The Courtship of Izzy McCree

by Ruth Ryan Langan

  To cover the sudden silence she turned her attention to the children. “Why don’t you tell me a little about yourselves? Aaron? I remember hearing you tell the preacher you’re almost fifteen.”

  “Yes’m.” At a look from his brothers he added, “Well, I will be in a couple of months.”

  She tried to hide her surprise. “You seem much older.”

  He ducked his head. “Pa says there wasn’t much time for being a baby out here in the mountains.”

  “I suppose that’s so.” She turned to Benjamin. “And you are…?”

  “Twelve,” he said proudly. “And Clement’s ten and Del’s eight.”

  Izzy glanced at Del. “I’ve been meaning to ask you. Is Del short for Delphine?”

  “No, ma’am.” The little girl glanced at her father before saying, “Delphinium.” She made a face to show her disgust.

  “Why, that’s a lovely name. Did you know it’s the name of a flower?”

  Del seemed intrigued. “A flower? What kind?”

  “It’s like a buttercup. I believe it’s also called a larkspur. It has lovely ruffled flowers as yellow as your hair.”

  At her words the little girl was positively glowing. “Maybe my name’s not so bad. But I’d still rather be called Del. Or Little Bit.” She glanced adoringly at her oldest brother.

  “Little Bit?” Izzy glanced from one to the other.

  Aaron tousled his sister’s hair before glancing at Izzy. “That’s just a name I’ve always called her. What about you, Isabella? How old are you?”

  She felt a ripple of unease. She didn’t want to talk about herself. “I’m twenty-three.”

  “Why’d you wait so long to get married?” Benjamin asked.

  “I guess…” She felt the first stirrings of panic. “I guess I just never met the right man.”

  “Until Pa,” Del said innocently.

  “Yes. Until now.”

  The little girl was still obviously pleased with her new knowledge about her name. “Were you ever called anything besides Isabella?”

  Izzy thought about the taunts she’d endured for a lifetime. Names so cruel, even now, just thinking about them caused her pain.

  “No.” She reached for the coffee, averting her gaze. “Just plain Isabella.”

  Beside her Matt watched, wondering what had caused her abrupt mood change. One moment she’d been relaxed, animated. The next she seemed nervous, wounded. He watched as she poured coffee, then topped off his cup, before placing the blackened pot back on the coals. Her hands, he noted, were rough and work-worn, the nails torn and ragged. Not the hands of a refined, elegant lady. And he’d noticed something else. Though her gown was spotless, the hem and cuffs were frayed and the fabric was nearly threadbare.

  She’d arrived with nothing more than the clothes on her back and a small valise. Where was the accumulation of a lifetime? Clothes, linens, dishes, treasured mementos? Years ago, when he and his family had set off from home across the country, Grace had insisted on bringing every single one of her treasures. In fact Grace had…

  Annoyed at the direction of his thoughts, he stood. “Time to get moving.”

  Aaron got to his feet and helped his father load the buck into the back of the wagon. The others, as if by some unspoken command, set to work dousing the fire and packing up whatever food remained. In no time their campsite was nearly as clean as when they’d arrived.

  The children climbed into the back of the wagon and settled themselves comfortably among the sacks of supplies. Matt climbed up to the driver’s seat and offered a hand to Izzy. With a flick of the reins they started off.

  As they climbed higher into the mountains the air grew sharper, clearer. Izzy drew her shawl tightly around her shoulders and looked up at the big golden moon, the stars glittering in a velvet sky.

  “Cold?”

  Matt’s voice beside her had her jumping. “No. I’m fine.”

  “There are some blankets in the back of the wagon.”

  She shook her head. “Leave them for the children. I expect they’ll be asleep soon.”

  He nodded. “It’s been a full day for them. And for you.”

  When she remained silent he said, “I’m sorry about the preacher.”

  “You couldn’t help that he was drunk.”

  “No. But we…caught him at a particularly bad time.”

  She turned to glance at him. “Is there a good time?”

