He missed her. Race didn’t know how it was possible for her to root herself in his soul as she had in only a day, but she had. And the roots were withering.
Their marriage was a failure before it even had a chance.
It doesn’t have to be… There was the voice, the one that sounded too much like his Pa’s. The voice of reason. The voice that lead him down the path with the obstacles, pitfalls, rugged terrain, and the final destination of his dreams: a blissful marriage.
“Race,” a familiar voice called from the far side of the wagon. He watched as Ray stepped around it, walking toward him with her flaming red hair flying about wildly. She always walked with purpose, like Katriona did.
“Hey there, Ray, what can I do for you?” He appreciated the break, so he took off his gloves and tossed them onto a bale.
“I came to see if you and your wife wanted to come to supper tomorrow night. Ma’s bakin’ her world-famous chicken pot pie.”
Guilt took him by the throat; how did he tell Ray that he hadn’t spoken to his wife in nearly two weeks?
“Uh…I suppose you haven’t talked to Katriona recently…”
Ray waved off his words. “Sure I have. I’ve talked to her nearly every day this week. She has been awful busy gettin’ the school of hers up a runnin’, and Tilly and I have been introducin’ her to all the right people in town…” At what must have been a look of shock on his face, Ray narrowed her eyes and planted her hands on her hips—which was never a good sign. “Don’t tell me you didn’t know about your own wife’s school.”
She was actually going through with it, building her school, the school he’d shot down like a dying horse? Why? He’d told her that none of the tradesmen in town would be willing to teach, and that they didn’t have the money for something like that. Suddenly, he wondered if Katriona had been spending her nights nursing her hurt pride over realizing he’d been right.
“Was she alright?” he asked, desperate for any information he could get on the wife he’d lived with but hadn’t lived with since their wedding.
Ray’s brow furrowed in confusion. “Why wouldn’t she be? Isn’t that somethin’ you should know?” Race could tell the wheels were spinning in Ray’s mind, and that she’d catch on soon enough.
“With all those rejections, I’m sure she’s upset,” he answered, shrugging off the sense of offense he felt on her behalf. He should have been there with her to help comfort her after her dreams for her school fell to pieces.
Ray chuckled. “If you think that, you certainly haven’t been talkin’ to Katriona.”
His heart slowed to a crawl. “What do you mean?”
Ray crossed her arms and grinned up at him. “I mean that your wife knows more about gettin’ people and things movin’ than a river does. She’s got nearly everythin’ she needs, save the school buildin’.”
Again, shock roared through him, taking him by the chest and shaking him.
“The tradesmen agreed to teach?”
Ray nodded. “And some of the tradeswomen, too.”
Well, he’d have to eat crow; he was wrong about how well he knew his fellow man. Which meant he was probably wrong about everything else, too.
“But where did she get the money?” he asked, his voice hoarse from the sandy truth he’d been swallowing.
Ray huffed. “It’s best that you ask your wife that question. Seems you two need to talk, anyway.”
“You have to have figured out by now, Ray, that my wife and I aren’t on the best of terms,” he remarked, the truth sandier than ever.
“Come to think of it, she doesn’t talk about you much—at all, really. Whenever we ask her about you or how the marriage is goin’, she cleverly side-steps the question.” Ray tipped her head, her glare firmly in place. “What did you do to that girl, Horace Tucker?”
Tired of holding the pain so close to his soul, he told Ray everything—from their first verbal tussle, to the explosion of anger that night when his marriage had caught fire.
Listening to everything he said, Ray’s reply was short but astounding.
“Seems like you both need to chuck your pride and remember you’re human.”
Mounting Twister, Race hurried toward town, his thoughts moving as fast as the scenery as he flew passed. He didn’t have much time, there was too much to make up for…if he wasn’t already too late.
