Читать книгу His Brother's Bride - Judith Bowen - Страница 10

CHAPTER THREE

IT WOULD HAVE MADE more sense to fly. A thousand miles on a Greyhound bus? Nearly five months pregnant...?

But she’d wanted to see the country. She’d wanted to see the geography change over the course of the two-day trip, from the farming country where she’d been born and raised, through the badlands, into North Dakota, more farming country, mixed forest, wide shallow rivers that fed into the Missouri and the Mississippi and the Great Lakes and then the long, lonely miles to Rugby, North Dakota, which they went through at night. Abby could barely make out the marker in the center of town, but she knew the words on the brass plate: Rugby, N.D., Geographical Center of North America.

From there it was north to the border crossing into Canada at Portal, Manitoba, through the Turtle Mountain country, past Melitta and Brandon and into the gray, windy city of Winnipeg, still leafless in mid-April, its broad streets dusty and littered with grime and debris left behind when the snow melted.

There, in the busy downtown station, she transferred to a Greyhound heading west after a delay of a few hours. She spent the time walking up and down the unfamiliar streets. She sent postcards home to her family, buying the stamps in a drugstore, and bought a paperback novel to read in case she got bored on the long trip west.

Regina. Calgary. Vancouver. The bus was bound for the Pacific Coast. They passed through town after town with unfamiliar names. But except for the occasional rest stop and lunch break, during which Abby got out to stretch her legs, coat drawn close against the chill of the wind, Abby kept her nose pressed to the glass. The paperback novel remained in her bag.

There were so many miles between her old home and her new home. When she allowed herself to think about the life she was entering, she felt her hands grow clammy and her heart pound. Marrying a man she barely knew! She had to be crazy. A man she’d only slept with, and just two nights at that. A man, truth to tell, she wasn’t sure she could even pick out of a crowd. At the same time, she was thrilled to her bones. She’d never done anything so impulsive. Not even marrying Frank six months after they’d met.

Jesse had been surprised when she’d called, the evening after she’d spoken to her parents. He’d looked forward to her call, he’d said, and his voice quickly became reassuring. She could tell he hadn’t really looked forward to it. But he’d seemed pleased, perhaps even relieved, when she told him she’d decided to take him up on his offer, after all, if he was still willing. She gave him no reasons; he didn’t ask for any.

Her mind was made up. After the conversation with her parents, there was no going back. She’d made it clear that she was pleased about her sudden pregnancy and that she was happy to be marrying the father of her baby. She made it sound almost as though that had been her plan all along. When they protested, saying Frank had only been dead two years, Abby had hesitated, struck deeply by the ongoing sadness she carried with her since her young husband’s death. It was true; she missed Frank horribly. She’d never slept with another man, just him and Jesse Winslow.

But she lied; she told her parents it was time for her to move on. That Frank was dead, and there was no bringing him back. That time healed all wounds of the heart—wasn’t that what they’d told her?—and hers had healed, too. That she wasn’t getting any younger and her hopes of marrying again and having children were slight at best if she stayed in Wicoigon. Now, with this chance pregnancy, her decision had more or less been made for her.

She’d handed in her notice to the school board, sold many of the possessions she’d stored at her sister’s place, including most of the baby clothes she’d bought for her first baby, which broke her heart. She kept a few tiny sleepers and one special blanket, wanting, somehow, to maintain a connection between her babies, no matter how tenuous. Thank heavens the doctor had thought there was only one baby on the way, after all, at her last visit. He’d told her to see a doctor, though, and have an ultrasound as soon as she got to Canada. Until she had the ultrasound, she wouldn’t know for sure.

Then she’d cleaned out her savings accounts and bought her bus ticket. One way.

She’d turned down Jesse’s offer to send plane fare. She was a full partner going into this marriage, not some little bit of a thing who needed rescuing from illegitimate pregnancy. She’d meant it when she’d said she was prepared to raise their child alone. That she’d only contacted him because she thought he had a right to know, as any man would.

She still had that option, she supposed, if it didn’t work out with Jesse. She had her teacher training. She had some savings. No matter how she tried to replay matters in her head now that she’d left her home behind, she knew she’d burned most of her bridges in Wicoigon when she’d blurted out to her parents that, like the Stovik girl, she, too, was single and expecting. Worse, in the eyes of the town—she was a pregnant widow. And she hadn’t hidden the fact that the man who’d fathered her child was a man she barely knew, a fellow exhibitor she’d met at the Carlisle Stock Show. Abby hadn’t regretted telling them; they’d know soon enough, anyway, and it wasn’t fair leaving her sister with the burden of the entire story.

