Despite what Jem must’ve thought earlier when Danny was spouting off about Mr. Ruskin “selling” her off—or however he’d put it exactly—it hadn’t been like that at all. Mr. Ruskin had been a proper southern gentleman preacher. They’d lived in one of the prettiest little mountain towns that the glorious state of Tennessee had to offer, and he’d served his community and congregation well. He wasn’t evil, not in the least. It was just hard times had caught up with the town and thus with him. And so he’d needed to find a place for her. It wasn’t like she was truly family. The Ruskins had taken her in when she was twelve or so as a servant girl, after all, not as a daughter. There was nothing wrong in that. She’d never thought so anyway, no matter how much she might’ve wished things were otherwise. The fact was, she’d needed work. She’d needed a place to live, food, clothes...and she hadn’t lacked for anything.
Noticing Jem’s questioning glance, Annie quickly followed him and Ray up the front steps of the house. It took nearly all her attention to keep the puppy settled in her arms. It squirmed and let out a sharp yip.
“Should I take it out to the barn for you?” Ray offered, frowning at the creature with an expression of distaste.
“It’s not a barn dog, Ray,” Jem answered, to Annie’s relief. “It’s a house dog. You may as well get used to it.” There was a slight smile in his voice, and Annie watched curiously to see how Ray would respond. He obviously didn’t like the idea of a puppy in the house.
All Ray did was grumble under his breath. He pushed the front door open, a big double door affair that spoke of money. Annie crossed over the threshold into a foyer with towering ceilings.
The two farm hands stood on the landing above them, shouldering Jem and Mae’s trunks. As Ray called directions up to them, Annie surveyed the space, taking in the two impressive curved staircases. They split off into what appeared to be two separate wings of the house. The wooden balustrades were as heavy as any she’d ever seen and simply carved. Quality. Just like the wide pine paneling and the open wood beams above. For some reason, the sight settled her nerves. It was an impressive property, and she’d known right off that the family was quite wealthy, but one look around told her they preferred “woodsy and comfortable” over fancy. Woodsy and comfortable she could handle. Gold leaf, polished mahogany, and velvety wallpaper would’ve made her feel even more out of place.
The foyer was dimly lit from the upper windows, but at the other end she caught a glimpse of the kitchen, awash with bright light. There was something homey and welcoming about that light and the familiar sight of a kettle steaming on a big cast iron stove. She loved to cook. Perhaps that was one way she could help earn her keep here?
A young man steeped into her view and filled the doorway, framed by the light of the kitchen behind him.
“Jem’s here with Mae,” Ray told him. “And this here’s Annie.” Ray didn’t add anything else by way of introduction, for the younger man strode forward and stopped about a yard away from Jem, keeping his distance. His eyes fell on Mae, her eyes closed in sleep, her head still lolling off the crook of Jem’s arm. He smiled the briefest smile—here one second and gone the next. When he looked back at Jem’s face, his expression hardened.
“Hello, Ben,” Jem greeted him with a quiet sort of warmth, quiet perhaps because Mae was still sleeping. Despite the young man’s stony appearance, Jem sounded glad to see him.
“Jem,” the young man said, not moving. “You came.”
“You’re all grown.” Jem’s voice sounded a little surprised to Annie’s ears, as if he’d gone away for a spell of time and expected to return and find everything and everyone the same as he’d left it.
“You can blame Ray—he keeps feeding me.” The words sounded like a joke, but Ben’s demeanor didn’t lighten in the least. He looked a little like Jem actually, in build anyway. Not unlike a pair of rugged cowboys, tall and lean in their worn denims and Stetson hats. They could have been brothers. Maybe they were?
Although, Annie could see very little of Jem’s face, so perhaps their features looked nothing alike.
“Ray always did make the best stew,” Jem said, sniffing the air appreciatively. It did indeed smell like beef stew. Annie’s stomach rumbled painfully.
The farm hands exited down the stairs and out the front door, giving her openly curious stares.
The puppy in Annie’s arms stirred as they passed by, then let out a yip so loud her ears rang.
Ben looked her way, as if just now registering she was there.
