A Husband Returned: Men of Wicked Sorrow, Book One

by Wynne Roman

  “Mariah is my wife, Segundo. That’s all you need to know about her.”

  Gabriel’s expression revealed nothing. “And if you put her in danger?”

  “Danger?” Nathan shook his head, pushed the brim of his hat back so the other man couldn’t mistake the sentiment behind his look or words. “You got something you want to say to me, then say it.”

  “You talked to Tristan. You know.”

  “Talked to him about what?”

  Tristan appeared behind Nathan, who turned enough to glance between the other men. His brother and the Segundo had a way of communicating with a look, a gesture, and Nathan couldn’t afford to miss even an innocent nod.

  “Brother.” The word carried more sarcasm than intended, but Nathan let it stand.

  “What are you talking about?” Tristan demanded.

  “He took Mariah to the Carpenter house,” Gabriel announced grimly.

  “That didn’t take long.” Tristan’s impatience settled into satisfaction. If the words hadn’t said as much, the smirk on his brother’s face told Nathan everything he needed to know.

  Tristan had had ulterior motives, and Nathan didn’t like it.

  “Why wait?” he asked with what he hoped sounded like deceptive simplicity. If it got him the information he needed, let Tristan think he had the upper hand.

  “There’s more at stake here than who owns this goddamn ranch,” snapped Gabriel.

  Nathan narrowed his gaze to look between the other two men. “What?” he asked with a deadly intensity that a blind man couldn’t miss.

  Gabriel glared at Tristan. “You didn’t tell him?”

  His brother’s sudden uneasiness surprised Nathan, but he held his tongue. For now.

  “I didn’t have the chance,” Tristan grumbled.

  Gabriel stared at Tristan with a fierce condemnation that surprised Nathan. With that kind of look, the man only needed one eye. Nathan didn’t miss what that meant.

  Tristan had deliberately withheld information. Would he really go that far, even if it meant putting Mariah in danger?

  “What didn’t you tell me?” It took everything in Nathan to push the question past his clenched jaw.

  “Rustlers.”

  It was Gabriel who answered, and the look of anger he settled on Tristan sent a cold shiver down Nathan’s spine. The problem was serious.

  “Brother?” This time, he transformed the term into every bit the insult he meant it to be.

  “Rustling is rampant,” Tristan admitted finally, but it was grudging.

  “Go on,” Nathan bit out when Clancy shied suddenly—and it was no wonder. He held the reins too tightly in one clenched fist. He soothed the horse with a quick, “Whoa, boy,” never taking his attention from Tristan.

  “It started when so many able-bodied men went off to fight. Herds were left exposed. It got worse after Jordan died.”

  “No leadership. No direction,” Gabriel supplied.

  Nathan frowned with a sharp nod. He didn’t need the Segundo to explain things he’d learned growing up on the Sangre Real.

  “The vaqueros weren’t going to fight it,” Tristan continued. “There weren’t enough of them to work the herd the way it was. The Sangre Real was easy pickings.”

  “And now?” Things were making plenty of sense to Nathan, but he needed Tristan to finish this.

  “Things have settled down some. But not enough. We don’t have enough hands. We’re spread too thin.”

  “So you did it deliberately.” Nathan arrowed a narrow gaze on his brother.

  “What?”

  “Don’t waste my time with your smug satisfaction.” Nathan ignored Gabriel to confine his attention completely on his brother. “You told me about Rye’s house to push us into moving there.”

  Tristan held himself still, allowing not even so much as a blink of those deep, assessing eyes. Then, finally, he shrugged and angled his head to one side, as though agreeing.

  “I need some men over there.”

  “What does that have to do with me?”

  Tristan shook his head. “You understand it as well as I do. You can ramrod things from that end. You have your wife by your side, and she can cook or help out however you need.”

  Gabriel made a noise, maybe of disapproval, but Nathan didn’t spare so much as a glance. He kept all his attention on Tristan for now.