Her parents had been horrified. She sensed their relief when she said she’d be moving to Canada, thousands of miles away. That had hurt, really hurt. Abby knew it would be a long time before she could go home again.

HER BUS CAME IN to the Calgary depot at seven o’clock. He knew, not because Jesse had told him, but because he’d called to find out himself. The hour and a half from seven to half past eight was the longest Noah had ever sat through. If her bus was on time, if they hadn’t stopped anywhere, they should be driving up to the ranch any minute now.

He didn’t know why he felt the way he did about Jesse’s marriage to this unknown American from South Dakota. He couldn’t stop thinking about it. It wasn’t that he was worried, or checking up on his brother, exactly, when he’d called the bus station. Jesse had appeared at his door just before he’d left for Calgary, all freshly showered and shaved, wearing a new shirt.

“Wish me luck,” he’d said. He looked like a man in love. Almost.

Noah didn’t fool himself that Jesse was in love. Jesse was an impulsive, warmhearted, generous man, and no doubt he’d be in love soon enough. Noah cherished no romantic notions about women himself. One was quite a lot like another, as far as he was concerned. If a woman was healthy and clean and moderately pretty, had a sense of humor... well, if you had to, you could probably talk yourself into calling it love.

If Jesse could only bend his mind around being tied down and a family man. That was the key. Maybe that was the part Noah was having such a hard time with—it just wasn’t like his brother to embrace responsibility quite so enthusiastically.

Of course, he hadn’t met this Abby Steen. Maybe she was the type any man would welcome, pregnant or not. Maybe she was an incredibly sexy, energetic, passionate, unrestrained woman any man would be happy to have in his bed, any time.

Plus, he thought idly, a good cook.

Noah reflected. Did he know anyone like that? Nope. He sighed, and cracked the top on his can of beer, his second. He was sitting on the darkened veranda and just about to go in because the mosquitoes had finally found him when he saw the lights of Jesse’s pickup coming slowly down the long grade that led to the ranch. He glanced at his watch. Nearly nine. His collie dog jumped up and barked twice, as she always did when she heard Jesse’s truck. Jesse’s stray howled in the distance. This was the wild dog his brother had found a year before at the side of the highway, injured, and had befriended and half-tamed. No one else on the ranch could get near it. Champ, Jesse called the animal, although he and Carl never called it anything but Jesse’s stray.

That settled it. His brother was back, presumably with the fiancée.

Where did that put Noah? He wasn’t sure. He raised his beer and took his feet down from the railing where he’d been resting them, sitting tipped back on the old rocker. His boots made a solid thump on the wooden deck of the veranda. He could hardly saunter on down and introduce himself to the happy pair this evening.

He’d better leave it until Jesse brought her over, maybe tomorrow. Should he do anything in particular for the new couple? Social-wise? Invite a few neighbors? Barbecue? Too early for that; the bugs would kill them. He’d have to get the house cleaned up, which was a drag. Noah was no social animal; the thought of a party, dinner or otherwise, paralyzed him. Maybe he could ask someone else to handle it for him. Who? Donna Beaton? He’d dated her a while back but they’d split amicably months ago. Donna would do it, though, if he asked her. It was the kind of thing Donna was good at.

But he’d sure hate for any notion to get out that he and Donna were an item again. Because they weren’t. He’d backed off with Donna when he realized there was no future to their relationship. Not that either of them wanted any future together, nor did he want a long-term relationship without marriage. First thing you knew, a fellow could end up with all the obligations and none of the perks. He didn’t want to be married, though. Still, at his age—he was pushing thirty-five—it was getting to be a real nuisance wining and dining a lady as a preliminary to getting into her bed once in a while. Then, if the lady was the sensitive type, there was all that trouble extricating yourself from a relationship you knew was a dead end without hurting her feelings.

Damn. Noah sighed again. Maybe Jesse had it figured out, after all. Sow plenty of wild oats, then settle down and start harvesting some of the crop.

He saw the lights go on in his brother’s house and heard his dogs barking an enthusiastic welcome. He could mostly hear Stella, the little terrier-heeler cross, his brother’s favorite. He glanced over to Brandis’s trailer, which they’d gotten ready for Abby Steen, midway between his house and his brother’s. The windows were dark; the fridge was stocked; there were brand-new sheets on the bed. Jesse’d seen to it, at Noah’s suggestion. Noah hadn’t checked. It was none of his business. He just hoped the fridge held more than Big Rock lager and frozen pizza.

