Читать книгу The Husband Hunt - Karen Kirst - Страница 12

Chapter Three

Sophie bolted upright in bed. What was that awful racket?

Her hens’ hysterical squawking shattered the quiet. Her heart sank. At this time of night, it could only mean one thing—predator.

Blinking the sleep from her eyes, she shoved the quilt aside and sank her tired feet into her boots without bothering to lace them. In the bed opposite hers, only the top of Will’s head was visible above his blanket. Thankful his slumber hadn’t been disturbed, she made her way to the ladder in the inky darkness, rushed to light the lamp on the table below.

“Sophie?” Somehow her grandfather’s breathless voice reached her above the din.

“I’m here.” She wished he’d been able to sleep through this as easily as Will. He desperately needed his rest if he was going to recover. “I’m going outside to investigate.”

“Watch yourself, ya hear?”

A grim frown touched her mouth at his labored effort to speak. “Don’t worry, I’ll be careful.”

White cotton nightgown swishing around her ankles, she lifted her trusty Winchester from its place above the mantel and headed into the sticky night.

The barn loomed large in the semidarkness, the brittle structure and surrounding trees washed with weak moonlight. Adrenaline pumping, she rounded the corner of the cabin and stopped dead at the sight that greeted her. Her fingers went slack on the gun handle.

Her too-tall henhouse was no more. It had been tipped over and smashed into a hundred bits and pieces by an enormous black bear that was even now pawing one of her hens with the intent to devour it. Those who had managed to escape the beast’s jaws were running around in endless circles.

“What have you done to my chickens?” Outrage choked any fear she might have had. They needed those birds and the precious eggs they produced.

Hefting the rifle up, she found the trigger and aimed for the air directly above his head. She should kill him. Considering his size, the meat would likely sustain them for a month or more. Not to mention the hide sure would make a nice rug for the living room.

But she wouldn’t. Killing animals for food was a part of mountain life, and she had no issue with that—as long as the animal was a pig or chicken or fish. But bears, well, they fascinated her. Had ever since she was a little girl and she’d happened upon a mama and her three cubs fishing in a stream farther up in the mountains. The cubs had been so cute and playful, the mama tough yet tender and fiercely protective, that Sophie had hidden in the bushes and watched, barely breathing, until they’d moved on.

Focus, Sophie. Anchoring the butt against her shoulder, she fired off a single shot.

A limp hen caught between his teeth, the bear lifted his head and shifted his opaque black eyes to her. Her lungs strained for air. Don’t make me shoot you. He took a step in her direction. Again, she aimed above his head. Fired a second time.

When the lumbering beast casually turned and disappeared into the forest, Sophie released the air in a relieved whoosh and lowered the gun, muscles as limp as soggy corn bread. She surveyed the damage, dreading the job that awaited her come daylight. Weariness settled deep in her bones. They couldn’t afford to purchase lumber for a new henhouse. How was she supposed to find time to chop down trees, strip and saw them into planks when so many other chores awaited her?

Anxiety nipped at her heels as she coaxed the addled hens into the barn for the night. What she really wanted to do was park herself at Granddad’s bedside until she was absolutely certain he was on the mend. A frisson of stark, cold despair worked its way through her body; the possibility of losing him looming like a menacing shadow. How sad that she simply couldn’t spare the time. Not if the animals were to be fed, the vegetable garden tended, the laundry mended and washed, and food placed on the table.

Feeling sorry for yourself won’t get you anywhere, Sophia Lorraine.

Traversing the tomblike yard, words of defeat slipped from her lips. “Lord Jesus, sometimes I just don’t know how I can go on like this.”

Sometimes she wondered what it might be like to have a strong man around to help shoulder the burdens. A partner. A helpmate. Someone like Nathan—strong and valiant and willing and able to meet any challenge. A man who could be both tough and tender. Sort of like that mama bear, she thought as she replaced the Winchester on its hooks.

But while her heart pined for him, in his eyes she was nothing more than an irritating brat. A down-on-her-luck neighbor he was forced to tolerate and occasionally rescue.

“Everything all right?” Tobias called.

