A Most Inconvenient Marriage

by Regina Jennings

Jeremiah shrugged. “I wouldn’t turn down an offer.”

  She ducked her head as she skipped ahead of him to swing the barn door open. He directed the horse into the barn beneath the trapdoor to the loft. Laurel climbed the ladder in a flurry of tattered petticoats and scuffed boots. The trapdoor crashed open, and she smiled down at him.

  Usually her smile could warm a chick out of its egg, but today it only caused guilt. He hated this uncertainty. He hated this double-mindedness. A man was supposed to decide once, and then it was settled. How had he gotten so confused?

  Climbing into the back of the wagon, Jeremiah lifted the first bushel to her waiting arms. “I didn’t mean to put you to work.”

  “Newton told me I shouldn’t be in the room until he finished Rachel’s examination.”

  Rachel. More guilt.

  Laurel’s ebony hair swung down on either side of her rosy face. “I’m so worried about tomorrow, Jeremiah. Will it be terribly dangerous?”

  “You know the type of men we’re going after.”

  She disappeared as the bushel thudded on the loft floor above him, then returned with tears in her eyes. “If anything happened to you . . . or Newton . . . I’d be so sad. Once before I thought I’d lost you. I couldn’t bear it again.”

  The first time Jeremiah had ridden into danger he hadn’t understood the stakes. He heard only the cheers, not the cautions. Now he knew the consequences, and so did Laurel. She had matured, after all.

  She stretched her arms down for another load, but when Jeremiah lifted a basket to her, she covered his hands with her own. “Do you remember the last time you left?” she asked. “I cried every day, but then the days turned to months and the months to years.”

  Her chin trembled. She took the basket from him and put it aside.

  “Your promises were all that kept me going,” Jeremiah said. “When I was shot, when I lost Alan, I knew I had nothing to come home to . . . nothing but you.” Her brown arms extended past her faded sleeves. He reached up to take the hand she offered.

  “And still I haven’t given you the answer you want.” Her eyelashes fluttered to her cheek. “I do love you, Jeremiah. I’ve just got to get my mind around it. Will you give me a little more time? Please? Will you wait on me?”

  Would he wait? He’d told Alan no. He’d told Rachel no. Here was someone else asking for a chance at love. Would he ruin this relationship, too?

  She glowed with hope. Laurel, who’d never harm a soul, reaching down to him as if she could snatch him up away from all the pain and trouble. He couldn’t reject her. He’d turned away too many friends already.

  “Yes. I’ll wait for you. You take your time.”

  For he wasn’t going anywhere. And in the meantime, he’d keep on working and praying that he could protect the people he loved.

  “I’m glad you sent for me.” Dr. Hopkins gulped the coffee down before returning the mug to Abigail. “Her temperature is slightly elevated. Her heart murmur is more pronounced, and she’s dizzy if she stands. Another attack will kill her.”

  “That’s what I thought, too.” Abigail set the mug in the basin, then glanced through the doorway to assure they were not overheard. “If she were one of my soldiers, I’d suggest she write her letters home, but I’m not sure what to do in this situation.”

  Dr. Hopkins’s fine brow lifted. “I’d say she has some peace to make before she goes.”

  But would she? Rachel had known for years that she would die young, but she hadn’t made any effort to set her family at ease. “What did you tell her?”

  “That her prognosis wasn’t good. That every fever will be more dangerous than the one before. She reacted flippantly, as I expected. She said she’d been promised a short life for years, yet it’d already lasted longer than she wanted.”

  With her fingernail, Abigail picked at a crack in the ceramic mug. Scores of earnest faces came to mind—men who’d fought for each last breath. Men who’d left behind families. And yet, no matter what Rachel’s attitude, she would still die. Maybe her anger was her defense against becoming too fond of the world. Either way, Abigail had a duty to this family to let Rachel go in peace . . . and hopefully leave peace behind.

  “Thank you for coming and for not mentioning to Ma that I summoned you. I didn’t want her to be distraught, especially with Jeremiah setting out tomorrow.”

  “And you wanted to borrow my expertise one last time in case I didn’t return,” the doctor said.

