The Cowboy's Mail Order Bride (The Dalton Brides, Book 3)

by Kit Morgan

  * * *

  Libby grabbed the stale biscuit to munch on as she and Bonnie walked to Gwen's. When they arrived, they were both surprised to find their sister doing the dishes. Well, Libby was surprised; Bonnie looked incredibly pleased. “I see you're almost finished with those,” Bonnie told Gwen. “I came over to bake bread for the next two days. You two need to learn to cook as soon as you can, so you can please your husbands.”

  Libby cringed. She certainly hadn’t done well on that score yet. So far, all she was good at was making Nate angry. But with Bonnie's help, she might be able to waylay his anger long enough to figure out how to not only apologize for last night, but explain to him why she’d done what she’d done. She needed to feel he cared for her first, even if only a little. The desire was so strong, even she didn't understand it, nor where it came from. She only knew she wanted to matter to him, more importantly his heart, before he took her body. If he didn't care for her, she feared she'd go through life feeling like nothing more than chattel.

  Gwen finished up her dishes. “Well? What happened last night? How do you like your new husbands?” She looked at Libby over her shoulder. “How did you and Nate get along?”

  Libby closed her eyes a moment then opened them. She was going to have to fess up. She was sure Nate's brothers would sense something was wrong with him, and ask Nate about it. Better her sisters heard things from her now, than their husbands later. “Nate is angry with me for refusing to share the marriage bed with him.” She raised her chin. “I made him sleep on the floor. I told him, he'd have to woo me.”

  Bonnie stared at her in shock as Gwen turned an interesting shade of red. Libby almost kissed her when, after she put the last dish in a cabinet, she hurried to the table and sat. “I want to know everything there is to know about cooking!”

  Libby let go a sigh of relief. Thank heavens they wouldn't ask her any questions! She didn't have any answers anyway.

  They spent the rest of the morning preparing bread dough and, once Bonnie was satisfied they had enough, set bowls of the gooey stuff off to the side so the dough could rise. Gwen, exhausted, asked Bonnie what they would make the men for lunch, but Bonnie told her they were all on their own. Libby thought Gwen might faint when Bonnie said it, but quickly recovered as she and Bonnie left Gwen's cabin.

  “Do you have anything to make for Nate’s lunch?” Bonnie asked once they were outside.

  “I have no idea,” said Libby. And she didn't. She didn't even know if the man had a larder or where he kept anything.

  “See what you can find. I'm sure Nate will appreciate anything you prepare for him.”

  Libby blanched as she walked, her next words coming out a croak. “I'll do my best.”

  Bonnie stopped and looked at her. “Is something wrong?”

  Libby bit her lip, thinking fast. “I have a hungry man coming home and nothing to feed him.”

  “You're going to have to get used to this, Libby. Trust me, once you learn how to cook, sew, do the mending, clean, and… well… once you learn all those things and get good at them, he'll adore you.”

  “What if I didn't know how to do all those things? What would make him adore me then?”

  Bonnie stood silent for a moment, staring at her. “You’re a beautiful girl, Libby. How could any man not adore you?” She turned away, and Libby swore there were tears in her eyes. But why? She blinked her own eyes a few times. Perhaps she was seeing things.

  They reached Libby's cabin and Bonnie gave her another hug. “Good luck,” she told her. She then spun on her heel and strode toward her own humble abode.

  Libby put her hand on the knob and stared at the door. “He's not going to like this,” she said as she opened it and went inside. With any luck, she'd find more stale biscuits. If not, she had no idea what she was going to do.

  As it turned out, there wasn’t a biscuit in sight, and Libby began to panic. “I can't believe a man of his size hasn't a scrap of food in this place!” She continued to search the kitchen, but all she turned up were a few jars. One with flour, another sugar, and the smallest held salt. “Now what am I going to do?” She tapped her foot on the floor a few times, her arms folded across her chest in frustration.

