by Mary Burton
Miss Smyth stirred her pot. Her movements weren’t as unsure as Elise’s had been. Instead, she moved with efficient precision. Every action had a purpose. He couldn’t imagine her sitting by the river reading poetry as Elise had or daydreaming about taking a steamer to Paris. Elise’s gentility had been what had attracted him. She was the mirror opposite to his raw wild nature, coaxing him back from the wilderness with her soft words and tender smiles.
Miss Smyth was no-nonsense. She wasn’t the kind of woman who cajoled. She ordered, a trait he was more than happy to see.
“How was your day, Mr. Barrington?” Her voice was cheery and she sounded genuinely interested.
“It was fine.”
She wrapped a cloth around her hand and peeked in the oven at a skillet of cornbread. “I didn’t know if you preferred biscuits or cornbread so I made both.”
“I like both,” he said, stunned at her efficiency.
“Did you find your herd?”
“They were right where I left them. The storm didn’t do as much damage as I feared. I accounted for all the calves.”
“I’ve a good bit to learn about ranching.”
He rubbed the back of his neck with his hand. “Hard work and luck is all a man needs to succeed.”
“I suspect you are a hard worker.” She inserted a knife in the cornbread. Satisfied when it came out clean, she removed the pan from the oven.
“It’s the luck I lack.”
She smiled, looking at him. “Well, perhaps that has changed.”
He found himself relaxing, and then caught himself. Perhaps because he’d not had anyone ask him about his day in so long. This easy conversation made him feel just a little too married. “I’ve learned not to count on anything.”
“You men wash up,” she said, her smile a little less relaxed. “Dinner’s ready.”
“We got to wash our hands again?” Quinn said. “But we washed before breakfast and lunch. Ain’t we clean enough?”
“Aren’t we clean enough,” Miss Smyth corrected.
“They had a bath recently,” Matthias said.
“They’ve been rummaging around on the floor since lunchtime.” She nodded toward the sink. “There’s water in the basin and a rag to wash.”
The three washed, but none was happy about it, including Matthias.
“I like Abby,” Quinn said.
“Is she going to be our new mother?” Tommy said.
Matthias pulled in a deep breath. “She’s just helping me out for the summer.”
“She acts like a mother,” Tommy said.
Quinn wiped his damp hands on his pants. “Tommy called her ma twice today.”
Tommy looked up at his father, clearly unsure.
Matthias swallowed the jolt of anger. “It’s okay, son.”
Tommy looked relieved and they headed back to the table.
However, despite his words, Matthias’s anger spread like wildfire in August. It made no sense to him. The boys had asked fair questions, and it wasn’t Tommy’s fault that he’d called Miss Smyth “Ma.” But it did bother him that Miss Smyth had slipped into Elise’s role so easily. And what added salt to the wound was that Miss Smyth was doing a better job than Elise.
When they sat at the table, Miss Smyth set a pot of hot beans on the table. It had been a long time since he’d eaten a hot meal in his house and even though he knew it was rude he didn’t thank Miss Smyth. Instead, he fell on the food. He served a plateful to each boy as they grabbed corncakes off the tin platter. Without a word exchanged between the three, they dug in.
Several minutes passed before he realized Miss Smyth wasn’t eating. She sat primly in her seat, her hands folded in front of her, staring at them as if they’d grown horns.
Matthias set his fork down. It clanged against the plate a little too loudly. He was itching for a fight, if only to prove that he wasn’t all that impressed with what Miss Smyth had done here today. “Something wrong?”
“It’s customary to say prayers before a meal.” Her voice sounded so damn reasonable. She snapped open her napkin and spread it over her lap.
He scowled. “We have never bothered with such formalities out here.” In truth, they had when Elise had been healthy, but that had been so long ago.
Her chin lifted a notch at his stare, which had sent grown men running for cover. “Perhaps it’s time you started.”
His temper strained against good sense. “I don’t see why.”
