The Unexpected Wife (5 page)

She’d compromised so much in her aunt and uncle’s house. She’d never complained about her attic room or when her aunt had asked her to start working in the kitchen. She’d stayed silent when her cousin had had so many coming-out parties. “I came here for marriage.”

She imagined she saw challenge in his eyes. “It’s the one thing I won’t give.”

“I’d be a good wife to you.”

He shook his head. “I’m not the kind of husband any woman would want.”

He was wrong. Judging by what she’d seen so far, he was an honest man, proud and strong. “Why would you say that?”

He started to pace. “I’ve got a ranch that has promise but if I don’t bring in the herd and sell it for a decent profit this fall, I lose everything. I’ve got two half-wild boys and more work than I could handle.”

“Exactly why you need me.”

“
Exactly
why you should be running from me.” A pain still fresh burned in his eyes. “I could never love you. My heart died with Elise.”

“Perhaps in time, there could be some affection.”

“Not from me.” His broad shoulders tightened a fraction. “You deserve better than me, Miss Smyth.”

She eyed him. A thick lock of hair had fallen over his forehead, making him look a little softer, younger. She wondered what he’d been like before his wife died. Had he laughed? “At least you are honest.”

A half smile tipped the edge of his mouth. “It’s about all I’ve got left.”

“I value honesty. I’ve dealt with my share of liars who were quite willing to tell me what I wanted to hear to get what they wanted. You haven’t done that.”

“What are you getting at?”

He needed time. “I’ll live at your ranch for the summer. I’ll care for the boys, but I won’t come as a hired hand. I’ll be coming to see if marriage between us is possible.”

“It isn’t.”

“Time will tell.”

He lifted an eyebrow. “You’d live with a man without marriage?”

“My reputation is the least of my concerns now. And from what I’ve heard from Mrs. Clements, out here a woman does what she must.”

“I mean what I say, Miss Smyth. I don’t want another marriage.”

“I’m betting time will change that.”

“At the end of the summer if I haven’t changed my mind, you’ll leave.”

Her stomach clenched. The idea of leaving bothered her more than she imagined. “Yes.”

He stared at her as if trying to read her mind. “I sure could use the help on the ranch.” He hesitated, as if scrambling for any reason not to take her on.
Finally, he reluctantly held out his hand to her. “Okay, I accept your terms.”

She took it. Strong, calloused fingers wrapped around her hand. Warmth fizzled through her, but she was careful to keep her feelings hidden. Suddenly, she wondered what it would feel like to kiss Mr. Barrington. He had full lips. Handsome lips.

As if he’d read her mind, he released her hand and stepped back. “All right. I’ll take you on for the summer. Beyond that, I’m not making any promises.”

Warmth colored her cheeks. “Understood.”

“I don’t want the boys knowing why you are here. As far as they are concerned, you are here for the summer. I don’t want them getting their hopes up over something that won’t be happening.”

Unexpected tears tightened her throat. “I understand.”

“Let’s get your things packed and head on back to the ranch.” He turned and left.

Abby chided her schoolgirl desire.

This was a business arrangement for Mr. Barrington, even if she wanted more.

The reality of her life smacked head-on into the dreams she’d nurtured for so long. It would be so easy to feel sorry for herself. But she refused. She’d do what she’d always done.

Somehow, she’d make it work.

“D
addy, why is the lady here?” Quinn said.

Abby stiffened as she stared down at the boy who sat next to his brother. Both children were wedged between her and Mr. Barrington on the front seat of the buckboard. She’d promised Mr. Barrington she’d not tell the boys all the details of their arrangement and she would honor her pledge. She waited for him to answer.

Mr. Barrington tightened his hands on the reins. He didn’t answer immediately, as if he were hoping the question would simply be forgotten.

Quinn laid his small hand on his father’s arm. “Daddy, why is the lady here?”

Mr. Barrington shifted in his seat, clearly uncomfortable.

Abby managed a smile. “I’ll be helping your pa some.”

