Unable to resist, he stepped to the edge of the bed.
A soft growl sounded.
He glared at the dog curled up on a towel in the corner of the room until it tucked its chin on a forepaw. Then he stretched out a hand to filter his fingers through a strand of hair. So soft. Being careful, he lifted the length to his nose and sniffed. A whiff of something lemony tantalized his senses. He missed such gentle scents and quiet conversations after extinguishing the lamp. The thought ached like betrayal and forced him to release her hair. Even if intellectually he thought himself ready for an intimate relationship, he couldn’t convince his heart.
After pulling a quilt from the armoire’s top shelf, he unfolded it over Vika’s body then stepped to the tall bureau and blew out the flame. Without a doubt, following her day of travel and getting settled in a new home, she was too tired for the conversation he needed to introduce. Brushing the back of a hand along the wall then the railing, he made his way downstairs to bank the fire and check the locks.
At the sound of the rooster’s crow, Chad pulled the quilt tight to his ears and shifted his legs. A weight held down one side of the covering. He lifted his head and spotted a furry mound nestled behind his crooked knees. Through the window, the sky held a pinkish hue.
“Briosgaid? Where ye be?”
The approaching dawn gave definition to the objects in the room.
The hushed tone in Vika’s voice demonstrated she wanted to find the dog before he did. “In here.”
“I’m sorry. She snuck away.” Padding footsteps hurried through the kitchen then Vika appeared in the doorway with the quilt tossed about her shoulders and a lit candle in a metal holder held aloft. Her eyes popped at the two lying in bed then widened even more at the sight of the loom. “Oh, ’tis beautiful.” She set down the candle on the chair before running fingers over the wooden frame and tapping the taut warp strings. Then she leaned her head sideways to look underneath. “My nana, back in the old country, had one similar. Only no’ so big.”
Chad’s mouth dried at the vision before him. Her wavy hair danced around her body with each move, and the ends touched the rag rug as she inspected the foot pedals. “Do you weave?”
A soft laugh escaped. “Ach, I was but a wee bairn and no’ allowed to touch Nana’s loom.” She straightened and tugged the quilt tighter. “Though I spent many happy hours nearby, winding yarn from her niddy noddy into balls.” Her brow creased. “I don’t know if that’s what you call the device.”
“That’s the name my mother used.” He rolled enough to lie on his back and punched the pillow behind his neck.
The dog stood and stretched then hopped off the bed.
She stooped to pet it but had to grab for the edge of the quilt to keep it tight under her chin.
Might as well get this talk over with before the children intruded. “Vika, please sit.”
“Thank ye for covering me last night.” After blowing out the flame, she perched on the edge of the loom chair.
A blush tinted her cheeks. He couldn’t ask for a better lead-in. “I bet you’re wondering about, uh, why…” He frowned and cleared his throat. “Getting used to living here will take you some time.”
“No’ so long.” She shrugged then patted her leg for the dog to jump up. “Today, I’ll do laundry. Tomorrow, I’ll start a deep clean. I haven’t lived in such a big house for a long time and dinna know how long ’twill take.” Her fingers stroked along the animal’s sides.
For several seconds, he watched the slow caresses, wondering how her fingers would feel on his always-sore shoulders. Then he shook his head. “That’s not what I meant.”
“Then what?” She hugged the dog to her chest and the quilt drooped off one shoulder. “Ach, ’tis me cooking. You didna like the food.” She slumped.
He sat upright and rested his forearms on his bent knees. “Not the food and not the housekeeping.” He sucked in a breath at his own curt tone. How to word this topic in the most delicate way? “I believe we should maintain separate bedrooms.”
“Nay.” Her brows bunched into wrinkles.
She disagreed? Somehow, he thought she’d be relieved. “I have no wish for more children. Obviously by sleeping in separate beds, we’ll avoid that, um, complication.”
“’Tis a sacrilege. Dinna ye hear the reverend’s words about being fruitful?” She jumped to her feet, leaving the quilt in the chair, and paced. “What about what I want? Don’t be thinking my age is a problem, because I’m no’ too old.”
The terrier squirmed in her arms and stared at her face.
