A Most Inconvenient Marriage

by Regina Jennings

  Suddenly the cold didn’t bother him. “You don’t mean—”

  “Newton insisted that I throw you over, but I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t see you hurt, so I thought we should marry, but now I’m wondering if I made the right choice. I hate to be so flimsy, and if you are going to be forever heartbroken then I won’t leave you.” She leaned forward and grasped his hand. “I want you to be happy no matter what it costs me. I’m willing to put your feelings first.”

  Jeremiah fell to his knees, feeling more true emotion toward Laurel than ever before.

  Laurel’s eyes widened with shock. “Do you want to get married? I will if you insist—”

  “No, Laurel.” His smile stretched all the way to the back of his neck. “You don’t need to marry me. We were both so careful with each other that we nearly made an awful mistake.”

  “You don’t mind if I marry Newton?”

  “I was jealous when I came home, but now I see that he’s the better man for you. You’ll make each other very happy.”

  Her knees buckled and she sat heavily in the rocker. “You don’t know how relieved I am to hear that.” She fanned her face, even though the air was frosty. “But what if he’s already found someone else? I even worried about him and Abigail.”

  Jeremiah snatched her hand, kissed it heartily, and then hopped to his feet. “We’ll just have to keep that from happening, won’t we?”

  His lungs fairly tingled from the cool air filling them. A huge weight had been lifted from his shoulders. Laurel was his friend, would always be his friend, but she would not be his wife. He spun to face her again. “You’re sure, aren’t you? You’re refusing me once and for all?”

  Her eyes sparkled. “I’m sure. From here on out, you’re a brother to me, no matter what happens between our parents.”

  So happy was he that he wrapped his arms around her, picked her up, and swung her around the porch.

  She squealed. “Land sakes, you don’t have to act quite so relieved.”

  Jeremiah set her down and tried to stop grinning like a possum. “I just don’t want you to feel poorly about this. You’ve made the right decision.”

  “And Newton is coming this morning, isn’t he?”

  “He is.” He and Calbert were stopping by to say their farewells to Abigail.

  “Then I might favor him with a private word, if he’ll allow it.”

  “See if he don’t.” But he didn’t have time for Laurel’s plans. He had to change Abigail’s.

  Abigail saw the swirling skirt as she passed the parlor window. Laurel’s giggles soaked through the rock walls, and Jeremiah’s deep voice rang joyfully, making words unnecessary.

  What a change of heart from last night’s melancholy. Abigail crammed a last hairpin into her upsweep and scraped her scalp in the bargain. With her departure so near had he decided to stop pretending? If he was determined to marry Laurel, she supposed he might as well be happy about it. His misery hadn’t been doing anyone good.

  The kitchen chairs gathered undisturbed around the table, waiting for their owners to claim them. The cloth-covered milk pail had already been delivered. Abigail picked up the egg basket and moved the mixing bowl to the table. Breakfast would be her last meal with the family she loved. She wanted them all to be happy, but maybe she’d better appreciate their happiness from a few hundred miles away.

  Jeremiah burst through the door. He rocked on his toes, grinning from ear to ear. “Good morning.”

  Why did he look so excited? Too bad she hadn’t taken up pipe smoking, because she’d love to blow a cloud in his face at the moment.

  “I found the milk,” she said. “Have you already fed the stock?” With excessive force, Abigail cracked the egg against the ceramic bowl’s edge. It shattered in her hand.

  “I—no, I haven’t. Laurel caught me on the way to the barn, and I completely forgot.”

  Abigail had made the right decision. For all his protesting that he was only marrying Laurel out of duty, he was doing a convincing performance. He should try the stage. She wiped her yoked hand on a dish towel. “I don’t feel like cooking. Why don’t I take care of the horses one last time and you fix breakfast?”

  Before he could tell her how Laurel made his heart sing songs written by cupids and mermaids, Abigail snatched her cloak and fled out the back door. It’d sure been easier to appreciate his dilemma when he was miserable.

