A Most Inconvenient Marriage

by Regina Jennings

  And the singing.

  By thunder, she was singing. Wasn’t that supposed to be reserved for the horses? Even his pain couldn’t cover his growing awareness of her. He turned his head the other way while she changed out the rag for a hotter one. What was he going to do? How could he live with her under his roof without going mad? How many months before that colt was born?

  But as he groused he felt his toe brush the table. He lifted his head. “Was that my foot?”

  Her song stopped. “It sure was.”

  “My toe touched the table?” He dropped his head down, relief making him dizzy. “Do it again.”

  With a last kneading motion on his hamstring she eased his heel forward. He willed his body to relax. His toe tapped the wooden plank, and he smiled. Almost straight. Almost healed. Almost free. “Not much longer before we can quit, and I won’t have to come in here with you again.”

  Her hands stilled. Wordlessly, she released him and the rag disappeared.

  Jeremiah sat up. When had he grown so rude? “I don’t mean that I’m not grateful.” How could he explain what their time alone was doing to him? He didn’t want to admit it, even to himself. “I’m excited that I might walk again. That’s what I mean. The sooner I can leave this crutch—”

  “The sooner you can get everything back like it was before the war.” Her light lashes fluttered against her cheek. “I know. No use explaining.”

  Water sloshed as she poured the remains into a trough. Her normally crisp movements lagged. “Do you want me to bring you out some dry laundry?”

  “Naw. I’m headed to the field. It’ll dry soon enough.” And the sooner he could get out of this awkward situation, the better. He held the barn door open for Abigail and heard snickering. The perpetrators were easily spotted. Young Josiah and Betsy peeked around the well at him.

  Wonderful. Another opportunity for him to be misunderstood. “What are you laughing at?” Jeremiah shot a quick look at Abigail, but her face was as impassive as a mask.

  “You.” Betsy twisted the dirty hem of her short dress. “We wondered what Miss Abigail was giving you a spanking for.”

  “A spanking?” Abigail’s eyes stretched wide. “No, Betsy. I was not spanking Captain Calhoun.”

  “You had him laid out like to take a switching,” Josiah said, “and then we figured he deserved it if’n he done wet his pants.”

  The breeze chilled Jeremiah’s legs. “You are lucky I can’t catch you. Once Miss Abigail has me fixed up, I’m going to chase you down and—”

  But with squeals of laughter they flew down the drive, their dirty feet flashing, and disappeared into the forest.

  He couldn’t help but chuckle at their orneriness, but Abigail moped like she’d lost her best friend. He chicken-winged her with his elbow. “Hey, don’t look so worried. Your work with me is almost done. Then you can spend some time teaching those two some manners.”

  Abigail’s brow furrowed. “It’s dangerous out here. Their Ma should keep a better eye on them.”

  “They certainly are keeping a good eye on us.” Her cheeks went rosy at his remark. Well, dandy. Maybe she understood his discomfort after all.

  Chapter 12

  Jeremiah couldn’t take his eyes off Laurel as she flitted around the kitchen, a flurry of skirts, a shimmer of ebony hair, a flash of a strawberry-sweet smile. With the smell of fresh-baked bread and Laurel’s musical voice, he’d finally found a place where he could keep thoughts of Abigail at bay. If only Dr. Hopkins’s frog-ugly face didn’t get in the way. With every pass Laurel made from the stove to the table, Hopkins’s pointy chin and enraged eyes interrupted Jeremiah’s view. He might be unhappy, but they needed to reach an understanding about where things were headed. The good doctor was fixing to be replaced.

  “I think that’s all.” Laurel slid a plate of biscuits on the table between the two men and wiped her forehead with the back of her hand.

  Jeremiah stood to pull her stool out for her, but no sooner than he reached, Hopkins lurched for it. The table moved, causing Jeremiah to question his balance. He steadied himself against it.

  Laurel looked at his hand gripping the table and bit her lip as she sank into her seat, sadness tinting her eyes. Jeremiah’s chest burned as he glared at Hopkins. His crutch might come in handy when he decided to beat some manners into the doctor.

