The Unexpected Wife

“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.

Chapter Five

“Daddy, 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 t

he 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?”