  Matt shrugged. “I don’t see him much. But I expect he stays sober on Sundays, at least until his service is over.”

  After a long moment of silence he said, “I was afraid he’d keel over before he could finish the ceremony.”

  The warmth of unspoken laughter in his deep voice had Izzy smiling. “He would have, if it hadn’t been for that music stand. I’m sure it was the only thing holding him up.”

  Laugh lines crinkled Matt’s eyes. “Did you notice that he had his pants on backward?”

  “No. Really?” Izzy’s hand flew to her mouth, but she couldn’t smother the laughter that bubbled. “That explains why he kept tugging at his suspenders. I thought he seemed to be dressing when you first went to fetch him.”

  “I found him upstairs over the saloon with Lil. Interrupted him before…” A deep chuckle turned into a roar of laughter. “I don’t know who was madder. The preacher or Lil. But I told him I’d give him a dollar if he could be dressed and downstairs by the count of ten. He made it with seconds to spare. And I’m sure by now Lil has that dollar tucked into her bodice.”

  Izzy knew that she ought to be shocked by what she was hearing. But she couldn’t help herself. The silly mood and the rumble of laughter were contagious.

  As the horses and wagon climbed ever higher, she and Matt continued laughing about the preacher and his unholy ways, until she heard a sound that had her blood freezing.

  “What was that?”

  “A wolf, calling to his mate.”

  “A…wolf.” Fingers of ice pressed along her spine. “I didn’t realize there were wolves in these mountains. Will they attack?”

  “If they’re hungry enough. Or cornered. But don’t worry. Mostly they attack livestock. They would only attack humans as a last resort.”

  “How—” she touched a hand to her throat “—comforting.”

  When the darkened outlines of the cabin and outbuildings came into view, Izzy turned to glance at the children. “They’re all asleep,” she said in hushed tones.

  “They’ll be glad to climb into their beds,” Matt muttered. “And so will we.”

  We. Whatever remained of Izzy’s light mood vanished. She had known, of course, that he would want to sleep in his own bed tonight With her. But she hadn’t allowed herself to think of it. Until now. Sweet salvation. What was she going to do?

  She shivered.

  “You’re cold.”

  “No. Just…”

  Ignoring her protest, he removed his cowhide jacket and draped it around her shoulders. That caused her to shiver more violently. She could feel the heat of his body, and the dark, musky scent of him that lingered in the folds.

  As they neared the cabin the hounds leapt out of the darkness, setting up a chorus of barking that had the children sitting up, rubbing their eyes. Even before the wagon came to a stop the dogs had jumped into the back, tails thumping, tongues licking as they greeted their family.

  “You can all get out here,” Matt called, “except for Aaron. He and I will get this carcass into the barn and gut it before we go to sleep.”

  “Yes, sir.” Though the boy had been sound asleep just minutes before, he helped Izzy down, then climbed up and took the space beside his father.

  Izzy watched the silhouette of man and boy as the wagon rolled toward the barn. When it disappeared inside, she turned and followed the others into the cabin.

  Benjamin, half-asleep, was busy getting a fire started. Clement struck a match to the wick of a lantern and set it on the table. Del raced around collecting her precious chick
ens and shooing them out to the barn. When their chores were completed, the three children climbed the ladder to their sleeping loft.

  “Good night, Isabella,” they called.

  “Good night.” Izzy stepped gingerly around the chicken droppings and made her way to the fire, where she stood shivering. It wasn’t the chill of the cabin that had put this ice in her veins, she realized. It was knowing what was to come.

  She’d known, of course. When she’d answered the letter. When she’d pulled up stakes and headed across the country. When she’d set foot on this mountain. She wasn’t addled. She knew what a man expected of a wife. And she was fairly certain she could comply. It’s just that it was so…unappealing to her. No, that wasn’t the word. It was frightening. Terrifying. Sickening. Loathsome. But she would find a way to get through it, as she had found a way to get through so many other disgusting and painful things in her life.