* * *
Katriona smiled down at the growing list in her hand, ignoring the echoing voice growling in her head, “…you need a keeper.” When Race had dared utter those words, she’d nearly stomped right back out of her room and out the house, never looking back. But she didn’t…she couldn’t. She was married—for better or worse—she just had to prove to Race—and to herself—that she didn’t need a keeper. That Race was wrong.
And what better way than to build her school, all on her own?
That afternoon, she’d finally convinced the surly yet thoughtful blacksmith, Leo Watkins, to teach a class on the basics of blacksmithing. At first, he thought the idea was dangerous; you couldn’t have young’uns in a smithy. But then she explained that he only needed to teach the children about which processes worked the best with certain metals, smithy safety, and the best tools for the best finished products. He’d agreed that those were pretty basic, but that they were necessary for being a successful blacksmith.
It helped that Mr. Watkins wife, Missy, was the town school teacher. She loved the idea of a school that taught basic skills for future jobs. She said, “Not every child wants to grow up to be what their parents are. My parents were socialites in a big house, and look at me! I teach children in a dusty Texas town, and I love it!”
Katriona had immediately liked Missy, and over the last few days, Missy, Tilly, and Ray had introduced her around to some of the skilled tradesmen—and women—in town. Currently, her list of instructors included the leather worker, Gaston Mosier, who was Tilly’s brother, and Gaston’s wife, Aimee, who agreed to teach gardening. The boarding house owner, Becky La Fontaine, had agreed to teach bookkeeping and hospitality, and Tilly, herself, had agreed to teach the basics of sewing and dress design. And she, Katriona, would teach cooking—especially her much-celebrated recipe of candied yams.
So far, Katriona’s school was bound to be a rousing success… So why did it all feel so hollow?
Biting back a groan of frustration, Katriona sat down on her bed and stared down at the list now balled in her fist. What was the problem? She had a list of experienced instructors, the bank had agreed to lease her a parcel of land out by the livery where she could build a school, and she’d already wired to New York City for the money Madame Wigg had promised—almost $700 dollars. She’d taken a meeting with the town founder, Mr. Leslie La Fontaine, about providing a yearly stipend for the school to help keep it tuition-free. He’d agreed, his weathered yet handsome face glowing with the idea of a new school in his town. She had nearly everything she needed to build the school she’d been dreaming of…but it still felt empty. Like something was missing.
And she doubted it was the lack of a building that made her so melancholy; that would be remedied once she met with the carpenters later in the week. Things were moving quickly, she was enjoying the process—the long days in town with people she liked. But then the night came, and she sat alone in her room, listening for Race to come home. Often, he’d get in late then come stand right outside her door. She’d hold her breath, hoping he’d knock, ask to come in, and then apologize for being such a thoughtless cur. Then, they’d go back to their bedroom, and he could apologize again…
She flushed at that thought and immediately hated herself for thinking it at all. Theirs wasn’t a real marriage—they never saw one another. He was gone before she left her room in the morning, and she was back in her room before he came home. She didn’t want to admit that she was hiding, but that’s exactly what she was doing; hiding from the feelings Race brought out of her. Hiding from the failure she felt when she thought of how wrong everyth
ing was. And hiding from the hurt she felt when she remembered how excited she’d been that first morning, preparing Race breakfast, and then waiting for a man who never came. It had hurt her, she could admit that. She’d been so hopeful about the start of their lives together, but it had all fallen to pieces.
And she had no one to blame but herself. So…she was also hiding from the truth—that she’d allowed her pride to taint the air of the cabin, and she didn’t know how to clear it. So, she stayed hidden, away from the pain and the pinch on her pride, and the feelings she felt for the man she barely knew.
The sound of the front door opening brought her out of her maudlin thoughts, and she sprang to her feet. She recognized the sound of Race’s stride as he walked across the floor toward her room. She’d left the door open, not expecting him home so soon—it was just supper time. He usually waited until dark before dragging himself home.
She stood there, nerves shot, waiting for him to appear at her door, and when he did, her breath abandoned her.