  “I know!” she cried in excitement as her eyes lit with an idea. She hurried out of the cabin and walked around to the back. Sure enough, there was a small shed. It had to be a smokehouse! She turned and noted a small door at the back of the cabin. Could that be a root cellar? She didn't know which one to explore first. She finally settled on the smokehouse, where there would be more light to see by. It took her a moment to figure out how to open the door, but once she did, she sighed in relief at what she found. There was enough meat inside to last a month or more. She grabbed some sausages, as she figured they'd be the easiest to cook up, and headed back to the cabin. She stopped and stared at the small door in the back, and then took a deep breath to bolster her courage. A root cellar would be dark, and possibly full of… Libby shivered... spiders.

  But wasn't pleasing her husband, as Bonnie said, worth a run-in with a few spiders? Libby didn't think so, but her sister would. “I'll do it for Bonnie!” Libby said to herself. “Be brave, Libby, be brave!” Gripping her sausages like they were a couple of billy clubs, she strode toward the door with determined steps. She swallowed hard, undid the latch, and slowly opened the small door. Crude steps led down into a cold, dark void. Libby went pale. “Oh, my goodness,” she muttered as she took a step forward then froze. “I can do this, I can… I can't!” She slammed the door closed then ran for the front of the cabin.

  Ashamed of herself, Libby went inside and tossed the sausages onto the table. She blew a stray wisp of hair out of her face and contemplated what to do next. During her earlier search for food, she’d found a frying pan and some utensils. She retrieved it, set it on the stove and, for the first time, noticed the stove was warm. Being used to such a thing back home, she’d given it no mind until now. Nate must've built a fire and banked it before he’d left the house that morning. “How considerate…” she whispered to herself. But then, maybe he’d built it for her to use to make them lunch. “What else would he build a fire for?” she asked aloud. “Of course he built it so you could make him lunch!” she chastised, and then noticed the coffee pot sitting on the stove. She spied a dishrag, snatched it up, and used it to take hold of the pot to see if he'd left her any of the brew. She was surprised to find it was full. Had the man made himself coffee, then a fresh pot for her?

  Guilt sank deep into the pit of her belly in that moment. She set the coffee pot back onto the stove with a loud clunk. She then went about cooking the man sausages for his lunch. The thought that he'd do such a thing for her after she’d made him sleep on the floor last night was too much. Maybe she should go back to Beckham. The warm bath he’d prepared for her the night before, the coffee he’d made her this morning, not to mention leaving her the only biscuit left to them. Did he have one? Or had he saved it for her?

  She tried not to think about it anymore as she placed the sausages in the hot pan and rolled them around with a fork. She'd watched her brother, Hank, cook sausages much the same way, and figured if he could do it, so could she. He often made a quick snack for Bert, Percy, and himself when no one else was around to do it. The thought that her brother was a better cook than she was, rankled, but what could she do other than learn?

  It wasn't long before a chill went up her spine at the sound of loud hoof beats coming to an abrupt stop outside the cabin. She spun to the door just as it opened. Nate entered, stopped, and stared at her. She swallowed hard. “Hello,” she managed to squeak out.

  His eyes grew wide. “Are you… cooking?”

  She turned to look at the stove. “I think so.”

  “You think so?” he echoed as he crossed the room to the cook stove. He peeked into the frying pan, plucked the fork from her hand, and gave the sausages a turn. “You have to keep moving them around or they burn.” He eyed the stove a moment. “
Not that these would; the fire is too low.” He moved the pan aside and reached for the wood box near the stove. He took a few pieces, put them in, stoked the fire, and then closed the firebox again. “There, that's better.” He turned and looked down at her.

  Libby fought the urge to shrink under his gaze and, instead, stared boldly back. “Where have you been?”

  “Riding the fence line, looking for weak spots. We’ll be mending fences all afternoon, I reckon.” He continued to stare at her as he took a seat. “So tell me, Mrs. Dalton. Did you sleep well last night?”

  Six

  His wife blushed a furious red.

  Nate placed his elbows on the table and leaned toward her. “Aren't you going to ask me how I slept?”

  She swallowed hard and bit her lower lip. She was nervous, he could tell. Good. “Did you?”

