by Nerys Leigh
Frowning, he scratched at an itch at the back of his neck. Even with a blanket between him and the rough burlap, he still felt as if it was irritating his skin. If he’d been staying more than one night, he would have needed an extra layer beneath him. But since he would only be sleeping in the barn for a single night and he didn’t want to disturb Grace by going back to the house, he could put up with it for now. Also, he couldn’t be bothered to get up again.
Brutus briefly opened an eye to look at him from where he was curled on a pile of hay Gabriel had brought in for him. When nothing interesting presented itself, he went back to sleep. It took somewhat longer for Gabriel to relax enough to drift off.
He wasn’t sure how long he’d been dozing when soft footsteps outside roused him. The door to the barn inched open and light spilled in.
He pushed his hand beneath his pillow to grasp his revolver, letting it go again when Grace stepped inside, holding a lamp in front of her.
Finally, she’d come to her senses.
He sat up. “You all right?”
She jumped, seeming startled that he was awake. “I... uh... yes. I’m just... um...” She puffed out a breath. “There are noises in the house. It’s unnerving.”
He shrugged one shoulder. “Probably just the rats.”
Her jaw tensed. “There are rats in the house?”
“Not in. Under.”
She didn’t appear overly reassured by the distinction. “Can they get inside?”
“No, I sealed all the holes they could get in by.” So that was why she was here. He’d take whatever he could get. “But I can see you’re afraid, so I’ll come on back in and make sure you’re safe and...”
Her eyes narrowed. “You will do no such thing.” She moved her gaze to the dog and patted her thigh with one hand. “Brutus, come here boy.”
Brutus lifted his head and blinked sleepily at her.
“Come on,” she said, patting again. “I’ll give you a treat inside.”
Brutus, traitor that he was, hauled himself to his feet and plodded towards her.
Gabriel’s mouth dropped open. “You’re taking the dog instead of me?”
She lifted her chin. “I certainly am. I trust him to keep his paws to himself.” She spun on her heel and walked out, Brutus following.
Gabriel watched her pull the barn door shut, his mouth still hanging open. A few seconds later, he heard the door to the house open and close.
Closing his mouth, he flopped back onto his makeshift bed and stared into the gloomy rafters above him.
“Where did I go wrong?”
Chapter 4
The moment she woke, Grace knew something was wrong.
Someone was in her bedroom.
She gasped in a breath with a jolt, her eyes springing open. Her panicked gaze darted around the room, finally coming to rest on a man standing by the stove.
He nodded to her. “Morning.”
Gabriel. Her husband. She was married.
Oh.
She tugged the bedcovers up to her chest, only slightly less afraid than when she’d thought a stranger was in her room. “What are you doing in here?”
“Needed coffee.” He raised the tin cup in his hand as evidence. “You may have had me sleeping out in the barn all night, but I miss my morning coffee for no man. Or woman.”
Ever so slightly, she relaxed. “Oh, yes. Sorry.”
She pushed herself up the pillows and rubbed her eyes. Brutus padded over to her, his tail wagging, and she reached out to ruffle his head.
“Did you sleep well?”
Gabriel stared at her as if she’d lost her mind. “I slept in the barn on sacks stuffed with straw. Alone. Without a wife or a dog. How do you think I slept?”
A small amount of guilt prodded at her. It disappeared when she remembered how he’d all but accosted her when they’d known each other for barely three hours.
“I’m guessing you slept well in my bed,” he went on, “seeing as it took you a good fifteen minutes to wake up after I came in.” He took a sip of his coffee and grimaced for a moment.
Fifteen minutes? He could have done anything to her in fifteen minutes. Although he hadn’t, which was reassuring, she had to concede. And he didn’t look like he was imminently likely to accost her again.
She reached for her robe which she’d left draped over the foot of the bed. “I suppose I must have been tired from the journey.”
She tried to ignore the way he watched her as she pulled on her robe, doing her best to stay covered to the fullest possible extent.
“Would you like some coffee?” he said as she stood. “Made a fresh pot while you were sleeping.”
“Thank you.”
She hesitated for a moment then walked over to him. He was her husband. It wouldn’t do to be constantly afraid of him. Besides, if he tried anything, she’d just grab the skillet again.
He poured her a cup from the pot and handed it to her. She gave it a wary sniff, took a sip, and immediately regretted it.
“Something wrong?” he said.
Her mouth felt like it was melting. “How can you drink that?”
“What’s wrong with it? I like it strong.” He took several mouthfuls, to prove his point.
She handed the cup back to him. “That’s not merely strong, it’s caustic. How is it not eating through the cup?”
Rolling his eyes, he emptied her cup into his own and carried it to the table. “Suit yourself.”
As he muttered something about “over-sensitive women”, she went to one of her trunks and rummaged inside, pulling out a large paper bag.
“What’s that?” he said from his seat at the table.
She walked to the stove and placed the bag on the cupboard beside it. “This is proper coffee.” She gave him a look. “Suitable for over-sensitive women.”
The corner of his mouth twitched in what might have been a smile, but he said nothing.
