Holden laughed. “Which is exactly why you need to woo her, win her over.”
“Woo my wife.”
Holden shrugged. “Desperate times mean desperate measures.”
“A picnic? Elise did like picnics.”
“That’s another thing. If you want to win Abby
over you’re gonna have to stop comparing her to Elise.”
“Easier said than done.”
“How would you like it if every time you crawled into bed with Abby she was comparing you to another man?”
His jaw tightened just thinking about Abby with that damn Douglas. “Point taken.”
“So we can count on you for the picnic?”
The idea was growing on him. “The boys would sure like it.”
Holden groaned. “This outing is about
Abby,
remember that.”
He watched Abby walk toward the house, her calico skirts billowing in the wind. There were a hundred reasons why he should love her.
However, he accepted the fact that the chances were slim. His heart had turned to stone, and he doubted anything would bring it back to life.
But for the first time in a very long time, he wanted to try.
Past seven that night, the fire crackled as Abby sat by the fire in a rocker mending a torn shirt that belonged to Mr. Barrington. The boys leafed through a two-year-old copy of
Harper’s Monthly
magazine while Mr. Barrington reviewed his accounts.
The evening was painfully normal, and there were moments when it was easy to forget that she was leaving in six weeks.
“The horse roundup is going well. The herd is healthy and strong this year. I should make a fine profit when I take them to the railhead,” Mr. Barrington said as he tossed another log on the fire.
The sound of his voice startled Abby. She looked up from her mending.
“I know you’ve been worried about that,” she said.
“Abby,” Quinn said.
Mr. Barrington glanced at his son, as if annoyed by the interruption, but he said nothing.
Quinn pointed to a pen-and-ink sketch in the magazine. “What’s this?”
She glanced down over his shoulder to the picture. “That’s a bicycle.”
“What’s a bicycle?”
“You sit on it and push those pedals with your feet. The wheels turn and you start moving. It’s kind of like riding a horse.”
“Does everybody in the city ride a bicycle?” the boy asked.
“Not so many people. It’s hard to ride on the cobblestone streets.”
“Have you ever ridden a bicycle?” Quinn said, looking up from the worn page.
She laid her darning in her lap. “No, but I saw one when the carnival came to town.”
“I’d like to see a bicycle,” he said. “Did you like living in the city?”
“Sometimes, I loved it. Sometimes it wasn’t so fun.”
“What did you like about it?” Mr. Barrington asked.
She glanced up at him, startled by his interest. “The theater. I would go once or twice a year. And the shops. In San Francisco, there are always ships coming in from the Orient. There are so many spices to choose from.”
“Are there children there?” Quinn said.
She laughed. “Oh yes. Lots of children. Where I live they all go to the park in the morning to play in the grass. In the summer there is a merry-go-round.”
“What’s that?”
“It’s a big wheel that has painted wooden horses on it and it turns round and round while music plays.”
Tommy frowned. “Why would anyone want a wood horse?”
These children had lived their entire lives in wide-open spaces. Horses were a part of their lives. “It does seem rather silly doesn’t it? But it can be fun.”
She would have liked to have shown the boys San Francisco and take them to the merry-go-round and maybe buy them an ice cream. Then she caught herself. She’d be doing none of those things.
“What didn’t you like about the city?” Mr. Barrington said.
Her gaze skidded to him. He still knelt by the fire. And though his voice had been casual she noted a tension in his shoulders.
“The crowds. The smells in the streets when the garbage is piling too high.”
“And which do you like better, Montana or San Francisco?” Mr. Barrington asked.
“There’s something to love about both.” In truth she loved Montana best. “The city has a lot to offer but out here, there are not so many restrictions.”
He nodded. “That’s what drew me here. The freedom.” He rose and leaned against the stone hearth. Tension seemed to wash over his body before he said, “There is going to be a picnic in town next week to celebrate the Fourth of July.”
Before she could answer the boys looked up from their catalogue. “Can we go?”
Mr. Barrington stoked a poker into the glowing embers. “It’s up to Abby. She’ll be the one that’ll have to make us the extra meals and get us packed.”
The boys jumped to their feet. “Can we go?
Please
.”
She wasn’t sure what Mr. Barrington was up to. This ranch meant everything to him and time was as precious as gold. “Are you sure you can take the time? You’re building that larger corral for the horses and you said you were behind on wood chopping.”
His gaze stayed on the flames. “A family outing might be good for us.”
Family.
