Читать книгу The Unexpected Wife - Mary Burton - Страница 11

T he tingling in Abby’s limbs quickly faded when she saw the two boys huddled together on the seat. Both looked pale, their lips drawn into tight lines.

Abby sat next to the boys. She placed her hand on the forehead of the little boy. “What’s your name?”

He sniffed, and then popped his thumb in his mouth.

She’d never been around children before. She had no younger brothers or sisters. Joanne, though she was three years younger, was twelve when Abby had moved in.

Of course, she’d seen children of all shapes and sizes in the park with their mothers or nannies, but she’d never actually had to deal with one.

“How does your stomach feel now?” She glanced down at her damp skirt. “Better, I hope.”

The little boys stared at her, silent. She waited an extra beat, expecting them to say something. Nothing.

She glanced down at the mirror Tommy held tightly in his dirty hands. “Want to make another rainbow?”

Again, nothing.

Hoping for a better response from the older one she smiled at him. His face was covered in dirt and he looked on the verge of tears. She remembered one of the mothers in a San Francisco park. She’d picked up her son and held him close when he was upset. That child had brightened up instantly.

She reached and picked the little boy up. Before she could lift him on her lap, he started kicking and screaming. She struggled to hold on to him, but he arched his back and started to swing his arms. One pudgy hand caught her in the eye.

Abby put the boy down instantly. The child scrambled back next to his brother and started to cry. She rubbed her injured eye.

Oh Lord, what was she going to do? She’d always assumed she’d be a natural with children. That they’d love her if she were only kind and loving in return.

But these children seemed to hate her.

Nothing Abby said or did would quiet them until the older one discovered that he could stand on one seat and jump to the other across the aisle. The smaller one’s eyes had immediately brightened, and he’d begun to copy his brother. Abby was so relieved that they’d stopped crying that she let them keep jumping. She’d never expected such a mindless pastime would keep boys busy for over an hour.

Finally, they settled on the other seat and lay their heads down. The younger smiled and laid his head against his brother’s shoulder. The older patted his brother gently on the leg and they fell asleep. She untied the curtains over the window, dimming the interior of the coach.

A meager ring of light around the edges of the worn fabric provided enough light for Abby to watch the boys. She couldn’t help but feel the tug of sadness. The older of the two, who couldn’t be four yet, had already learned that he must look after his younger brother. Too young, she thought to be so independent.

Abby had lost her parents at the age of fifteen to cholera. Their loss had slashed through her heart and for a time she’d thought she’d never be able to live without them. But in time, she’d learned to cherish the memories of her parents.

Her mother, Caroline, had been raised in privilege. She’d grown up attending balls and wearing silks. The expectation was that she’d marry into another well-connected family. Instead, she’d done the unpardonable. She’d fallen in love with a young vicar, Richard, who didn’t have two wooden nickels to his name, and she’d eloped with him. When her family discovered what she’d done, they’d cut her off completely.

So Abby hadn’t grown up with silks or fancy parties. Instead, she’d lived in a simple Arizona parsonage that ministered to miners, harlots and the poor. To her parents’ sorrow, her mother had never carried another baby to term. There’d never been much money, but she always had enough to eat and there’d always been plenty of laughter and music. Her father played the fiddle and her mother the piano. Many a night her parents would play while she sang.

Smiling at the memory, she studied the boys. They weren’t underfed. Despite the dirt and grime, they looked to be a healthy size. She’d doubted there was music in their house and she couldn’t imagine their father laughed often.

Abby let her head drop back against the wall behind her. The now steady rocking of the coach coupled with the silence had her eyes drifting closed. She released a small sigh and let her shoulders sag. Perhaps she could steal a few minutes of sleep. Just a few minutes.

The coach jerked to a stop.

Her eyes popped open immediately and the boys started awake. Tommy, confused about his surroundings, rolled off the seat and hit the floor with a thud. He started to cry.

Immediately, Abby picked him up. Tired and disoriented, the boy didn’t struggle with her this time. Instead he laid his head on her shoulder and popped his thumb into his mouth.

Quinn pushed himself up. His hair stuck straight up and a wrinkle in the cushion had creased the side of his face. He looked around and stuck his lip out.

Abby held her hand out to him and he scrambled off the seat and came to sit beside her. “You two just rest easy. The coach driver should be here to tell us where we are.”

