The Bartered Bride (The Brides Book 3)

by Lena Goldfinch

  There were more improvements that could be made—new shingles for the two stables, for instance—but he was impressed that Ben hadn’t let things slip too badly since his father’s death.

  It seemed like a whole day had already gone by, but it wasn’t even noon yet.

  Ray stood facing the big iron cook stove, stirring a pot of what smelled like chicken soup. Little bits of bright orange carrot dotted the floor at his feet. There were also piles of carrot tops and potato skin peelings on the butcher-block table beside him. Another pile of fresh onions chopped up.

  Jem saw the puppy lying under the long farm table, nibbling on one of the carrot tops. Shouldn’t hurt her, he thought.

  Mae was kneeling on a chair at the table, playing with spoons. Her actions seemed a bit listless to his eye. She looked up at him and blinked. It almost seemed she’d been expecting someone else. There was no sign of Annie, so perhaps his daughter was looking for her?

  “Pup made a puddle mess on the floor over there.” Ray turned his head to greet him, nodding his head toward the back door. Jem glanced down. Sure enough there was a puddle on the floor. He’d walked right past it.

  “I’ll clean it.”

  Ray nodded and went back to his soup, scooping chopped onions into his hands and dropping them into the pot. He picked up a long metal spoon and stirred.

  Jem sniffed the air appreciatively. He could smell the soup bubbling now, joining the scent of toast. It was a welcome aroma—smelled like a big restaurant kitchen might, but a bit homier.

  “Where’s Annie?” he asked. “Has she been down?”

  “Still in bed.”

  Jem didn’t have to look out the kitchen window to know the sun was high. It must’ve been nearly ten by now, maybe later. “She didn’t come down for breakfast?”

  “Nope.”

  “She must be hungry.”

  Ray shrugged.

  Jem slid into the seat beside Mae’s. He rested his palm over the crown of her head and gave her a playful waggle.

  “Hey there, Miss Mae,” he said, tugging on one of her springy curls. “How’s my girl this morning?”

  “No, Daddy. Stop.” Mae pulled away and scowled at him.

  He tweaked her nose, which usually prompted a smile, but she just batted his hand away in a grumpy fashion and looked about ready to cry.

  “What’s wrong with you, Little Mae?” he asked.

  She stuck out her bottom lip and looked away.

  Jem raised his eyebrows and checked in with Ray.

  “She’s been like that all morning,” he said, sounding a bit put-upon. “Keeps whining for Annie and tried to run off to find her too many times to count. I figured the woman needs her rest or she would’ve come down by now.”

  Jem considered this. Was Annie upstairs asleep? It was hard to imagine anyone sleeping this late, unless maybe they’d been up all night. Had she been up all night? Had she been waiting and wondering if he was going to come to her room? Maybe he should have said more to put her at ease.

  For some reason, his mind brought forward an image of her in the old clothes Ben had left out for her last night. He shook his head at the memory.

  “I’ve just got one question,” Ray said, interrupting his thoughts.

  “What’s that?”

  “Is she a—” Ray hesitated. He glanced at Mae. She’d flopped onto her belly on the chair, her head off one side, legs dangling off the other. She was stretching down to run her fingertips over the puppy’s fur. Ray must’ve taken that as a sign that she wasn’t listening, because he continued in a hushed whisper, “A soiled dove?”

  “I don’t think so,” Jem said, stiffening at the term.

  “You don’t think so?” Ray asked incredulously.

  “She may have been once, I suppose, but she’s not now—and that is all you need you know.”

  “She may have been once,” Ray echoed. “And you brought her here? You brought her here with Mae?”

  Jem propped his elbows on the table. “You weren’t there, Ray. You didn’t see what I saw.”

  “Then tell me. Tell me what you saw.” Ray folded his arms across his chest and leaned back against his work table, looking every bit as if he was prepared to wait a good long while.

  Jem pressed his hands against the table and stood slowly. “You got any rags?” he asked.

  “What?”

  Jem gestured to the puddle by the back door.

  “Oh, right.” Ray dug some rags out from underneath the sink and handed them to Jem, saying, “Don’t think you’re not going to answer me.”

