Читать книгу The Unexpected Wife - Mary Burton - Страница 10

E very muscle in Abby’s body ached.

She’d been in the stagecoach for nearly twelve hours and was certain that if the wheels hit another rut or the wagon was forced to detour around another swollen river, or her traveling companion, Mr. Stokes, began snoring again, she’d scream.

The wagon came to an abrupt halt, and she toppled forward into the oversize lap of Mr. Stokes. He started awake and wiped the spittle from his mouth, staring down at her. He smiled. “Madam.”

Mr. Craig Stokes had been riding with her for the last ten hours. A scout for the railroad, Mr. Stokes chatted endlessly about his job. Dirt grayed his black wool suit and his cuffs and collar had long ago turned brown. Flecks of food still nested in his mustache and he smelled of sausages and sweat. When he was not snoring in his sleep, he was staring at her.

Abby scrambled off his lap and retreated to her corner of the coach. “Excuse me. I lost my balance.”

“Any time.” He tugged his vest down over his ample belly. “It’s beyond me why a woman of quality like yourself would be traveling alone in these parts. It’s rough county, miss, and no place for a woman.”

Abby had asked herself that same question a half-dozen times over the last couple of days. Living in her aunt and uncle’s San Francisco house, she felt her life had become an endless stream of work, but there she understood the predictable pattern. Here everything was unknown, including the man she’d intended to marry.

“I assure you, I am fine.”

Mr. Stokes shrugged. “If you insist.” Suddenly restless now, he banged on top of the carriage. “What is it this time, man?”

“A rider up ahead and a wagon with a broken wheel,” the driver shouted back.

Abby pushed back the carriage window drape and poked her head out to get a better look.

Twenty yards ahead, she saw an old man sitting on the side of the road next to a wagon. Two small young boys, their dirty faces peeking out from their floppy hats, squatted beside him, jabbing sticks in the mud. The wagon tilted to the right, the wheel burrowed deeply in the thick mud. The team of horses, two fine-looking chestnut mares, had been unhitched from the wagon and were grazing beside the road.

Her heart melted when she saw the two young boys. She raised her hand to wave when she spotted another man standing next to the wagon. Her appraisal took only seconds but it was enough to know the man was angry. The scowl on his rawboned face had her lowering her hand and retreating back a fraction.

The stranger glanced up toward the coach, his eyes narrowing. He started to walk toward them, moving with the grace and power of a wild animal. He was tall, with broad well-muscled shoulders that made her think of the bare-knuckled boxers she’d seen at a carnival years ago.

Utterly masculine. A hint of warmth had her blushing. Abby was surprised by her reaction. Passion was the last thing she needed or wanted.

Still, she looked deeper beneath his black Stetson and studied his dark hair tied back at the nape of his neck with a piece of rawhide. His hair accentuated his chiseled features, and the uncompromising hardness of a jaw covered in dark stubble. His range coat flapped open as he moved, revealing muddied work pants and a dark blue shirt and scuffed boots that stretched to his knees.

Whoever this man was, he was dangerous.

Matthias Barrington was in a foul mood.

He nodded back to his father-in-law Frank and his sons. “I’ll be right back. Keep an eye on the boys. I need to talk to Holden.”

Frank stood, tapping his bony fingers against his thigh. “Looks like he’s got a woman aboard.”

“I don’t care.” He strode toward the stagecoach.

The day had started going sour from the minute he’d risen. Not only did his wagon have a broken wheel, but his father-in-law had announced this morning that he was leaving Crickhollow and heading back to Missouri. Matthias knew the old man wasn’t happy and that this past winter had been hard on him, but he’d thought Frank would stay at least the summer.

Without Frank to watch over the boys, he was in trouble. Matthias didn’t dare dwell on how far behind schedule he was already this early in the season.

Matthias glanced up toward the stagecoach driver, Holden McGowan, and extended his hand. He’d known Holden since Matthias and his late wife had arrived in the valley five years ago. The man always had a quick smile and a joke to share. But today when he looked at Matthias, his expression was tight, nervous even.

“Everything all right?” Matthias said.

Holden nodded, as if recovering from the shock of seeing him. “Right as rain. I just wasn’t expecting to see you here. Looks like you hit a bit of trouble, though.”

Frank came up behind Matthias. “Our wagon hit a rut and broke a wheel.”

Holden glanced quickly at Frank. “Shame.”