  “The future is uncertain, Doctor. No one knows that better than we do.”

  He tapped the table and smiled roguishly. “Why doesn’t he marry you and get it over with? We all know he’s going to, sooner or later.”

  “What? I’m not getting married.” Abigail’s mouth went dry at the jest. She didn’t want anyone to think she was after Jeremiah. Her hands suddenly had nowhere to rest but swept nonexistent dust from the table.

  “No cause for embarrassment, Miss Abigail. He’ll come around, but not soon enough for me.”

  “Shame on you,” she choked out. “Wistful thinking doesn’t make it so.”

  “Are you wistful?”

  “I’m speaking of you.” She hoped her face reflected the horror of his suggestion instead of her unease at the thought. “I understand your predicament, but leave me out of it.”

  A throat cleared. They turned to see Jeremiah and Laurel standing inside the door.

  Laurel bloomed under Newton’s gaze. “Are you finished with Rachel?”

  “I am, and considering the day we have before us tomorrow, I’d better be on my way.” He clasped the leather handles of his physician’s bag. “Tomorrow morning, Jeremiah?”

  “We’ll meet at Calbert’s at daybreak.”

  “I’ll be there. And Abigail, I trust my patient in your capable hands. As for that other issue . . . please take whatever measures you think necessary.”

  Her face warmed. Dr. Hopkins and Laurel departed, leaving her alone in the kitchen with Jeremiah.

  She removed the coffeepot from the stove top and burned her finger in the process. “Rachel isn’t doing well. Her heart can’t go on much longer.”

  The lines around his eyes deepened. “How long?”

  “Much depends on the fever she’s fighting off, but her heart is already struggling. The end could come suddenly, or she could linger. Either way, it doesn’t look like she’ll ever improve. I’ve been trying to prepare her. She can’t leave with things the way they are.”

  The sinews of his arm strummed as he flexed his hand. “I’ve tried to speak to her, too. She doesn’t want to hear my apology.”

  How it hurt her to hear the sorrow in his voice. Just as she would’ve during his exercise, Abigail laid her hand on those tense muscles in an effort to soothe them. “But never close the door. As long as she has breath, she can change.”

  His lips parted. He studied her hand. “Abigail. I don’t know what’s going to happen in the morning, and I don’t want to leave anything unsettled between us.” He covered her hand, his warmth coursing up her veins. “If I die tomorrow, you will stay here, won’t you? Even after Rachel passes and the colt’s born, you’d be a comfort to Ma.”

  She closed her eyes. This was home. She’d known that even before Jeremiah returned, but there were still complications. “And if you don’t die? Am I still welcome?”

  He blinked. “And stay here with me?” He frowned. “That would depend. There’s Laurel’s opinion to consider.”

  Abigail stiffened. Perhaps she should be content with his admission, but it wasn’t enough. Whether it was Newton’s observation or her own growing desires, something compelled her forward. “What if Laurel isn’t agreeable?”

  “Well, she’d have no reason to send you away. You get along with her—better than with Rachel. Besides, it’s my place. She’d have to listen to me.”

  Abigail pulled her hand free and turned to the window. “Jeremiah Almighty, imposing his will on everyone within his reach.” The scene blurred before
her eyes. She already had a home where she’d been tolerated. She thought she’d found something more.

  “What’s wrong with you?” Jeremiah asked.

  “You’ve wanted to send me away as soon as the colt was born, and now you can’t fathom why Laurel would have a single objection to me staying. Whatever mood strikes you—stay, don’t stay. Be my enemy; be my friend. Kiss me; don’t touch me. We’re all supposed to fall in line with the captain’s orders.”

  “Abigail.”

  She sensed his nearness and feared turning around. He was too close. She was too emotional.

  “I apologize again,” he said. “I haven’t treated you fairly, but there are limits to what I can offer.”

  And she knew then that she could never be content with less than his all. Abigail rubbed the penny in her pocket. She had her dignity. She wouldn’t make a fool of herself. She’d already said too much.

  “I’m praying for your safe return.” She forced a playfulness she didn’t feel and turned to him. “And I’m praying you find no excuse to bring Hopkins to harm.”

