by Lily Reynard
Now, he hated that he recognized the danger signs of Sarah's soft speech and cautious courtesy around him.
With an effort, Larkin wiped the scowl from his face and put on a more pleasant expression. The last thing he wanted her to think was that his lingering annoyance at Walt was directed at her.
"This pie's mighty tasty, Sarah," he said, forcing himself to smile. "It's been a good while since I've eaten anything this good. Would you mind serving me another helping?"
She looked startled, then relieved.
"I'm so happy you like it," she said, taking his soup bowl, which had been scraped clean of every bit of gravy.
Walt suddenly looked more relaxed too. His smiles had always come easier than Larkin's, and he beamed at her now. "When you're done filling his plate, would you mind serving me seconds too?"
Sarah returned Walt's smile, and the room suddenly brightened, like the sun coming out from behind clouds.
But Larkin now felt like an outsider, and he didn't like that one little bit.
He scowled again, and Sarah's smile vanished. She handed him his bowl as warily as if it had been filled with live rattlesnakes, and he hated himself for scaring her.
As she served up seconds to Walt, she ventured, "I have quite a bit of leftover pastry dough sitting in the icebox. When I was down in the cellar, I noticed jars of canned fruit on the shelves. Would it be all right if I opened one or two of them and made another pie? Perhaps we could have it for dessert this evening."
"That would be just ducky," Walt said enthusiastically. Then his face fell. "But I'm afraid I'm not going to be around to enjoy it, Sarah. I need to leave as soon as we finish lunch and head to the mine."
"Oh, that's too bad," she said, looking disappointed.
He shot Larkin a meaningful glance before continuing, "Like I mentioned earlier, we've been having some problems with claim jumpers. One of us needs to be there to oversee operations and guard the mine. Our other business partner is in Butte, visiting a sick uncle, so it's just me and Larkin right now."
"Will it be dangerous?" She caught her lower lip between her teeth, looking adorably concerned. "Can't you just ask Sheriff Plummer for aid? Or that miners' court that those men mentioned today?"
Larkin abruptly found himself wondering what it felt like to kiss her. Then he came to his senses.
Oh no, buckaroo, you better not go all spoony on her like Walt has, he thought.
"Not too dangerous," Walt assured her. "Most of these claim-jumping chuckleheads are looking for easy pickings. They avoid anything that looks like trouble. The trick is to look like you'd be trouble." Walt turned his attention to Larkin. "That reminds me. We saw Fergus Donovan being run out of town this morning."
"For claim-jumping?" Larkin guessed. Since arriving in town last autumn, Donovan had gotten quite a reputation for unsavory behavior.
Walt nodded. "Yup. Can't say I'm sorry to see him go."
Silence fell over the table once more as both men gave their second helpings of the pot pie their full attention.
Out of the corner of his eye, Larkin saw Sarah's wariness recede, and she, too, ate with good appetite, though she spooned up her portion of the pie with ladylike delicacy.
After they'd polished off the rest of the pie, leaving only smears of gravy and a few flakes of pie crust in the Dutch oven, Walt saddled up and rode out. Sarah followed him out to the stables, presumably to say to goodbye.
Larkin headed for the barn to start his afternoon chores, and saw her and Walt standing next to his big gray gelding Toledo. Walt had her in his arms, and the two of them were kissing.
Larkin felt a pang. It had been a while since he'd had a woman, and he couldn't help wondering what Sarah would feel like if she was in his arms and kissing him with the same enthusiasm that she was showing Walter.
Scowling, he continued into the barn and busied himself with chores around the ranch until after dark.
By the time it got too dark to see, his stomach had been growling for some time, and he came to the reluctant conclusion that he couldn't avoid the house—and Sarah—any longer.
He entered via the back door to find the place dark, with no lamps lit, but filled with the unmistakable fragrances of freshly baked bread and the sweet aroma of fruit pie.
With the familiarity of long habit, Larkin found the box of matches and lit one of the kerosene lamps. Its soft, golden light revealed that their guest had washed the dishes and cleaned the kitchen. She had even set the table for breakfast.
The sight made his chest feel funny. Tight.
He spotted a folded note sitting on the kitchen table and saw "Mr. Williams," in beautiful handwriting. He walked over and picked it up. The paper looked like it had been torn from a journal or notebook. He unfolded the paper and read:
Dear Mr. Williams,
I'm afraid that a sleepless night aboard the train has left me quite done-in, and I am making an early night of it. I made some sandwiches for supper and put a package of them in the icebox for you, in case you are hungry when you come in. I also opened a jar of cherries from the cellar and baked a pie. I put it in the pie safe for dessert, or possibly breakfast tomorrow.
I wish you a restful evening.
Yours most sincerely,
Sarah
Larkin glanced over at the pantry and saw the outline of the pie through the wire mesh panels set in the doors of the tall wooden cabinet.
