by Mary Burton
For a moment she imagined his eyes softened before a wall of ice descended over them. “I’d help you if I could, lady. But I can’t.”
The boys’ voices had grown silent. She imagined they were on the other side of the curtain listening to every word. She wondered how much of this they understood.
Mrs. Clements started to stack the can of peaches in a neat triangle. “Like it or not, Matthias,” she said, “you need a wife.”
“I had a wife,” he bit back.
“You loved Elise, but she’s dead and gone,” the older woman said softly. She jabbed her thumb toward the curtain behind her. Their laughter had stopped. “But those boys of yours need a mother. And you need a helpmate.”
“We’re surviving.”
“Not for long. You’re running out of choices,” Mrs. Clements said.
Sadness rose in Abby. This scene was nothing like what she’d pictured. If she had a lick of sense, she’d follow her first inclination.
But she didn’t.
Abby was through hiding in the kitchens and watching life pass her by. “Excuse me for saying this, Mr. Barrington, but you and the boys don’t look like you’re doing so well.”
Anger flashed in his eyes. “How the hell would you know?” he roared.
Quinn and Tommy appeared at the curtain then. Their freshly scrubbed faces tight with worry, their gazes darted between their father and Abby. They were holding the rag balls she’d made for them last night. She’d never imagined a handful of rags could be so entertaining.
“Pa?” Quinn said. He ran to his father with his younger brother on his heels.
“It’s all right, son,” Mr. Barrington said. He stabbed his fingers through his hair. It was clear he hated seeing the worry in their young eyes. “What’s that you’ve got in your hand?”
“Ball,” Tommy said.
Quinn held his up proudly. “Miss Abby made it.”
He brushed a lock of clean hair off Tommy’s face. “Who cleaned you up?”
“Miss Abby.”
Mr. Barrington’s gaze locked on her for an instant. Dark blue eyes reflected a mixture of gratitude, anger and frustration.
Abby looked past Mr. Barrington to Mrs. Clements. “Would you do us a small favor and take the boys outside? The boys can toss their new balls, while Mr. Barrington and I talk.”
Mrs. Clements hustled around the side of her counter. “That’s an excellent idea. You two just need time alone.” She took Tommy from Mr. Barrington and grasped Quinn’s little hand. “Come on boys, let’s play a game of toss with those fancy new toys of yours.”
Tommy started to whimper and reached out to his father. “No.”
Mrs. Clements kept moving toward the door. “I’ve a new horse you two boys haven’t seen yet.”
Tommy stopped whimpering immediately. “Horse.”
“That’s right,” she said as she opened the door. “I bought him off an Indian. He’s got white and brown spots.”
The door closed behind them. Abby could still hear Mrs. Clements’s cheery voice but it quickly faded until nothing remained but an uncomfortable silence.
Abby shifted her gaze from the door to Mr. Barrington. Dark circles smudged under his eyes and three or four days’ growth of beard covered his square jaw.
“I thank you for what you’ve done for my boys, but I don’t want a wife.”
She was used to not being wanted. But she understood her value. “But you need one.”
He shoved out a deep breath. “I’ll make it without one.”
“Pride is a wonderful thing, Mr. Barrington, but there is a time and place for it. Believe me, mine has taken a sore beating today. This is not how I pictured our first meeting.”
Frowning, he shoved his fingers through his hair. “I’m sorry for that, Miss Smyth. If I’d known what Mrs. Clements and the others were up to, I’d have stopped it instantly. But that doesn’t change anything.”
She shrugged, trying to look casual when she felt anything but as she watched her dreams fall apart. “I have spent the last ten years swallowing my pride and doing what was practical. I’d leave now if I had any other options. I severed all my ties with my family to move out here. Going back is not a choice for me, even if I did have the money to finance the trip.”
He shook his head. “Miss Smyth, I am sorry—” He stopped himself. “You are better off trying your luck in the marriage mart somewhere else.”
She swallowed, her throat tight. She wouldn’t leave now. “I disagree. We can help each other. I am a hard worker, and I already have affection for the boys.”
Suddenly he looked very weary. “You are not their mother.”
His words were true but they stung nonetheless. “That does not change the fact that they need a woman to care for them. Mrs. Clements has already told you she can’t watch the boys.”
Anger flashed in his blue eyes. And then just as suddenly it was gone. He rubbed the back of his neck with his hand. “Miss Smyth, I don’t doubt that you are sincere and that you mean well. But this land chews young women up and spits them out. Montana will wring the life out of you and make you sorry you ever came to this place.”
Had his first wife felt this way? “I’ve survived a lot, Mr. Barrington. Don’t underestimate me.”
“Frank is a strong man, but after one Montana winter he was desperate to leave.”
“He is old. And this place claimed his daughter.” She moved closer slowly until she was less than a foot from him. “This is a land that’s full of possibilities for me.”
“Elise, my wife, said the same thing before we moved out here. Within a year, she’d grown to hate the place.”
“She said that?”
“She never would admit it, but I knew.”
He may have loved his first wife, but she suspected it had not been a successful partnership. “I am not your late wife.”
“No.”