Men’s voices drifted from above as she heard the driver set the brake. The coach shifted to the right and she heard booted feet hit the ground outside her door before it swung open.

“Welcome to Crickhollow!” Holden the driver said, sweeping his hand wide. His face was deeply tanned by the sun and his eyes were clear and bright.

A fresh batch of butterflies fluttered in Abby’s stomach. “Thank you.”

“Looks like you and the young ones fared pretty well,” said Holden.

Behind him stood the man she’d overheard the boys call Grandpa. “They look right at home in your arms.”

Quinn and Tommy both grinned when they saw their grandfather, but neither seemed in a hurry to move away from Abby.

A silent communication passed between Frank and Holden. Both grinned at her as if they were Cheshire cats.

“We did just fine,” Abby said sitting a little straighter. She righted her hat, which had slipped too low over her forehead. “I need to find Mrs. Hilda Clements. She is to board me until my fiancé arrives.”

Holden unhooked a small block of wood from the side of the carriage and placed it below the door. “Just step right on down, Miss Abigail, and stretch your legs. I know you got to be stiffer than wood after that ride.”

Frank leaned in and took the tired boys, while Abby unlocked her joints and rose in the coach, which was only tall enough for her to stand hunched over. Her knees groaned as she moved the few steps to the door. Holden took her hand as she gathered up her skirt and climbed down.

She longed to stretch her arms over her head and work the kinks from her body but realized that would have to wait until she reached Mrs. Clements’s house.

Mr. Stokes placed his bowler on his balding head. “Where can I find a place to get a drink?”

Holden nodded toward a small dugout. “That’s the saloon. Danny’s got good whiskey.”

“Excellent.” Scratching his chin, he moved slowly toward the saloon.

Abby looked out at the collection of buildings. Just over a half-dozen in all, they sat low to the ground, had pitched roofs and small doorways. Only the one had a window.

The first bubble of alarm rose before reason took over. She glanced from side to side, half expecting to see the rest of the town, where the real buildings were. But to her west there was nothing but the single dusty road that snaked toward the mountains. “This is Crickhollow?”

“Sure is,” Holden said, his pride clear. “I know with you coming from the city it may seem a bit small but we’re growing by leaps and bounds.”

Mr. Barrington’s letters had described a thriving town. A growing mercantile, a bustling stagecoach line and populated community. “Growing, did you say?”

“Population fifty-six if you count the homesteaders.” He laughed. “Fifty-seven now that you’re here.”

Despite the cool June air she could feel a trickle of sweat run down her back. She’d walked away from San Francisco right off the end of the earth.

Abby lifted her chin. She even managed a smile. “When will Mr. Barrington arrive?” she said. Her voice sounded surprisingly steady.

Again Holden and Frank exchanged glances.

Frank leaned down and whispered something to the boys, who took off running toward the one building with windows—the mercantile. “He’ll be here before the day’s out.”

“You know my fiancé?” she said.

Frank shifted, clearly uncomfortable. “Everybody knows everybody in the valley.”

Just then a portly woman hurried out of the mercantile. She wore black and her graying hair was pulled back in a tight bun. Her white apron flapped in the breeze and she hurried across the dusty street toward them. “I was beginning to worry about you, Holden. You’re four hours late.”

He shrugged his shoulders. “You name it and it went wrong today.”

“The boys okay?” Frank said.

The woman smiled. “I gave them each a piece of candy. They’re quite content.” The woman looked past him and the boys to Abigail. “Miss Smyth?”

“Yes,” Abby said hopefully.

“Welcome! We have been waiting for you.” She hurried forward and took Abby by the arm. “You must be exhausted. I’ve got cookies and tea for you and the boys. Holden, Frank, you want to join us?”

Holden raised up his hand. “I’ll pass for the moment. I’ve got to get the horses changed and get the stage unpacked and repacked. If I’m lucky, I can leave at first light.”

Frank’s eyes brightened. “Make sure you load my luggage.”

Surprised, Abby shifted her gaze to the old man. “You’re leaving town?”

“Time I got back east. I only came out here to care for the boys when my daughter became ill. Now that’s she’s passed there’s no need for me to stay.”