  The lines on his face vanished. “I wouldn’t hurt him. I need him to help me get my horse back.”

  “Your horse?”

  One corner of his mouth rose in a tentative grin. “You should see her. The best blood west of the Mississippi.”

  Chapter 17

  They probably wouldn’t find the outlaws, much less get into a shootout with them. Jeremiah flopped onto his back and scratched at his belly. His windowless room beneath the stairs was cozy in the winter, but on sleepless nights like this one it could feel like a cave. Or a coffin.

  Jeremiah sat up. He’d made a mistake. Somehow yesterday he’d messed up. Something had put him on the wrong path, and he couldn’t peg it down. What was causing his unease? What had he forgotten? He’d loaded his guns and had supplies set by for his saddlebags. Lancaster was fit and ready to ride. And while Jeremiah couldn’t run, he could mount up or stand and shoot without aid, thanks to Abigail.

  Abigail. Jeremiah got to his feet and paced the tiny room. He’d wanted her to be happy with his offer last night. Wasn’t that what she’d been angling after, a permanent place to live? So it should be settled. She’d stay here to help his ma if something happened to him. If he returned, well then, maybe she didn’t have to leave, after all. Not since Alan had there been someone so likely to listen and understand him. He’d learned such friendships were hard to come by. You’d better wrap the reins around your fists and hold on when you found one. Of course there’d always be the threat of another man taking an interest in her. She was comely enough. Definitely no lack where looks were concerned. To be honest, a man might do a lot worse than to claim her for his own. Assuming the man didn’t have Laurel Wallace waiting on him, of course.

  The niggling of doubt intensified. Whatever hook was stuck in his gill had Laurel’s name on it. The conversation he’d had with Laurel felt right. He hadn’t made the same blunder he’d made with Rachel and Alan by closing a door on a friend. So why did it now feel like a mistake? Why, when he was possibly facing death, did he feel like he’d wronged Abigail?

  The rooster crowed. The long night had finally ended. Pulling his cotton shirt over his head he marveled once again at the permanency of something as simple as a bedroom where a person’s soul could be molded and shaped again and again.

  Light gleamed from the crack beneath the kitchen door. He startled at the sound of footsteps on the stairs, but it was only Rachel. Leaning heavily against the railing and holding a candle in a shaking hand, she eased tender feet down to the first floor.

  Rachel had come downstairs to greet him? He barely managed to hide his surprise. “Good morning.”

  The pallor pasted on her face reminded him of Abigail’s dough mask. She wet her lips, her chest rising with the exertion of one who’d run a mile uphill. “Be careful,” she said at last.

  “Rachel, what are you doing down here?” Ma hurried across the room, took her arm, and pushed her toward the horsehair chair. “You shouldn’t be up this early.”

  Abigail stood behind Ma. Her face freshly scrubbed and pink.

  “Let me have my say before I give out.” Rachel squared her shoulders to him. “If something should happen to you and you don’t make it back . . .” She wiped her lips with the back of her hand. “If you, by some miracle, meet up with Alan in the great beyond, tell him that you were wrong and that I still love him.”

  A hint of satisfaction flitted across her face. Ma gasped and Abigail’s downturned mouth showed her disapproval.

  Jeremiah’s skin puckered. “I’ll pass on any message you have, and I don’t need to make any excuses to Alan. He understood my concern for you, even if you never could.”

  Rachel trembled, whether from anger or from exhaustion, he couldn’t guess. “That’s all I had to say. I’m going to my room.”

  “Let me help you.” Ma kissed Jeremiah on the cheek. “I’m not saying good-bye, because you’re coming back and that’s all there is to it.” She wrapped an arm around Rachel’s bony body and, with a heave, lifted her a few inches with every step.

  Abigail remained planted in the kitchen doorway. “We put together a parcel of food for you.” Her thick braid lay flat between her shoulder blades as he followed her into the kitchen, still unable to believe he didn’t need assistance walking. The burlap bag rasped against the table and then swung free as she extended the strap to him.

  Her puffy eyes gave evidence of a night poorly spent. Had she lost sleep over him, too?