“Don’t you want better for the boys? Don’t you want to see them grow up to be gentlemen who can move in polite circles?”
Deep inside, he saw the reason behind her words, but the burr under his skin wouldn’t let him walk away. “Lady, the cows on the range and the trail bosses don’t care if the boys know a bunch of useless society nonsense. All I care about is that they grow up to be honest and hard-working men.”
She met his fiery gaze. “And those are important traits, but it’s also important that they know their manners. One day they will go to school, perhaps a university, and they need to know how to handle themselves.”
He wasn’t accustomed to a woman being so direct. When Elise had gotten angry there’d been tense silences and sighs. “They’re my boys, so what I say goes.”
“If I am to care for them—”
“You aren’t their mother.” He spoke much more sharply than he’d intended.
Miss Smyth’s skin paled. Fire flashed in her eyes. She laid her napkin on the table. “You’re quite right, Mr. Barrington.” She looked as if she’d say something else. But she realized the children had stopped eating and were starting intently at her.
Slowly, she rose. “I’m going out for some fresh air.”
“This isn’t the city. It’s not wise to go roaming at night.”
She moved toward the front door, where her coat hung on a peg next to the children’s. “I’ve no intention of roaming.”
Tossing his napkin on the table, he rose. He’d been an ass and he knew it. “You don’t know your way around out there.” He knew she was mad at him and frankly he couldn’t blame her. She’d worked hard today and he’d been little more than a clod. It wasn’t her fault that she wasn’t Elise. Or that she never would be. “If it’s the outhouse that you’re needing, I’ll get my gun and go with you. There are bears this time of year.”
She reached for the door handle and opened it. “I’d rather deal with a bear.”
Before he could say another word, she slammed the door behind her.
Tears stung Abby’s eyes as she strode toward the barn. With no lantern, she had only the light from the half moon to guide her over the snow path Mr. Barrington had beaten between the house and the barn. She wasn’t sure what she was going to do when she got to the barn. She simply knew she had to get out of the house.
She stumbled on an unseen stick and it took several quick awkward steps before she caught herself. In the city there was always a street lamp or lantern to guide the way. But out here the night was so blasted dark.
She wanted to hide from Mr. Barrington’s unexplainable irritation and the shocked expressions on the boys’ faces. She’d worked so hard today because she’d desperately wanted to make that cabin feel more like a home.
And Mr. Barrington, for reasons she’d never understand, had been annoyed with her for doing just that.
Reaching the barn, Abby pushed back the wooden latch that kept the door closed. Earlier, she and the boys had toured the homestead. She’d inspected the chicken house where she’d collected half a dozen eggs. As the boys chatted happily, she’d toured the barn, which unlike the house was surprisingly organized.
She paused inside the barn. The earthy smell of hay drifted over the chilly night air.
The interior was pitch-black and she could barely see her outstretched hand. Relying on the bits of moonlight by the door, she found a lantern hanging by the door and a box of matches. She lit the wick and turned it up until the light burned bright.
The barn h
ad four stalls. Two sat empty. However, one stall on the north side held a chestnut gelding and on the other side there was a black mare with her colt.
Abby moved toward the mare and her colt. She held up the lantern. The mare eyed her with big brown eyes, then moved forward an inch as if to shield her baby.
“Don’t worry, girl. I won’t hurt your baby.” Abby held out her flat palm, waiting for the horse to sniff her hand.
The horse snorted and did not approach. “Do you have a problem with me, too?” Despite the animal’s haughtiness, she continued to hold out her hand. If anything, Miss Smyth was good at being patient. She’d spent the last ten years being nothing but patient.
A full minute passed before the horse sniffed, as if trying to figure out if Miss Smyth had a treat in her hand.
“Sorry, it’s just me tonight.”
The animal pawed at the dirt and turned her back, clearly uninterested in Abby.
Even the animals on the ranch seemed to have no need of her company.
