The Unexpected Wife

Holden’s smile flattened to a grim line. “You be careful, too. And keep a close eye on Miss Abby. When word spreads that there’s a single woman here, the men will come sniffing around. Just a matter of time before some man snaps her up for his own.”

“Not on my watch.” The cold steel in his voice sent a shiver down her spine. She had a glimpse of the man who’d been a bounty hunter.

Abby, Mr. Barrington and the boys all stood watching as Holden drove the coach down the rutted trail toward town. When his coach had vanished from sight, Abby was already thinking about what was to be done next. Holden’s visit was a welcome change, but she had mending to do before laundry day tomorrow. “Quinn, Tommy, let’s get you inside. You can practice your letters while I mend.”

The boys scrambled toward the house and she was directly behind them when Matthias’s strong hand settled on her shoulder.

She turned, shocked by his touch. They’d not touched once since their kiss last week. Foolish, she knew, but she had missed it. “Is something wrong?”

His stormy eyes met hers and she felt her stomach roll. “Do you know how to handle a gun?”

“A gun? No. My uncle kept a pistol in his desk.” She’d seen it there once or twice. “There wasn’t much call for guns in my section of San Francisco.”

The craggy lines in his face deepened. “Then it’s time you learned how to handle one.”

“For heaven’s sakes, why?”

“The railroad is going to bring a lot of good to the valley and it’ll bring trouble as well. I want you to know how to handle a gun.”

Her gaze dropped to the six-shooter in the well-worn holster hanging from his narrow hips. “But you always carry a gun.”

“With all those horses to round up, I won’t be around much. You’ll need to know how to defend yourself.”

She brushed a stray wisp of hair from her face. “I don’t know the first thing about guns.”

“I do. Go fetch the boys from the cabin. I want to know exactly where they are when we start shooting targets. I’ll get the shotgun from the barn.”

“Do you really think this is necessary?”

“Yes.”

“But I’ve got work.”

“It’ll keep.”

Before she could say another word, he turned and headed toward the barn. Ten minutes later they stood beyond the corral, which now held Holden’s tired team—two speckled geldings with black manes.

Matthias had hung six thick pieces of wood from a tree twenty paces away. Abby had settled the boys on a log behind them with orders for them not to move.

Abby’s skirts and apron flapped in the breeze as she watched Matthias pull a shell from his vest pocket.

He flipped a small lever and cracked the gun in half and positioned a large shell at the opening. “You put the shell in this way. Make sure it’s in good and tight, then close the gun.” To illustrate, he snapped it closed with the ease of a man who’d done this a thousand times before.

She flinched. “That looks easy enough.”

His gaze narrowed. “Now I want you to try it.”

“I don’t need to practice, do I? How hard can it be?”

He came up behind her and laid the gun in her hands. The smooth cold metal barrel and well-oiled wood stock felt heavy. Silent, he wrapped his arms around her and guided her hands to the right place on the stock.

His hard thighs pressed against her buttocks. She stood rigid, afraid to move forward or back.

He pointed to the small lever above the trigger guard with a long, tanned finger. “This is the release switch. Flip it up and you can open the gun. Go ahead and open it. Show me how to take the slug out and put it back in.”

Her heart beating against her ribs, she pushed the lever up.

“Good,” he said, his face close to her ear. “Now, open the gun.”

Gritting her teeth she pushed the barrel down. To her amazement, the gun opened easily. Inside the tip of the shell gleamed at her. With a bit of satisfaction, she pulled it out. “There.”

“Excellent. Now put it back and close the gun.”

She complied and was happy, if not a little relieved, to hand him back the gun.

“Now we shoot.” He nodded toward the first branch. “Watch.” He positioned the stock against his shoulder, lined up the first stick in his sights, then placed his finger on the trigger. He inhaled a deep breath, then exhaled slowly before he pulled the trigger.

The loud crack startled Abby as she watched the first stick explode in half. She glanced back at the boys who continued to play with their sticks.

“They’ve grown up around guns,” he said, following her line of sight. “They’re used to the sound.”

She pressed her fingertip to her ear. “I didn’t expect it to be so loud.”

