“You’ll want to watch out for Napoleon. He’ll peck you every chance he gets.” Harrison threaded his fingers through the wire and watched the birds. “The hens are gentle enough, don’t seem to mind when you gather the eggs, but that rooster will come at you.” He pointed to a twig broom leaning against the coop. “But if you carry the broom with you, he’ll run the other way.” He reached for the door to the sod structure. “We’ve set a couple of hens in here.”
The door groaned when he tugged it open. Ducking inside, Jane wrinkled her nose at the pungent odor. Droppings littered the floor, the roosts, and the edges of the nesting boxes. When was the last time anyone cleaned out this henhouse?
“These two are each sitting on a nice clutch of eggs. The flock should double this year if we don’t lose too many to coyotes, hawks, or some such. Feed’s in a barrel in the barn. And always make sure you close the gates and doors.” He scuffed some scattered straw on the floor. “It’s not the tidiest in here. I’ve had a hard time keeping up with everything since the spring rush of work is on us.”
Milk cows, feed chickens, live in a dirt house? What else could she be expected to do? She followed him into the sunshine once more. “What are in the other buildings?”
“That’s the bunkhouse.” Harrison gestured toward a sod hut identical to the house and glanced at the sun again.
“And that one?” She pointed to a long, low sod building set well away from the rest.
“That’s the house.” He frowned and tucked his hands into his back pockets.
“The house?”
“There’s materials to build a house—boards, windows, nails, paint—all of it.”
“But why—”
“I’d best get back to my chores.” He turned away, heading toward the soddy, where his horse stood dozing in the sunshine.
She followed, wondering what she’d done or said to provoke that reaction. Why have house-building materials and not use them? Why get mad when someone asked? A quick glance over her shoulder at the storage shed revealed no answers.
As they approached the soddy, weariness swept over Jane. Too many new things, too much to process. They came to an awkward halt before the door, barely acquaintances, and yet married for better or worse. Her mind shot back to the wedding, and she touched her lips, remembering the warm tingle of their bridal kiss.
“That’s about it, I guess. The creek’s out there where the trees are. There’s a cold store down there for the milk and butter when we have them.”
A movement caught his eye, and she followed his gaze. A pair of pointed black ears and a long black tail stood above the prairie grass near the barn. He smiled for the first time, just a fleeting one, but a smile all the same, and her heart did a flip. He had dimples. Two adorable creases dented his cheeks for an instant and momentarily erased the burdened light in his eyes. “That’s the cat.”
Jane looked closer. Green eyes stared at her through the tawny grass. “Does she have a name?”
He shrugged. “We just call her the cat. She showed up a couple of weeks ago. Probably escaped from a wagon train. She hunts rats and mice in the barn at night, and she does just what she pleases the rest of the time. And if she gets near the rooster, there’s a dustup. She doesn’t seem to like people too much. A law unto herself. I’d advise leaving her alone unless you want to get scratched or bit.” He checked the angle of the sun and resettled his hat. “I’d best get back to work.”
“Thank you for showing me around.” How formal they sounded, husband and wife, yet strangers.
He shifted his weight, reached for his horse’s reins where they trailed on the ground, and looped them around the animal’s neck. The way he studied her, unsmiling, made her skin quiver. He was weighing her up, but was he finding her lacking? Was he sorry?
“I won’t be back until suppertime. Lem’s around somewhere, so if you need anything, just holler. He and Reed fend for themselves in the bunkhouse, taking turns cooking. I’ll see you this evening.” Harrison swung into the saddle, touched the brim of his hat, and put the animal into a lope.
As he galloped away, Jane wanted to sink into the prairie grass and give free rein to the tears welling behind her eyes. She was alone on her wedding day, and her husband acted like he couldn’t get away from her fast enough. He must be disappointed; why else would he ride away only minutes after they were wed?
Though she’d braced herself for such a reaction, a spark of hope had remained—fanned by the clasp of his hand during the ceremony and his gentle yet fervent kiss—that perhaps he hadn’t minded so much about her plain features.