  She picked up the lantern and a basin of warm water and made her way to the bedroom, taking care to close the door. She set the basin on a small table and took no notice of the litter as she sank down on the edge of the bed and began to undress. As she had the previous night, she placed the knife under the pillow, then removed her gown and petticoats, her shoes and stockings and chemise. One by one she washed them in the basin and hung them on pegs to dry. Then she proceeded to wash herself.

  She was shivering by the time she slipped the simple ivory night shift over her head. She carefully fastened the row of buttons that ran from throat to waist. In the bottom of her valise she found the hairbrush with the worn handle. Unpinning her hair, she began to brush until the tangles were smoothed. She set the brush on the dresser top, refusing to glance at her reflection in the cracked oval mirror. It wasn’t necessary. She knew what she looked like.

  She’d been plain all her life. Plain and…invisible. At least for the most part. Of course, there were times when men had noticed her. But she had always dreaded those times even more. Because then she’d had to fight to hold on to the only thing no man had ever been able to take from her—her honor.

  And now she was about to relinquish it willingly. Not for love. But for some feeble attempt to belong. She closed her eyes a moment, struggling against the tears that threatened. Then she straightened as she heard the cabin door open and close; heard muted voices as father and son bade good-night; heard the creak of the ladder as Aaron climbed to the loft She felt the hair at the back of her neck rise as the bedroom door opened and closed.

  She turned to face Matt and felt a jolt to the midsection. His clothes, his hands, his arms to the elbows were covered with blood. It streaked his beard and was smeared down the front of his shirt.

  “Sorry.” Seeing the way she was staring at him, he began to unbutton his shirt. “Gets pretty messy gutting a deer. I usually clean up in the barn, but there wasn’t any water in the bucket, and it was so late and so cold, I figured I’d just do it in here.”

  “Yes. Of course.” She forced herself into action. “There’s a basin here. When you’ve finished washing, I’ll soak your clothes overnight. I should be able to get most of that blood out.”

  He sat on the edge of the bed and nudged off his boots, then peeled away the bloody shirt Crossing to the basin, he began to scrub the blood from his hands and arms, his torso, his face.

  While he washed, Izzy stood to one side watching. She couldn’t seem to look away. Never had she seen such a man. His skin was tanned and bronzed from his years in the sun. His body was lean and hard and muscled. With each movement the muscles of his back and shoulders bunched and tightened. At the sight of it, she gave an involuntary shiver.

  He was so big. So strong. A man like that could be rough. Or cruel. She shivered again.

  When he was finished washing, he lathered his face, picked up a straight razor and began to remove his beard.

  Izzy watched in fascination, wondering what he would look like. With each stroke his features became more visible. Now the lower half of his face matched the thoughtful forehead, the dark, penetrating eyes. He had handsome, sculptured cheekbones. Wide, firm lips. A cleft in his chin. He looked so much younger. No more than perhaps thirty-five, she calculated. When she caught him watching her in the mirror, she blushed and turned away, busying herself with his discarded clothes.

  Matt continued watching her while he finished shaving. He couldn’t quite figure Isabella out. There was an earthiness about her. In the way she’d laughed when they discussed the preacher. Some ladies might have been outraged by the display of drunkenness. But though she’d been shocked, she hadn’t seemed offended. And there was an innocence in her, as well. In her eyes, when she thought no one was looking. In the way she seemed to devour everything in sight, as though trying to take it all in at once.

  She was a bit small for his taste. Too fragile looking. But she had beautiful eyes. It was the first thing he’d noticed about her. Eyes more green than blue. Unless she was angry. And then they took on an amber hue that was fascinating. Like storm clouds rolling over a summer sky.

  Her hair defied description. He’d thought it to be brown, until the sunlight had touched it today. Then he had discovered rich red strands, and some the shade of honey. He liked her hair like that, long and loose and curling around that small, fair face.

  He felt a purely male reaction to her, enjoying the contrast between the pristine gown buttoned clear to her throat and the spill of lush hair inviting him to touch. Maybe this wouldn’t be such a bad arrangement after all.

