Relations? How had she not though about that? Even standing there in the mercantile, covered in soot with a lone daisy in her hand, it hadn’t crossed her mind. Since it hadn’t, she was grateful that he had brought it up, and his offer was considerate. He had every right to expect otherwise, but this had come upon him as quickly as it had her, and maybe it was best if they ease into the rest. Besides, his mother may not want this and she’d seen many a formidable adversary in mothers who didn’t like their daughters-in-law.
And hadn’t Joe mentioned earlier that she’d refused to speak with Will and his wife since they’d been married? What kind of woman could turn her back on someone as warm and wonderful as Carol? And her own son, who seemed to be a stand-up young man. Just like his brother.
Olivia had very little experience dealing with people. Things were cut and dry, black and white at the ranch. Something needed to happen and you did it. She’d never had to deal with anyone who couldn’t see what was right in front of them.
“Thank you,” was all she knew to say. “I—I appreciate that. Things have happened very quickly.”
“They have. Mother isn’t expecting us tonight and may be abed even now. In fact, that would be wonderful,” he said as he pushed himself from against the wall and crossed over to the buggy.
She stood on her tiptoes to reach into the back and gripped her steel bucket of tools, ones that had been her father’s. She’d found his hammer and his hatchet, throwing them in the bucket as she’d raced around the fire. She handed it to Joe, his eyebrows rising as their hands brushed when gripped the bucket, his warmth settling her nerves.
“What are these?”
She looked up into his smiling eyes, the brown deep and kind. Her eyes fell to her boots as she shuffled her feet. “I had so little time to gather anything with the fire raging. Those are a few of my father’s prized possessions. Ones that he valued most,” she said as she looked up again. She thought he might be laughing at her, but he lowered his eyes and nodded.
“I have some similar things of my father’s. He passed away rather suddenly when I was very young. They are simple things, but all I have left,” he said as she turned back toward the wagon.
“Oh, my,” she said, remembering Suzanne had mentioned he’d lost his father as well. “So your mother is a widow, then.”
“She is, and I believe that’s why—well, that was when things changed,” he said softly as he set the bucket in the corner of the livery.
She reached into the back and closed her eyes as her fingers wrapped around her father’s most prized possession, the cold steel familiar and comforting. She pulled it out and gripped the heavy weight with both hands, smiling as she turned toward Joe, anxious to show him.
She stiffened abruptly as she looked up at him, her smile melting from her face in an instant.
He faced her, his palms outward as he took a slow step backward, his eyes riveted on her. His face had blanched and she frowned, confused, as she looked from him to the shotgun in her hands.
“This is my pa’s,” she said slowly as she held it out to him. He took two more slow steps backward, stopping only when he had bumped against the wall. “Joe, what is it?” she said as she took a step forward, close enough now to see the sweat beading on his forehead.
“I—so that’s your pa’s?” he said as he raked his sleeve over his forehead and pulled his hat down further, shading his eyes.
“Yes. He’d had it since before I was born. I learned to shoot with it,” she said as she cocked her head and rested the barrel of the shotgun on the hay-covered dirt floor. Surely he’d handled guns before. He was a blacksmith, after all, even if he was a city-dweller. “Are you all right?”
“Yes, yes, I’m fine.” He tugged at his shirt collar and averted his eyes, reaching into the barrel for another apple. “Why don’t you put that over in the corner? Don’t think we’ll need it at the house.”
She hefted the weight of the gun to her hip. Could she leave it? She hadn’t slept without it a single night since Pa died. She’d left it in the livery tonight since Sadie was having her baby. It seemed important to him, though, so she wrapped it in a blanket and placed it in the corner, settling it carefully.
She turned toward Joe. There was so much to learn—everything, really. She didn’t even know this man she now called her husband.
She had very little to call her own, everything else on the dirt back at the ranch, and she quickly retrieved the remainder of her belongings. As she turned toward the door, Olivia paused for a moment, watching his deliberate movements. She hadn’t meant to alarm him—clearly they came from very different situations. She wanted to know more about him and tell her more about herself. She imagined they’d have the opportunity, but for now she needed to meet his mother—and see what she’d gotten herself into.