“When I was nine, my parents opened a mission in the Arizona territory. We lived in a small adobe with dirt floors the first year. A half-mile walk separated our house from fresh water. Every morning, we had to shake out our shoes in case scorpions had nested in our shoes overnight. We stayed for six years and those were some of the happiest times of my life.”
He stared down at her as if he were really looking at her for the first time. “I swore on my wife’s grave I’d never subject another wife to Montana—that I’d never marry again.”
She felt as if a door had cracked open in his heart. She sensed he was a man who rarely shared his feelings yet he was telling her. “I’m up to the challenge.”
Abruptly, he stood and walked to the window. He was silent for long, tense seconds. “Thank you for washing the boys.”
His gratitude caught her off guard. She walked closer to the window. Outside, directly in front of the store, the boys were taking turns tossing their balls to Mrs. Clements. “Quinn couldn’t sleep because his skin itched so I decided to clean them both up. The bathwater was black by the time I finished with them.”
“Thank you. I’ve not been able to nurture them much lately.”
“You can’t do it all, Mr. Barrington.” To her relief, her voice sounded steady and didn’t reflect her fear.
He sighed, and she sensed he’d come to a decision. He faced her. For a long time he was silent and she thought he might not have heard her. “I’m willing to hire you on for the summer. I can’t pay until the roundup in the fall, but I’m good for it. With the money, you can leave the valley, find a new home.”
Abby straightened her shoulders. “I came here to be your wife, not your servant.”
His body stiffened. “It’s the best I can offer.”
She’d compromised so much in her aunt and uncle’s house. She’d never complained about her attic room or when her aunt had asked her to start working in the kitchen. She’d stayed silent when her cousin had had so many coming-out parties. “I came here for marriage.”
She imagined she saw challenge in his eyes
. “It’s the one thing I won’t give.”
“I’d be a good wife to you.”
He shook his head. “I’m not the kind of husband any woman would want.”
He was wrong. Judging by what she’d seen so far, he was an honest man, proud and strong. “Why would you say that?”
He started to pace. “I’ve got a ranch that has promise but if I don’t bring in the herd and sell it for a decent profit this fall, I lose everything. I’ve got two half-wild boys and more work than I could handle.”
“Exactly why you need me.”
“Exactly why you should be running from me.” A pain still fresh burned in his eyes. “I could never love you. My heart died with Elise.”
“Perhaps in time, there could be some affection.”
“Not from me.” His broad shoulders tightened a fraction. “You deserve better than me, Miss Smyth.”
She eyed him. A thick lock of hair had fallen over his forehead, making him look a little softer, younger. She wondered what he’d been like before his wife died. Had he laughed? “At least you are honest.”
A half smile tipped the edge of his mouth. “It’s about all I’ve got left.”
“I value honesty. I’ve dealt with my share of liars who were quite willing to tell me what I wanted to hear to get what they wanted. You haven’t done that.”
“What are you getting at?”
He needed time. “I’ll live at your ranch for the summer. I’ll care for the boys, but I won’t come as a hired hand. I’ll be coming to see if marriage between us is possible.”
“It isn’t.”
“Time will tell.”
He lifted an eyebrow. “You’d live with a man without marriage?”
“My reputation is the least of my concerns now. And from what I’ve heard from Mrs. Clements, out here a woman does what she must.”
“I mean what I say, Miss Smyth. I don’t want another marriage.”
“I’m betting time will change that.”
“At the end of the summer if I haven’t changed my mind, you’ll leave.”
Her stomach clenched. The idea of leaving bothered her more than she imagined. “Yes.”
He stared at her as if trying to read her mind. “I sure could use the help on the ranch.” He hesitated, as if scrambling for any reason not to take her on. Finally, he reluctantly held out his hand to her. “Okay, I accept your terms.”
She took it. Strong, calloused fingers wrapped around her hand. Warmth fizzled through her, but she was careful to keep her feelings hidden. Suddenly, she wondered what it would feel like to kiss Mr. Barrington. He had full lips. Handsome lips.
As if he’d read her mind, he released her hand and stepped back. “All right. I’ll take you on for the summer. Beyond that, I’m not making any promises.”
Warmth colored her cheeks. “Understood.”
“I don’t want the boys knowing why you are here. As far as they are concerned, you are here for the summer. I don’t want them getting their hopes up over something that won’t be happening.”
Unexpected tears tightened her throat. “I understand.”
“Let’s get your things packed and head on back to the ranch.” He turned and left.
Abby chided her schoolgirl desire.
This was a business arrangement for Mr. Barrington, even if she wanted more.
The reality of her life smacked head-on into the dreams she’d nurtured for so long. It would be so easy to feel sorry for herself. But she refused. She’d do what she’d always done.
Somehow, she’d make it work.
Chapter Five
“Daddy, why is the lady here?” Quinn said.
Abby stiffened as she stared down at the boy who sat next to his brother. Both children were wedged between her and Mr. Barrington on the front seat of the buckboard. She’d promised Mr. Barrington she’d not tell the boys all the details of their arrangement and she would honor her pledge. She waited for him to answer.
Mr. Barrington tightened his hands on the reins. He didn’t answer immediately, as if he were hoping the question would simply be forgotten.