The boy’s didn’t have a mother. And their father didn’t have a wife. Of course his marital status was none of her business but that didn’t stop the ripple of emotion that tingled through her body.

With an effort she forced her mind back to what really mattered. “Who’s going to take care of the boys?” It was none of her business, of course, but Abby wanted to know they’d be cared for.

Mrs. Clements glared at Holden and Frank. “You didn’t tell her?”

Holden shoved his hands into his pockets. “I figured it was best the news came from another woman.”

“Is something wrong?” Abby said.

Mrs. Clements was the first to recover. “I just thought that these men would have seen to the introductions while you were out on the road.”

“There were no introductions,” Abby said.

“On the road, the man you met?” Mrs. Clements asked.

“Yes.”

Mrs. Clements glanced at the other men, her jaw jutting forward. Men. Without fanfare or nonsense, she said, “He is Matthias Barrington. He is your fiancé.”

Abby’s mind reeled. “He is my fiancé? He didn’t say a word to me, and I’m quite sure that I mentioned I was here to meet my intended.”

Mrs. Clements’s smile was quick and too bright. “Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that, dear. He just had a lot on his mind. Everything will be fine as soon as he gets to town.”

It was just past nine the next morning when Matthias pulled his wagon to a stop in front of the Clements’s Mercantile. The night chill still clung to the air, and Matthias’s back and arms were stiff from sleeping on the ground.

He’d hoped to make town by last night, but the repairs, like most everything else lately, had taken much longer than he’d imagined. By the time he’d finished, the sun was setting on a moonless night. And unless he wanted to risk another broken wheel, his only choice was to bunk down. He knew Mrs. Clements and Frank would look after the boys, so there were no worries there.

Now, as he set the hand brake he realized just how weary he was. He would have traded his soul for a hot bath and eight solid hours of sleep but he had to talk with Frank. Somehow he had to find a way to get his father-in-law to stay another few months.

As he hopped down, he was struck that things weren’t as they should be. The wind blew as it always did, but Mr. Clements and Danny weren’t sitting out front of the saloon, as they were most mornings. And there was no sign of Holden’s coach.

Matthias’s gut clenched. Something was wrong. The boys.

He strode straight to Mrs. Clements’s store. A blast of warm air and the smell of bacon and biscuits greeted him as he stepped into the store. Children’s laughter drifted out from behind the army blanket that separated the shop from Mrs. Clements’s living space. The tightness around his heart eased. The boys were fine and for the first time in a good while, they sounded happy.

Suddenly, the memory of his late wife sliced through the fatigue and worry. Elise’s laugh had been clear and bright, like church bells. No matter how many worries he had, his mood had always lightened when she laughed.

Matthias shoved aside the thoughts that only made his days feel longer.

He pulled off his hat and started down the center aisle cut between rows of barrels filled with flour, sugar and dried beans. In front of him, a plywood counter was piled high with cans of peaches, a jug of white lightning, tin cups and a scale for measuring sugar and spices. From low-lying rafters hung buckets, baskets and three lanterns.

“Mrs. Clements?” Matthias called out.

The storekeeper emerged from the curtained door behind the counter, her blue calico dress and a white apron hugging her full hips. Her hair was piled high on her head in a loose topknot. “Ah, you finally made it. Frank was a little worried when you didn’t arrive by nightfall. I told him not to worry. Chores always take twice as long as we ever imagine plus you’re as tough as a mountain goat.”

“Where is everyone?”

“Mr. Clements was called out of town three days ago—delivery to Ephraim Collier’s ranch. And Mr. Stokes went with him so he could have a look at Collier’s stock.”

“Who is Stokes?”

“That greenhorn on the stage. Turns out he’s with the railroad, looking for ranchers to supply him with beef and horses.”

Matthias flexed his fingers, tight with tension. “Of all times to break a wagon wheel.”

Mrs. Clements’s eyes brightened as if she could read his mind. “Don’t worry, he’ll be back in early July. I told him your horse flesh was the finest in the valley.”

If he were going to show the man his stock, he’d have to spend the next month rounding them up. More work. And still not enough time.

“Thank you.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “Where’s Frank?”

Her eyes dimmed a fraction. “Why, Frank left with Holden at first light on the stage. He’s on his way to Salt Lake.”

Shock and bitter disappointment tightened his throat. “I’d wanted to speak to him before he left.”