Mr. Barrington relaxed his hold on the reins a fraction as if relieved.

Tommy popped his thumb in his mouth and stared at her. “But why?”

“He’s got a lot of work to do,” she said.

“Where’s Grandpa?” Quinn said.

“Grandpa’s gone back to his family in the east,” Mr. Barrington said. “In a faraway place called Missouri.” Anger still smoldered in his voice when he spoke about Frank.

“Is he coming back?” the older boy said.

Mr. Barrington sighed. “I don’t think so.”

Abby stared out at the clusters of budding trees that lined the road. Water from a creek splashed nearby. The beauty of the land seemed to breathe life into her, and if this situation weren’t so tense she’d have savored it all.

Quinn nervously picked at a loose thread on his pants. The boys seemed to sense the tension between their father and her. “The lady gave us a bath. She made us wash behind our ears.”

A hint of a smile tugged the edge of Mr. Barrington’s lips. “Good, you needed one.”

“I don’t like baths,” Quinn said. “I like dirt.”

“Me too,” Tommy said.

“Don’t believe them,” Abby said, grateful to have something to talk about. She couldn’t help but
smile when she remembered the two of them in the copper tub. They’d splashed in the water and made bubbles with the soap. “They loved it.”

“Well, the tub is like the ocean,” Quinn said.

Mr. Barrington lifted an eyebrow.

“I told them about the ocean when they were in the tub. About the waves crashing on the rocky shore, about lighthouses, and the tall ships that sailed into the harbor.”

“Lighthouses blink all night long,” Quinn said, proud that he remembered.

“Why’s that?” Abby said.

“To save the ships,” Quinn said, sitting taller.

“Ships!” Tommy shouted.

Mr. Barrington nodded. “I’ve heard the ocean is a sight to behold.”

“You’ve never been to the ocean?”

“No.”

The small fact reminded her just how little she knew about Mr. Barrington. Mrs. Clements had written about many things when she’d forged Mr. Barrington’s courtship letters. There’d been descriptions of the valley and the mountains. She’d talked about the rail coming in soon and of the growing town, but it struck Abby now that there’d been few facts about Mr. Barrington, the man.

She wanted to know more about him. Where had he lived as a child? What brought him to Montana?

But as much as she wanted to ask the questions, she understood that until they knew each other a little better, she’d best keep them to herself.

“I moved to the coast when I was fifteen,” she said. “Quite a change from the Arizona desert.” Perhaps if she talked about herself, he’d offer bits of information about himself. “The wind carries the sound of the ships’ horns, the smells of sea and salt and a warm breeze. It’s a lovely place. I would sit for hours watching the ships sail in and out of the harbor, wondering what stories the sailors had to tell.”

Mr. Barrington nodded, but he kept his eyes ahead. Silence settled between them, as thick and powerful as the mountains in the distance.

Abby broke through it. “Of course, I only got to the wharf on shopping days. I spent most of my days working in a kitchen. Breads are my specialty. I’ve won prizes for my jams. But I must confess that my laundry and sewing skills are passable at best.”

Nothing.

“Still, I am a quick learner.” Silence. This was going to be a long ride. She pushed Quinn’s hand
away from the loose thread. At the rate he was going he’d unravel half the pant leg.

Tommy and Quinn yawned. Soon they’d be asleep. Both, still tired from their trip into town, needed their sleep. But she hated the idea of moving them to the back of the wagon. They’d been a buffer between Mr. Barrington and her.

It struck her then that there’d been no discussion about their sleeping arrangements. Of course, he didn’t expect her to share a bed with him, did he? After her debacle with Douglas, she’d promised there’d be nothing like
that
again until she was safely wed. Douglas’s touch had always been pleasant, never memorable and never worth the trouble she’d endured as the result. Yet, the idea of doing those same things with Mr. Barrington had heat rising in her cheeks.