He stood abruptly, draining his beer, and walked into the house. He turned on the hall light, then flicked it off again and climbed the stairs to his bedroom in the dark. Cold and alone, in a bed that probably hadn’t been made properly since—when? Since Challa had left? Noah had had a one-time experience with a live-in lover in his mid-twenties. Finally Challa had gotten fed up with his dithering—should they get married, shouldn’t they?—and gone home. She was married now to a man from her reserve, a Stoney, and had two kids, last he’d heard. They lived west of Pincher Creek; her man was foreman at one of the big ranches down there. He hoped she was happy.

Oh well, cold and alone or not, he’d do what he usually did—read for a while, maybe, then try and get some sleep. He was meeting a man in town tomorrow, early, around eight o’clock at the Chickadee Café, someone who might do some custom seeding for him next month. He had an interview with the banker, as well, his regular twice-a-year talk. Then there was this business of Jesse and his bride-to-be.

He’d better ask them to dinner, at least. Someone had to take charge of the social niceties, and he was pretty sure his brother wasn’t going to do it.

“SAY, NOAH! Lookee here—”

Noah poured himself another cup of coffee from the counter machine without turning around. He recognized the voice—Wilf van Rijn. One of the dairy farmers just northeast of town. Leisurely, Noah picked up a fresh blueberry muffin from the plate near the coffee machine and nodded to Tina, the waitress behind the counter. She’d put it on his bill.

“Yeah?” He finally turned.

Wilf held up the newspaper he was reading, the Calgary Herald, a big grin on his face. He shook the paper. “Right here in the classifieds. A wife for you. City gal.”

A couple of the other men glanced up and chuckled. A few slid their eyes toward Noah, who was walking back to the booth he’d chosen. The fellow he was meeting this morning was late. It was already quarter past.

Noah smiled. It was a never-ending joke. Some of the local farmers had decided it was time he got married. Perhaps it was true what they said, that misery liked company. Two of the men’s wives were enjoying dalliances around the district—one with a hydro lineman and one with the vet’s assistant. It wasn’t exactly a secret; it was also none of his business.

“So, what you got there, Wilf?” he asked good-humoredly. He’d considered mentioning Jesse’s upcoming nuptials to take the spotlight off himself, but thought better of it. Now was not the time. He hadn’t even met the bride-to-be yet When he’d driven past the trailer this morning, he’d noticed the blinds were shut. That was a good sign. It meant she was sleeping in her own bed—although why the hell he should care about that now, he didn’t know. At least it indicated Jesse had taken him seriously when he’d warned about the gossip there’d be, which was some consolation in this whole mess.

“Listen to this—‘wanted, long-term partner, nonsmoker’—that’d be you, Noah—” Van Rijn glanced up, grinning, then returned to the newspaper column “—‘social drinker, enjoys dancing and going for walks in the country’—” The whole room erupted in a roar of male laughter.

“‘Loves Shania Twain and Garth Brooks’—” Another hoot. Noah smiled.

“‘Likes to cuddle on long winter nights.’ Oh, that’s good. ‘GWF’—say, what’s that mean? ‘G-W-F’?” Van Rijn glanced up, a puzzled expression on his broad good-natured face.

“Means she ain’t looking for no man, Wilf,” someone offered. The room erupted in laughter again.

“Well, he-ell,” the farmer finished ruefully, folding up the paper and setting it on the table in front of him. “It said ‘partner.’ Don’t say I didn’t try, Noah. I’m lookin’ out for your marital interests, like always....” He winked at the others and they all smiled and returned to their coffee mugs and plates of fried eggs and potatoes.

As did Noah. “Thanks, Wilf. I appreciate your interest—say. there’s Millard now.” The man he was meeting was just approaching the outer door.

Five minutes later, he was deep in conversation with Gene Millard, the operator he hoped to hire for some custom seeding next month, and the café banter was forgotten. It wasn’t as though that was the first time he’d been through that particular conversation. He got a version of it whenever he showed up in town early for coffee, about the time all the other farmers were having a café breakfast before starting their business in town.

WHEN NOAH GOT HOME, he noticed that Jesse’s pickup wasn’t in his driveway and there was no sign of activity at his bungalow, beyond the usual barking dogs. The blinds on the trailer were up.

It was after one o’clock. Maybe the lovebirds had gone out for lunch somewhere. Like Noah, Jesse wasn’t the world’s best cook.