Jane cast one last glance back over her shoulder to where her new husband had vanished, picked up her hem, and headed into the house.
Harrison topped the rise and pulled his gelding to a halt. The animal was really coming along, the best of the three young horses he’d acquired this past winter. He swung his leg over the horse’s neck and dropped to the ground, sweeping the horizon and the ranch spread below him. In the hours since he’d left the house, he’d pulled two cows out of quicksand created by the spring-swollen river, delivered one calf who’d decided to enter the world backward, and ridden more miles than he wanted to remember. And he still hadn’t managed time over the forge to repair a broken branding iron, nor had he sharpened the knives they’d need during the roundup.
Smoke drifted from the soddy chimney. Jane was down there waiting for him. His new wife. Guilt twisted his gut. He should’ve stayed, but work had beckoned, and her eyes had been full of questions about the unbuilt house—questions he hadn’t wanted to answer.
Everything had seemed so simple when he first saw that advertisement. A mail-order bride would solve several of his problems. He’d get someone to help with the household chores, someone to ease a little of the burden around the ranch and free him up to spend more time on the range, and as an added bonus, he’d get to mark something off his father’s list of demands—though not the way his father anticipated, he was sure.
But now, with his decision a reality, he wondered if he’d made a mistake. She wasn’t just an idea anymore. Jane was a flesh-and-blood woman with feelings and expectations. She was a reality more complex than he’d bargained for.
He swallowed, hard.
Digging in his pocket, he withdrew the letter Cummings had given him and squatted in the grass to read it.
Smoothing the pages on his thigh, he scanned the familiar handwriting.
Harrison,
Have you given up on this nonsense yet? I had hoped a second long winter in the primitive conditions of Wyoming Territory would have cured you of this ranching bug. Only a few months before the deadline. You should have a fairly good idea if you’re going to make it or not. And if you know you’re going to fall short, then end this farce now by coming back to Columbus.
Harrison grimaced, shaking his head. Every letter began the same: give it up and come home.
The factory continues to prosper, though Peterson isn’t the manager you are. New orders pour in every day. I still can’t fathom why you would turn your back on such a successful business, on an inheritance I’ve given my life’s blood building up for you, for this pipe dream. The conditions you describe are appalling. I can’t bring myself to even discuss them with my friends and business associates. Why are you still living in a dirt house when I sent more than ample supplies—at considerable cost and aggravation, I might add—to build a proper dwelling?
Harrison flicked a glance toward the sod structure housing the building materials. Rolled up in a trunk under his bed lay the plans, along with stern instructions from his father to see the house was erected as soon as possible. It was a disgrace for a Garvey to be living in a rabbit hole. Taking a deep breath, he resumed reading. His eyes lit on a name that made his gut clench.
I dined with the Norwoods this week. Sylvia is still waiting for you to come to your senses, though I fear her patience (and her mother’s) is wearing thin. Last week Sylvia was seen walking out with
one of Rankin Booth’s sons, and Mrs. Norwood went to considerable pains to tell me of all the invitations her daughter has been receiving of late. If you’re not careful, you’ll lose that girl to someone else. She’s too beautiful a woman and has too much of a dowry behind her to go unclaimed for long.
Sylvia Norwood. The little black barn cat had nothing on Sylvia when it came to claws and stalking. The Columbus socialite had set her sights on Harrison years before—or rather Harrison’s family fortune—and nothing he did seemed to convince the woman he wasn’t interested in her. At least a part of his reason for fleeing Columbus could be laid at Sylvia’s feet.
But not all of it. The rest came from within himself, this burning desire to be his own man, to be free, to make his own way. Here, on his own property, away from the city and boardrooms, the factory and the demands, he felt a solace and completeness like nowhere else. Working with his hands, bending his back and making something solid out of a wilderness, pitting his strength and will against whatever challenge rose up to meet him, this was what he’d dreamed of since he was a small boy.