She was intensely aware of his eyes on her as she set about grinding the roasted beans, and she wished she could get dressed. But to get dressed would require her to first get undressed, something that wasn’t happening until he was well out of the house.
“What are we doing today?” she said as she worked.
“If you’re feeling better, I figured I could show you around the place more, teach you what needs doing when I’m not here. And I can teach you how to shoot, like I said.”
The idea of using a gun made her nervous, but she hadn’t forgotten about the wolves and bears and coyotes he’d told her about the previous evening. “That sounds good.”
“So how are you feeling this morning?”
She glanced back at him. He was sipping his awful coffee, watching her over the rim of his cup. He probably thought he was being casual enough for her not to suspect any ulterior motive to the question. He was wrong.
“I’m feeling a little better, thank you.”
“Well rested?”
“Still a little tired, but better than yesterday.”
There was a pause that stretched into a lengthy silence. Gabriel continued to drink his coffee while she finished grinding the beans, poured over the hot water, and went to make the bed. The smell of real coffee drifted from the pot. Brutus stood and stretched his nose towards it.
“Sorry, it’s not for you,” Grace said, returning to the stove and ruffling his ears.
She strained the beans twice, set them aside to reuse later, and poured two cups.
Gabriel eyed the cup she placed in front of him as if it was poisonous. “What’s this for?”
“I thought you’d like to try my coffee.” She sat down opposite him and took a sip of her own, sighing happily at the taste. It reminded her of home.
He picked up the cup and sniffed at it, much as she’d done with his earlier. “Doesn’t smell like real coffee. Doesn’t look like it either. Real coffee should look like you can waterproof the roof with it.”
She snorted a laugh into her cup. “I prefer to dr
ink mine.”
Frowning, he took an experimental sip and rolled it around his mouth before swallowing. His frown disappeared and he took another mouthful.
And there they sat, like a real married couple, drinking their morning coffee at the start of the day. It felt strange but not unpleasant. She could imagine getting used to it eventually.
“I can make breakfast, if you’d like,” she said when they’d finished.
A smile touched his lips. “Breakfast would be nice.”
“But I need to wash up and dress first.” She shifted her gaze pointedly to the door.
He didn’t move. “Don’t let me stop you.”
She huffed a sigh. Was he really that dense? “Gabriel, I know this is your house, but right now I need my privacy. So with all due respect, go away.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Go away?”
“Yes. Or do I have to get the skillet again?”
She wasn’t sure how he’d react to that, but, to her relief, his lips twitched. It seemed he had something of a sense of humor.
He pushed away from the table and stood. “Well, I reckon I’ll go and see to the animals. You need anything, just give me a shout.”
He turned and walked to the door, calling Brutus who hauled himself to his feet and plodded after him.
At the door, Gabriel glanced back at her. “Um, if you’ve a mind to make any more coffee for breakfast, you might as well use yours. Wouldn’t make much sense making two different pots.”
She hid her smile. “I’ll do that.”
With a nod, he walked out after Brutus and closed the door behind him.
Laughing quietly, she stood and went to find something not too wrinkled to wear.
At least he liked her coffee.
~ ~ ~
As Gabriel pulled the door shut behind him, he was mildly surprised to find himself smiling. Grace had spirit. He liked that. Granted, that spirit had made him sleep in the barn last night, as much as he’d been able to sleep, but in the long term he could see it making for an interesting, lively marriage.
He wasn’t used to women saying their minds, or disagreeing with their men. His own mother had taken care of him, his brothers and sisters and the house without complaint. He couldn’t remember her once talking back to his father. Of course, it could have happened away from the prying eyes and ears of their children, but he couldn’t quite imagine the mild, gentle woman he knew threatening anyone with a skillet. She certainly wouldn’t have punched his father.
He raised a hand to his face where it still hurt to touch and chuckled softly. Grace was like no woman he’d ever met before. If he’d known beforehand what she’d be like, he might have been wary of taking her for his wife. But now he’d met her, frustrating as it was to be forced to sleep in the barn and not exercise his husbandly rights to enjoy the pleasures of the marriage bed, he was intrigued.
And once he did get to take her to bed, which would hopefully be tonight, he imagined it would be an exceedingly enjoyable experience.
Musing on that thought, he headed to the barn.
~ ~ ~
Clean and dressed and feeling much better for it, Grace set about preparing breakfast.
She’d learned to cook from her mother and had even taken advanced cookery lessons from a chef in one of New York’s finest hotels, but after tasting Mrs. Goodwin’s cooking the previous evening all her confidence in her culinary skills had fled. How the woman managed to create such flavor from the basic ingredients available to her, Grace couldn’t fathom. If she’d been able to cook like that, maybe she would have found a husband long ago.
She shook her head at herself as she mixed the batter for the apple pancakes she had planned after checking all the food Gabriel had in his cupboards and down in the root cellar. Her lack of success in finding a husband had nothing to do with her cooking skills. To taste any food she prepared, they would first have had to get past her lack of beauty and her own personal standards, a severely limiting combination of factors.
Still, she imagined Mrs. Goodwin as a young woman had suitors lining up for the hand that could prepare such wonders in the kitchen.