  “Jeremiah, last night I decided something.” She ran her braid between her fingers. “Seeing how I have no home, no family, and seeing how much I enjoy your companionship, I’ve decided that when you’re finished running these men away, we’re getting married.”

  His suddenly nerveless fingers dropped the burlap bag to the floor. Abigail didn’t flinch. Had she gone loony? He knew she had nerve, but to propose? Something wasn’t right.

  “The last I heard you didn’t want to be alone with me, so how in the world did you decide we need to get hitched?”

  “Well, Laurel doesn’t want you. She’s had ample opportunity to say she does. Besides, you know down deep that we’re better suited. You yourself said that you’d rather talk to me. That I’m more likely to share your opinions—”

  “I said that to you?” He’d thought it, sure, but how did she know?

  Abigail stepped forward, her blue eyes fixed on his. “And what about that kiss? That was true. That was your heart. Neither of us has been able to stop thinking about it. That night we spent hiding under the ledge, when I slept in your arms, all you could think about was kissing me again.” She reached up and threaded her fingers through his hair, brushing it back and catching it at the nape. His mouth went dry. He wanted to close his eyes, enjoy her touch, but he was too busy drinking in the sight of her. “Maybe I’m being forward, but I say let’s make it official. Get the parson here so we can quit pretending to ignore each other and—”

  A banging at the kitchen door interrupted her. Heart pounding, Jeremiah stepped backwards, but she followed him, not letting any space between them. He had to answer the door, but he couldn’t help remembering how silky that braid felt unbound.

  “Jeremiah!” It was his ma. “Jeremiah, you need to wake up.”

  “I am awake, Ma.”

  Abigail frowned. Her proposal astounded him, but he had to admit she made a compelling argument.

  “I think about kissing you every minute of the day,” he whispered, “but I thought you were angry—”

  ————

  “Jeremiah,” Ma called. “It’s nearly daybreak. You’ve got to get on the road.”

  Jeremiah rolled over and sat up. Where had Abigail gone? He looked around his room. With shaking hands he lit the tallow candle, but no woman was hiding there. She was gone and he wasn’t dressed and in the kitchen. And he was late. Jeremiah sprang out of bed and pulled on his shirt. He had to find Abigail. He wante
d to know everything. Why had she tried to keep secrets from him? When had she decided that she loved him? His heart was full with the possibilities. He stopped with one leg in his trousers. But what had she said? Had he imagined the whole thing? Couldn’t be. No, it was too real.

  He toppled out of his room, still pulling his suspenders over his shoulders. His ma waited for him in the parlor, twisting her hands. Abigail worried her braid, trailing it between her fingers.

  “Where’s Rachel?” he asked.

  Ma frowned. “She’s to bed. I didn’t wake her.”

  The stairway was dark and empty. So she hadn’t asked him to say howdy to Alan after he died? Not that he’d expected anything less from her.

  “Now, give me a kiss, and I’ll go get dressed for the day,” his ma said. “You be careful. Hopefully you can scare them off without a shootout.”

  “And get Ladymare back,” Abigail added.

  His head tingled at the sight of her. With her rosy cheeks and soft eyes she looked exactly as she had in his dream. But then again, did she look different from any other morning? He kissed his ma just as Abigail leaned against the kitchen doorframe.

  “We put together a parcel of food for you.”

  His hair stood on end. Hadn’t she said that, too, or was his dream changing to match the circumstances? What if it wasn’t a dream but a premonition?

  He followed her, hobbling through the muffled ticking of the parlor clock and the muted birdsong. His hearing fuzzed. Only Abigail’s voice cut through the haze.

  “Jeremiah, last night I decided something.”

  The trap door of his chest broke open and his heart fell into his boot. This couldn’t happen, could it? He held up his hand. “You don’t need to say anything else. I know already.” Premonition. He called it.

  Her eyes narrowed. “You do? Well, then, do you accept?”

  Seemed like her last proposal was more winsome. She sounded almost impatient this time, but he still hadn’t thought of a good answer. How could he marry someone who was hiding the truth from him? He ran his hand through his hair. “Look, I’ve thought of that kiss every day, but you were so mad I didn’t think you’d ever consider—”