Entering his room, she crossed to the narrow bed, straightened the quilts and took his hand between hers, tenderness welling in her chest at the feel of his feeble, knotted fingers.

“Everything’s fine. You should go back to sleep.”

“I worry about you.” His eyes gleamed in the darkness. “This farm is too much for one young girl to manage.”

She stroked his hand, determined to put his fears to rest. To ignore her own reservations. “I’m not a little girl anymore, you know,” she gently reminded him. “I may not look like much but I can work as hard as any man.”

“I’m not doubting your abilities, Sophie, but I want more for you and Will. I—” his chest expanded “—don’t want you to struggle—” and deflated “—alone. Maybe it’s time you settled down.”

Her brows shot up, stunned at this first mention of marriage. “Why would I want to get hitched? Besides, I’m not alone. I’ve got you.”

When he didn’t respond, she leaned down and kissed his wrinkled forehead, smoothed his wispy gray hair. “I think we’ll leave this conversation for when we’re both rested and thinking straight. Good night.”

“’Night.” He sighed.

Pausing to grip the doorframe, she turned back, compelled to speak words rarely spoken between them. Not because they didn’t care but because emotional expressions just wasn’t their way. “I love you, Granddad.”

“I love you, too.” Pride and affection thrummed in his voice.

Once again in her bed, with no one around to witness her emotional display, she allowed the tears to fall, slipping silently onto her pillow. Fear, cold and black and relentless, threatened to crush her. The what-ifs, the endless responsibilities, nearly overwhelmed her.

Having a man around full-time would help. But was a husband really the answer? Her father’s temper, his disdain for her mother and contempt for Sophie made her reluctant to hand over her life to just any man.

Their future was too important to gamble on.

* * *

Wiping the moisture from her forehead with her sleeve, Sophie tried once again to lift what used to be the henhouse’s right sidewall. It refused to budge. A gloved hand appeared out of nowhere and covered her own. She jerked back and in the process scraped her palm on the jagged wood.

“Nathan!” She stared as he heaved the wall up as if it weighed nothing, shoulders and biceps straining his white-and-blue pin-striped shirt, and lowered it out of the way onto the grass. “What are you doing here?”

Pink and purple fingers of dawn gradually chased away black sky, lightening the wide expanse above to a pale blue. He should be at home milking his cows, not standing here in front of her with his hair damp and his cheeks smooth and touchable from a recent shave, his beautiful eyes gazing at her with resolute intentions.

“I ran into Will downstream and he mentioned what happened.” His gaze swept the scattered feathers and eggshells, the bucket filled with carcasses and the splintered wood on the ground before zeroing in on her face. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine.” She shrugged off his concern. “I managed to scare him off with two shots.”

“You could’ve killed him.”

“You know how I feel about bears.”

Stepping over the mess, he stopped in front of her, his chest filling her vision as he took the hand she’d been clutching against her midsection in his. He gently unfurled her fingers and lifted her palm up for a better view. Her stupid heart actually fluttered. Wouldn’t he be amused if he knew how he affected her? Amused or horrified, one of the two.

His lips turned down. “This is a pretty bad scrape.” Pulling a red handkerchief from his pants’ pocket, he wound it around her palm and tucked the ends under. “Why aren’t you wearing gloves?”

She wouldn’t tell him that they were too far gone to provide any sort of protection and she didn’t have the means to buy a new pair. Better he think her foolish than pity her.

She slipped her hand from his grasp. “You’re right, I should have put them on.”

A flicker of understanding warned her that he suspected the truth, but he didn’t voice it. Instead he tugged off his own gloves and handed them to her.

“I can’t take yours.”

“Josh will be here soon. I have another pair in the wagon.” He began to pick up the broken boards and pitch them in a pile.

“Why is Josh coming?” She gingerly pushed her fingers into the large deerskin gloves, the lingering heat from his hands a caress against her skin.

“He’s bringing the lumber we need to rebuild your henhouse.”

“He’s what?”

Nathan tossed another board and arched a brow at her. “Now don’t get all huffy on me. We have plenty to spare.”

“You know I can’t pay you.”