She wasn’t going to do this. She wasn’t going to let herself believe in things that weren’t meant to be. “Giving up two days of work is not very practical, Mr. Barrington.”
He frowned as if he’d not expected her to be so hesitant. Likely, he thought she’d jump at the chance. She wondered why she hadn’t.
Quinn grabbed her hand. “Abby, please! I want to go into town.”
“There’s a pie baking contest,” Mr. Barrington
said. “I’d be willing to bet you’d win hands down.”
Tommy tugged on her skirt.
“Pleeeease.”
She stared into the little boy’s eyes, so full of hope and wonder. “Mr. Barrington, you are backing me into a corner.”
Mr. Barrington smiled, an occasion so rare, that when he did she found him irresistible. “I know.”
Her stomach fluttered with tension. “We can go to the picnic, but be warned, Mr. Barrington, this picnic isn’t going to change anything. My plans are set.”
He rose and faced her. Like a warrior ready to do battle, his dark gaze burned into her. “So are mine.”
A
bby awoke in the middle of the night with cramps. It wasn’t uncommon for her to have pain with her cycle but she’d not had real trouble in years. This month promised to be one of her worst.
Experience told her she needed something hot to drink. Groggy, she pushed herself off her pallet and climbed down her ladder. Since she’d arrived she’d always kept the fires in the stove burning to keep the chill off the cabin and make breakfast preparation less complicated. If she could just stoke the flames, she could make a cup of tea to soothe her discomfort.
Pressing her hand into her back she moved across the room, trying her best not to wake Mr. Barrington and the boys. She’d grown so accustomed to the cabin, she didn’t need a light until she reached
the kitchen. She lit a lantern, keeping the wick low so that the light wouldn’t disturb the others. Soft buttery light hovered on the stovetop as she set the full kettle on the burner. It would be a good ten minutes before the water was hot enough for tea.
The pain in her back throbbed through to her stomach and shot down her legs. Of all the times to have trouble. Why couldn’t her body have cooperated and waited until she’d left the ranch?
The creak of floorboards had her turning. Mr. Barrington stood in the kitchen. Since the bear’s nocturnal visit, he’d taken to sleeping with his pants on and his guns within reach. She didn’t need light to know dark stubble covered his square jaw.
“What’s wrong?” he said his voice gruff with sleep.
She turned, the tea box in her hand. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“What’s wrong?” he repeated. His gaze took in the kettle and the tea box.
“I just needed something hot to drink.”
“It’s not cold.”
Embarrassment kept her silent.
He watched as she turned slowly and reached for a cup on the shelf above the stove. Her legs ached and she wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed.
He brushed her hand aside and took the cup from the shelf. “Sit down.”
She just wanted to be alone. “Just go back to bed. I’m fine.”
“Sit.”
Too sore and miserable to argue, she sat down. Getting the weight off her legs felt good.
Mr. Barrington went to the front door and took the horseshoe that always hung there from its hook. He returned to the stove, moved the kettle to the back burner and laid the horseshoe on the hot front. “It should just take about five minutes to heat up, then I’ll wrap it in a cloth.”
Despite her best efforts, she slumped forward. “What are you doing?”
“Your stomach aches, doesn’t it?”
She could feel the color flooding her cheeks. “I just wanted a cup of tea.”
He shoved his fingers through his hair. “There’s no cause for embarrassment. I understand what’s happening.”
Were the spaces between the floorboards wide enough for her to melt into? “I—I’m not embarrassed.”
Amusement flickered in his eyes. “I’ve been married before, remember? I know what women go through each month.”
She laid her forehead on her hand. She wanted to die. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He rolled his eyes and shook his head. “Get in bed with the boys. That bed is more comfortable than that pallet.”
“No, I won’t put you out of your bed.”
“Get into the bed.”
Too humiliated to quarrel, she crossed the room to the bed. Gingerly, she sat down, wincing as the mattress ropes creaked. She glanced over at the boys who both were in a deep sleep. Quinn was snoring. Tommy’s mouth hung open.
Mr. Barrington dampened the tip of his finger and touched the horseshoe. Satisfied, he wrapped the horseshoe in a cloth as he moved to the side of the bed. “Go on, put your feet under the covers and then roll on your side with your back facing me.”
Abby complied, grateful not to have to look him in the eye. The only person she’d ever discussed her monthly cycle with had been her mother and now to have Mr. Barrington ministering to her was almost too much to bear.
Gently, he laid the warm horseshoe against her back. And immediately, her muscles relaxed. “Oh my.”