  “Did I what?” he taunted.

  “Did you… sleep well?”

  He sat back in his chair and smiled. “Why, I'm glad you asked me that. No, I did not.”

  She swallowed again and he could see her falter but a moment, before she squared her shoulders and looked him in the eye. “I'm sorry to hear that,” she said as she plucked the fork from the table and turned to the stove. She began to push the sausages around in the frying pan. “I'm sorry you didn't sleep well,” she added without looking at him.

  Nate pressed his lips together. She sounded remorseful, and it pricked his pride. “I've got a mighty nice bed in there, haven't I?”

  She looked over her shoulder at him. “Yes, it is nice. Wherever did you get it?”

  “I ordered it from a catalog they had at the mercantile in Weatherford. Right fancy, don't you think?”

  “Very much so,” she said and turned to face him. Fork still in hand, she came to the table and sat. She then stared at the tabletop, and said nothing.

  “I plan on sleeping in that bed of mine tonight,” he said, his voice soft. “Where are you going to sleep?”

  That got her attention. Her head snapped up as her eyes went wide. “Where… do you want me to sleep?”

  He leaned forward again and looked into her eyes. “As much as it pains me to say this, I forgive you. But don't ever… and I do mean ever… lock me out of that bedroom again, do you hear me?”

  She audibly gulped before nodding, and never once took her eyes from his.

  “Now,” he said as he sat back in his chair again. “Here are the reasons why.”

  Her mouth dropped open. “What?”

  “Hush up and listen,” he instructed, his tone soft and even. He didn’t want to frighten her, but needed to get his point across. “One,” he said as he held up a finger. “It's not safe. What if something was to happen to you, and I couldn't get in? Lord, woman, I’d have to bust the window out to do it. Two,” he said and held up another finger. “It's disrespectful. I wouldn’t have laid a hand on you last night if you told me that’s what you wanted. You didn't have to lock me out to make sure.”

  She paled and tears streamed down her face. At least he knew he was getting his point across.

  “Three.” Another finger went up. “That floor’s mighty cold, and I don't relish sleeping on it again! Check the sausages.”

  She scrambled up from the table and went to the stove. Libby pushed them around again. “I…” she began and turned to him, a helpless look on her face. “I think… they’re done,” she stammered. Then, of course, she burst into tears.

  Nate put his face in his hands a moment and shook his head. What an idiot! He didn't think he was being hard on her, but apparently she hadn’t developed much backbone yet. He got up from the table, stepped around it, and went to her. “Now, there's no need for all those waterworks. Give me that,” he said, and snatched the fork from her hand and looked at the contents of the frying pan. Lunch was ready. “Go get a couple of plates out of the sideboard, will you?”

  She gaped at him, tears streaming down her face. He didn't see it coming. She slapped him. Nate was glad the frying pan wasn't in his hand, or he might have accidentally dropped it on her foot. He stood in silence and put a hand to his cheek, the sting of her slap still evident. He studied her as she stared up at him in defiance. “What’d you do that for?” He thought giving her some boundaries would convince her he had her best interests in mind and respected her. His little Libby, however, still didn't understand.

  She didn't answer him, and instead gave him her back.

  “Oh, no you don't,” he said as he reached out, grabbed her, and spun her to face him. He pulled her against him and locked her in his arms. “You're going to explain yourself.

  “Let go of me!”

  “No, not until you tell me why you just slapped my face.” She began to cry again, more out of anger than anything else. A good thing; he’d hate to think he’d married a milk-sop of a woman. “Well?” he demanded.

  Libby stopped her struggles and glared up at him. “You bawled me out… and then…think it's all okay?”

  “Isn't it?”

  She shook her head, unable to speak, as tears streamed down her face again. For the life of him, he would never understand women!

  “We need to settle this, now,” he said as he sat and pulled her onto his lap.

  “What are you doing?” she screeched.

  “Sitting; what does it look like? Now stop your squirming and listen to me.”