  He rinsed off the lather and dried his face. When he turned, Izzy was just picking up the last of his clothes. As she carried them to the basin, he noticed her foot.

  “You’re limping again. You’ve hurt yourself.”

  “No.” Shocked, she stopped and turned to face him.

  “You have. Give me those.” He crossed to her and tried to take the soiled clothes from her hands.

  She hugged them to her like a shield. “That isn’t necessary.”

  “It is. You’ll get blood all over your clean gown.” He yanked them free and dropped them into the basin of water.

  When he turned, she was still standing where she’d been, holding her arms across her chest, looking like a bird about to fly.

  “What’s wrong, Isabella?”

  “Nothing.” She backed away. The movement only served to emphasize her limp.

  “You have hurt yourself.” He stared down at her bare toes peeking from beneath the hem of her gown. “Don’t be afraid to tell me.”

  “It’s…nothing. A little pain from the stubbed toe. It comes and goes.” She limped to the door. “I’ll get some lye soap to soak the blood out.”

  In quick strides he crossed the room. Reaching over her head, he pressed a hand to the closed door. “Leave it. The clothes will keep until morning.”

  She couldn’t bring herself to face him. With her back to him she said, “I could make some coffee.”

  “No coffee. It’s too late. Let’s just go to bed.” He dropped a hand to her shoulder and she flinched as though he’d struck her.

  She flinched? Sweet heaven, was she afraid of him?

  At once he lifted his hand away. But in that one instant he’d determined that she was shivering. Violently.

  “I realize I’m not like the men you probably knew in Pennsylvania.” His voice was low, the tone intentionally soothing. “Out here, so far from civilization, we sometimes forget about the things we once took for granted.”

  When she didn’t move, he grew bolder and touched a hand to her hair. It was as soft as it looked. Thick and lush and inviting. He leaned close, breathing in the clean woman scent of her as his fingers closed around a silky strand.

  Though she was standing very still, she couldn’t hide her reaction. Tremors ripped through her, leaving her quaking.

  He withdrew his hand, curling it into a fist at his side. “Get into bed.” His tone was rougher than he’d intended.

  “What?” She looked up, confused by his abrupt c
ommand.

  “I said go to bed. You’re freezing.”

  “No, I…”

  “Now, Isabella.”

  Seeing the look in his eyes, she limped across the room and climbed under the blankets.

  He waited until she had carefully tucked the blankets around her, leaving only her face exposed. A face that seemed as pale as the bed linens. And eyes big and round with fear, watching him warily.

  What was going on here? She was more than afraid. She was terrified. Of him. Or of…

  It struck him like a bolt of lightning. Of course. She was afraid of what they were about to share.

  He swallowed back his disappointment. He had been so long without a woman, and he’d thought, hoped, that the drought would end tonight. But he could wait another night.

  She was bound to be exhausted from all her travels. And the truth was, he was weary, as well.

  He crossed to the dresser and blew out the lantern. In the darkness he made his way to the bed and climbed in beside her.

  Izzy lay, stiff and frozen, steeling herself against his touch. He’d seemed so angry. She would probably have to get used to his many moods. When he was angry like this, would he be cruel? After such a long time without a woman, would he use her like a brute?

  After long, agonizing minutes, she chanced a glance at the figure next to her. He was lying on his side, facing away from her. His breathing was slow and deep.

  As she listened, she realized that he was asleep.

  It was her wedding night, and her new husband was asleep beside her.

  She nearly wept with relief. She had escaped, at least for one more night, the thing she most feared. And if she had to deal with it tomorrow night, well, that was for tomorrow.

  For several minutes she watched the man beside her. Watched his chest rise and fall with each measured breath. Studied the broad shoulders, corded with muscles.

  Now that she had a moment to think, she had to admit that his touch had been unexpectedly gentle. She was truly ashamed of her reaction. But she’d been expecting something vastly different. By the time it had registered in her brain, it was too late. The damage had been done. She’d stood there, quaking like a leaf.