She imagined that when Mr. Barrington kissed a woman, she felt it all the way down to the tips of her toes. His hands weren’t soft like Douglas’s but calloused and rough. When he whispered in a woman’s ear, he didn’t parrot pretty lies, but spoke of the dark and erotic, much as the servants did when they giggled about their adventures in the bedroom.

Her nerves danced with tension. She jerked her
thoughts back to the present. Lord, what was she doing?

Despite Mr. Barrington’s lack of interest in conversation, Abby decided conversation remained the safest course for now. “Mrs. Clements said the railroad might be building tracks through here soon. She said the rail will bring in more miners and farmers and that it’ll only help Holden’s stagecoach business.”

“I suppose that’s right.”

She tapped her fingers on her knee. “How will it help you?”

“I’ve got horses and beef to sell.”

“How far is your ranch from town?”

“Close.”

Like pulling teeth. “How close is close?”

“Five or six hours.”

In the city, close was measured in blocks, not hours. Inwardly she groaned. After her long journey from San Francisco, she’d be happy when her travels were at an end. “What does the ranch look like?”

“Like most others.”

Frustrated by his lack of interest, she blurted, “Squeezing blood from a turnip would be easier than getting information out of you, Mr. Barrington.”

He glanced at her, his eyes sharp with annoyance. “Not much for chitchat, I suppose.”

“So I am discovering.”

“If you want to talk then go back to San Francisco, Miss Smyth.”

“I don’t wish to rehash what we’ve already discussed, Mr. Barrington.” She sat a little straighter. “I’m not leaving Montana. I’m here to stay.”

Here to stay.

Guilt ate into Matthias. He’d made the only practical decision that he could, but he felt as if were letting Elise down by bringing another woman into the home that he’d built for her.

This asinine plan of Mrs. Clements’s had created trouble he didn’t need.

As they drove closer to his ranch, the idea of having Abby Smyth under his roof was becoming all too real. His place had once seemed a practical size but with each turn of the wagon wheel it seemed to shrink. There’d be no ignoring her when she moved into the cabin.

The fact was he was drawn to Miss Smyth.

He glanced sideways at her. There was never a woman more opposite from his Elise. Elise had been small-boned, while this Abigail was tall and
broad-shouldered. Her eyes weren’t smoky or coy but direct and strong.

Elise had always looked her finest when she was in her Sunday best, whereas the simpler clothes suited Miss Smyth. She’d moved stiffly in the yards of fabric yesterday as if the role of a lady had not suited her. But in the calico, she walked with confidence.

Elise had been so young and fresh-faced when they’d moved out here. Her laugh had been quick and when she’d sang it was about the prettiest thing he’d ever heard. She couldn’t cook worth a lick and she burned his share of shirts, but in those days he hadn’t cared.

When he’d gotten the itch to move west, Elise hadn’t wanted to move away from St. Louis. She liked her friends, her social functions and the convenience of a big city. But a homestead in Montana had been a dream of his for years and so he’d worked hard to sell her on the idea. In the end he’d convinced her to go with him.

No one had convinced Miss Smyth to move here. She’d come on her own, which proved either she possessed strength and grit or that she was a fool.

Still, it hadn’t been her strength he’d noticed yesterday when he’d wrapped his hands around her narrow waist and lifted her from the carriage. The
full curve of her breasts, her scent, the way his body had hardened when she’d been close—those were the things he’d noticed.

Last night when he’d been lying in the back of the wagon staring at the stars, he’d thought about Miss Smyth. He’d imagined desire in her eyes as he skimmed his hand under her skirt, up the inside of her soft leg. He’d imagined she’d been wet and waiting for him. He’d dreamed of unfastening the buttons between her breasts and pushing the fabric aside to kiss her nipples until they’d hardened. He’d dreamed of driving into her until she’d moaned with desire.

Matthias jerked his attention back to the present. Good Lord, he’d all but forgotten Elise for those few moments. He shifted in his seat, annoyed that he was stiff as a poker.