“Who’s that? Your maid?” he asked with a sneer. Annie didn’t like the way his gaze roved over her. It wasn’t so much impertinence as disdain. He’d already decided he didn’t like her—didn’t trust her.
She froze in place, all too aware of her filthy dress and bare toes. All too aware that she smelled like the wrong side of a barn stall. While she wanted to shrink into herself, Jem only appeared to grow bigger. Before her eyes, his frame seemed to grow two sizes in width and breadth.
“That’s my wife,” he said. There was a warning in his voice that didn’t seem to penetrate Ben’s ears.
“Your wife? Your wife? Lorelei’s not been gone a year, and you’ve already married up with—with that?”
“I expect that’s my own business.” Jem’s face was all shadows under his hat. Intimidating. Somehow communicating a threat without saying much at all.
Annie watched fascinated. She saw Ben swallow and lose some of his bluster.
He’s young, she thought, younger than he tries to appear. His hard face was a front. Seemed to her there was more underneath. Pain, insecurity, hopefully something softer.
Still, he shouldn’t treat Jem that way. Jem who had been so glad to see him.
Jem who had been nothing but kind to her.
Annie suddenly felt the need to shake Ben and tell him to smile properly at Jem and say, “Welcome,” or “I missed you,” or “Glad to see you,” but he said nothing like that. His gaze bordered on rude, and Jem was plainly confused by it. And disappointed from the way his shoulders fell slightly and then stiffened, as if he wasn’t going to allow such feelings. Men were like that. They’d much rather feel anger or nothing at all than feel any awkward emotion. At least, that’s the way it was with men in her admittedly limited experience.
“She hasn’t been dead a year!” Ben repeated, his voice still accusing, but with a little less steam.
“I know that, Ben. Do you think I don’t know that?” Jem asked.
“Seems like you already forgot,” Ben challenged.
Jem shrugged. “I’m not likely to ever forget.”
Ben laughed, a disbelieving sound. “You forgot everything.”
* * *
Jem stared back at Ben blankly. What did he mean, forgot everything? As if there was something very specific on Ben’s mind. But whatever it was, Jem had no inkling.
He shifted Mae to over his shoulder, securing her with one arm. She let out a little drowsy mumble, nothing that made sense, and he absently patted her back.
“What?” he managed to ask, not quite sure he was hearing Ben right. Why was he behaving this way? Why was he so angry? Jem could see why he’d be grieving, but why go on the attack like this? It was like he’d been waiting all day—maybe for months—planning every word.
“You never sent a letter,” Ben said accusingly, his expression still full of anger and blame. And something more underneath it all. Hurt?
Jem blinked. A letter? Ben was right. He hadn’t sent a letter, just a couple of short telegrams. He’d sent a note to Lorelei’s father later of course, along with a few of Lorelei’s things. But he’d never written Ben directly. Ben who’d once looked up to him and followed him everywhere. Had he really treated Ben—the closest thing he had to a brother, besides Isaac Jessup—like he didn’t matter? Like he’d forgotten him entirely?
Jem winced inwardly.
It was true, in a way.
Right after Lorelei died, it was like he couldn’t thi
nk clearly at all. It was like his brain only had room for one thought: She’s gone.
He’d thought about how Lorelei’s father and Ben would take the news. Of course he had. He’d known they’d miss her. He’d known they’d grieve too, but it had been a far-off sort of realization, like something happening to someone else. Certainly, not anything he could help them with.
He’d wanted to hide himself in a cave for months and never come out, but he’d had Mae. She’d just been a baby, not quite two. He hadn’t been able to hide. He had to keep going. Any ounce of wherewithal went to his daughter: getting her fed, comforting her when she wouldn’t stop crying, rocking her until she finally fell asleep. He’d had to pack up the house and sell off his veterinary practice on his own. He’d had to pack up the rest of their belongings too. There’d been all that sorting: going through Lorelei’s dresses, her papers, all her stories and the bundles of letters she’d kept, her jewelry, even her underthings. Every little thing had taken a slice out of him. There’d been nothing left of him to give.