Matthias pulled off his hat and wiped the sweat from his brow. “You got room to take Frank and the children into town? I’ll fix the wagon and follow behind you in the next hour or two.”

Holden shifted in his seat. “Oh sure, will do.”

Matthias nodded. “Thanks.”

He glanced up and saw a woman staring at him. She had wide green eyes that testified to just how naive she was. Her cheeks turned pink when their gazes locked and she retreated back into the coach.

He swore under his breath.

Crickhollow was a barren, isolated town where few women ventured. If this Society Miss, with her wide-eyed expression, pale skin and fancy hat, had half a brain, she’d run from this wild territory, which chewed up nearly every woman that tried to call it home.

He strode back to the buckboard where his sons played. If Montana was going to be tamed, it needed women who knew how to work—not genteel ladies like Society Miss.

He glanced down at his boys, wondering what he was going to do with them now that Frank was leaving. At three and four, they were too young to leave alone at the cabin or take out on the range with him each day.

There was Mrs. Clements. She’d taken in the boys the first couple of weeks after Elise had died. He and Frank were so torn up with sorrow they weren’t able to properly care for the boys.

Mrs. Clements had done right by the boys but farming them out stuck in Matthias’s craw. He liked having his children close. But with so much work to be done he didn’t know what else to do.

When Matthias reached the wagon, his youngest, three-year-old Tommy, held out his hands and started to cry. Instinctively, he reached out and lifted the boy. The child laid his head on his father’s shoulder.

Tommy hated riding in wagons. They upset his stomach. Matthias glanced at his oldest boy’s dirty face. Four-year-old Quinn grinned up at him.

“Pa, do we get to ride in the coach?”

Matthias shoved out a sigh. “Sure do.”

Frank came up behind him. “We don’t mind waiting with you here while you fix the wagon.”

Matthias glared at Frank. “I’d rather the boys get into town so Mrs. Clements can give them a hot meal.”

“I got hard tack in the pack. We don’t mind helping you.”

“I want the boys in town by dark.”

“But…”

“No buts.” Irritation gave each word extra bite.

Frank’s sudden desire to stay behind puzzled him. The man was hell-bent on leaving, and Matthias had spent the better part of the morning arguing with Frank about his decision to leave. Later, pride had kept him from asking Frank to stay again, but seeing the boys now made him rethink a lot of things in his life. “Frank, any way you can postpone this trip East? Just a couple of months.”

Frank glanced toward the stagecoach. “Time I got on with my life.”

Matthias bit back the oath that sprang to mind. Frank’s leaving had put him in a predicament. “Get on the stage with the boys. When I’ve fixed the wheel, I’ll follow.”

Frank picked up his bag. “Sure.”

Matthias took Quinn in his arms. The boys clung to his neck as he walked the twenty yards to the stage.

He nodded to Holden. “Again, I’m obliged.”

“Think nothing of it.” Nervous, Holden tightened the reins around his gloved hand. “There’s only room enough for the boys inside. Frank, you’ll have to ride up top with me.”

Frank glanced toward the coach’s interior as if he were worried. “Fine.”

Matthias set Quinn down so that he could reach for the door handle. The boy fussed and clung to his leg. Inwardly Matthias sighed. The boys, who both shared their mother’s blond hair and deep blue eyes, had been clingy and restless since Elise had died last year. He’d hoped time would take care of that, but lately the boys seemed more fretful than ever. Last night they’d been so restless he’d pulled them in bed with him. That had been a mistake. Quinn had ended up sleeping sideways in the bed, poking him in the ribs with his feet most of the night. While Tommy had snored so loud that Matthias would have sworn he was sleeping with a three-hundred-pound cowhand.

With a boy in each arm, Matthias strode to the wagon door. Society Miss, with her perky nose and fussy clothes stared at him. He could only imagine her thoughts. He looked rougher than a dried prairie and the boys looked just as bad.

But as they got closer, she didn’t cower, but studied him with sharp intelligent eyes that didn’t seem to miss a detail.

Her gaze shifted to the boys, who he had to admit smelled bad. Miss Society’s eyes softened when she looked at Tommy and Quinn. She pitied them, he reckoned. They looked wild and untamed as if wolves had raised them.

Pride had him straightening his shoulders. Elise had always kept the boys scrubbed clean, but since she’d died he’d not had the time to fuss over them.

Guilt ate at his gut. Lately, he did everything half-ass. Even with Frank’s help there was never enough time to do anything right. Before Elise had gotten sick it had been a struggle to keep up, but lately he was fighting a losing battle.

