. He needed to smooth things over, but how? He could apologize. However, that would probably require a subsequent change in his behavior, which would make it a whole lot harder to stay on the straight and narrow concerning his arrangement with God.

  “You’re still doing it.” Helen crossed her arms and tilted her head. “You’re still looking through me.”

  “Right.” He searched his mind for something to say that would make her happy. Thinking wasn’t really his strong suit. It was even harder now with her looking at him like that. “Let’s sit down and, uh...talk.”

  He led her to the nearest object, and then hopped back up when he realized that object happened to be her bed. He settled on her vanity stool. That was still closer to her than he wanted to be, so he stood and started to pace. She must have mistaken that for an attempt to escape, for she dashed to the closed door and pressed her back against it to thwart him. Panic tightened his shoulders as she narrowed her eyes at him and seemed to be waiting for something to happen. Oh, what does it matter? Either way, I’m not getting out of this unscathed, so I might just as well be done with it.

  He let out a short puff of air, braced his feet shoulder width apart and closed his eyes. His ears filled with the sound of the rain’s rhythm drumming against the house. That’s when he became aware that the scent of his room had changed. It smelled like her. It was a mix of the spiciness of snicker doodles, the clean scent of soap with an underlying trace of some kind of exotic perfume. No doubt it was expensive.

  The rain drove harder against the house as he pushed that thought away.

  Opening his eyes, he saw the caution in hers. They weren’t just ordinary eyes, though. They were the kind he could stare into for hours and still not fully discover all of the mysteries they hinted at. His gaze fell to her lips, so often curving into a smile when she interacted with the children. Now they were pursed slightly to one side in challenge. Her delicately arched eyebrows lifted in a silent reminder that she was waiting on him.

  He shook his head. “You’re wrong. I may not have been looking, but I couldn’t help seeing you...in glimpses.”

  “Glimpses?”

  He stepped toward her. “I’ve seen your determination and persistence when it comes to the chores.”

  “You have?”

  “Yes.” He stepped closer again. “More important, I’ve seen love, compassion and patience with the children.”

  Her gaze clung to his. “I do love them.”

  “Yes, you do, and every day you make life better for them—for me, too.” With most of the distance erased between them, he figured he was close enough—probably too close for his own good—so he stopped moving. “I have seen you, Helen.”

  She tucked her hair behind her ear. “Then why don’t you show it?”

  He frowned. “How do you want me to show it?”

  “Let us get to know each other, actually have a relationship.”

  Thunder crashed above them. It couldn’t drown out the sudden aloofness Quinn heard in his own voice. “We agreed to marry for the children’s benefit not our own.”

  “Why do those two things have to be mutually exclusive? It would be to their benefit to have a healthy marriage modeled in their home.”

  Everything within him quieted at that. He tried the idea on for size and liked the way it fit. It wouldn’t work, though. He hadn’t asked God for a healthy marriage. He’d asked God for a helpmeet and hadn’t even deserved to get that. He glanced up at the rafters shielding them from the storm raging overhead. “What we have will be enough. Mutual respect, shared goals, our love for them...” He trailed off as she began to shake her head. “What, Helen? What more do you want from me?”

  “Exactly what I thought I was getting when I married you. A chance for companionship and caring. Perhaps one day even love.” The hope that filled her eyes was destined to be disappointed.

  No matter how much he found himself longing for the same thing, it couldn’t happen. “I can’t give you that.”

  She paled slightly then covered his mouth with her fingers. “Please don’t say that, Quinn. You can’t mean it. Leave me a little bit of hope.”

  He took both of her hands in his so that she couldn’t keep him quiet. “I do mean it. The truth is I’m n—”

  —not worth hoping for, he would have finished if she hadn’t kissed him square on the mouth. The rest of the world faded away until it only comprised Helen, him, this moment. Yet, in the back of his mind, he knew she was only doing it to shut him up. That frustrated him to no end. Their kisses shouldn’t be like this. They ought to be real and true and meaningful.

  When she would have ended it, he gathered her closer and kissed her back, the way she should be kissed. She caught her breath in surprise then melted against him as the kiss turned into something far warmer, sweeter and gentler than she could have intended it to be. He pulled away once they were both good and breathless. “Look at me.”