How old was she? Older than his own twenty-six years? Should he have asked that question? “I know we didn’t write each other about the subject.” The closer she got to the window, the more transparent her gown became. He spied enough of her shapely outline for blood to pound faster through his body. He had to look away.
She scoffed. “We wrote nary a word of true import.” She sat then popped back to a stand. “How could ye…?”
The dog whimpered.
Vika glanced at it and blinked then stooped to set it down before pacing again. “Chad, I dinna know how to answer ye. I didna want to say ye’ve misled me but…” Shaking her head, she wrapped both arms around her middle and walked to the window.
Get away from the light. How could he have this serious conversation if she put herself on display in this way? His body responded as nature intended. He dragged his legs over the edge but left the quilt bunched in his lap. “Misled you. How?” His memory was good, and he’d been careful to word his ad and his responding letter to state his intentions.
She whirled and jammed both hands on her hips. “Sharin’ a bed and begettin’ bairns comes with being married. Do ye imagine me daft, and I dinna know that fact?”
Golden sunlight filled the top of the window.
Chad struggled not to look at how her clamped hands highlighted her trim waist. Instead, he kept his gaze focused on her flushed face and saw such passion. Passion that sprouted a lump of yearning in his throat.
Stepping close, she leaned over until she was only inches away. Her eyes narrowed to slits. “Ye’ll no’ cheat me of me own wee bairns. Nay, I say. Ye willna.” After a stomp of a foot, she spun, her long hair floating like a curtain in a breeze. Then she grabbed the quilt and stalked from the room.
The little dog followed in a prancing step.
Bending over caused the gown to cling to her heart-shaped bottom. Chad ground his teeth and flopped back on the mattress. What an intriguing impasse.
Chapter Eight
His horrid words rang through her mind. She dashed up the stairs and to her room, restraining herself from slamming it closed only at the last moment. Did he really mean no children…ever? Or maybe he meant that he wanted to know her better first. A sentiment like that one she could understand and work to change. An ache settled under her breastbone. Never having me own wee bairns? Now, she had to think only about getting the day started and a hearty meal on the table.
Biscuit settled onto her special blanket in the corner and nestled her chin on extended paws.
The water in the pitcher was so cold her teeth chattered by the time she finished her ablutions. After donning her plainest, pale green shirtwaist and a brown skirt, Vika worked her hair into a long braid, tying it with a ribbon scrap. Agitation shook her hands too much to prevent her from creating a fancier style.
A glance into the children’s room showed they still slept. Without knowing the usual schedule, she debated about waking them but decided against disturbing whatever routine Chad established. Then she hurried toward the kitchen. A fire blazing in the fireplace proved Chad had risen, but she saw no other sign of the man. The door to the loom room was closed. Just as well. Did she even have a civil word to say to the man?
In the kitchen, she jabbed a poker at the cookstove’s embers until they glowed. How can he no’ want bairns? Then she tossed in kindling and a few short wood lengths. Once flames danced along the log
s, she set a record for peeling a pot of potatoes and setting them to boil. Marriage means having bairns. Replicating the steps she’d seen Chad perform, she roasted coffee beans and poured them into a bowl to cool, spilling a few on the counter.
Next, she muscled the pump handle until water sloshed into a pot and added handfuls of oats from a too-small sack in the pantry. Back in Lincoln, she bought oats in hefty ten-pound sacks, not measly two-pound ones. Working through the steps to prepare a meal normally calmed her. But no’ this morning.
As she mixed the drained potatoes with a bit of milk, some flour, a pinch of baking powder, and the last egg, she took deep breaths to slow her racing heartbeat. Had she entered into a loveless marriage? Such a future stretched as lonely as her spinster life had. Being this irritated was no’ good for the soul. This fact she knew from watching her parents when troubles arose. She would not bury her feelings. Instead, she scattered a handful of flour onto the counter then slapped down the sticky dough and wielded a rolling pin over the mass.
The door opened, and boots stomped on the porch planks.
Gasping, she swung around with the pin raised near her shoulder.
Chad stopped and cocked an eyebrow, his gaze moving from her face to the wooden implement. “May I enter?”