“Better?”
“Yes, much.” She wasn’t used to receiving help,
only giving it. “You should get some sleep. I’m feeling much better.”
He didn’t move. “I’ll give it a few more minutes.”
“No really, I can manage.” She started to turn to face him.
“Is it always bad like this for you?”
The personal question stopped her dead in her tracks and she rolled back to where she was. Finally, she said, “No. It’s usually not a problem.”
“Well, if it ever is, get me up. I’ll help you.”
The heat seeped into her skin. Her cramps eased a fraction. “I’m not very good at taking help.”
“I don’t like it much, either, but I’ve learned it’s a fact of life. Sometimes you need it.”
Silence settled between them as he continued to press the horseshoe to her lower back.
Abby was grateful for the dim light. “You realize there won’t be a baby now,” he said softly.
“Yes.”
A baby was the last thing she needed in her life now, but logic did little to soften her disappointment. Deep in her heart she’d hoped there would be a child to bind her and Mr. Barrington. Tears filled her eyes. She rolled toward him and took the horseshoe from him. “I wanted a baby.”
He stared down at her, his face an unreadable
mask. Finally, he brushed the hair from her face and rose. “Get some sleep.”
He picked up his guns, boots, shirt and lantern and started for the loft ladder.
“There’s nothing binding you to me now,” she said, her voice barely a whisper.
In the darkness, he paused. “Don’t be so sure about that.”
A week later the four of them were headed into town for the picnic. Abby sat next to Mr. Barrington on the buckboard seat while the boys sat on a blanket in the back.
Work, which had initially bound them, had kept Abby and Mr. Barrington apart while Mr. Barrington spent his days on the range doing his best to make up for the days he’d lose while in town. Whereas Abby, who was keenly aware that her time here was limited, worked twice as hard, as if somehow she could cram a life’s worth of living into one week.
She had started a small vegetable garden by the house. She’d fretted over what she was going to bake for the picnic. She’d even found a pile of lumber in the barn that brought to mind her own dreams of staying and having an extra room added. The finely milled lumber had darkened with age—
clearly it had been in the barn for at least a year. Quinn had told her his pa had planned to build an extra room, but when their mother had died, he had put the project aside. Abby had shoved aside her thoughts of a new room and instead took extra care cleaning the boys’ clothes and pressing a shirt for Mr. Barrington.
In the evenings both she and Mr. Barrington were so tired neither had the energy to speak, let alone be tempted by lovemaking.
Now as she sat next to him on the wagon, he was all she could think about. By rights, she should have been exhausted and grateful for the time to simply sit. But her muscles bunched each time his thigh grazed hers or he shifted in his seat. They’d hardly spoken since they’d started out this morning, but she was very aware of
him
—his strong hands clenched on the reins, his scent, and the way her breath quickened when his shoulder brushed hers. As the day had begun to heat up, he’d opened his work shirt. Sweat glistened from the thick mat of hair on his chest.
She imagined sliding her hand into the V-sloped opening of his shirt and touching the hair she knew felt coarse against her fingertips. She imagined herself removing his faded work shirt, kissing his skin, which tasted salty.
Abby ground her teeth. Why was she doing this to herself? Her thoughts weren’t respectable or ladylike. What would it take for her to learn? She didn’t belong with him.
The trip was painfully slow and it took until nearly lunchtime before she spotted the tips of the town buildings. Even from a distance she could see that the town had come alive. Wagons and horses dotted the horizon.
“How many more minutes?” Quinn said. It was a question he repeated each half hour.
Mr. Barrington pointed toward the town. “We are here, son.”
The boys hopped up and looked around. The town’s single street was filled with wagons and people.
“Where did all these people come from?” Abby said.
“From all over the valley. We’ve got about fifteen families here now.”
A welcome banner tied between the mercantile and the saloon across the street flapped in the breeze. At the end of town there was a large table, covered with all sorts of dishes. Next to it a pig roasted on a spit.
Mr. Barrington tipped his hat to passersby who all openly stared at her. Uncomfortable with their
scrutiny she tugged the edges of her jacket down. Everyone was used to seeing Elise at Mr. Barrington’s side. Again, she was painfully aware that she didn’t belong.
“They’re not comparing you to Elise,” he said in a low voice so only she could hear.
Startled by his dead-on accuracy, she sat a little straighter. “I wasn’t thinking that.”
“Yes you were.” He sounded so damn sure of himself.