And it was almost within his grasp.
I can only hope and pray that once you return, you’ll have gotten this wildness out of your nature and will embrace the role you were born to. But if you continue to be stubborn and insist on the full three years, I can’t stop you.
Rutherford Garvey
Never “Dad” or “Pa” or even “Father.” He always signed his letters “Rutherford Garvey.” Harrison refolded the pages and slipped them into the envelope. If he was stubborn, at least he had come by it honestly.
He swung aboard his horse and pointed the animal’s nose toward the ranch. He could put in a couple more hours before dinner and perhaps formulate a response to his father’s letter. His father was going to have a conniption when he found out Harrison had married. And a mail-order bride at that.
Chapter 3
Jane surveyed her new domain. Though the bed had been spread up, one couldn’t exactly call it tidy, and the ugly wool blanket covering it made her wrinkle her nose. Dust covered every surface, and boxes, crates, and cans tilted along the perimeter of the room.
She pursed her lips. What this place needed was a good cleaning and organizing. Well, she wasn’t afraid of hard work. Refusing to be daunted, she rolled up her sleeves. If Harrison was going to be gone until supper, she had some time to get unpacked.
And to poke around a little to see what she could find out about her new, if absent, husband. A twinge hit her conscience that she might be prying, but she laughed it off. In a one-room house barely larger than her bedroom back in Seabury, it would be difficult to keep any secrets from each other.
She paused, realizing anew that she was indeed married, and to a man she barely knew. Her muscles tightened. Perhaps unpacking should come first. Her valises sat on the bed, and her trunk took up a fair portion of the available floor space. Time to get to work.
Opening the top dresser drawer, she knew a glimmer of hope. Half the space lay empty. And in each of the lower three drawers, his belongings had been placed to one side.
He’d made room for her things.
He’d made room for her.
That thought warmed her heart even as her cheeks heated at the intimacy of laying her clothing next to his and organizing her toiletries near his shaving mug and razor on the dresser top. A small mirror hung over the dresser, suspended from wire tacked into a roof brace. She studied her face, wishing once again she could be classically beautiful like her sisters. But her own ordinary face looked back at her, pale brown hair and green-brown eyes.
With earthen-block walls, there were no shelves or hooks, so she left her books and bonnets in her trunk. The one thing she did take out was her sewing basket. At least she’d have her knitting and her reading to occupy her hands and mind in the evenings.
She drew in a deep breath. Perhaps she’d best leave the rest of her belongings in the trunk and concentrate on putting a meal on the table. Cooking she could feel confident about. At least he had a proper stove with an oven and water reservoir. She propped the soddy doors open for more light and headed to the fuel shed.
Wrinkling her nose, she kicked a few of the dried cowpats into a bucket. Ugh. What she wouldn’t give for a hod or two of coal or a few sticks of wood. Getting the fire to light was no easy task, and she managed to fill the soddy with smoke before she got the dampers adjusted correctly. She prayed the haze would dissipate before Harrison returned.
An examination of the stores turned up basic staples and a few pleasant surprises. She could work with these, and perhaps her wedding dinner wouldn’t have to be plain fare after all.
Harrison headed for the house as the last of the sun’s rays slipped below the horizon. His heart beat a quick tattoo.
The smell of hot biscuits and frying meat drifted toward him as he approached the soddy. On the doorstep, he scraped his boots as best he could and whacked some of the dirt and sand from his clothes.
Jane turned from the stove at his arrival. Her glance meshed with his. A flush colored her cheeks, and several wisps of hair curled at her temples. An apron covered her skirts, and his eyes were drawn to the bow in the back, so perky and feminine. When he realized he was staring, drinking in the contentment of not coming home to an empty house to prepare his own meager supper and fall into bed, he forced himself to look away. Her presence wasn’t the only change in the soddy. A handful of grass-flowers stood in a glass of water on the windowsill, and a colorful patchwork quilt covered the straw mattress.