If he hadn’t loved this land so much, he’d have left when Elise died. But with only three months before he owned his land free and clear, he hated to quit. If he could hold on, he’d have a legacy for his boys that they would be proud of.

Matthias reached for the stagecoach door handle.

Frank pushed past him and grabbed it first. “I’ll settle the boys inside. You get back to the wagon.”

Tommy started to fuss and cling to Matthias tighter. “I want Pa.”

Matthias held on to the boy. “I’ll settle the children.”

Matthias opened the door and was surprised to see that Society Miss was not alone. A large man wearing a dusty black suit glared at him. Society Miss’s wide-eyed expression had given him the impression that she wasn’t married. Of course, it only made sense that she was and that this man was likely her husband. Only a half-witted woman would travel to Montana alone.

More irritated than before, he met the man’s gaze. “My boys will be riding with you as far as Crickhollow.”

The man puffed out his chest and tugged his vest down.

“I paid for my seat,” the man said through tight lips. “And I’ve no intention of sharing it with a couple of dirty children.”

Matthias yearned to toss the man on the side of the road, but before he could respond, Society Miss scooted over in her seat to make more room.

“They may sit with me,” she said. “There’s plenty of room on my seat.”

Matthias lifted his gaze to the woman and for the first time looked past the yards of fabric and the netting of her hat that covered her face. Her hair was blond and it curled at the ends as if the stands strained against the pins that held it in a tight chignon.

Her face was all angles, plain by most standards, and nothing like Elise’s soft, round features. But Society Miss’s vivid green eyes brought an energy to her that made her anything but nondescript.

His gaze skimmed to her full lips. For just an instant, he wondered what they tasted like. His reaction was not only unexpected, but unwanted, as well. He chalked it up to too many lonely nights.

“I’m obliged, miss,” Matthias said.

“Abigail Smyth,” she supplied.

Suddenly, Holden coughed. “Best get a move on, I have a schedule to keep.”

Matthias’s eyes narrowed against the sun’s glare. Holden was right. Time was wasting.

He lifted Quinn and set him in the coach. The boy turned to him as if he’d bolt when Society Miss said softly, “I promise I don’t bite.”

The boy clung to his father.

“Let loose, boy,” Matthias said.

“I’ve a mirror in my reticule,” Society Miss offered. “Would you like to see it?”

Tommy never passed on a gadget. He turned and stared at her.

She reached in her purse and pulled out a small oval mirror in a mother-of-pearl case. The mirror reflected the afternoon light, creating a rainbow on the roof of the coach.

Tommy grinned, watching fascinated as the colors danced. Relaxing, he let loose of Matthias and climbed up on the seat next to the woman. Quinn, gaining strength from his brother’s bravery, leaned forward and held out his hands. Matthias lifted him into the coach.

The woman gave her mirror to Tommy and reached out and set him on the seat beside her.

“You’ll take care of my boys,” Matthias warned, his voice coated with steel.

Society Miss met his gaze. There was no hint of fear. “I shall take good care of them until you arrive in town.”

The faintest hint of her perfume teased his nose. Roses. It had been a long time since he’d smelled the scent of a woman. In the last twelve months since his wife’s death, he’d been too busy to miss the sensation of having a woman under him.

Now, he was acutely aware of how long it had been.

Matthias cleared his throat. “Their grandfather will ride on top. When they get to town, Frank will see that they get to the mercantile and a Mrs. Hilda Clements.”

“Of course,” Society Miss said.

For the first time in a good while, Matthias felt as if he was getting a lucky break. Tommy, the little one, nestled next to Society Miss, fascinated by the pearl buttons that trimmed her cuff.

Matthias turned, ready to tackle the wheel of his wagon. He’d taken only a step when he heard the retching sound. He whirled around in time to see Tommy throw up all over Society Miss.

Abby stared down at her now-wet lap as she heard Mr. Stokes shout several oaths. For a moment she thought she’d retch.

Mr. Stokes pressed a cloth to his face. He stood so quickly he bumped his head on top of the wagon. Stepping over her soiled skirt, he pushed past the stranger to get out of the carriage. “Good Lord, I’ll bet they have cholera or measles. I’ll be riding on the top.”

Abby didn’t have to look over at the boys’ father to know he was still there. His presence filled the silent carriage. The man’s fingers tightened on the coach door, and she half expected the brittle wood to crack in his powerful fist.