  Heavy clouds blanketed the sky, making it impossible to tell where the sun was. Gray light filtered from everywhere, erasing shadows. She’d have to hurry if she wanted to be done by breakfast time. She could only hope that Laurel wasn’t as addled as her beau and she’d help get the food on the table so they didn’t miss the train.

  The footsteps crunching behind her in the dry leaves were as familiar as her own heartbeat. When she’d started his exercises, she hadn’t expected him to push himself so hard. Perhaps she shouldn’t have taught him at all. Then he wouldn’t be able to catch her so easily.

  He passed her, unlocked the padlock, and swung the heavy barn door open for her. “Are you mad?”

  She snatched the feed bucket and stalked toward the bag of oats. Equine eyes widened, stopping her in her tracks. She drew in a long breath and tried to stop bristling.

  “I don’t mean to snap at you.” But how could she explain that his happiness made her mad?

  Jeremiah closed the barn door behind him.“No apologies. You’ve put up with me for five months, and I reckon you’re due a day of grumbling.”

  The gentleness of his tone left her confused. Instead of celebrating, he was treating her as carefully as she was treating the skittish horses.

  “But I have no reason to grumble. You don’t owe me anything. I’m not your family. I’m not tied in any way—”

  He held up his hand. “We are tied, Abigail Stuart Calhoun. You can’t pretend we’re not.”

  Her eyes widened at the use of his last name. How could he be so cruel? To taunt her when he had no use for her affection? She sputtered, “Does it please you that I . . . that I foolishly gave you my heart? Don’t imagine for a moment that I’m still afflicted. I made a mistake, but I’ve recovered.”

  “I hope not.” At her gasp he came to her. “You should at least hear me out.”

  “Your time would be better spent feeding animals.” She shoved the bucket into his chest, then gave an extra push for good measure.

  He stepped sideways, blocking her way, uncomfortably close even with the bucket between them. “I wouldn’t speak to you like this if I weren’t free to do so.”

  Free? Hope rose like a bubble in her throat. What was he saying? “I warn you . . .”

  He dropped the bucket to the ground with a clang. The horse hiccupped. Abigail took a step backwards. He stepped forward.

  “Laurel and I have expressed our mutual disinterest for each other.” His suspenders strained over his chest as he straightened his shoulders. “I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s engaged before dinner.”

  “She’s chosen Hopkins?”

  “She has, and I’m the happiest man in the world.”

  Was it possible? Abigail clutched a handful of her skirt. “But it’s too late. I’m leaving.”

  “I don’t believe you are.” His ornery grin made her itch to smack him—whether with her fist or her lips was still to be determined. “You can’t go to the train station alone, and why would I help you run away?”

  “But you were so happy this morning—”

  “I want you, Abigail.” He held her gaze as he closed the distance between them. “When I wake up in the morning, my day doesn’t begin until I see your face. While I’m out working, I’m thinking about things I want to talk to you about, how I think you’ll respond, how beautiful you’ll look as you argue with me.” Running out of room for a retreat, Abigail bounced into the rock wall. Jeremiah took her hand. “I want you to visit your family, but not until I can go with you. I don’t want you to ever be alone again.” His thumb trailed over her knuc
kles. “Please stay with me.”

  Somewhere among the warm scents of the hay and horses, she caught the scent of his clean shaving soap. Whatever was going on with her heart, Abigail was sure it wasn’t healthy. Her head spun in a delightful dizziness, thinking of what he might do, what she hoped he would do next. He was a fine-looking man, and he was hers. Two facts she could ignore no longer.

  “Marry me,” she said.

  His satisfied groan turned into a chuckle. “I knew it. That dream was a premonition.” He pushed back her loose coiffure to trace her ear. “Just for the record, I was going to ask you all proper like.”

  When he tugged her earlobe, he jangled some nerve all the way to her toes. To steady herself, Abigail gripped his arm and didn’t even try to hide her assessment—no, appreciation—of his bicep. Definitely healthy.

  “When?” he rasped.

  “Today. Now.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “I suppose we could, but we’d have to boot someone out of a bed. Surely Hiram would move back home if we explained what we needed the room for.”