That pie cabinet hadn't been used since Walt's mother died. Mrs. Edwards was the one who had laid up all of the canned fruits and vegetables in the cellar too.
Larkin closed his eyes against a flood of memories and went over to the big wooden icebox that stood next to the pie safe.
Every winter, he and Walt harvested blocks of ice from the ranch's pond and stored them under piles of hay and sawdust in an ice cave dug into a hillside near the pond. Each block of ice cooled the icebox for about five days before they had to fetch the next one from the ice cave.
As promised, there was a packet of ham sandwiches sitting on one of the icebox's metal shelves. They had been neatly wrapped in a waxed cloth.
There hadn't been any bread in the house this morning, when Larkin returned from the mine, so Sarah must have found the sourdough starter in the pantry.
Miss Hunter really kept herself busy in the kitchen this afternoon, he thought.
Despite Larkin's resolution not to get suckered into Walt's scheme, it was a nice feeling to come home after a long day of chores and find dinner and pie waiting for him. The sandwiches were delicious, and so was the big slice of cherry pie that he cut himself for dessert.
Sitting in the kitchen by himself with a belly full of good food that he hadn't had to cook for himself felt…nice. And here he was, all alone with the pretty Miss Hunter. Suddenly, he couldn't get her out of his head.
Larkin finished his pie and walked over to the sink to wash his fork and plate. He kept picturing her in that big bed upstairs, probably wearing a long white nightgown, her crazy purple hair down. Does it reach all the way to her hips?
He wanted to discover the answer to that question. And he sure as hell didn't want to sleep alone tonight. He walked down the hall to the foot of the stairs and gazed up at the closed door leading to the attic rooms. I wonder what Miss Hunter would do if I knocked on her door and asked to share the bed. She came here ready to marry me, right?
He smirked, because he was pretty sure that she'd be horrified by the proposition…but it might be fun to watch her squirm.
And Walt did encourage me to get to know her better.
Larkin made his decision. He climbed the stairs and rapped on the door.
Chapter Eight
Sarah had never been so completely exhausted. Not only had she spent a sleepless night on the train, but she had also spent most of today cooking and cleaning, determined to prove to Walt and Larkin that she would make them a good wife.
And yet, fatigued as she was, sleep eluded her. Dressed in one of Liza's nightgowns, t
he cotton soft from repeated launderings, Sarah lay in the big comfortable bed upstairs, her restless thoughts driving away the rest she craved.
After spending the afternoon working alone in the house, she had eaten a cold supper of sandwiches and retreated to the living room, where she began to read one of the books she had found in the trunk, titled Practical Hints to Young Females on the Duties of a Wife, a Mother, and a Mistress of the Family. It sounded like a useful guide for the new role she had unexpectedly assumed.
After the sun had set, and there still had been no sign of Larkin, she had found herself nodding off and repeatedly rereading the same page. She had set everything to rights in the kitchen, penned Larkin a quick note in hopes that he might see it (and be able to read it), then went upstairs.
She brushed out her long hair and plaited it, with a grimace at its unnatural shade, then climbed into bed. Then her mind began replaying everything that had occurred in the past twenty-four hours.
It seemed unreal that less than a week ago, she had left her home in Boston and hailed a cab for the train station, terrified that Father would return early from his errands and catch her in the act of escaping.
Now, here she was on the frontier, with a new name and a new identity as a mail-order bride.
An unwanted mail-order bride, she reminded herself with an unhappy sigh. What am I going to do if Mr. Williams and Walt send me away?
That thought had been haunting her all day, but she had tried her best to push it away in a flurry of cooking and baking. She had a fortnight to convince them, and she wasn't going to waste any time.
Not long after she crawled into bed, she heard a door open downstairs, followed by the sounds of someone moving around.
Larkin had finally returned…or so she hoped. She wasn't sure which was a more intimidating prospect—being left all alone in a strange house located miles away from the nearest town or neighbor, or spending the night under the same roof with a male stranger.
Outside her window, she heard the hooting of an owl, and a distant chorus of yipping and howling that made her wonder if there were wolves in the area. She quickly decided that she felt better knowing that Larkin had returned.
She was finally beginning to doze off when a sharp knock on the attic door startled her awake. Her heart pounding, she lay in the darkened bedroom, wondering if she had imagined the sound.
Then it came again, followed by a muffled, "Miss Hunter?"
What does he want? Should I pretend to be deeply asleep and ignore it? Sarah engaged in a brief but fierce internal debate before throwing back the coverlet and reaching for Liza's faded flannel robe.
She padded out of the bedroom and into the sitting room, then warily unlocked and opened the door to the landing.
As expected, she found Larkin Williams looming on the other side, the beginnings of a black beard sprouting over the lower half of his tanned face. Compared to the big, broad-shouldered Walt, Larkin was as lean and lithe as a wolf next to a bear.
"Mr. Williams," she said awkwardly.
"Call me Larkin," he said in a deep, smooth voice. "I hope I didn't wake you."