He motioned her forward. “Now it’s your turn.”

He reloaded the gun and stood beside her. “This gun’s got one hell of a kick when you fire it, so I don’t want you to hold it up to your shoulder when you shoot. Hold it next to your hip.”

Matthias wrapped his arms around her and positioned the gun low against her hip. He moved the gun back and forth. “It’ll jerk back when you fire it. Don’t be afraid.” He draped calloused fingers over her hand. “Now aim at what you want to hit, and then place your hand on the trigger and squeeze.”

In the corner of her eye she saw the thick rich hair of his chest peeking out of the V formed by the unfastened buttons of his shirt. Her pulse quickened. Abby tore her gaze away and focused on the task at hand. Mimicking Mr. Barrington, she drew in a breath and let it out slowly. She pulled the trigger.

Ten paces ahead the dirt exploded in a plume of smoke.

“Looks like you managed to kill a patch of dirt,” he said, a bit of humor in his voice.

Her hands trembling, she stared at the small uneven hole in the ground. “I was aiming at the tree over there.”

His gaze trailed hers. “It takes practice. We’ll work on it a little each day.”

She arched an eyebrow. “A little each day? You mean until I leave?”

He stiffened. “Exactly.”

That night when Matthias fell asleep, he dreamed of Abby.

In his dream, he climbed the ladder to her loft. She was waiting for him, lounging on a pillow, her long honey-blond hair loose over her naked breasts.

“I want you,” she whispered.

His erection throbbed painfully as he slid off his pants and straddled her body. Candlelight glistened on her white skin. He slid his hand up her thigh over her flat belly. She felt hot and so very soft.

Her fingers skimmed over his shoulders and down his lean waist. She cupped his buttocks, lifting her pelvis, pressing her womanhood against his arousal.

Cupping the back of her head, he drew her up. Her nipples brushed his wiry chest hair, sending bolts of white-hot desire through him. He kissed her, pushing his tongue past her full lips. She moaned as her hand slid around and began to stroke him.

When he broke the kiss,

he looked into her eyes. They flamed with a pure, sensuous hunger.

Neither spoke as he positioned himself at the center of her moist heat. In one swift move, he slid inside her. Her warm moisture enveloped him. He began to ride her, moving in and out as if he were half possessed. She moaned his name. He exploded inside her.

Matthias awoke with a start. His body was covered in a fine sheen of perspiration and he was breathing hard.

What was happening to him?

Chapter Ten

Over the next couple of days, the chilly days of spring quickly gave way to the hot, blistering ones of summer. Abby began to develop a routine with the boys and her chores, and she was starting to feel a measure of control.

Though Mr. Barrington worked his ranch during the day, he was home every day at sunset. He clearly hadn’t forgotten Holden’s warning.

The evenings quickly became Abby’s favorite time. For a couple of brief hours the day’s chores were done and with Mr. Barrington present, the cabin sizzled with an unspoken energy.

This evening, like the few before it, the four of them sat at the table by the lantern’s glowing light. Mr. Barrington read to Tommy while she taught Quinn his letters. They were almost like a real family.

“M,” Abby said. She and Quinn sat by the hearth. “M is for marmalade, mud and money.”

“And Mom,” Quinn said.

“That’s right,” Abby said.

Quinn looked up from the page and studied her. “Do you look like my mom?”

Mr. Barrington stopped, then laid down his book.

Abby kept her voice even. “I don’t know, Quinn. I’ve never seen your ma.”

“Pa,” Quinn said turning immediately to his father. “Does Abby look like Ma?”

Lantern light glowed on his chiseled features. His gaze, a mixture of pain and frustration met hers. “No.”

Abby set her piece of chalk down. She wanted for Mr. Barrington to expand on his answer. He didn’t.

She glanced into Quinn’s expectant eyes. “Maybe you could tell us what she looked like.”

Quinn lifted his gaze to his father’s. “Would you, Pa?”

Mr. Barrington’s expression turned fierce as he looked over the boys’ heads at Abby. His voice was barely a raspy whisper when he spoke. “You don’t remember her?”