  Jem grumbled under his breath. What he wouldn’t do about now to escape outside for a nice long ride. Maybe take a swim in the watering hole.

  He could at least change the subject, he thought, as he bent to clean up the pup’s mess.

  “This puppy of ours needs a name, I suppose,” he said thoughtfully.

  Mae looked up at him, then scrambled upright onto her seat, interested.

  “Puppy,” she said in her adamant tone.

  “We can’t call her Puppy,” Jem said, finishing his job.

  “Why?” Mae stuck out her bottom lip, pouting prettily.

  “Just can't.” Jem said, determined not to be swayed, no matter how adorable his daughter was. They couldn't spend the rest of their lives calling that dog Puppy. No.

  Mae sighed. She danced her fingertips across the counter, moving toast crumbs into a small pile. She was evidently thinking hard. She glanced at Ray for help, but he applied himself to stirring his pot, apparently not wanting to get involved. He didn’t much like having a puppy in his space. That much was obvious.

  Mae stood in her chair, palms planted on the tabletop as if prepared to climb on board. She leaned forward, raising one knee purposefully.

  “Oh no you don’t,” Jem warned, still holding the soiled rags and wondering what to do with them.

  Mae reconsidered. She retreated a bit and looked down the length of the table as if that had been her intention all along. Her eyes landed on a sugar bowl with a spoon handle sticking up out of it. Tiny white crystals littered the table. The ranch hands who’d eaten earlier weren’t known to be tidy. Jem was surprised Ray had left it like that. It spoke to the older man’s preoccupation with Annie and who she was. And perhaps his displeasure with the puppy’s mess.

  Whatever the reason, Mae’s eyes lit up at the sight of the sugar.

  “Sugar!” she exclaimed, as if discovering the sweet substance for the first time.

  “Sugar?” Jem frowned.

  “Puppy,” she explained, as if this was perfectly reasonable.

  “You want to name her Sugar?” he asked, not entirely sure he’d guessed her meaning correctly. Maybe she just wanted a spoonful of sugar to eat. Which would be a quick no.

  She beamed. “Sugar! Puppy!”

  “Sugar’s white,” Ray protested, joining the conversation. “Should be Pepper or at least something black, seems like.”

  “Sugar,” Mae insisted.

  The puppy jumped up and propped her front paws on the edge of Mae’s chair, tail wagging furiously. Her whole body swayed with the motion, her liquid brown eyes filled with pure doggish devotion. A picture of puppy ecstasy.

  “Sugar,” Mae crooned happily. She bent to rub the soft fur behind the pup’s ear. “Good Sugar.”

  “That’s it then,” Ray said

  Jem shrugged. A dog named Sugar. It was a name at least.

  “You going to check on that woman of yours?” Ray asked.

  Jem inclined his head and held up the rags. “What do I do with these?”

  Ray waved to the back door, giving a grimace of distaste. “There’s an iron laundry kettle around the side of the house. You can set ’em in that to soak. It’s got water and lye in it already. Got a pump out there too. Wash yourself up.”

  Jem nodded and headed outside, his thoughts turning to Annie. Seems like she should have come downstairs by now. Was something wrong with her? Only one way to find
out, he supposed.

  THIRTEEN

  After Jem disposed of the rags and washed up, he went directly to check on Annie. He stopped outside her door and hesitated, listening for any sounds from within. He could have sworn he heard a soft rustling on the other side. She was up and moving around.

  “Annie?” he called, rapping one knuckle against the wood panel. “Are you awake?”

  He didn’t hear anything so much as felt an expectant pause from the other side, a sensation of having been heard. He caught the sound of steps swishing toward him and again a pause. Then came a slap—one flat-handed strike against the other side of the door.

  He withdrew a bit, taken aback. He tried to recall her hand signals from the train, but the answer was clear enough without him recalling if one meant yes or two—she was obviously awake on the other side of the door. So one had to mean yes.

  “Will you come out?”

  Two slaps. No. Why?

  “Aren’t you hungry?” he asked, puzzled.