  He waited until her dark lashes swept upward and her eyes focused on his. “Maybe I’ve no right to tell you what you can and
can’t hope for, even if I’m certain you’ll be disappointed. However, I do have a right to tell you something else, so I want you to listen to me.” He lowered his voice and kept his tone gentle yet firm. “This isn’t a game between us. If you ever kiss me again, you’d sure as shooting better mean it. Understand?”

  That infernal light of hope leaped into her eyes again. That’s when he knew he’d done something wrong. It came to him as a flash of lightning illuminated the room. First, he shouldn’t have kissed her back. Second, after kissing her he should have backed away, apologized and repented. He hadn’t done any of that. Instead, he’d implied that another kiss was inevitable and acceptable. To make matters even worse, he’d done it out loud for God to hear and take notice. He groaned, “What have I done?”

  A loud pop and the sound of shattering glass exploded through the room. Reflexively, he shielded Helen’s body with his own until he determined that the danger had passed. He turned in time to see something roll across the floor toward him in the candlelight. He knelt down to find it was a clear orb of ice the size of an apple. His gaze reversed its path to the broken window above his bed while the popping sound surrounded the house. “Hail. It’s a hailstorm.”

  Pounding sounded on their bedroom door. Helen opened it to reveal Reece and Clara standing hand in hand. Clara threw her arms around Helen’s legs. “We’re scared!”

  Reece rolled his eyes then jumped at a crash of thunder. “I’m not scared, but Trent is curled up in a ball and won’t move. I promised to get a grown-up.”

  “I’ll go.” Quinn put the hailstone in Helen’s washbasin before grabbing his blanket and pillow that had fallen to the floor at some point in their exchange. He handed them to Reece. “Hold on to these, son. Helen, get Olivia. We’ll wait it out together in the hallway where there aren’t any windows.”

  Quinn found Trent just as Reece had described him. The window was on the opposite side of the room from the bed, which put Trent in the direct trajectory of anything that might burst through it. Quinn situated himself between the boy and the possible danger before rubbing Trent’s back. “Hey, cowboy, we’re all going to camp out together in a safe place until this nasty ol’ storm blows over. We’re going to sing some cowboys songs, too. Would you like that?”

  The little boy managed to nod.

  “How about pretending I’m your horse so we can ride on out of here?” Quinn let out a sigh of relief when Trent uncurled himself to latch on. They cantered out of the bedroom into the hallway where Helen was getting everyone comfortable and warm. Olivia sat on her hip with eyes alternately widening and drooping from loud noises and sleepiness. Quinn sat down with Trent in his lap. Reece huddled closer to them. Clara moved closer to Reece. Helen and Olivia snuggled in next to Clara.

  Helen leaned forward to look down the line. “Is everyone warm enough?”

  Reece nodded. “We’re getting there.”

  Trent threw his head back to look at Quinn expectantly. “Trent wants us to sing. What’ll it be, folks?”

  Clara reached for his hand. He was pretty sure the other one was holding Helen’s. “‘Old Chisholm Trail,’” she said.

  Quinn cleared his throat and began to sing over the sound of the storm. “‘Oh, come along, boys, and listen to my tale, I’ll tell you all my troubles on the ol’ Chisholm trail.’”

  Reece and Clara immediately joined in on the chorus. Helen soon caught on and sang in a rich alto that blended nicely with his baritone. The song ended up being a great choice because there were many verses to it. It kept the children so distracted from the storm that they didn’t seem to hear the window break in the kitchen or the living room. However, as five minutes turned to ten then twenty without any letup from the hail, Quinn found it increasingly hard to sing.

  The wheat crop had been destroyed for sure. There was no doubt about it; and he had only himself to blame.

  Chapter Nine

  Helen leaned her head back against the wall in the hallway to listen to the hail peter out a good thirty minutes after that first ball of ice had crashed through the bedroom window. This night had not gone at all as Helen had hoped it would. She’d envisioned that she and Quinn would have a nice heart-to-heart chat then go to sleep in a companionable silence. Instead, all the emotions she’d stored inside from her talk with Isabelle, her mother’s letter and Quinn’s avoidance had swirled together to create a storm that had rivaled the one raging outside. The tension in that room had been palpable, leading up to the argument. It was then that everything Helen had wanted to say for days tumbled out in all the wrong ways.