She wasn’t sure how long she stood there, watching the mare and her colt. The creak of the barn door opening had her turning.
Mr. Barrington stood in the doorway. Abby turned back to the horse.
“You going to stay out here all night?” Mr. Barrington’s deep rich voice echoed in the barn.
Her stomach tightened and her skin grew hot. “Maybe. I like it out here. It’s peaceful.”
He strode up to the stall. When he stood next to her she realized just how tall he was. Abby had been taller than a good many men in her family, but Mr. Barrington stood at least five inches taller.
So close his shoulder nearly brushed hers. His masculine scent, a mixture of sweat and fresh air, spun around her. Annoyed by her reaction to him, she tightened her fingers into fists. She’d have left, but where would she go? Back to her loft where she could lie awake listening to him move about the cabin?
Neither spoke as he held out his hand to the mare. The animal approached instantly.
Stupid to feel a stab of jealousy over a horse, but she did. Every square inch of the homestead from the roughly hewn logs of the house, to the split-rail fences of the corral bore Mr. Barrington’s mark. Elise’s presence was all over the house and yard as well. Today, she’d wanted to make her mark, if only a small one, on the ranch.
“I put the boys to bed.”
“Thank you.” She’d imagined she’d be the one putting them down—saying their prayers, giving them a kiss good-night as she tucked the covers under their chins. Dreams. There she went again letting her dreams set her up for sadness.
“Temperature is going to drop off quickly,” he said.
She’d never been good at small talk or ignoring a problem when it was staring her right in the face. “What does the temperature have to do with the fact that you were rude to me just now in front of the boys?”
He stared at her, no apology in his gaze. “This situation is awkward.”
She tipped back her head, hysterical laughter bubbling inside her. “I’ve never heard a greater understatement spoken, Mr. Barrington.”
“You’re very direct,” he said. His voice was as hard as his gaze.
“So I’ve been told.” Her forthright manner had gotten her in trouble with her uncle and aunt more than once.
“I can take you back to town.”
A bitter smile twisted her lips. “I didn’t come this far for a twenty-four-hour stay on a ranch. I came out here to marry you.”
He tightened his fingers on the stall doors until the faint sound of wood cracking had him loosening his hold. “A lie brought you here, not me. And the truth is, I’d make you or any woman a lousy husband. Loving Elise—” He paused as if just mentioning her name hurt. “Well, loving her used up all the love that was in me. There’s just none left.”
The admission had cost him and as much as it hurt to hear his words, she appreciated his honesty.
Her aunt and uncle hadn’t loved her. She supposed loving Joanne had used up all their love as well. Then there’d been Douglas. He’d had a fiancée back east. “I have a talent for attaching myself to people who can’t love.”
His eyes narrowed a fraction. “You’ve been married before?”
“No.” Her penchant for honesty grated her own nerves. She wasn’t interested in talking about her past, especially Douglas. “Just a family who didn’t quite know what to do with me.”
A slight breeze blew through the open door, teasing his thick black hair. She inhaled the scent of leather and fresh air.
He was a powerful man, who commanded the space he occupied. No wonder she felt a tug when he was close.
She wished she had a bag full of eloquent words that could magically make his pain and hers go away. Instead, she spoke plainly as she always did. “Elise is gone, Mr. Barrington, and for your sake and the boys, I am sorry.”
His folded his arms over his chest, his face a rigid mask.
She should have taken his expression as warning that he didn’t want to hear what she had to say. She didn’t. “But the fact remains, until your herd brings in enough money to pay my return ticket, we are bound together. So how do you propose we make the best of it?”
Chapter Eight
“We don’t,” Mr. Barrington snapped.
His eyes blazed with anger and she could see he was spoiling for a fight.
Abby folded her arms over her chest but instead of getting angry, she switched tactics. Drawing in a breath, she forced her taut muscles to relax.
“Tell me about your wife,” she said boldly. This was a risk. Elise’s death was a raw wound that had not healed. But to save her future she had to understand his past.