  “I guess I didn’t think that through.” She followed his gaze to her white-knuckled grip on his arm. With effort she loosened her hold. “I just meant to settle it before the sun goes down again. I’m tired of being Abigail Calhoun, married to a man who never consented. No matter what happens in the future, I want to face it as your wife and with proof no one can dispute.”

  “Not a bad idea. Besides, then I wouldn’t feel guilty about the daydreams I’m going to have until we’re hitched.” Her fingers tightened again. He wrapped his arms around her and pressed a lingering kiss on her forehead. His mouth moved against her hair. “Once Calbert and Hopkins are here to guard the house, we’ll go hunt down a parson and have it done by the end of the day . . . if you can wait that long.”

  Maybe the parson better just come to the barn, because it could take a full regiment to pry her out of Jeremiah’s arms.

  Or someone crashing into the barn door.

  Abigail tried to look over Jeremiah’s shoulder as he thrust her behind him and prepared to face the interloper. But it was only Josiah, heaving and gasping as he stumbled toward them.

  “They took Pa.”

  Chapter 25

  “You gotta come, Mr. Jeremiah.” Josiah’s words chopped short as he tried to catch his breath. “They jumped Pa on the ridge. Betsy’s hiding in the hollow, but I got away.”

  Before he recognized a thought, Jeremiah had opened Lancaster’s stall. “What’d they do to him?”

  “Nothing yet. They said they was cold, and since he got them run out of their hidey hole, it was only fitting that he let them stay with us. Pa said Ma wouldn’t allow it. That’s when they pulled out their guns and said if she was a woman with smarts, she wouldn’t mind company.”

  Those filthy dogs with Calbert’s family? Jeremiah’s neck throbbed. “Josiah, bring me my guns and my coat. And tell Hiram to meet me at your cabin. Tell him to come up quiet from the spring where he’s not seen. You understand?”

  Josiah took off, dirt flipping up at his heels with every stride. Across the barn, Abigail tugged the mare’s bridle over her head.

  “What are you doing?” Jeremiah had finished bridling Lancaster and climbed on bareback.

  “I’m going to get Betsy. She must be scared to death.”

  He didn’t like it. His Abigail should sit safely by the fire and wait for him to return, not ride against outlaws. “You find her and come back home, you hear?” Lancaster pranced toward her, itching to gallop.

  “I’ll hurry back,” she said. “I don’t want to leave everyone here unprotected.”

  His partner, taking care of his family. “You’re a good woman. Come here.”

  She tugged the strap through the buckle before coming to his side. Leaning down, Jeremiah clasped the back of her head, pulled her against his knee, and imparted a kiss on her that should keep her warm on her mission. “Such a good woman.”

  Her hand rested on his thigh, the one that had so benefited from her touch. “Be careful, Jeremiah. I know you’ll be brave. I know you’ll be strong. But be careful and come home to me.”

  His throat tightened. In his heart, before every battle, he’d imagined Laurel saying those words. Now he realized how much better it was hearing them from Abigail. “Don’t you worry. I’m coming back.”

  He pinched her cheek to merit a smile before he galloped out of the barn.

  Hiram met him at the gate with his firearms. “Give me a minute to saddle up and I’ll be there.”

  “I hope to get close to the cabin without them seeing us. After that, I have no idea. We can’t blaze away with Mrs. Huckabee and the little ones inside.” Jeremiah tucked his gun beneath his belt and rested the rifle across Lancaster’s bare withers.

  “Maybe we wait them out. Come to think of it, I’ll bring some vittles. We could be there awhile.”

  Jeremiah glanced to the barn. “I pray we won’t.” But God often had bigger plans than his own.

  Sensing his impatience, Lancaster pawed the ground. Jeremiah clicked and the horse surged onward, not even slowing when the trail narrowed. Curving his body forward, Jeremiah hugged the horse close as it left the trail and darted through the trees. Down to the spring that flowed from Calbert’s house they raced. Splashes of icy water dashed against his hat and coat as he rattled the branches. Streams of smoke billowed from Lancaster’s nostrils, but they reached the spring just as the horse was finding his full stride.