Chapter 20
The ride from the blacksmith shop to his house was short—he frequently walked to work—but it was enough time for his heartbeat to slow. Between telling his new wife that he expected no marital relations from her and staring down the barrel of a shotgun, the last hour had beaten even Sadie’s baby groans for nerve-racking.
They’d fallen silent on the ride and the thunder had ceased. The creaking of the buggy wheels was the only thing disturbing the peace of the night. He’d lit the lantern on the side of the buggy, although he could have made it home with the light of the moon now that the clouds had cleared. Better safe than sorry, he always said, so he’d done it anyway.
It could have been that he just didn’t want to rush home. He’d thought he had at least one more night to work on Ma. Even with his grandmother’s help—and cryptic threat—he had a sneaking suspicion that this may not be easy. If his mother hadn’t spoken to Will and Carol for these past months, it didn’t bode well for her accepting a complete stranger into her home so suddenly.
But what his grandmother had said confused him. He hadn’t had time to really think that one through. He’d been prepared, as a result of his decision, to move elsewhere but to hear his grandmother say that it would be his mother who would be unwelcome shook the ground under his feet. He and Will hadn’t even talked about it as they’d hurried to Sadie and Tripp’s, but what did that mean?
As a result of the conversation that he’d hurried out of between his grandmother and his mother—he hadn’t wanted to be late to meet with his new bride—he was unsure what he’d be walking into. As he approached the house, he snuck a glance out of the corner of his eye at Olivia and hoped that if it couldn’t be peaceful, at least it might be civil.
He wished he didn’t even need to be thinking about that. He’d been around her a fair amount, now, and the scent of vanilla floating on the breeze toward him was anything but unpleasant. When he’d seen her in the light of the lamps at Sadie’s house, she was almost unrecognizable. The time he’d spent laughing and talking with her before the tide turned at supper was most pleasant, and he was struck by her good nature, even after everything that had happened to her. He wanted to ask more about what had happened at the ranch, how it might have happened, but he’d wanted to hear her laugh more and thought it a conversation best left to another time.
Maybe in a few days she might want to go back to the ranch. He’d love to see it, see where she’d grown up, what she did—what was left of it, anyway—but was unsure she’d want to. Besides, it might be good for her to take some time to get to know his mother while he was at work. At least he hoped it might be.
As he studied her, she pointed to a house as they approached. The lights burned low in the parlor, and he hoped that meant his mother had retired for the evening. He didn’t see his grandmother’s buggy as he craned his neck and was sorry that she hadn’t stayed. He was hoping for reinforcements.
“Is that your house?” she said, finger raised at the white clapboard directly in front of them. His mother had taken great care in planting flowers at the base of the porch stairs, a great victory in the midst of the desert. They swayed in the warm
evening breeze, their bright reds and yellows in stark contrast to the white of the house, vibrant even in the moonlight.
He slowed the buggy as they pulled up and looked at the house, seeing it as Olivia might. What did her house look like? Or what had it looked like, as the case was.
“It’s charming.” Olivia’s eyes darted around the house, from the flowers to the second story, a smile creeping across her face.
The tension in his shoulders eased a bit as they reached the house—Olivia was still smiling. She must not have noticed the curtains in the upstairs bedroom part and fall back together several times—his mother’s bedroom. At least that was one question answered for him. She was in her room and likely intended to remain there. He’d never really thought she wouldn’t, but it was good to know what he’d be walking into. What they’d be walking into.
But as his mother was upstairs with only one small lamp burning in the parlor, he’d be able to address that tomorrow. He’d never had the opportunity to tell his mother that Olivia wouldn’t be coming home with him this evening, so she’d made the decision to retire early thinking they’d be arriving together.
He silently was grateful for the reprieve—tomorrow would be soon enough. And even though Olivia had rested earlier in the day, he’d noticed her yawning on the drive and he would be happy to end the evening himself.
“I’ll get you settled in your room before I put the horses away for the night,” he said as he tied them to the hitching post at the bottom of the stairs.
“Thank you.” She reached for the hand he’d extended toward her, and as she took the last step down, his arm found its way around her waist. She stopped and looked up at him, the moonlight glinting from her eyes.