  “And you’ve got your own little empire,” Nathan observed with more disgust than admiration.

  “There are advantages.” Tristan didn’t smile, but there was a lightness that Nathan would have liked to knock out of his brother.

  But no. Patience, he reminded himself. Bide your time. Whether it’s finding the right lawyer or facing off with Tristan, choose your moment.

  “You got a plan?”

  “I’ll send Gabriel and a few men over there tomorrow.” Tristan gestured between the Segundo and Nathan. “You two can assess what’s needed. It shouldn’t take long to get things set up. The Carpenter place didn’t even have a thousand acres.”

  Nathan slipped one foot into the stirrup and swung himself up onto Clancy’s back. He settled into the saddle but held the horse still. He watched Tristan for the span of a heartbeat. Another. “One question.”

  “What?”

  “Why didn’t you just ask me?”

  Tristan’s gaze revealed nothing. “Would you have done it?”

  “Yeah.” Nathan didn’t even have to consider his answer. “It’s the Sangre Real. I would have.”

  Mariah’s childhood home remained much as it always had. It was a lot smaller than the Sangre Real ranch house, a single-story structure containing two bedrooms on one side, with a kitchen, small dining room, and a parlor on the other. A covered porch protected the front entrance, while a small overhang sheltered the back door.

  Mariah smiled to herself. She had more happy memories than sad here, or at least those were the ones that she chose to remember. Life had been simple then, seeming to be so light and easy in her childish innocence. Even after the loss of her mother, she had managed to find relative contentment. She and her father hadn’t been particularly close, but he had always been distantly caring.

  Still, it had pained her to see the place empty after his death. Faithfully, she had visited every single month, checking on the house, dusting and cleaning whatever had needed it, and always for reasons that had never completely made sense. Only now did she recognize some motives behind her actions.

  She hadn’t entirely been able to let go of the past. She’d felt lost and abandoned, and she’d held on to whatever she could grasp hold of.

  Now things had changed again. Now she must reframe her thoughts once more and begin to consider her father’s house as her home again.

  Nathan had carried in their trunks, other personal belongings, and several boxes of foodstuffs. He’d left soon after to return the wagon, while she had immediately busied herself in the kitchen. Putting a pot of beans on the stove to quick soak, she stored the remainder of the food and took inventory of whatever else might be at her disposal.

  While the beans and a ham bone simmered, she uncovered the furniture, folded the sheet and blanket protectors for storage, and finished up with a quick swipe of her dust rag. Last was the bedroom—their bedroom—and that somehow left her oddly nervous and equally excited.

  She stood in the doorway, staring at the bed. Would Nathan want to be with her as they’d been that first night? As a lover and not a man who simply took what he wanted. Did she want that?

  She did and she knew it. She’d always dreamed of having something more with her husband. She’d had no idea what, exactly, that meant, of course. Not until Nathan’s first night home at least. That night, his touch had transformed her.

  That’s a lie, a furiously honest voice of reminded her, and she knew it was true. She had had something of an idea of what it could be like in the arms of a tender man.

  Gabriel had shown her.

  Dear Lord.

 
; Mariah sank to her knees next to the bed and lay her head against the mattress. Since the instant she had recognized Nathan sitting astride his magnificent horse with such masculine pride, she had done absolutely everything within her power to avoid all thoughts of her affair with Gabriel. Simply the word affair brought a flood of tears to prickle behind her eyelids.

  How could she have been unfaithful to her husband? He had been through so much: the painful, bloody battles; the horror of prison camp; the awful fear that must have accompanied the complete memory loss he’d suffered.

  Now, to return home to find himself cuckolded by a two-timing wife? A soft sob escaped her. She couldn’t be more ashamed.

  I didn’t know! cried a desperate part of her heart, but her spirit knew better.

  You should have felt it! her soul argued. Deep inside, you should have known he was still alive. You should have waited for him!