She looked into the watery, sad eyes of the boy beside her. A mixture of horror and fear straightened his tiny mouth into a grim line as his eyes wavered to his father and then back to her.

Despite Mr. Stokes’s declaration, she doubted the boy was ill. She’d heard children often got motion sickness when they rode in wagons. “Let’s get this cleaned up.”

Managing her best smile, she chucked the boy under the chin and faced the man. To her surprise, the man wasn’t angry. Behind his frustration she saw sadness.

Lifting her skirt, she started to climb down.

The man instantly took her elbow.

She stared at his long tapered fingers, calloused by hard labor. His dark eyes cut into her and suddenly the idea of going anywhere with him unsettled.

“It’s all right,” she reassured the boy. “A damp cloth and it’ll be good as new.”

The stranger peered past her. “Tommy, you all right, son?”

Tommy shrugged. “I feel good now.”

The father shook his head. “That’s good. Can you sit tight for a minute with your brother while I clean up this lady?”

“Yes, Pa.”

“I’ll help her,” Frank, the old man, said from behind him. “I know you got that wagon wheel to fix.”

“Climb on up to your seat, Frank. I can handle it on my own.”

Frank exchanged glances with Holden then reluctantly climbed up top.

He took her hand in his. Through her crocheted black gloves she felt the heat and strength of his fingers. She could feel the color rising in her cheeks.

But the father was all business. Instead of cajoling, he tugged her forward and before she could react banded his long fingers around her narrow waist. Without a word, he lifted her out of the carriage and set her on the hard ground.

Abby stumbled back, shocked at her own reaction. “This really isn’t necessary.”

Still silent, he pulled a bandanna from his coat pocket and grabbed the hem of her skirt, lifting it so that her petticoats showed.

Abby searched for her voice as she yanked her skirt from his hand. “I am engaged to be married. This kind of interaction can’t be proper.” She’d not spoken of her engagement out loud before and it sounded strange, so unfamiliar as if she were talking about someone else.

“I don’t have time for niceties.” He brushed her hand away and finished cleaning the skirt.

The bite in the stranger’s tone rankled her nerves. “There’s no need to be rude,” she said, using the tone she reserved for difficult shopkeepers and surly chimney sweeps.

He looked at her as if she’d grown a third eye. “You want polite, then go back to wherever you came from. I don’t have time for it.”

“I shall tell my fiancé about this.”

He glanced up at Stokes, who still had a handkerchief pressed over his nose. “Your man doesn’t look willing to help you.”

Abby followed his angry gaze to Mr. Stokes. “Mr. Stokes is not my fiancé.”

A flicker of surprise flashed in the stranger’s eyes but was gone as quickly as it came.

Mr. Stokes shifted in his seat. “Lady, get in the carriage. I want to make town by nightfall.”

“Time is wasting, lady,” the coachman said.

Irritated, she snatched her skirt back and reached for the handle by the door with the other. Her shoe heel caught on the hem of her skirt and she cursed vanity for choosing to wear her gray Sunday best dress. At the time, she’d wanted to make a good impression on her husband-to-be. But the dress’s full skirts and high-heeled shoes, which were fine for church in the city, were completely impractical in Montana. Now she wished she’d remained in her simple calico with the streamlined skirt.

Strong hands again wrapped around her waist. Away from the stifling air of the coach, she caught a whiff of the stranger’s masculine scent. No coiling aftershaves or scented soaps like Mr. Stokes. His scent was purely masculine and not unpleasant, she realized.

This stranger had stirred more emotions and reactions in her in the last five minutes than the butcher had in a year. She couldn’t say if it were him or that all her senses had been heightened by her unknown future. She hoped her intended didn’t make her feel like this, too. She wanted safety and comfort, not passion.

He set her in the carriage and waited until she’d retaken her seat next to the boys. She could still feel his fingers on her as she straightened her skirts.

“Thank you for your help.”

“Ma’am.” He winked and smiled at the children. The smile vanished when he shifted his gaze to her. He touched the brim of his hat. “I’ll see you in town, Miss Smyth. Take good care of my boys.”

The softly spoken words were laced with warning. This man protected his own.

A shiver passed down her spin as she wondered what it felt like to be protected by this man. She swallowed amazed at the direction of her thoughts.

Oily peacocks like Mr. Stokes and hard, dangerous men like this stranger.

What was her new husband going to be like?