How could she have forgotten how beautiful he was? His hair had grown a bit since she’d last seen him, and he looked exhausted and worn, but that did nothing to take away from the burn of violet eyes and the seductiveness of his lopsided smile.
“Katriona,” he said, his deep voice doing naughty things to her belly.
She swallowed the flood of sensations and said flatly, “Race.”
There was an awkward silence as she waited for him to tell her why he’d come to her. He lifted his arm and ran his fingers through his hair, sighing heavily.
Finally, he said, “I thought we could have supper together this evenin’…maybe talk.” Shock wavered through her, casting ripples into her forced calm. “We haven’t…well, we haven’t had a chance to talk since that night…”
She knew which night he meant, because it was the same night she’d begun to wonder if she’d made the biggest mistake of her life: letting her pride dictate her decisions in her marriage.
Stiffening, she met his gaze, peering into his soul, trying to determine if there was more to his request for a share repast. When she saw nothing but hopefulness and guarded wariness, she sighed.
“Supper sounds good.”
Katriona, her heart in her throat, placed her trembling hand into Race’s outstretched palm, and allowed him to lead her from the room.
Chapter Twelve
Katriona dug into the steaming, delicious chicken pot pie before her.
Around a mouthful of chicken, gravy, and vegetables, Katriona blurted, “This is the best thing I’ve ever eaten—how did you know it was my favorite?”
He laughed, enjoying the pleasure he was bringing her with such a simple gesture.
“I knew you had been to Joe’s Eatery, so I went there and asked Betty. She said you always order the chicken pot pie. I figured it was somethin’ you liked, so I got two.”
She took another bite, rolled her eyes back into her head, and groaned. “So good,” she murmured.
He’d never been jealous of food before.
Race ate with far less enthusiasm; there was much on his mind, but how to broach it.
Just talk to her! Easier thought than done, he mused.
Once Katriona shoveled the last of her pot pie into her mouth, she licked her lips appreciatively, which only made his gaze catch on the sight. She had lovely lips, lips he wanted to taste again. And again. She was his wife, there should have been a lot of kissing already, but their shared bull-headedness had kept them from experiencing that.
Clearing his throat, he put his fork down and sat back in his seat. Katriona eyed his leftover pot pie voraciously.
“Are you going to finish that?” she asked, her eyes wide.
Chuckling, he pushed the pie toward her. “Have at it.”
She grinned, and he grinned back, happy to make her smile—even if it was over savory pie.
Patiently, he watched her eat, and as she ate, the flush on her cheeks spread down her neck. Katriona felt the weight of his attentions, he knew it, because he felt the intensity of his own gaze on her. He couldn’t look away from her; her short blonde hair was curled up, bouncing around her head as she moved. Her flushed cheeks only enhanced the usual creamy-color of her skin. Her bright blue eyes were glittering, like jewels basking in the sunlight, and he wondered what she was thinking that was making them gleam as they did.
Taking the final bite of the pie he’d given her, Katriona put down her fork, took a gulp of water from her glass, and sat back in her own seat. Her gaze flicked up to meet his, unflinching in her regard. That was one of the things he admired about her, her stalwartness, how she faced down things that most women would shy away from.
Like creating her own school… It hit him then, how utterly industrious his wife was, to take on such a momentous task and succeed at it. She was a marvel. And she was his.
For now.
“Is there a reason you’re staring at me? Did I get pie on my face?” she asked, humor tugging on her lips.
He rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly nervous as a canary in a mine.
“Well… I’ve been meanin’ to talk to you,” he began.
Katriona, probably sensing his struggle with words, crossed her arms and waited for him to finish.
“I wanted to…first, I wanted to apologize for lettin’ our disagreement come between us over the last ten days.”
She pursed her lips—which made them all the more luscious, but said nothing.