The anger in his voice had her smile fading a fraction. “He said you two had talked a good bit already.”

His fingers bit into the rim of his hat. They’d talked but to his way of thinking, they’d not come to a satisfactory conclusion. “Damnation.”

“I’m sorry,” she said quietly.

Matthias shoved out a sigh, tamping down the anger coiling in his gut. Frank was gone and there was no sense worrying about what couldn’t be fixed. Time to cut his losses. “I’ve a list of supplies,” he said, his tone as matter-of-fact as he could manage.

“Of course. Holden brought in some fresh supplies. A few candies and couple of bolts of a nice thick wool.”

Matthias hoped by the end of the summer when he took his cattle and horses to the railhead there’d be money for a few extras but for now every cent counted. “Just the basics this trip.”

Again, children’s laughter drifted out from behind the curtain. He was surprised the boys hadn’t come running when he’d first spoken. Then he heard a woman’s soft voice speaking to them. This last year the boys gravitated toward women—a sure sign they missed their mother.

For just a moment, he imagined Elise holding the boys, singing to them as she did when they were real little.

But when the curtain opened, it wasn’t Elise but Society Miss who was staring at him.

Disappointment slashed at his heart.

He’d forgotten all about Society Miss.

He nodded his head. “Ma’am.”

She’d gotten rid of that awful hat and changed out of that fancy traveling dress into a simple calico. Her cheeks looked pinker, a sign that she’d picked up some sun yesterday. She’d also unpinned her hair and tied it back at the nape of her neck with a simple ribbon. Her hair was thick, lush and despite a slight curl nearly reached her narrow waist. He imagined it felt like silk.

The smell of roses drifted around him again. His gut tightened and he grew hard. His body was letting him know loud and clear that it had been a long time since he’d been with a woman.

“I’d like you to meet Miss Abigail Smyth from San Francisco,” Mrs. Clements said.

Miss Smyth nodded as a faint blush colored her cheeks. “It’s a pleasure to meet you formally, Mr. Barrington.”

“Ma’am.”

Miss Smyth smiled. “Things were rather hectic by the wagon yesterday. No time for formal introductions.”

“No, I suppose not.” As much as he liked her feminine scent, he was burning daylight. There was a lot of work to do before the sunset today. “Pleasure meeting you. Thank you for your help with the boys.”

“They’re good children.”

“Yes.”

She looked as if she wanted to say something else. Another time he would have indulged in the conversation. He liked the sound of her voice. But he turned away from her now. He had more important matters on his mind.

“Mrs. Clements, can I talk to you outside?”

Mrs. Clements glanced at Society Miss. “Here’s fine, Matthias.”

He didn’t like airing his business in front of strangers. “I need to talk to you about the boys.”

Mrs. Clements didn’t look interested in stepping outside. “Go ahead.”

“With Frank gone and all, I’m in a bind. I was hoping they could board with you for the summer.”

He heard Miss Smyth’s sharp intake of breath. No doubt, Miss Smyth thought him hardhearted for sending his children away. He couldn’t blame her.

Mrs. Clements’s smile faded to embarrassment. “Before we talk about that, there is another more pressing matter you and I need to discuss.”

“Is there a problem with those renegades again?” he said. So much anger and frustration bunched his muscles now he wouldn’t have minded a fight to work off the heat inside him.

“Oh, no, nothing like that. There’s a matter you and I need to discuss.”

Discuss. Hilda Clements could talk a man’s ears off if given half the chance. He decided to head her off. But before he could answer, Miss Smyth spoke.

“I thought caring for the boys was going to be my job.”

He swung his gaze to meet hers. He was certain that he’d heard wrong. “Ma’am?”

She held his gaze, though he sensed she was nervous. Still she pulled back her shoulders. “I mean, since I am going to be your wife, it only seems right that the children stay with us.”

For a moment, his head swam as if a prizefighter had landed a knockout punch. “My what?”

Mrs. Clements stepped forward, wearing a broad grin that hinted at trouble. “Miss Smyth is the bit of news I was referring to.”

Matthias’s head started to throb. The last thing he needed was a riddle. “What the devil are you talking about, Mrs. Clements?”

The older woman smoothed her hands over her white apron and cleared her throat. “We ordered you a wife. Miss Smyth is your fiancée.”