“Don’t expect payment.” Shrugging, he turned his attention back to his task.

Torn, she fiddled with the end of her thick braid. “I don’t want to sound ungrateful—”

“Then just say ‘thank you’ and let us help you.” He was using his extra-patient voice, the one he used to coax her into seeing his side of things.

Frowning, she bent to gather crushed eggshells. For as long as she could remember, the O’Malleys had been there for her family, stepping in to help whenever they had a problem or a need to be met. And while she was extremely thankful for their generosity, it was difficult to always be on the receiving end.

As the jingle of harnesses spilled across the meadows, they both straightened and turned toward the lane. “There he is now.” Nathan dusted his hands on his pants and started forward to meet his brother.

Trailing behind him, she spotted Will perched on the seat beside Josh. As if sensing her unspoken question, Nathan tossed an explanation over his shoulder. “Will wanted to help load the wood. I didn’t think you’d mind.”

“No, of course not.”

When the team halted, Will jumped down and joined Nathan at the back. Josh waved and smiled a greeting. “Hey, Sophie.”

“Morning, Josh.”

The eldest son of Sam and Mary O’Malley, Josh was a more laid-back, more outgoing version of Nathan. Only two years apart, they shared similar features. Both were tall, tanned and gorgeous. Josh’s hair was a touch lighter than Nathan’s, his eyes blue instead of silver and he sported a trim mustache and goatee that lent him a distinguished air.

He never looked at her with disapproval. But then, she’d never yearned for Josh’s approval like she did Nathan’s.

“How’s Kate getting along?” she asked.

His smile widened, eyes shining with a deep contentment that made Sophie a little jealous. Okay, more than a little. What she wouldn’t give to inspire such emotions in Nathan!

“She’s feeling a lot better these days—as long as she steers clear of my brother.” He shot Nathan a teasing look, laughing when he scowled in response.

Suppressing a grimace, she gestured toward the wagon. “You’re a good neighbor.”

“And here I thought we were friends.” He winked.

“You know what I meant.” She smirked, following him to the rear of the wagon.

When they had finished unloading the lumber, Josh turned to her. “Sorry I can’t stay and help, but I’ve got to deliver a dining set before lunch.”

“I understand you’ve got a lot to do. It’s no problem.”

He hooked a thumb toward the cabin. “Before I go, I’d like to say hello to Tobias if he’s awake.”

“Yes, please do,” she said, smiling through her worry. “He’d like that.”

As Josh let himself in the cabin, Nathan and Will joined her beneath the wide-limbed oak tree. Even though the sun had a long way yet to climb, the air was thick with humidity and the promise of scorching heat.

“I don’t want beans again for supper,” her brother informed her, sweat glistening on his face, “so I’m going fishing. Will you fry up my catch?”

While they could use his help with the henhouse, beans for the third night in a row didn’t appeal to Sophie, either. Maybe fried fish would tempt Granddad to eat. “Sure thing.” She squelched the urge to smooth his hair. A few years ago, he wouldn’t have minded. Things were different now, though.

She watched as he ambled off to the barn to fetch his fishing pole.

“Are you ready to get started?” Nathan prompted.

She shifted her gaze to his face, shadowed by his Stetson’s black brim. “Not yet.”

“Uh-oh, I’ve seen that look before. What’s on your mind?”

“If you want to help me, you have to allow me to give you something in return.”

Something mysterious slipped through his eyes, something she’d never seen before—a mini-explosion of heat and want immediately contained, hidden from view as if it had never been. Her heart thudded in her hollowed-out chest. What—

“Sausages,” he blurted.

“Huh?”

His entire body stiff, he turned and walked away, jerking up the ends of four long planks and dragging them toward the spot where they would rebuild.

“Everyone knows you make the best-tasting sausages around. If you insist on paying me, I’ll take some of those.”

Sophie stayed where she was, not a little confused by his reaction to a simple statement. “Okay. Sausages it is. If you’re sure that’s what you want.”

He dropped the planks and shot her an enigmatic look. “I’m positive that’s all I want from you.”

She went to help him, certain she was missing something and feeling her mother’s absence more keenly than ever.