  “I’m sorry your pa isn’t here.” Hopkins passed Laurel a bowl of pinto beans. “We were getting on so well last night. He’s really difficult to get to know, but now that he’s warmed up to me, I don’t think I’ve ever had a closer friend.”

  Jeremiah dipped a spoon of sorghum onto his biscuit. The golden threads stretched and thinned. “Is that so? I’ve known Hiram since I was a boy, so I don’t guess I’ve ever thought of him like a stranger would. He’s always been a second pa to me.”

  Laurel smiled. His heart skipped a beat. “Ever since your pa died, he’s tried to look out for you, Jeremiah.”

  “What an unwelcome burden.” The doctor tore a piece of chicken off the bone.

  Laurel’s eyes sparkled. Like a falling leaf, her hand landed on Hopkins’s arm. “Oh, Newton, you tickle me something fierce.” He ducked his head toward her and winked. Jeremiah stabbed his piece of chicken with his knife. What he needed was a diversion. Something to drag the doctor’s thoughts away from Laurel.

  “How’s your doctoring going?”

  “I . . . uh, it’s going well. Quite well, actually.”

  “I’d imagine. What with the lack of food and medicine, you probably stay busy looking after sick folk. Then if the bushwhackers would shoot someone now and then, you might be able buy yourself another pair of shoes.”

  Hopkins lowered his tin cup. “How’s your sister, Jeremiah? Your ma was right grateful for my help before you came home.”

  Jeremiah’s neck twitched. Why’d he have to drag Rachel into the conversation? Thinking about Rachel took the spark out of Jeremiah’s sparking.

  “She’s no better. That’s a fact. But nobody gave us any hope that she ever would be.”

  Now Laurel leaned toward his end of the table. “Poor Jeremiah. How hard it must be to see her suffer.”

  This wasn’t the place. He shrugged. “You know how it is. She can’t forgive me for not letting her marry Alan. She’ll go to her grave hating me.”

  A few minutes passed in silence before anyone felt compelled to speak again.

  “That nurse has been living with you for quite a while.” Hopkins sipped water from his tin cup.

  “Oh yes. Abigail!” Laurel clapped her hands. “She is such a dear. The second I met her I knew she was the kind of person I could share my deepest, darkest secrets with. I’ve been meaning to show her the best places to gather berries and nuts. Do tell her to come any time.”

  “She stays so busy upstairs with Rachel and visiting other folks, I don’t see much of her. It’s like she’s hardly there.” Sometimes he could go a whole hour without seeing her.

  Hopkins scratched his chin. “Now correct me if I’m wrong, but aren’t we talking about your wife, Jeremiah? The beautiful woman who claims to be married to you?”

  “You think she’s beautiful?” Jeremiah raised an eyebrow. “I’m surprised to hear you say so.”

  Laurel shook her head. She snatched the empty biscuit plate and pulled the heavy crock of beans to her. “Why don’t you two go outside and see who can spit watermelon seeds the farthest? That’s all the good you’re worth today, the both of you.”

  Jeremiah stood. Two steps to the sink, but he couldn’t make it. Not yet. And he wouldn’t stumble again in front of her. He crammed his crutch under his arm and carried his plate away. “I guess I’d better be getting home. Calbert and I are shoeing the horses today.”

  “How’s Josephine?” Laurel twirled her braid around her finger. He could imagine its silky weight in his hand.

  “Missing Napoleon something terrible,” he rasped.

  Laurel was so dainty. He could wrap his arms a
round her and almost make her disappear. Her cheeks flushed and Jeremiah stood close enough to feel their heat.

  “Newton?” She stepped sideways to peer around Jeremiah. “Newton, why don’t you see if Jeremiah needs any help with his horse?”

  Jeremiah stumbled backwards. “I don’t need any help with that horse or any horse.”

  “Hopkins is a doctor,” Laurel said. “He’s used to helping the infirmed.”

  The infirmed? Is that what she thought of him? Jeremiah’s plate clattered into the sink. “I can take care of myself,” he said and then leaned close. Desperation gruffed his voice. “I could take care of you, too, if you’d let me, Abigail.”