But now Grace was married, she did want her husband to enjoy the food she prepared. So even though the fare would be simple, dictated by the basic nature of the ingredients available to her, she was determined to make it as tasty as possible. She hoped to be able to go into town soon so she could see what spices they stocked in the general store.
Gabriel walked in just as the scrambled eggs were almost done. His eyes flicked down to the pale blue dress she’d bought especially for her new married life, and for a moment she thought he might compliment her on it.
“Something smells real good,” he said, hanging his hat on a hook by the door.
She quashed any disappointment that he hadn’t mentioned the dress. What had she been expecting?
“It’ll be ready soon, if you’d like to wash up.”
He looked at his hands, turning them over as if checking they actually needed washing. Shrugging, he walked back outside and she heard water splashing.
Brutus padded over to her, his nose raised to sniff the air.
“Don’t worry,” she told him, “I made some for you too.”
He wagged his tail, his eyes fixed on the food arrayed over the top of the stove to keep warm.
“Which is Brutus’ dish?” she asked Gabriel when he returned.
He walked to the cupboard and took out three plates. “He doesn’t have a special one. He’s happy to eat off any of them.”
The spoon stirring the eggs came to a halt. “He eats off the same plates we do?”
Gabriel looked at the plates in his hands. “Uh, yes?”
She’d eaten off those plates the previous evening. It took great effort to keep her horror hidden. “That’s not very hygienic.”
As if to highlight her point, Brutus lay down and began to lick one paw. Grace suppressed a shudder.
“Hasn’t ever done me any harm,” Gabriel said.
“All that proves is that God has been looking after you.”
“I do wash the dishes afterwards,” he said, sounding somewhat defensive.
“I’m not saying you don’t. I’m just suggesting that washing them may not be enough.” She failed to keep a slight note of hysteria from her voice when Brutus rolled onto his side and moved on to other, worse parts of his anatomy. “Look what he does with his tongue!”
Gabriel heaved a sigh. “Fine, from now on he’ll eat from his own dish.”
He replaced one of the plates in the cupboard and pulled out a bowl instead. A desperate urge to scrub every dish in the place raw seized Grace. Maybe she’d do it later, when Gabriel wasn’t around. And pray she didn’t get ill in the meantime.
She spooned some of the food she’d prepared into the bowl and Gabriel carried it out to the porch, followed by an eager Brutus. She was surprised the dog didn’t eat at the table with them. A vision of him sitting on one of the chairs with a napkin tied around his neck made her smile.
Gabriel returned as she was dishing out the food and he took the plate she piled high with eggs, ham and pancakes to the table.
“That all you’re having?” he said when she followed with her own plate of eggs, a little ham, and no pancakes.
Embarrassed, she placed the plate onto the table and sat, not looking at him. “I’m not very hungry.”
“A bird would eat more than that. This isn’t your fancy house with servants doing everything for you. You need to keep up your strength.” He was still standing, frowning down at her.
“For your information,” she said indignantly, “I did my share of the work at home.”
“And how did you manage that, if that’s all you ate?” He reached for her plate. “At least let me get you some pancakes.”
She grabbed the plate and pulled it from his grasp. “It’s enough.”
“It’s not! I won’t have you dropping from exhaustion because you haven’t eaten hardly an
ything.”
“I’m not going to drop from exhaustion. In case you hadn’t noticed, I’m not exactly a waif!” She turned away angrily as tears burned at her eyes. She hated it when she couldn’t control her emotions. It was humiliating.
There were several seconds of silence before he spoke. “Please don’t cry.” When she didn’t answer, he walked around in front of her and leaned down to look into her face. “What’s wrong?”
She swiped at her eyes. “Nothing’s wrong. I’m just trying to get thinner, that’s all.”
He blinked, his gaze lowering to her body. “Why in the world would you want to get thinner?”
She stared at him, astonished. She would have thought he was being sarcastic, if he hadn’t looked so completely bewildered.
“Because I’m fat.”
“Fat?!” He straightened, his eyes opening wide. “Who told you that?”
Was he really going to make her talk about this? “No one, exactly, in those words. Although my stepmother hints at it all the time.” She spread out her arms. “But look at me. I’m just bigger than everyone else.”
He planted his hands on his hips. “Grace Silversmith, you are the perfect size. There’s nothing worse than trying to hold a bony, skinny woman who’s all sharp edges and looks like she’ll break if you squeeze too hard. A man wants a woman in his arms he can feel, who’s all soft and round and...” He stopped, his neck bobbing as he swallowed. “Anyway, I don’t want you getting one bit smaller than you are.”
She watched, silent and open-mouthed, as he picked up her plate, carried it to the stove and piled it with more ham and pancakes.
When he returned to the table, he placed it in front of her and sat. “Eat up,” he said, waving his fork at her food. “We’ve got a lot to do today.”
She looked down at her full plate then back at Gabriel who was stuffing a forkful of eggs into his mouth.
They hadn’t said the blessing, but she was sure God wouldn’t mind this once. So she picked up her knife and fork, silently thanked Him for the food and her husband, and began to eat with a smile on her face.