Noah parked in his usual spot beside his house and got out, stretching first and then bending down to fondle Pat’s ears. Pat, his collie dog, was getting on, nearly twelve now, but still one of the best dogs for cattle know-how he’d ever owned. He walked up the steps to his kitchen door. The house wasn’t locked. He rarely locked it, unless no one else was at the ranch and he was going away for a few days. Carl was around somewhere, and wherever Jesse was, he’d be back soon.

The house was dim with no lights on and rather chilly, even at midday. He’d turned off the furnace at the beginning of the month, but he was beginning to think he’d been a little hasty. April had started off sunny and unseasonably warm, but that hadn’t lasted. The past few days had been windy, and wind sure chilled a place fast. He made a mental note to relight the furnace pilot when he came in for supper that evening. Speaking of supper...Noah walked over to the refrigerator and pulled a pound of ground beef out of the freezer compartment and tossed it into the sink to thaw.

These were the bits and pieces of his life, he thought gloomily as he began to climb the stairs to his bedroom to change into working clothes. They’d always been good enough before—why was he obsessing about them now? Because Jesse had landed himself a bride? Because he wasn’t going to be the main person in his brother’s life anymore? It was crazy; he and Jesse weren’t any closer, now that they were both grown, than any other pair of brothers. They’d been close as kids, but then farm and ranch kids usually were. There was work to do together and fun together in isolated circumstances. When Casey’d been alive...

And Macy, their mother.

Noah shook his head. No sense dwelling on the past. Macy’d never been in good health, and if she was alive today she’d be close to seventy. As for his father, no one knew what had happened to Jake. Most days, Noah was glad he was gone. Some days, he wished he at least knew if he was dead or alive.

Noah quickly changed into jeans and a well-washed flannel shirt, the sleeves of which he rolled up halfway to his elbows. He took his battered Stetson off the rack in the kitchen as he went out. It was lunchtime but he wasn’t hungry.

Pat didn’t get up, merely slapped her full-feathered tail slowly against the worn porch boards. Noah adjusted his hat against the sunshine. He’d go out to the machine shed and see how Carl was doing with the alternator part that had come in for the Massey Ferguson yesterday. Then there was that new colt he wanted to check on. He’d bred his favorite mare to one of Jeremiah Blake’s stallions over at the Diamond 8 last summer, and the foal was a beauty. He’d had a rheumy running eye, though, the past week, for which the vet had sold him ointment to administer twice a day. The eye seemed to be clearing up just fine.

Noah headed toward the barn, followed by a couple of the ranch dogs that generally hung around by the bunkhouse. Right now Carl was the only one in residence there, but at roundup and branding times and during the haying season, the bunkhouse would be full. He’d need a part-time cook then, too. Always something to do or think about on a ranch.

Noah rounded the corner by the barn, intent on his tasks for the afternoon. He stopped dead when one of the dogs froze, alert, one paw raised.

The east side of the paddock was mostly in shade from the big feed silos thirty feet farther to the east. Shafts of April sunlight stabbed through, between the silos. In one of those shafts of sunlight was a woman, leaning on the fence, holding out her hand to the curious foal, making small, soothing noises that Noah could barely hear. The dog must have heard her before he did.

His heart hammered. Damn it! This must be Jesse’s woman. Where in hell was his brother?

He stood still a few more seconds, rapidly taking in the medium height, the slim build, faded jeans, baggy T-shirt, sneakers, the long pale hair hanging loosely down her back. She was turned away from him and Noah didn’t think she was aware of his presence.

He cleared his throat and the dog bounded forward, released from his watch instincts. He saw the woman’s hands tighten on the top rail of the paddock, and the foal, snorting, raced back to his dam, his broom of a tail standing straight up. Noah’s mare whickered to him, but didn’t emerge from the shade of a big cottonwood where she stood swatting flies. \ Then the woman turned. She had a calm, pretty face—nothing fantastically beautiful—wide blue eyes and looked very, very young.

He stepped forward, clearing his throat again. “I’m, uh, Noah Winslow, Jesse’s brother.” He extended his hand automatically. She looked at it for a split second, then offered hers. Her hand was small and soft and, like his, tanned. A sensible hand, the nails trimmed short and unpolished. He dropped it like a hot potato. “You must be Abby.”

“Yes,” she said softly, her eyes meeting his and causing something to twist hard in his gut. He fought to hold her gaze, forcing himself to look at her face when his first instinct had been to glance at her belly. To see the swell there that was his brother’s child. The reason she was here in the first place.

“Yes, I’m Abby,” she repeated quietly. “Abby Steen.”