  A hesitation, then one small tap, as if she’d lifted one finger and brought it down with just enough force to make a sound.

  “Why don’t you come down? Ray’s got breakfast—”

  Two smart slaps.

  All right then, he thought. No.

  Jem considered the dark wood panels of the door for a moment, picturing her standing on the other side—perhaps listening intently with her head cocked to one side. Or even with her ear pressed to the door. It would be easier, he thought, if he could see her—see the expression on her face, read any hand motions she might make...

  For one bad instant, he imagined a life of asking this woman yes or no questions, having to live this way. It was work—like laying a wall of bricks. Or maybe more like building a bridge... Whichever, it was still work.

  It wasn’t natural. People didn’t talk this way.

  He rubbed the back of his neck.

  “Can you at least open the door?” He waited and had to strain to hear two soft taps. He sighed. Yes and no questions it would be then. He couldn’t very well ask her, “Why not?” She couldn’t answer him even if he did.

  Why didn’t she want to come down?

  If it were Lorelei and she couldn’t speak—or wouldn’t for some reason—what would the reason be...?

  He thought it over.

  Annie had come down last night and eaten in the kitchen with them. So she’d already done it once. Why not now?

  He pondered that.

  “Is it Ben?” He guessed. “’Cause Ben’s not here.”

  One tap, then another. Sort of yes, sort of no? He could understand that well enough. Ben hadn’t exactly been pleasant to her.

  Surely it wasn’t any problem with Mae or with the puppy. Annie obviously adored them both.

  “Ray?”

  Two quick taps. No again, but more sure this time.

  He scratched thoughtfully through his beard. An uncomfortable thought struck him.

  “Is it me?” he asked quietly, leaning his forehead against the door. He didn’t have time for this. Didn’t want there to be any trouble at all. Had he offended her somehow? Scared her?

  No answer.

  “Is it me?” he repeated more firmly.

  Two smart slaps and what sounded suspiciously like a girlish giggle. He raised his brows, interested despite himself. Who was this woman? What was she doing? And why wouldn’t she come out?

  She’d certainly looked a sight last night in Ben’s old clothes. It had been quite a getup.

  Lorelei wouldn’t have been caught dead wearing anything but a proper dress and ladies’ house slippers to dinner—

  Ahhh.

  Last night in the shadows of the house must’ve been bad enough, but now it was bright out. There was no place to hide.

  “Is it the—the clothes?” he asked cautiously. “The ones Ben laid out for you?”

  An indrawn breath. One tap. Yes.

  “It doesn’t bother me none,” Jem said. “Ray won’t mind neither. Why don’t you come down and eat? You know Mae won’t mind,” he injected a bit of humor into his voice, hoping to make her laugh again. It really was a delightful sound.

  There was only silence in response to his words. He waited. It was a thoughtful sort of silence, and he was beginning to think she might give in and open the door. Then he heard two firm slaps.

  “No?” he asked, more to affirm than to really ask.

  Two more taps. No.

  “How about I check with Ray to see if your dress is dry? He washed it. It’s been out all night and the sun’s high. Could be dry.”

  One tap. Yes.

  “All right. I’ll go check with Ray then. I’ll be right back. All right?”

  Yes. And what may have been a grunt. Thank you, maybe?

  Taking that as a positive, Jem strode purposefully down the hall, then plunged down the stairs two at a time.

  FOURTEEN

  Once Jem got back down to the kitchen, he felt his whole day slipping away from him. He was about to open his mouth to ask Ray about the dress, when the puppy darted past him at full speed and ran straight at the screen door. The door popped open, and the pup scampered outside, claws scrabbling against the wood porch.

  “Sugar!” Mae cried, running over, fully intent on following the puppy outside.

  Jem put an arm out to stop her short.

  “Easy, Mae,” he said. “She won’t go far.” He hoped that was true. “Probably just needs to visit the grass.”

  Ray grunted skeptically. “You better go out and get her.”

  Jem pictured the pup getting into one of the paddocks, startling the horses, getting kicked.

  “I will,” he promised, setting his daughter back on her chair. “But first—is Annie’s dress dry? She wants it.”