With Miss Smyth as his only source of help for the foreseeable future, the last thing he needed was to have lust singing in his veins.

Hiring her was the right thing to do. It made good sense. He needed help on the ranch and the boys needed someone to look after them.

But knowing all that didn’t erase the guilt that had burrowed into his bones.

They arrived at the ranch minutes before sunset. Several hours earlier, Abby and the boys had moved
from the front of the wagon to a small pallet in the back. Though it had been a relief to move away from the stone-faced Mr. Barrington, her limbs were now stiffer than ever.

Wincing, she rose slowly so as not to wake the boys. Mr. Barrington had already hopped down from the wagon and was unlatching the back gate.

She climbed over the front seat and down the side of the wagon. Her legs felt wobbly as she stamped her feet and tried to get the blood flowing back in them. She grabbed her belongings, still bundled in her grandmother’s tablecloth.

As she scanned the moonlit yard, her gaze settled on her new home. She remembered Mrs. Clements’s description of the Barrington homestead.
A fine home, large by Montana standards, with room for a growing family.
But as she stared at the house made of roughly hewn logs, her first impression was that it was a shed built to hold tools. “Mr. Barrington, where’s the house?”

“This is it,” he said, his voice gruff.

Stunned, her gaze skimmed back to the small stoop, a tin washbasin hanging by the front door and the shingled roof. Five white chickens scratched in the dirt by a large woodpile and a large stump with an ax driven into its center. In the dis
tance a dog barked. The air had grown cold enough to see her breath.

“Go ahead and have a look inside,” Mr. Barrington said. “There’s a lantern by the front door.”

Hugging her belongings wrapped in her tablecloth, Abby moved to the front porch where she found the lantern and matches. She lit the wick, hoping that with a little extra light the place would acquire charm.

It didn’t.

Faded blue curtains dangled in the two dirt-streaked windows. Flower boxes hung under each window, but each was filled with weeds. The railing beside the front three stairs was sturdy but the front steps creaked as she climbed up to the front door.

She pushed open the front door and glanced briefly down at the threshold. In her dreams, her husband had whisked her up in his arms and carried her over it.

Faced with the reality of her life, she pushed aside the sad, lonely feeling and stepped over it into her new home.

Immediately, she was struck by the strong ashy scent from the cookstove and the stale scent of male. Holding the lantern high, she inspected the cabin.

If the outside were troubling, the inside was truly frightening.

The rectangular room was perhaps thirty feet wide. At one end there was a large bed with rumpled sheets. By their graying color, Abby would have bet they’d not been washed since last summer. At the other end were a cookstove, a small all-purpose table and four chairs.

The stove had gone cold. On the cooktop sat cast-iron pots, one crusted with what looked like the remains of a stew and the other fried eggs. A slab of ham hung from the low-lying ceiling from a hook. To the right there was a washbasin filled with more dirty plates and cups and above it a narrow shelf with a crock filled with salt.

Queasy at the thought of cleaning this mess, Abby set her bundle down on the table and turned toward the other end of the cabin. There was a ladder that led to a loft. She climbed the ladder and inspected the space. It was outfitted with a small pallet.

Every bone in her body ached with weeks of nervous anticipation and travel. She thought longingly about her bed back at her aunt and uncle’s house. The small attic room seemed like a palace now, her small warm bed a haven.

Climbing down, she tried to imagine herself liv
ing out the rest of her years in such a place with two growing boys and a man who didn’t want her.

The sound of tiny claws scurrying across the bare wood floor echoed in the cabin. A black rodent disappeared through a hole in the floorboard.

A rat! She screamed and jumped back. Immediately, she began to search around her for any other little beasties that might be lurking.

“Ready to leave yet?” Mr. Barrington’s deep voice sounded directly behind her.

Startled by the sound of his voice, she turned. The man moved as quiet as a cat. “There is a rat in your cabin.”

He held the two sleeping boys in his arms. “A couple, more likely. I’ve not had time to set traps.”