Jane flipped the ham in the skillet as if she knew her way around a stove, and he swallowed as his mouth watered.
“Smells good.”
She smiled and took a pan full of golden brown biscuits from the oven. “Sit down. I’ll have this on the table in a jiffy.”
The table had been scrubbed and was set with stoneware dishes and steel flatware. He usually ate right out of whatever pan he cooked in. Glancing down at his work-stained clothes, he realized how accustomed to bachelor life he’d become. “I’ll just wash up first.” He ducked out the backdoor to scrub up at the washstand there. He grinned. Married half a day and already things were changing for the better. He returned just as she set the final dish on the table, and he didn’t miss the surprise in her eyes when he held her chair for her.
“Thank you.”
He took his seat and spread his napkin in his lap, a ritual he hadn’t performed in so long it seemed foreign. And because he couldn’t resist the impulse, he held out his hand to her. Though she raised her eyebrows, she hesitantly placed her fingers in his. Warm, strong, small fingers. She was so tiny his hand swallowed hers up. Her fingers quivered, and she sucked in a breath as if trying to calm herself.
“I’ll say grace.”
Comprehension entered her forest-colored eyes, and she bowed her head.
“Lord, I thank You for Your leading, and for bringing Jane here. I ask Your blessing on our union, and I pray that You’ll help me to be a good husband to her. I thank You for this food, and I thank You for the hands that prepared it.” His fingers tightened around hers. “Amen.”
“Amen,” she whispered, then busied herself dishing up his food and hers.
He almost closed his eyes again when he bit into a biscuit. So light it almost floated off his tongue, and perfectly cooked. His efforts at biscuits usually resembled granite lumps. Slowly he chewed, savoring every bite.
“Is it all right?” Her fork poised over her plate.
“That’s the best biscuit I’ve ever had.”
She exhaled and smiled. “I’ve never used this particular brand of fuel before. I wasn’t sure how they would turn out.”
“I’d say you did a fine job.”
All through dinner she kept glancing past his shoulder, a pensive expression in her eyes that puzzled him. The lamplight picked out highlights in her hair and lashes and turned her skin to gold. Everything about her intrigued him, from the softness of her skin
to the gentle curve of her cheek. Baby-fine hair wisped along her slender neck, and his fingers itched to touch it.
She stared at her half-eaten meal. “I hope you don’t mind. I unpacked a few of my things and put them in the dresser.”
He shook his head. “Jane, this is your home now. You can do whatever you want.”
She swallowed and nodded, and when he reached for her hand again, she scooted her chair back. “I made dessert.”
What had her so skittish? She was as jumpy as a jackrabbit with the hiccups. His attention went to the pan she set on the table. When was the last time he had peach cobbler?
“I thought, since it was our wedding day”—a delightful blush deepened in her cheeks, and her lashes swept downward—“that we should have something nice to celebrate. I couldn’t manage a cake, so I made this.”
As she lifted a square of syrupy, fruity goodness onto his plate, he realized how much she must’ve given up when she agreed to marry him. All the things a girl wanted in a wedding, all those things Sylvia Norwood and her mother had gushed about all the time—flowers, music, food, fancy clothes—Jane had missed out on all of those things. Instead, she got a wagon ride with a cranky preacher, a rushed ceremony with a total stranger, and an afternoon spent alone wondering if she’d overstepped her bounds by unpacking her bags.
Not knowing what to say, how to apologize or even if he should, he dug into the cobbler and tried to justify his actions. She knew what she was getting into becoming a mail-order bride. If she wanted all the fancy trimmings of a wedding, she should’ve stayed back East, right? The justifying didn’t work. His conscience still jabbed him.
When he’d mopped up the last delicious crumb from his plate, she took it and started the washing up. Her movements were jerky, and more than once, something slipped from her hand to plop into the water. Finally, it dawned on him why she was so on edge. She finished the dishes, threw out the dishwater, and wiped her hands on her apron, all while trying to avoid looking at him.
Love Is Patient Romance Collection Page 9