He’d gone to Seattle to grieve, to get help with Mae. By the time he got to Becky and Isaac’s, he’d nearly fallen on his face in bed and not risen for weeks. That was what he’d wanted to do, needed to do. He hadn’t been able to though. Not with Mae still needing him. Demanding his attention. So he’d walked around like he was walking through water over his head. Everything came at him sort of slurred. Nothing seemed to have as much meaning anymore.
“You’re right—I should have.” It was like scales falling from his eyes. “I should have sent something.”
“But you’re not sorry.”
“Of course I’m sorry,” Jem said, annoyed now. He reflexively scratched through his beard. “I wrote after your father died, didn’t I?”
That too had been a short note.
“What’s that all over your face, anyway?” Ben asked, changing tacks. “Forget to shave for the last six months? Or maybe you’re hiding...?”
So much hostility. It was a new Ben, one Jem wasn’t so sure he liked very much.
“I’m not hiding from anything. Or anyone,” Jem said, glancing at Ray, who was standing back silently watching, eyeing them as if they were a couple of irate bobcats circling each other.
“Sure you’re not,” Ben said. “I think you’re scared—scared someone’s going to find out—that it was all your fault she died. You could have stopped it. Could’ve brought her home first.”
Jem flinched, hopefully not so much that anyone noticed, but, from the glimmer of awareness in his eyes, Ben did.
“It wasn’t that way, Ben,” Jem said, each word a pinprick of pain. “She died. There wasn’t anything I could do.”
Ray shifted, his stance a bit hesitant, like he wanted to intervene, wanted to say something.
“Couldn’t?” Ben asked, his face a mask. He wasn’t snarling, he wasn’t yelling, but an air of disdain practically rolled off him. “You’re a doctor, aren’t you?”
“Ben—” Ray started in a cautioning tone, but Jem wasn’t going to hide behind the older man, especially not after Ben’s accusation.
“Not that kind of doctor,” he said. “I work with horses—you know that.”
Even as the words left his mouth, Jem knew there was only one problem with what he said: He was guilty. He should’ve done something. He should’ve known. He’d lost confidence in Dr. Whittaker, toward the end. He should’ve done more to move Lorelei someplace else.
Ben opened his mouth, but before he could say anything else, Ray stepped in.
“That’s enough for now. Let’s get you settled.” Ray went on to detail that Mae could have the old nursery, and that Jem would be in Lorelei’s old room. “Annie too, of course,” he added uncomfortably.
Jem held Mae to his shoulder, his hand frozen against her back. One glance at Annie told him she was frozen in place too.
They hadn’t talked about sleeping arrangements. Or, he hadn’t laid out any plans ahead of time, that is. It wasn’t like she could ask him either. She was probably worried. Women worried about things like that.
“Annie will a need a room for herself,” he said plainly.
“She will?” Ray looked in clear surprise from Jem to Annie and back again, his brows raised.
“She will.” Jem kept it simple. Unquestionable. No explanations. No one needed to know their private business.
Ray scratched the back of his neck. “Well, then... I’ll have to get Ben’s old room ready then. He’s moved into his parents’ old room. The biggest room,” he added by way of explanation, reminding Jem that Ben was the master of the house now and head of the ranch. “Wasn’t expecting a third and the bed’s not made up. If you’ll get Mae settled, I’ll set things up, get baths ready for you, and we’ll have dinner after.”
That’s when Jem saw Annie’s head come up for the first time, her expression relieved.
“Is there a place where Annie can rest while you get the room prepared, Ray? I do appreciate it.”
Ray waved that away. “Come sit in this rocker, miss,” he said to Annie and led her into a homey parlor room off the foyer, settling her in a rocker by the empty grate. It was too hot out to have a fire lit. A nice cooling chill rose off the hearthstones. The puppy curled up in her lap and let out a sigh, seemingly prepared to take a nap.
“She hasn’t got any baggage, Ray,” Jem said quietly, when Ray returned to his side. Ben was watching them in silence, his gaze filled with belligerent interest.
“She what?” Ray asked.
“So she’ll need some clothes.”