  But she hadn’t. She had let her own selfish need rule her desires. She had coveted warmth, closeness, a man’s attention, and Gabriel Bonham had given her all three.

  It had been nothing like what she experienced with Nathan. It had been pleasant. Gentle and careful. A tender coming together of a man and a woman who had seen enough deprivation and sorrow for ten lifetimes. They had turned to each other in that very basic need and shared some special moments that would never come again.

  Moments that produced memories she would bury deep within her heart and soul. Moments that she would never allow to touch Nathan or her love for him.

  She had already harmed him enough.

  The tears came freely, and Mariah did nothing to stop them. Better she shed them now when she was alone rather than give Nathan a reason to wonder about her unsteady emotions. She had more than enough regrets to last a lifetime, but they were hers, and she would never ask another to suffer with her. She surely didn’t deserve a companion in her misery.

  Except, that wasn’t exactly true. There was one way that she had wronged her husband for which she could never make up. And he would continue to suffer, just as she did.

  Barrenness must surely be the worst sin of any wife.

  She’d prayed for a child in the early months of their marriage, desperately so. No matter how often he’d come to her, she had never quickened with child. Eventually, she’d come to understand that she never would. Reflecting back now, she saw it was one more reason why she’d allowed herself to become close with Gabriel in that way.

  And so, it seemed, she would continue to fail Nathan month after month, year after year, breaking both their hearts a little more each time. Only God could give life where none was possible, and He had given her no promise, as He’d done with Abraham and Sarah.

  Her heart broke again, knowing she would never give Nathan a child. She would welcome any penance if it meant He would make her a mother and Nathan a father. As that would never be, she would do her very best to be the epitome of a good wife. In that moment, she promised herself, and she promised God.

  I will give Nathan whatever he wants or needs to find all the happiness this life might hold for him.

  14

  Mariah recognized the sound of Nathan’s approach before he arrived. She peered out through the kitchen window as he dismounted next to the barn and let out a small breath of relief. It was nearly dusk, and his arrival before nightfall comforted her.

  She put water on the stove to heat for the dishes, set the table, and dished up a sizable portion of beans, ham, and cornbread just as he entered through the back door.

  “Smells good,” he said over his shoulder as he washed up.

  She couldn’t resist a pleased smile. Her earlier vow returned with a vengeance.

  I will give Nathan whatever he wants or needs to find all the happiness this life might hold for him.

  “I had to improvise,” she admitted with a trace of embarrassment. “Our meal choices were somewhat limited.”

  He didn’t respond but instead gestured her to precede him into the dining room. Courteously, he seated her before sitting himself, and then he reached for the soup tureen.

  Mariah watched curiously as he served himself and then held out a hand for her plate. She offered it up immediately, silent as he doled out a more-than generous portion and then handed it back to her.

  Why was he being so polite? It warmed her, yes, but she wasn’t foolish enough to ignore the possibility that it could also mean something beyond surface civility.

  Nathan picked up his fork as she asked, “Would you like to say grace?”

  Immediately, he stopped moving. He blinked once, twice, and then set his fork back onto the table. “Go ahead.” He nodded in her direction.

  He seemed entirely indifferent to the idea. Had the war and so much else torn the gratitude from him? She would pray with heartfelt fervency, just in case.

  She took a breath. “For this and all we are about to receive, make us truly grateful, oh Lord. Through Christ we pray. Amen.”

  Nathan didn’t echo her amen but began to eat instead. “This is good,” he said a moment later.

  The compliment pleased her more than it should have. “Thank you. If I had more to season it with, I’m sure it would have been better.”

  Nathan took another bite, chewed, and swallowed. The look he slanted from the corner of his eye caught her with deliberate care. It was both considering and cautious.

  He sat back. “I suspect we’ll have plenty of provisions and whatever else you need in the next day or two.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “I saw Tristan when I returned the wagon.”

  Mariah swallowed, her appetite waning. “Did he say something?”

  “He told me about the rustling.”