Quinn laid his small hand on his father’s arm. “Daddy, why is the lady here?”
Mr. Barrington shifted in his seat, clearly uncomfortable.
Abby managed a smile. “I’ll be helping your pa some.”
Mr. Barrington relaxed his hold on the reins a fraction as if relieved.
Tommy popped his thumb in his mouth and stared at her. “But why?”
“He’s got a lot of work to do,” she said.
“Where’s Grandpa?” Quinn said.
“Grandpa’s gone back to his family in the east,” Mr. Barrington said. “In a faraway place called Missouri.” Anger still smoldered in his voice when he spoke about Frank.
“Is he coming back?” the older boy said.
Mr. Barrington sighed. “I don’t think so.”
Abby stared out at the clusters of budding trees that lined the road. Water from a creek splashed nearby. The beauty of the land seemed to breathe life into her, and if this situation weren’t so tense she’d have savored it all.
Quinn nervously picked at a loose thread on his pants. The boys seemed to sense the tension between their father and her. “The lady gave us a bath. She made us wash behind our ears.”
A hint of a smile tugged the edge of Mr. Barrington’s lips. “Good, you needed one.”
“I don’t like baths,” Quinn said. “I like dirt.”
“Me too,” Tommy said.
“Don’t believe them,” Abby said, grateful to have something to talk about. She couldn’t help but smile when she remembered the two of them in the copper tub. They’d splashed in the water and made bubbles with the soap. “They loved it.”
“Well, the tub is like the ocean,” Quinn said.
Mr. Barrington lifted an eyebrow.
“I told them about the ocean when they were in the tub. About the waves crashing on the rocky shore, about lighthouses, and the tall ships that sailed into the harbor.”
“Lighthouses blink all night long,” Quinn said, proud that he remembered.
“Why’s that?” Abby said.
“To save the ships,” Quinn said, sitting taller.
“Ships!” Tommy shouted.
Mr. Barrington nodded. “I’ve heard the ocean is a sight to behold.”
“You’ve never been to the ocean?”
“No.”
The small fact reminded her just how little she knew about Mr. Barrington. Mrs. Clements had written about many things when she’d forged Mr. Barrington’s courtship letters. There’d been descriptions of the valley and the mountains. She’d talked about the rail coming in soon and of the growing town, but it struck Abby now that there’d been few facts about Mr. Barrington, the man.
She wanted to know more about him. Where had he lived as a child? What brought him to Montana?
But as much as she wanted to ask the questions, she understood that until they knew each other a little better, she’d best keep them to herself.
“I moved to the coast when I was fifteen,” she said. “Quite a change from the Arizona desert.” Perhaps if she talked about herself, he’d offer bits of information about himself. “The wind carries the sound of the ships’ horns, the smells of sea and salt and a warm breeze. It’s a lovely place. I would sit for hours watching the ships sail in and out of the harbor, wondering what stories the sailors had to tell.”
Mr. Barrington nodded, but he kept his eyes ahead. Silence settled between them, as thick and powerful as the mountains in the distance.
Abby broke through it. “Of course, I only got to the wharf on shopping days. I spent most of my days working in a kitchen. Breads are my specialty. I’ve won prizes for my jams. But I must confess that my laundry and sewing skills are passable at best.”
Nothing.
“Still, I am a quick learner.” Silence. This was going to be a long ride. She pushed Quinn’s hand away from the loose thread. At t
he rate he was going he’d unravel half the pant leg.
Tommy and Quinn yawned. Soon they’d be asleep. Both, still tired from their trip into town, needed their sleep. But she hated the idea of moving them to the back of the wagon. They’d been a buffer between Mr. Barrington and her.
It struck her then that there’d been no discussion about their sleeping arrangements. Of course, he didn’t expect her to share a bed with him, did he? After her debacle with Douglas, she’d promised there’d be nothing like that again until she was safely wed. Douglas’s touch had always been pleasant, never memorable and never worth the trouble she’d endured as the result. Yet, the idea of doing those same things with Mr. Barrington had heat rising in her cheeks.
She imagined that when Mr. Barrington kissed a woman, she felt it all the way down to the tips of her toes. His hands weren’t soft like Douglas’s but calloused and rough. When he whispered in a woman’s ear, he didn’t parrot pretty lies, but spoke of the dark and erotic, much as the servants did when they giggled about their adventures in the bedroom.
Her nerves danced with tension. She jerked her thoughts back to the present. Lord, what was she doing?
Despite Mr. Barrington’s lack of interest in conversation, Abby decided conversation remained the safest course for now. “Mrs. Clements said the railroad might be building tracks through here soon. She said the rail will bring in more miners and farmers and that it’ll only help Holden’s stagecoach business.”
“I suppose that’s right.”
She tapped her fingers on her knee. “How will it help you?”
“I’ve got horses and beef to sell.”
“How far is your ranch from town?”
“Close.”
Like pulling teeth. “How close is close?”
“Five or six hours.”
In the city, close was measured in blocks, not hours. Inwardly she groaned. After her long journey from San Francisco, she’d be happy when her travels were at an end. “What does the ranch look like?”