  Her head snapped up. Hopkins choked on a laugh. Jeremiah frowned. “What?”

  “You called Laurel Abigail.” Hopkins beamed a toothy grin.

  “I did not.” Only a dunce would . . .

  But Laurel looked at him like she’d found a booger in the sugar bowl. He’d made a mistake and he couldn’t blame this mess on the Yankees, unless you counted one Yankee nurse.

  “Well, if I did say it, it was an honest mistake. No one could compare the two of you.”

  But Laurel had closed up tighter than a bloom for the night. The day was wasted.

  His pride screamed at him to throw his crutch aside and stomp away, but he mastered his frustration long enough to get on his horse and make himself scarce. Jeremiah wouldn’t let Hopkins best him at anything, whether horseshoes, coon hunting, or arm wrestling. He definitely wouldn’t let him win this contest. Given time, Laurel would come around. She was just too tenderhearted where Hopkins was concerned. Once she mulled over the choice, she’d choose Jeremiah, hands down, guaranteed.

  But how in creation did Abigail’s name find its way onto his lips? As if it weren’t bad enough that she’d spent months posing as his wife, now he was whispering her name to his sweetheart. People were going to get suspicious.

  Something had to change. He couldn’t send Abigail away, but he couldn’t take the strain of having her near. He was about to snap.

  When Ma entered the room, Abigail set aside the sock she was darning to find a vase for the roses Rachel had requested. She’d seen the red blooms at the stack of boulders Ma called the thinking place but didn’t realize they ever took cuttings from the bush. Once the roses were in water, Abigail buried her nose in the petals. “Why do you keep these beautiful flowers so far from the house?”

  Ma tossed her bonnet on the sofa. “I don’t know. They just seem more special if you have to travel a piece to see them, I guess. If they were here by the porch, I wouldn’t appreciate them near as much.”

  Similar to working every day with a kind, decent woman at your side, and then traipsing off to visit someone who didn’t care? A thorn nicked Abigail’s finger.

  “How’s Rachel?” Ma asked.

  “She spent the morning resting and suffered no ill from your being gone.” Abigail wiped the drop of blood from her finger onto her apron.

  “Praise the Lord. I have no right to complain, but sometimes I need to get out of that room.” Ma stopped before the mirror to tidy her thick silver hair. “You just don’t know, dearie, how it upsets her when she doesn’t get her way.”

  “Oh, I think I have a good idea, but catering to her whims hasn’t helped her. You can’t do anything for her physical state, but you might ruin her spiritual state, as well.”

  Ma nodded. As usual, she accepted Abigail’s words without question, but she’d easily dismiss them as soon as Rachel grumbled.

  Abigail sent Ma up to meet her fate, removed her apron, and hurried out of the house. At the edge of the stone porch, Abigail stretched her hands above her head and arched her back. One could imagine how a crimped body could crimp a spirit. She prayed the ugly habits Rachel had fallen into would be broken before it was too late.

  Abigail caught sight of a rider moving through the trees. She leaned in tight against the porch beam to watch Jeremiah approach unobserved. He sat tall in the saddle, cutting a striking figure on Lancaster. His white shirt hugged his shoulders, then billowed loose as it covered his slim torso, which, thank goodness, had been spared any harm during the war. His bad leg was still discernible by its length and the thinner muscles in the thigh, but the difference wasn’t immediately obvious.

  And the only reason she looked was because she needed to measure his progress, right? And while she observed him, she supposed that if his scowl was any indication, his visit with Laurel hadn’t been a success. Well, he might as well get it off his chest before suppertime. Ma sure didn’t need more disruption under her roof.

  Abigail tucked in the stray locks that’d escaped from the braids pinned across her head. She’d act like she was only there to help him groom the horse, and maybe he’d feel like unburdening himself while they worked. If not, then surely Calbert could pull it out of him when he came to do the smithing.

  Jeremiah was pulling the girth through the buckle on the saddle when she entered the barn, but he didn’t look up. His crutch lay far from him, thrown in a pile of hay. Not a good omen. “Can I help you?” he said.

  “I came to help you, actually.”