Lowering the pin, Vika gave a nod then divided the tattie scone dough in two pieces, rolled out each to an even thickness with practiced moves, cut the circles in quarters, and arranged them on metal trays. After putting them in the oven, she moved to the grinder. From the corner of her eye, she watched him set a basket on the counter and a metal pail on the floor.
“Later, I’ll show you the hen house and where the feed is stored.”
“Aye.” She circled the handle on the top of the wooden grinder and listened to the sound start rattley then go softer. The resulting drawerful of grounds she dumped into the coffee pot and spooned more beans into the grinder.
“Do you know how to milk a cow? Or church butter?” He poured the pail of milk into a ceramic jug topped by a square of cloth.
“Nay.”
“Those two chores will be yours. They’re not hard or taxing. We milk the brown Guernsey cow, Gertie, in the mornings, and the Pasquales do in the evenings. They also milk some of the sheep for their cheese making.” He scoffed. “Milking sheep takes more patience, and I don’t bother. Nellie, the black-and-white Holstein-Friesian, is dry because she’ll calf in the spring. When she’s producing, she gives more than twelve gallons a day.”
What would she do with all that milk? Having only one cow between two families explained the small quantity of milk and butter in the icebox. “Hard work does no’ scare me.” She pumped water into the coffeepot then carried it to a stove burner. Next, she stirred the bubbling porridge and reached into the closest cupboard for the jar of nutmeg then sprinkled in a couple shakes.
“Good.”
From the edge of her vision she spotted him opening and closing cupboards. She gritted her teeth. I’m angry so why do I watch what he does? “Should I wake the bairns?”
He leaned a hip against the counter and crossed his arms. “They’ve had to rise with me for the past two weeks since their aunt left. Let them sleep ’til half past seven.”
As she filed away that first detail of the household routine, Vika angled her body so she met his gaze. “Ye have a sister?”
A smile flashed across his lips then disappeared. “Caroline is two years younger. She now lives in Denver and is still on her honeymoon trip.”
The name rang familiar. Vika bent down to pull out the trays and used a turner to flip the scones before returning them to the oven. “And yer parents?”
“Dad passed five years ago. Mom didn’t want to ranch without him so she moved to Pueblo to live with her sister, Ellen.”
“Food is ready.” She pulled the trays from the oven and slid the fragrant scones into a waiting bowl.
Chad selected a mug from the cupboard and poured his coffee.
The meal passed quickly enough, and she learned he dinna talk much while eating.
“Thanks.” He stood and walked from the room.
Vika released a breath. If the topics were neutral, she almost forgot his declaration from their dawn conversation. Twenty minutes later, she washed the dishes from the meal for two. The kitchen sink overlooked the space between the house and the barn. Double tracks of Chad’s footsteps marred the blanket of fallen snow that looked a couple of inches deep. Just the sight made her shiver.
Two big, mottled black-and-white dogs burst from the open barn door, and each lifted a leg on a corral post. Then, they dashed around and chased one another.
She glanced over her shoulder to where Biscuit lay curled up in the doorway near the stove. Would the three ever play together? Wiping her hands on a towel, she walked to the icebox and looked for dinner items. Seeing no meat, she dashed to the entry to grab her cloak. At the back door, she sucked in a breath at the cold air, again wishing she’d brought her knitted scarf downstairs. In Lincoln, her schedule had been her own but here she seemed always behind. She made her way toward the barn, holding up her skirts the best she could. Only halfway there, the snow hardened her kid leather boots and her feet ached.
The dogs stopped their play, faced her, and lifted their noses into the air.
Why dinna she grab a scone to befriend them?
A shrill whistle pierced the air followed by Chad’s yell. “Jocko. Skippy.”
The dogs disappeared into the barn.
Head down, Vika trudged on, doing her best to step into the existing holes, but Chad’s stride was much longer. A whinny greeted her entrance into the dim barn. Scents of animals and hay assaulted her nose, and she pinched her lips against the earthy smell.
Across the barn’s aisle, Chad set down bowls then held up a hand, palm out.
Both dogs sat, their tails clearing twin arcs in the loose straw scattered on the hardened dirt.