And she’d have argued with him if he weren’t right. She was amazed how attuned he was to her thoughts. Finally, she relented. “People have to be wondering who I am.”
He pulled the wagon to a stop in front of the mercantile and set the hand brake. He faced her. “They all know who you are. This valley is large but news travels fast.”
“Still, they must miss Elise. She had to have had friends.”
“Not really. Most people who live here today didn’t live here five years ago when I arrived. Those that were here likely don’t remember Elise. She was pregnant or sick most of the time. She only came into town twice when she lived in the valley.”
“Oh.”
“Miss Smyth!” Mrs. Clements’s voice rang out
across the street. Carrying a basket full of bread she hurried across, dodging and waving to the other people. Breathless, she reached the wagon. “How are you doing? My heavens, you do look fit as a fiddle. Montana agrees with you.”
Despite the turmoil, Abby was glad to see Mrs. Clements. She was a familiar face, and a woman to boot. “Thank you.”
“Matthias, Mr. Stokes is here and he’s looking to talk money for horseflesh.”
Mr. Barrington nodded, tightening his hold on the reins. “I’ll track him down.”
Mrs. Clements chucked each of the boys under their chins. “Tommy and Quinn, I’ve a new batch of puppies. They’re living under my front porch. If you are very quiet, the mama dog might let you pet them.”
“Puppies!” the boys shouted.
In the distance, a brown-and-white dog sauntered out from under the porch. Her teats hung low and three puppies, no bigger than the palm of a hand, trailed after her.
“Can we go play with them?” Quinn shouted.
“Can we?” Tommy echoed.
Laughing, Mr. Barrington hopped down and rounded the wagon to Abby’s side. He lifted each boy down. “You can go play with them, but mind
that you don’t stray far. I want you within shouting distance.”
The boys nodded. “Yes, sir.”
“Well, go on then,” he said, giving each an affectionate pat on the bottom before they ran toward the mercantile.
“I shall see you two in a minute,” Mrs. Clements said. “I’ve got to get these breads to the buffet table and there are so many friends who I’ve not seen in ages.” The old woman scurried off.
“I do believe she is in her glory,” Abby said, smiling.
“She does seem happiest when things are stirred up.” Mr. Barrington held out his hands to Abby. “Ready to meet your neighbors?”
She smoothed a curl off her face. “They’re not really my neighbors for long.”
His jaw tightened. “They are for now and that’s what matters.” He wrapped his long fingers around her waist and lifted her to the ground. For an instant, he didn’t release her. “You smell like lavender.”
It pleased her that he’d noticed. “I washed my hair yesterday.”
He captured a stray curl and held it between his fingers. “Soft as down.”
Her mouth went dry. “Mr. Barrington, this isn’t wise.”
He didn’t move. “What isn’t?”
Her throat was suddenly as dry as dust. “Touching me. The last time we got too close we made a mistake.”
Still, he didn’t retreat. “When are you going to start calling me Matthias?”
The deep blue of his eyes tugged at her heart. If they weren’t in the center of town, she’d have tumbled into his arms right now. Mentally, she gave herself a shake. “You are not going to seduce me, Mr. Barrington.”
Even white teeth flashed as he grinned. “Care to make a wager on that?”
She lifted her nose a fraction. “It would not be fair to take your money when I know the outcome.”
She took a step back and bumped into the wagon. He advanced a step. Her skirts swirled around his leg.
“No such thing as a sure thing, Abby. I learned that long ago.”
An hour later, as Matthias leaned against a cottonwood tree, he was still pleased with himself. He’d spoken to Mr. Stokes and arranged for the
man to travel out to the ranch to inspect his stock. In terms of the ranch, he couldn’t have asked for a better day.
But his eyes right now were only on Abby. He watched Abby by the food table talking to Mrs. Clements and several other women. It was clear she was enjoying herself.
The women were laughing about something and Abby’s clear bright laugh had him smiling. She looked so young when she smiled. Taller than the other women, she had full round breasts and a narrow waist.
He wanted to walk over to her now, take the pie from her hands and carry her to the closest bed. He could picture unbinding her long curls and stripping her neatly pressed calico down over her slender hips. The sunlight would glisten off her white breasts and the pink tips of her nipples.
He’d brought Abby to town so that he could woo her properly, but his courtship skills, which had never been refined to begin with, were rustier than an iron hinge left in the rain too long.
Holden, with a cold bottle of sarsaparilla in his hand, walked up. “Looks like Abby is fitting right in,” he said.