Stiffening, he lowered his dark brows. “She’s dead and buried—gone—and I don’t like to talk about her.”
Only feet separated them but it might have well have been a million miles. “I saw traces of her all over the cabin. Like it or not, she is still very present.”
His jaw clenched so tightly a muscle spasmed in his cheek. “She is gone!”
“No, she’s not. The aprons, curtains, the hash marks on the walls showing how tall Quinn was on his second birthday and Tommy on his first.”
Mr. Barrington swallowed as a ghost of a smile touched his lips. “Quinn was standing on his toes that day. No matter how hard Elise tried to coax him into standing flat-footed, he wouldn’t.”
“I see the comment marks she made in her cookbook and the batter stains on the zucchini bread page.”
His muscles were bunched so tight they looked ready to snap. “She wasn’t a natural cook. But she was trying to learn. She wanted to please me.”
Abby wanted to take his hand in hers as comfort, but didn’t dare, certain he’d recoil. “Is that why she followed you out here?”
He drew in a deep breath and expelled it. “It was my idea to move west.”
“Why?”
“The war devastated the south and for those who fought against the Union the bitterness was too great.”
“Did you meet her in Missouri?”
“Yes, Elise grew up in St. Louis. After the war I made my way west. I’d been a sharpshooter in the rebel army. After the war, I discovered that there was a market for men like me out west. For ten years, I made my money bounty hunting. Six years ago, I tracked down a bank robber and drug him back to St. Louis for trial. This fella was well known and when I dropped him at the jailhouse word spread fast and a crowd gathered. Elise was in the crowd.” He closed his eyes, as if summoning the moment. “She wore a blue bonnet that day. I knew the minute I saw her we’d marry one day.”
Abby felt a stab of jealousy. She’d never been swept off her feet. “And then you moved west.”
Her voice brought him back from the past. “I wanted a place of our own. After my years out west, St. Louis was too crowded for me. I’d been to Montana a couple of times and loved it. I figured it would be the perfect place for us to start our new life.”
“Did Elise like it?”
His expression reflected sadness. “We arrived in the spring. It was an unusually warm spring in ’74. The first few days were like a great adventure. We camped in a tent while I began to build our cabin. But as the days turned to weeks, her excitement soured. She never complained but I knew. And then late that summer she got pregnant with Quinn. She was sick a lot those first few months.” He shook his head. “I should have pulled us out then. But after Quinn’s birth we were in our cabin and her health rallied.”
“How did she die?”
“Pregnancy was hard on her. It took a lot out of her carrying Tommy. But again she rallied. I didn’t want any more children after Tommy was born, but Elise had other ideas. She wanted a girl. From the moment she got pregnant the third time it was a disaster. She was so sick that winter she couldn’t lift her head off the pillow. I sent for Frank and he came in the early spring. A week after Frank arrived, she went into labor. The baby was a girl, but too early, too small. Elise never recovered from the birthing. She died the next day.”
His story broke her heart. Unexpected death could rip lives apart. Her parents’ deaths had changed her forever. “Montana had nothing to do with her death.”
He shook his head. “She hated this place.”
“She couldn’t have hated it that much or there wouldn’t be so many personal touches around the cabin. A woman who hates a place doesn’t make curtains for it.”
He stabbed his fingers through his hair. “She missed the city.”
“Missing one place doesn’t mean you hate another.”
Lantern light shadowed the high slash of his cheekbones. He looked at her, his blue eyes almost black with anger born in sadness. “We’ve talked enough for one night.”
Abby knew she’d pushed him. Though there were a thousand other questions to ask, she knew they’d made a start tonight. And she understood she’d have more luck carving granite with a butter knife than getting him to say another word.
“It is getting late. And it’s been a long day,” she agreed.
Lifting her lantern, she moved past him to the barn door. He trailed silently behind her, closing the barn door after they stepped out into the cold night air.