  She could hardly believe she’d been foolhardy enough to try to kiss him into silence. But in the moment, she’d been too desperate to think of anything else. And if she hadn’t, she was certain she would have heard him proclaim that he could never love her. She refused to believe that. Besides, never was such an ugly word. It created a life empty of hope—one that was filled with desperation and fear. She knew that firsthand. Her fingers slid toward her abdomen only to encounter Olivia’s slightly rounded tummy instead.

  A smile tugged at Helen’s lips as she leaned down to place a kiss on the sleeping child’s head. She peered down the line to find that the children had all fallen asleep curled up together like a litter of newborn kittens. Her focus shifted past them to her husband. He sat with his head in his hand and his elbow braced on a propped-up knee. Her gaze traced the strong lines of his profile. She’d been trying to ignore it since he’d laid down the ground rules for their marriage, but the man was far too handsome for her peace of mind.

  He turned his head slightly and pinned her with his cobalt stare. She ought to be embarrassed at getting caught staring at him. She wasn’t. After all, what was there left for her to be ashamed of? She’d already all but begged him to give love a chance and had been turned down flat.

  His gaze trailed down to her lips before returning to her eyes. She couldn’t help remembering that, while she may have started their kiss, he’d finished it with an intensity that her left her breathless. She’d thought he’d experienced the same thing, but that was before remorse had filled his eyes and he’d muttered those simple words of regret. “What have I done?”

  She kept her voice low so as not to awaken the children. “The hail may be over, but the storm doesn’t seem to be letting up. Rain may be getting into the house through the broken windows in our room.”

  Our room. His slight wince at those words told her all she needed to know about his intentions of sharing it with her after their argument. He pulled in a deep breath, ran his fingers through his close-cropped brown curls and nodded. “Stay put. I’ll inspect the house for damage.”

  She waited while he checked the children’s rooms first then knelt beside her. “It looks like their rooms were spared because their windows didn’t face the brunt of the storm. Let’s get them back to bed and go from there.”

  After somehow managing to get all the children tucked in without waking a single one, Helen peered around Quinn’s broad shoulder to stare into her room. The lantern he held aloft revealed the gaping black hole where the window should be, while a deluge of rain angled through the opening. “Oh, Quinn, your new mattress!”

  She rushed forward to save it from being rained on. Quinn’s arm snaked around her waist, lifting her off her feet and back to the threshold. “The floor is covered in glass. The last thing we need tonight is for someone to get cut.”

  She glanced down at her bare toes planted right next to his. “Shoes. They’re in the living room by the front door.”

  “Stop.” He caught her arm as she tried to dash away. “Let me check it out first. I think I heard a window break in there, too.”

  The living room window had shattered completely. Large pieces of glass mixed with rainwater, leaves, broken branches and hailstones to litter the floor from the front of the room by the settee all the
way to the kitchen area in the back. Helen shook her head. “What a mess.”

  “We have to clean it up fast and good. I don’t want the children to so much as walk through this on the way out the door until that glass has been taken care of. Or you, either. At least not without shoes, so hold still.”

  “Quinn.” Her protest was soft and ineffectual, for they both knew someone would have to wade through that mess to get their shoes. She held her breath as she watched him pick his way across the floor toward the front door and put on his boots without incident. He grabbed hers and the children’s, as well, before crunching over glass to meet her back in the hall. Before she could reach for her shoes, he was down on his knees guiding her feet into them as he’d often done with the children.

  She placed her hand on his shoulder for balance and felt his muscles tense beneath her fingers. This was her problem. He was just so blasted sweet and gentle that it was hard to stay upset with him. She’d never really seen him riled until tonight. It had been a powerful thing to behold, yet not even for an instant had she felt threatened or scared by his strength. She swallowed. “Thank you. So, uh, what are we going to do about the windows? I mean, how will we keep the rain out?”

  He stood and walked back into the living room to don his coat. “I’ll need to board up the windows.”

  “Tonight?”

  He must have heard the worry in her voice, for he allowed a hint of a smile to reach his lips and reassure her. “Right now. There’s no use cleaning up the room if the weather is just going to keep making it a mess.”

  “How can I help?”

  He frowned. “As much as I wish I could turn down your offer and keep you out of the weather, I’ll need someone to hold the boards in place while I nail them. I’ll go get the supplies from the barn and meet you back here.”

  “Wait. Perhaps I ought to sweep up the glass first. If the children wake up, they’ll come looking for us again and step on the glass.”