  “Maybe yes, maybe no. I wrung it out pretty good last night, but that’s a heavy fabric. I’ll go check.”

  Jem grabbed his hat and opened the screen door. He hesitated as Mae scrambled down from her seat again. “You stay right here, Little Miss. I’ll go get your puppy—”

  “Sugar!” she cried, correcting him.

  “Sugar,” he amended, with what he thought was admirable patience. Ray left, brushing past him with a choked chuckle. “I’ll get Sugar,” Jem added, “and you wait here...in case Annie comes down.”

  Mae’s eyes lit.

  “That’s right. If she comes down, she’ll need someone to—to show her where the plates and bowls are.”

  She climbed back onto her chair and folded her hands on the tabletop. She looked a little too angelic to Jem’s mind, but he didn’t want the pup to get into any trouble. And he certainly didn’t want Mae tagging along and getting underfoot. If anything happened to her...

  He gripped the edge of the screen door until it hurt his hand.

  “Stay put,” he repeated, pointing his finger meaningfully at her.

  She blinked at him, not unlike a cat might.

  Undependable creatures, cats. They had their own minds.

  Pups too, for that matter. Likely to go running off when your eye wasn’t on them.

  Jem combed a hand through his hair. It was getting too long, he thought, setting his hat back on his head and stepping outside. It was one of those clear Colorado summer days when the sky was so blue it almost hurt the eyes to look at it. It wasn’t the full heat of the day yet, but this was just the beginning. It was going to get up there.

  No sooner had he stepped off the porch than a barrage of noise slammed into him: an excited yelp, Ray yelling, “Hey! Drop it. Come back here.”

  Jem took in a blur of black coming around the side of the house. The pup darted across the expanse of packed dirt and stones. It zigzagged toward the tall grass, dragging what looked to be a sheet out behind it.

  “Hey! Drop it.” Ray came along as a slower blur, favoring one leg. He already looked winded.

  A scene of pure chaos snapped into Jem’s view: the puppy dragging not a sheet but a dress. Annie’s dress. Ray chasing a
fter it, unable to keep up, red in the face, frustrated.

  Jem jogged over and stepped on one end of the dress. The pup pulled up short, and he heard the rather disconcerting sound of rending fabric. A horrible smell smacked into his nose. He managed to grab ahold of the pup by the scruff of its neck and scooped it up, wriggling like mad in his arms. Sugar lapped and nipped at his beard—an ecstatic ball of black fur, muddy paws, and needle-sharp canine teeth.

  “What’s that smell?” Jem gasped, but even as he said it he knew. Skunk. It was a smell like no other. Overpowering. His eyes smarted.

  “Skunk must’ve got it last night,” Ray said. “That pup must’ve gone straight for it too. Probably smelled it from the house.”

  “I didn’t smell it coming in,” Jem said, puzzled.

  “The clothesline’s around the corner.” Ray shrugged. “Plus you had the smells of the barn on you.”

  “Can you get the stink out?”

  Ray rubbed the back of his neck, in that way of all men hating the thought of telling a woman bad news. The woman in this case being Annie. Annie who had already suffered a great many indignities since Jem had met her.

  “Well,” Ray said, “I could try soaking it in lye... Maybe some tomato juice...”

  He’d barely finished saying it when Annie rushed out with Mae in her arms. Jem noticed her wearing all of Ben’s awful clothes.

  She’ll get too hot in all that.

  But she didn’t have anything to change into, not until he found Lorelei’s trunks.

  Only...he didn’t want to find Lorelei’s things. He didn’t want to look through them. To open up the lids and rifle through all her old things. Beautiful things that likely still smelled faintly of her rose-scented perfume. To give them to Annie...

  How could he?

  Sugar was oblivious to his thoughts. She wriggled free from his hold and tore across to Annie’s dress, dragging it first one way then another, spinning madly, as if under the control of some outside force. She writhed about in the fabric, covering herself in the stench, and then chewed on one edge. Somehow she got hold of a loose thread and shook her head with such a terrific force he was surprised she didn’t knock herself over.