The Unexpected Wife

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.”