She shook her head. "Is there something you needed?"
He smiled at her, which transformed his saturnine features in the most remarkable way.
Oh my, she thought. He was just as attractive as Walt, but in a far more dangerous and disturbing way. Her heart began pounding again as warmth kindled in the pit of her belly.
"I just wanted to thank you for leaving me supper," he replied. "It was nice not to have to fix my own tucker for a change, and that cherry pie was mighty fine."
Her spirits lifted at this confirmation that her day's labors hadn't been in vain. Perhaps his opposition to her presence here was softening.
"Oh, it was nothing," she said modestly. "I have always enjoyed cooking and baking, and I am so glad that you liked the pie." She paused and added, "Good night, Mr. Will—Larkin. Sleep well."
She stepped back and began to close the door.
"Wait," he said. "Can I come in?"
"I—I don't think that would be appropriate," she replied, startled.
"Why not?" Larkin cocked his head at her, and she could swear that his clear gray eyes were twinkling with mischief. "You came here to marry me, didn't you? And that big bed is a sight more comfortable than my lodgings downstairs."
"Ah—well." Her mind raced to find a solution to his proposition that wouldn't end in him tossing her out into the night. "If you're not comfortable downstairs, then I'd be more than happy to trade rooms with you. I'm so fatigued at present that I imagine that I could sleep on anything, even the living room sofa."
Larkin shook his head. "Nah, I wouldn’t dream of putting a pretty girl like you on the sofa or on my old bed. Why don't we share the one up here? It was built to give two people plenty of elbow room." His smile returned, distinctly wolfish now, and the hungry heat in his eyes seared right through her.
Shocked to the core by his proposition, she shook her head vehemently. "Mr. Williams, you made it quite clear that you're not interested in a wife. I, however, am interested in a husband."
He smiled and looked her up and down. She was acutely conscious that her feet were bare under her nightgown and wrapper and that her hair was hanging in a loose, heavy plait down her back.
"Well, after sampling your cooking, I might be willing to be convinced to get hitched," he drawled, leaning against the doorframe.
How do I tell him no without making him angry? Her mouth went dry, and she swallowed hard. "Speaking of marriage, w-when is Walt is returning home?"
"Oh, not until Friday," Larkin told her. "With our other partner Jim gone, it’s Walt's turn to go up to the mining camp and make sure that everything runs smoothly."
"What?" Sarah stared at him in shock. "When he mentioned going to the mine at lunchtime, I didn't realize he'd be gone for a week!"
What did I do to drive him away? Why did he abandon me with Larkin?
Larkin's dark brows rose at her despairing tone. Remembering that she needed to mollify him, she asked the first question that came to her mind, "Do you find a lot of gold there?"
"Didn't Walt tell you that it's a copper mine?"
Now that Larkin mentioned it, she remembered reading about the mine in Walt's letters last night. She had been focusing on memorizing the personal details that Liza had revealed in her correspondence and had skimmed over Walt's description of the mine and its operations.
Now Sarah realized that she needed to study those letters more closely and commit their contents to memory as soon as possible.
"Yes, yes, of course, he wrote about it in his letters," she said quickly. "Forgive me for misremembering. It's been a very long day, and I'm very tired."
"So am I," he said. That wicked smile returned. "So, are you going to invite me in, or what?"
Sarah drew a deep breath to fortify herself. "No, I'm afraid not. Since it appears that I'll be departing on the next train, I don't want to compromise my virtue any further than it's already been compromised."
Larkin gave her a cynical smile and looked her up and down.
Praying that she wasn't making a huge mistake, she added, "Though I might have given it serious consideration if Walt had informed you of his marriage scheme and if you had agreed to it."
Her heart began pounding again as she waited for an explosion of rage. Father wouldn't have tolerated defiance like this, and she had already seen evidence of Larkin's temper today. "Good night, Mr. Williams."
Then she shut the door, turning the key in the lock for good measure.
She waited tensely for his reaction. Will he try to break down the door? Can he break down the door? If not, how long can I hold out, trapped up here with just a pitcher of water and no food?
But the expected detonation of thwarted desires never came.
Instead, Larkin said, his voice low and oddly gentle through the door, "Good night, Miss Hunter. I'll see you in the morning."
After a moment, she heard the stairs creaking under his weight as he descended, followed by his footsteps in the hallway below.
She stood there in disbelief, heart thudding and ears straining, and heard a door close somewhere downstairs.
Silence fell on the house.
Sarah retreated to the bedroom, but she knew that it would be impossible to find sleep now. She had to reread and memorize everything that Walt had written to Liza. She stooped and pulled the packet of letters from her carpet bag.
Even if Walt and Larkin did send her away on the next train, she couldn’t afford to let them discover her lie in the meanwhile. Larkin had been unexpectedly gentlemanly tonight, but perhaps that had only been because of Walt's intentions towards her.