  His eyes flamed. “Why would I need your help?”

  Abigail stopped in her tracks. She’d already locked horns with one member of the family that morning. Did she have to best another? “You have in the past and told me so just last night.”

  “Well, I’m getting stronger every day.”

  The cinch belt swung free. He slid the saddle off of Lancaster’s back and the weight threw him a tad off balance, but Abigail noticed his bad leg held him steady. Soon he’d have no need for the crutch. Or her.

  He tossed the saddle across the stall divider, removed the blanket, and took up a brush. Abigail ran her hand down Lancaster’s opposite shoulder, surprised at the dampness. While the horse wasn’t winded, Jeremiah must have ridden hard for home.

  Taking a brush, Abigail joined him in his task, keeping the horse’s body between them. Something about skin fascinated her. The twitch of the muscle, the ripple that could be harnessed either for speed or for strength. One only had to will it, and arms, legs, flanks, and hooves obeyed. She’d never tire of the marvel of it—whether human or beast.

  She ran her hand down Lancaster’s neck, feeling the play of the muscle beneath her fingers. After all the time she’d spent working on Jeremiah’s hurt leg, she’d never fully taken stock of his healthy one. She should’ve done that before she started his treatment, and a visual examination wasn’t sufficient. How could she achieve symmetry with no knowledge of what his muscles felt like uninjured? She ducked beneath Lancaster’s head and peered down at Jeremiah. His trousers might be threadbare, but they hung as loose as a turkey’s wattle. No question which leg was thicker, but she’d need to feel them to know how far the hurt one had atrophied.

  He stopped brushing the horse. She lifted her face to meet his eyes. Stern. Angry. Impassioned over some wrong. Abigail smoothed her hair behind her ear. Maybe she should go back to the house.

  “Can’t keep from staring, can you?” He held his arms out. His white shirt billowed above his trim waist. “Go on and get your fill. Wonder at my injury whilst you can. I won’t be crippled for long.”

  His crooked smile had an edge to it. A challenge.

  Abigail never was one to back down from a challenge.

  “How’s Laurel?”

  He tossed his brush on the table and dusted his hands. “Laurel is a daisy. Too politic for her own good, but she’ll set old Hopkins straight soon enough.”

  Abigail took Lancaster’s bridle and led him toward his empty stall. “Did she talk about him?”

  “She didn’t have to. He ate dinner with us.”

  Her mouth dropped open, and she stopped fumbling with the bridle. “He did? And she knew you were coming?”

  He took the bridle from her hands. “Her father wasn’t home. She probably wanted to make sure we were chaperoned.” He smacked Lancaster on the rum
p, sending the horse trotting inside.

  Was Jeremiah this delusional? She stepped aside so he could fasten the stall door. “Well, Hopkins is the perfect chaperone because there’s no one more suited to keep the two of you apart.”

  “Caution, there, miss.” He spun on his good heel. His chin rose. “You can’t keep your hands off me, so I must be somewhat of a temptation.”

  “Are you accusing me of impropriety? I’ll not be added to your inaccurate list of women who find you irresistible.” How dare he! She tried to stomp past him, but he stepped into her path.

  “I’m not imagining Laurel’s affection, if that’s what you’re getting after. She’d do anything for me.”

  “Besides leave her beau, you mean?” Abigail crossed her arms across her chest. Why couldn’t she just play along? What was it to her if he preferred to be deceived? But it wasn’t in her nature to see folly and not expose it. Especially when the man strutted around so cocksure, unable to admit his shortcomings.

  “You know, I feel sorry for you.” Jeremiah stretched his arm across the walkway to hang the bridle on the stall divider. “It must be lonely to be so far from home and not have a sweetheart. Or maybe you do. I’m not quite sure what to believe about you.”

  Her hands went to her hips before she remembered how his gaze would follow them there. She raised her chin to meet his arrogant level. “If a man did love me, I wouldn’t make him dance around like a fool while I carried on with another fellow.”

  “Stop!” He stepped closer, stirring up the scent of clean straw. “This war cost me my leg, my best friend, and nearly cost me my farm. I will not fail again. I’ve already lost too much.”