He continued, “When I left that mornin’ to go to the barn, I honestly meant to only stay long enough to check on the horses. I didn’t think to send word that I would miss breakfast… It’s my first marriage…” He laughed softly, hoping to defuse the tension enough to swallow. “I’m not used to havin’ someone at home to worry about—or have them worry over me.”
“I wasn’t worried about you, Race. I knew where you went, and I probably should have expected the ranch foreman to get himself wrapped up in something, even on the day after his wedding.” Her voice held a pinch of self-deprecation, as though she were chastising herself. But for what? She’d done nothing wrong…at least until she walked all over Creation in those trousers. His memories conjured an image of Katriona in those nearly skin-tight trousers, and his body reacted as one would expect. He desired her, no doubt about it, but their marriage couldn’t just be lust and passing glances. There needed to be more. He wanted more.
He wanted the same thing his parents had.
“Listen… You were right to assume I’d be back. I did promise to return for breakfast, and I promised to cherish you—that night and forever more. I failed you when I should have been doin’ my best to show you I could be the husband you needed me to be.”
“Race, I—”
He held up his hand. “Please, Katriona, let me finish.”
She pinched her lips into a thin line, but nodded her head. Crossing her arms over her chest, she watched him intently, her gaze peering into him, searching for honesty and genuine regret. Well, she’d find it.
“I know I upset you by not doin’ what I promised, and I am sorry for that,” he admitted, sliding his hands across the table. He flipped them, palms up, and asked, “Can we start over?”
She peered down as his hands, wariness etched into her expression.
“What do you mean?” she murmured, a slight hitch in her voice.
“I mean…” He took a deep breath and dove right in. “I mean I miss you, Katriona. These ten days have been Hell on Earth. Leavin’ in the mornin’ without seein’ your smile, returnin’ home to a dark, quiet house, knowin’ you’re alone in a bedroom that isn’t ours. That you’ve spent all day workin’ on somethin’ and I couldn’t ask you about it.”
She arched an eyebrow, tipping up her chin. “You actually care about what I’ve been doing these past ten days?”
“Of course, I do! It’s like being deaf and mute when all I want to do it hear your voice and talk with you—about everythin’, about nothin’ at al
l. I just want to sit with you, like we are now, and have a conversation. I want to lie beside you at night and hear you breathin’. I want to kiss you and put my arms around you, and know you are safe and happy.” As he spoke, he watched her expressions change; from surprised, to heated, to hopeful.
She wants this, too!
He reached a little further across the table, his empty hands desperate to hold hers tightly.
“Let’s start again? Let’s give this marriage the second chance we both deserve.” He waited, his hands outstretched. “Please.” That final word seemed to break her out of whatever thought had held her captive. With the ghost of a smile, she placed her hands in his, and he nearly leapt from his seat with the jolt of sensation that shot through him.
“I’d like that,” she said, licking her lips. “But first…I need to apologize, too. When you left that morning, I was so excited to prepare your breakfast—like a true wife would. I had put so much expectation on you that when you didn’t show up, I allowed my pride to drive me to thoughtless decisions. I didn’t think about how wearing trousers would affect you, or how it would make me look. I only cared about myself and what I wanted. Now, don’t get me wrong, I’ll still wear trousers…just around here. They are far more comfortable than layers of skirts.”
He chuckled. “I don’t mind that one bit.”
“And…I don’t like that you insist on thinking I need a keeper.”
He opened his mouth to argue with her, remind her that he was her keeper, her protector and provider, but the sharp darkening of her eyes made him hold his tongue.
“I have been doing well enough without anyone to keep me, and I don’t plan to need a keeper now. I know you have this idea of what a wife is supposed to be… I just ask that you let me do as I think is best.”
Race considered her, how she sat so stiffly, hopefulness interwoven with determination in her eyes. The very marrow in his bones rose up in revolt—he couldn’t just stop being who he was, and he couldn’t stop wanting to be the good husband a wife needed.
Katriona’s Keeper: Alphabet Mail-Order Brides #11: A Dry Bayou Brides Novella Page 7