  She stopped; whether because she was tuckered out at this point, or actually minding him, he wasn't sure. He was just glad she was still. “What do you want?” she asked.

  He looked her in the eye. “I want us to start being a husband and wife. Now is that too much to ask?”

  She shook her head, stopped, then nodded, shook it again. “I… I…”

  “You what? Lord, woman, you're not making this easy.”

  “But it's not easy,” she said in a weak voice. “It'll never be easy.”

  He held her tighter, even though she wasn't struggling. She felt good in his arms and he wanted her closer. “Libby,” he said, his voice tender. “We don't know each other yet; of

  course it's not easy. Who said it would be?”

  She looked into his eyes, as her lower lip trembled. “I'm sorry if I'm not what you expected. I'm not a good cook like Bonnie or beautiful like Gwen. I'm sorry if you're not pleased with me.”

  “Pleased with you? How can I be? We just got married yesterday.”

  “I spoiled your wedding night.”

  “Spoiled my… are you still on that? Look, darlin’, so I slept on the floor last night. I understand you had to be scared. Heck, you hadn't even been kissed until yesterday.”

  She looked at him in shock. “How do you know that?”

  “A man can tell.”

  She looked away. “Oh, I see.”

  He tucked a finger under her chin and pulled her face toward his. “Libby, I won't share my bed with you in that way until you're ready.” His eyes locked on hers and held her just as tightly as his arms.

  Her breathing picked up as her mouth hung open in shock. “You… you won't?” came out in a high pitched chirp.

  “That's not how I want my marriage to start. I've had women in my life who… well, let’s just say they didn't want to take the time to get to know me. But you… you I'd like to get to know first.”

  “You… you mean you really will woo me?”

  He smiled and stroked her cheek with the back of a finger. “If wooing you, Libby Dalton, means getting to know you better, then yes, that's what I'll do.”

  Ever so slowly, her mouth curved up into a shy smile. She then gasped. “The sausages!” She struggled to free herself. He let her go as he realized their lunch was burning. “Oh no!” Libby cried as she looked into the pan. “I think we killed them!”

  Nate laughed. “That's okay, sweetheart. We’ll survive it.”

  * * *

  Nate got up from the table and rushed to Libby’s side. He took a dishrag, grabbed the smoking hot pan, and pulled it to one side of the stove. “Get
us a plate,” he ordered.

  Libby did as he asked and went to the sideboard, got a plate, and then held it out to him. He flipped the sausages onto the plate and pointed at the table. She set the food on the table, and then fetched another fork and a knife. He motioned for her to sit, and she did. He sat in the chair next to her, and proceeded to cut the sausages into bite-sized pieces. They were terribly burnt on one side, but the rest of them looked okay. He handed her the fresh fork, then bowed his head for the blessing. “Thank you, Lord, for this food,” he said. “And thank you for this new beginning, amen.”

  Libby looked at him. His eyes were intent on hers. “Thank you.”

  He stabbed a piece of sausage. “For what?”

  “For understanding.”

  He gave her a hint of a smile. “Don't mention it. Do you understand all the things I told you earlier?”

  “I think so,” she said as she poked at a piece of meat.

  “It's my job to protect you, Libby, and I'll do it as I see fit. But when you don't talk to me, you make my job harder, do you understand?”

  “Yes,” she said then stabbed her fork into the sausage.

  “Good,” he said and took another piece. “I'm glad we’ve got that out of the way and understand each other.”

  They ate in silence until all the meat was gone. Libby felt relieved, on the one hand, but very unsure of herself on the other. What did he mean he was glad they got that out of the way? She was having a hard enough time understanding as it was! She watched as he stood up from the table. “Are you leaving now?”

  “I have to be getting back to work.”

  Libby stood. “Oh ...”

  “Do you?” he asked, his voice husky as he closed the distance between them. He rested his hands on her shoulders and looked into her eyes. “Have to get back to work, I mean.”

  She gazed at him a moment, then closed them. She let out a small gasp when she felt his lips touch her own in a gentle kiss. “Try not to burn supper,” he said, then gently patted her cheek.