“Clothes?”
Jem merely nodded.
Ray pursed his lips thoughtfully, as if holding back a stream of questions. Finally, he looked to Ben. “Gonna need you to handle that one.”
“What?” Ben asked, pausing mid-retreat.
“Get Miz Annie something of Lorelei’s.”
“Me?”
“Unless you want to make the bed, carry up water for the baths, and stir the stew?”
Ben mumbled something under his breath and stalked off, climbing the stairs with a militant sort of stride.
“Is he going to do it?” Jem asked, looking up at Ben’s retreating back.
“Oh, he will,” Ray said, with a little more confidence than Jem was feeling. “He better.”
TEN
In the end it was Ray who came to wake Annie from her brief slumber by the fireplace in the cozy parlor.
“Your bath’s ready, miss,” he said, bending to light a table lamp beside her. He’d also evidently lit several wall sconces. A quick glance out the window told her the sun had set, and the sky was mellowing into tones of gray and purple.
Annie felt suddenly empty-handed, a warm spot still on her lap from where the puppy had been. Jem was gone. There was no sign of Mae. She raised her eyes in question to Ray.
“Jem outside with the puppy. Then he’s gonna check on that horse with the sore hoof. Mae’s in the kitchen playing with spoons and such. She’ll be all right there.”
Oh. Annie nodded, still a bit groggy. She stood reluctantly. She could’ve slept a year in that chair.
“I brought a bath up for you.”
She simply smiled at him and nodded, reluctant to grunt at him. She didn’t know him well enough just yet, and she was determined to make a better impression going forward. He must think Jem had found her in a gutter.
“This way.” Ray led her up the front stairs to the right. It was quite a grand staircase, Annie thought, skimming her hand along the smoothly varnished wood of the carved banister. It was a sturdy affair with thick balusters. The risers were bare wood, no carpeting. She could see Ray favoring one leg as he went up them. Maybe his knees were getting old. It was that way of climbing. Arthritis. At the top of the stairs, he led her to the right and down a long hall. She saw an equally long hall going off in the other direction, as if the house were split in halves, with an east wing and a west wing. Fancy.
Sconces lined the walls here
too, casting golden pools of light on the wood floor.
Ray opened the last door without entering himself. Annie went in, listening with half an ear as he stood awkwardly in the doorway, pointing out the bathtub, steaming gently, and some clothes that had been laid out on the bed. He said something about the room beside hers being Mae’s.
Nothing about Jem’s.
“All right then... Soon as you’re ready you can throw that dress out into the hall, and I’ll get it washed.” Ray’s voice had grown gruff, as if he was a mite embarrassed about telling her to undress.
Annie just kept nodding, her attention fixed on the room. It was huge compared to her small attic room back in Tennessee. There was a big double bed in the center, big enough for two people with space to spare. A soft-looking quilt was spread out over it, done out in bright blue and white, with little touches of buttercup gold in the patterns—flowers and stripes and such. All interlocking squares and rectangles. Very comfy looking, like a grandmother had made it many years ago. It was nicer than anything even the Ruskins had owned, and they’d had a lot of nice homemade things because Mrs. Ruskin was an excellent seamstress. Or she had been, Annie thought with a pang.
She also saw there were two pillows on the bed, but she knew without too much looking around that none of Jem’s things were here. So he truly didn’t mean to sleep here, just as he’d said earlier. That was well and good. They hardly knew each other. At least not yet.
“Well, I’ll leave you to it then,” Ray said, closing the bedroom door without a sound.
Annie gave him a little wave over her shoulder, but he was already gone.
She stepped onto a colorful rag rug that lay just inside the doorway. There were several strewn over the wood floor, placed around the bed to cushion bare feet and ward off the chill on wintry mornings. Annie tested the rug with her toes—pure bliss—and let out a sigh. Then realizing her bath wasn’t getting any warmer, she quickly pulled her dress over her head, stripped off her undergarments, and rolled the lot into a bundle which she pushed out into the hall with one hand while using the door as a shield.
The Bartered Bride (The Brides Book 3) Page 8