  “Rustling?” Her mouth went suddenly dry. “What rustling?”

  “You didn’t know?”

  She shook her head sharply. “I’d heard a few whispers and some vague rumors in town, but nothing that made any sense.”

  Nathan ate another bite before he spoke again. “It’s been going on for a while, apparently.”

  Mariah picked at her cornbread, making a mess. She took a breath. “Are thieves stealing from the Sangre Real, or is Tristan the one doing the stealing?”

  A moment of utter silence grew between them, and then, incredibly, Nathan laughed. Hard. So hard that his eyes filled with tears.

  “What?” she pouted, and he laughed some more.

  “Oh, Rye,” he gasped as he brought himself under control.

  It struck Mariah then just how rarely she had seen moments of lighthearted banter or true happiness on her husband’s face. Her earlier promise deepened with heartfelt intent.

  Nathan finally composed himself. “Rustlers have stolen from the ranch. Tristan wanted us to move so I could ramrod a few men from here.”

  He was still grinning, but Mariah remained confused. “Why didn’t he just ask?”

  “Why, indeed?” Nathan resumed eating. “Because he’s more like Jordan than even I knew.”

  “I told him that.”

  “What?” Nathan’s eyebrows rose.

  “After you met with him the other morning. You left, and he came into the kitchen for breakfast. I was unhappy with him and his attitude, and I told him he was more like Jordan than I’d ever realized.”

  “Bet he didn’t like that.”

  “No. He didn’t.”

  They shared a real smile before both resumed eating. It was an easy, companionable silence, Mariah thought with some surprise, but she still had questions.

  “What did you mean when you said we’d have plenty of provisions soon?”

  “Tristan wants to place a few men here. He’s going to have to provide for them, just as he would at the ranch.”

  “And I’ll be cooking for them.” It wasn’t a question.

  “Yes.” He paused for a moment. “Does that upset you?”

  “No. I’m glad to do my part. I only wish . . .” She hesitated. “I don’t like all Tristan’s machinations.
”

  “Nor do I.”

  They finished eating without much more conversation. The easiness within Mariah began to fade, and gradually she began to understand. The meal was coming to an end, and what then? In all honesty, she and Nathan hadn’t spent all that much time together after his miraculous return, and they’d immediately tried to find some sort of normalcy between them. It should be—and probably was—impossible, but she didn’t know how else to behave.

  “Would you like to clean up?”

  Her face flushed the instant it was too late. Why had she asked such a question? She simply hadn’t known what he might want to do after several days of going back and forth between this house and the ranch. Or would he rather go straight to bed? And . . . ?

  “What do you mean?” His gaze had gone hooded, and she couldn’t read his expression.

  She swallowed. “We don’t have a bathing room like the Sangre Real. My father only had a hip tub, and we’ll have to look for it. I thought maybe a sponge bath? You could,” she waved her hand nervously, “take care of that if you want, while I do the dishes.”

  He nodded slowly, his eyes never leaving hers. Finally, when she had all but given up on him answering, he said softly, “That sounds just fine, Rye. Thank you.”

  She used the water she’d heated for the dishes and filled the wash basin in the bedroom. Nathan disappeared as she heated another kettle of water and cleaned up the dinner dishes. She kept her movements slow and deliberate, giving him all the time he needed to take care of his ablutions, but eventually she had nothing more to clean.

  Don’t be foolish! Things might be a little awkward with Nathan after everything that’s happened, but he’s your husband. Behave like it!

  Shoulders back in determination, she plucked the kettle from the stovetop and headed for the bedroom. It had been long enough that, if he wasn’t finished, she could provide him with fresh hot water.

  She stopped immediately inside the doorway. He stood next to the washstand, bare chested and his suspenders hanging down over his hips. A washcloth in one hand, he rubbed it over his face and the back of his neck, leaving a few damp tendrils of hair to settle on his shoulders. The lamplight created a litany of shadows that teased her with the promise of what they hid as much as what they revealed.