  “Whoa.” Jeremiah slid off Lancaster and tethered him out of sight. Taking his rifle, he silently followed the spring to the log cabin. From where Jeremiah crouched behind a brush pile, the cabin looked safe enough. The chimney puffed. The dogs cuddled beneath the porch. The burlap curtains were pulled to. Could this be another of Josiah’s monkeyshines? But in the growing morning light, Jeremiah saw something that made his blood run cold.

  Three horses were tied at the porch, one of them Ladymare. Even with Hiram, they were outnumbered.

  He surveyed his cover. The branches would shield him from sight, but they wouldn’t stay any bullets. Still, it offered the best view of the house. He’d have to stay hidden until time to act. He burrowed against the brush pile, making a hollow for protection from the wind, but stopped at a rustling. Some animal had already claimed the location. He hoped the critter didn’t mind sharing.

  Breaking a dry branch, Jeremiah situated a brace to hold the barrel of his rifle toward the only door in Calbert’s house. One door made it easy enough to guard, but it didn’t give the Huckabees any possibility of sneaking away. The rustling beneath the tangle of limbs started up again. A high-pitched squawking fired off. Several critters, a nest of some kind.

  He hoped they didn’t give away his position, but he couldn’t leave Calbert and his family at the mercy of these men for long. They’d hunted down Hiram and followed Calbert back to his place. No one was safe in their hands.

  But how to get them out? If he heard a gunshot, he’d charge immediately, no matter the consequences. Otherwise, he’d need to get them separated. But how? If he raised a ruckus outside, they’d leave someone behind to guard the family. He needed to get inside.

  Get inside. Get inside. Quickly Jeremiah considered every possibility—the windows, the one door, the chimney. No trap door that he knew of, but if the dogs wouldn’t bark, he’d go beneath to look around.

  A crazed birdcall from behind alerted him that help had arrived. Hiram hid behind the smokehouse a full twenty yards away. With the hand that didn’t have a gun in it, he motioned Jeremiah closer, but at that moment the cabin door opened. A stranger stepped out, one of those who’d taken Ladymare. The man scanned the area, pulled his hat down, bundled into his coat, and scurried to the outhouse. One quick look told Jeremiah that Hiram was ready. Was this his chance to get inside? If they took this man out, maybe Jeremiah could go in as a substitute. Wearing the man’s coat and hat might buy him time to get between the outlaws and the Huckabees.
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  When would they get a better chance?

  The demented bird whistled again. Jeremiah looked at Hiram. Why couldn’t he just make like a hoot owl? Hiram’s eyes bulged as he pointed to Jeremiah’s left.

  A polecat looking just like Betsy’s pet only older and more cantankerous waddled through the wet grass, wanting its den after a night out. The chirping from the brush pile picked up. Jeremiah’s stomach dropped. Her kits—that’s who he was sharing a den with.

  Mama polecat spotted him. Her nose twitched. Her babies cried.

  Not since the Battle of Westport had Jeremiah been in such a dangerous position. While he could wish for a time when he wasn’t sitting within firing range of a polecat marksman, this might still be his best shot.

  Hiram chirped again. Jeremiah had to make a decision. He nodded toward the outhouse. Yes. They needed to capture the man before he got back inside.

  The skunk eased forward. If she could make it to her furrow, she’d feel safe, but judging from her upraised tail, she didn’t trust him, and the feeling was mutual.

  Hiram crept toward the privy. Jeremiah was out of time.

  Jeremiah held his breath as he jumped out of the brush. The skunk stomped her front feet as he rushed toward her. The outhouse door pushed open. No time to swing a wide circle around her. He just hoped she wasn’t a quick trigger.

  He’d never been a lucky man.

  She spun and her backside burst forth with the foulest concoction an all-powerful God could create. The spray splattered just below his knee. He gagged but kept running until he tackled the outlaw. Hiram quickly crammed a rag into the man’s mouth, then sprang away, his hand covering his nose.