He changed the position of his hand, and the dogs dove into their food.
Such control. A breath escaped. He’d obviously spent time with these dogs. She wished Biscuit was as well trained. When she saw him head toward a stall, she cleared her throat.
Chad glanced over his shoulder, his brows crashing downward. “Are the kids all right?”
“They’re fine.” Guilt stabbed her that she’d left them alone in the house. She shifted her weight to bring back feeling into her feet. Hoping he wouldn’t see her question as a show of incompetence, she swallowed against a dry throat. “I dinna see meat in the icebox. What shall I cook?”
“Meat is kept in the outside icebox opposite the one inside the house.” He stepped close and cupped a gloved hand around her right elbow. “I’ll show you.”
Walking with his assistance proved faster, and she crossed the yard with ease.
“My father built this.” Chad stripped off his left glove and eased a metal pin from the handle before pulling it and opening the door.
The space for meat storage was twice bigger than the icebox. Vika stepped closer to inspect the contents, lifting a foot for several seconds to keep it from the snow. Metal trays and a knife lay on the bottom shelf. Along the left side, hooks held haunches of beef and one hunk in the shape of animal leg she dinna recognize. Two cured hams occupied a narrow shelf on the right, and slabs of bacon heaped on a platter on the one below. Birk hadn’t digested pork well so she’d shied away from recipes containing it.
“Is something wrong with your feet? A rock in your shoe?”
“Nay, they’re just cold.”
Chad squatted and lifted her skirt hems. “Are those the sturdiest shoes you own?” He angled a frowning stare upward.
Heat flushed her cheeks. If she’d had enough time after selling the furniture, she would have made a trip to the cobbler. “Aye.”
“In the attic is a gray trunk with the family’s winter clothing and boots.” Straightening, he looked off into the distance. “Bring down the children’s items, and take whatever�
��” His Adam’s apple bobbed. Jamming hands into his jacket pockets, he cleared his throat then met her gaze. “Find something for yourself.”
“Thank ye.” His obvious concern for her wellbeing warmed her heart.
“Can’t afford for you to get sick because of thin city shoes.” He waved a hand toward the house. “Go inside and get warm. I’ll bring in a cut of meat.”
Over the next several days, Vika learned to milk the cow and churn butter, discovered which were the orneriest hens, and strapped Princess into the buggy harness. Venison tasted too gamey, and she’d yet discovered the seasonings to make the meat pleasant, although the rest of the family enjoyed the roast and stew. Ham and bacon were becoming acquired tastes. After the third milking, she had enough cream to make crowdie but lacked rennet and added it to the shopping list. She hated the too-big, thick leather boots but could no’ deny their warmth.
Being so young, Lance and Guinie demanded constant supervision so she did what she could to include them in her chores. Lance’s favorite was stirring the heavy paddle in the laundry tub, and Guinie liked folding towels and napkins.
When Sunday dawned, Vika was no closer to reintroducing the topic of bairns but knew her happiness depended on finding a way.
Chapter Nine
Sunday following breakfast, Chad shoveled wet straw from Midnight’s stall into a nearby wheelbarrow. An earthy scent rose from the sodden pile. The days since Vika’s arrival passed well enough, and Lance and Guinie acted like they accepted her. She’d spoken the truth when she proclaimed herself unafraid of hard work. The house hadn’t been so clean since his mother’s departure. Tasty meals were served soon after he arrived at noon and in the evening. She’d been agreeable to adding some of his favorite dishes to the menu. The mound of dirty clothes disappeared by the third day. So, why was he bothered?
Vika didn’t act happy. If he’d handled their important conversation about children better, then he might enjoy a bride with a warmer nature. Since that talk, Vika rarely smiled in his direction, although she shared plenty when dealing with the children. No matter how often he told himself he should be happy the ranch ran smoothly, he wanted more. He wanted to learn more about her family or hear her chattiness as she told him about the dishes she usually prepared. Instead, her answers were short and to the point—not nearly long enough to enjoy her lilting tone. No another song passed her lips within his hearing since that first day. Somehow, he’d set a precedent that first night by putting the children to bed himself, and he didn’t know how to invite her to join them.
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