How had it happened that he was taking this lovely creature into his home as his wife? She may have had some difficulties, but she seemed genuinely kind—and fearless—and he was fascinated by her.
He realized he hadn’t let go of her hand and the smoothness of it surprised him. His own were rough with callouses, born from many hours hammering steel. He would have thought hers would be the same from work on the ranch, and he certainly wouldn’t have minded, but they weren’t.
The thought of Sadie and her coming newborn crossed his mind. Would this be what he would have with Olivia? Emotion he hadn’t felt in many years swept over him and he impulsively tipped his hat at this beautiful young woman—his wife—and lifted her warm hand to his lips, brushing them slowly across her skin.
His eyes closed as her scent washed over him once more, and her other warm hand rested gently on his cheek. Pleased he hadn’t startled or insulted her, he straightened, his heart light as he was met with a sparkling smile.
“You certainly are jovial for having been through so much these past few days,” he said as he removed his hat and offered her his arm.
She looped hers through his and smiled up at him, her green eyes framed by long, dark eyelashes. She looked down for a moment before meeting his eyes once again.
“I’ve never been much of a gambler, Joe, but I always have tried to make lemonade from lemons.”
“Lemons, am I?” he said as he squeezed her hand, his smile wide.
Startled, she looked up at him. “Oh, no, I meant...”
He nodded at her once again. “I’m teasing. In truth, we’ve both been presented with buckets of lemons. But I’m beginning to feel that together, we may just make the tastiest lemonade this side of the Mississippi.”
He calmed at her lovely laugh, surprised that it felt familiar and calming to him. She stood on her toes and pecked him on the cheek, his hand flying to where her lips brushed his tingling skin.
“Thank you,” he said as he gestured toward the front door.
“No, thank you.” She offered him a slight curtsey before she looped her arm in his again.
“Shall we go inside, Mrs. Stanton? Would you like to see your new home?”
Olivia lifted her skirts with her free hand and nodded. “I’d like that very much, Mr. Stanton,” she said as they started up the steps.
As they reached the top of the porch steps, it was clear that the parlor was empty and Joe felt a swoosh of relief wash over him at the confirmation. He took one last glance up to his mother’s room, though, stiffening as he saw the curtains fall back together.
It didn’t matter what she thought, he reminded himself. The evening had been lovely and he looked forward to getting to know his bride more tomorrow. If he was lucky, his mother would just stay out of their way.
Chapter 21
The sun glowed below the horizon, not yet cresting the top of the mountains. It wasn’t sunrise proper yet, but Olivia had gotten up before the sun for so many years that she panicked, her first thought that the chickens would be so hungry they’d peck her as she spread the chicken feed.
She sat up in bed and looked around, her surroundings foreign to her. She listened for the chickens and was met with silence. It took a moment for her to realize that what chickens she’d strained to hear were in the distance...not hers, and not here.
She stretched, her muscles still objecting to moving as much as they had in the past few days. Rubbing the back of her neck, she walked toward the washbasin, delicate flowers painted on the porcelain. She poured cool water from the matching pitcher and splashed her face, taking in a deep breath and blinking her eyes as she looked about the room she’d awoken in.
Joe had kindly brought her very few things up to the room the evening before, and she’d secretly been relieved that his mother was nowhere to be found. No light peeked from under the door to the room Joe indicated was hers, and although it might have been better to just take the bull by the horns last night, she felt more rested today and ready to meet her fate.
The bed had been comfortable—more comfortable than her own—and she’d fallen into a dreamless sleep after wrapping herself up in the cozy comforter, also adorned with flowers. She’d never seen so many flowers, from the rug to the washbasin, the curtains and even the towel she now set back down on the vanity.
She dressed quietly and quickly, choosing a dress that Sadie had given her that was more appropriate for work—a day dress. She didn’t know what was in store for the day, but it must involve work. What else would she do?
She fingered the dress she’d arrived in, soot sticking to her skin. She found an older piece of cloth folded in the wardrobe—no flowers—and wrapped the dress in it. Once she knew where the washtub was, maybe she could salvage it. It had been one of her mother’s and although it was singed several places on the sleeve and the hemline, it would be worth the trouble.
Her eyes closed, she remembered the last time she had seen her mother—in this very dress—and wished she were here now. She’d had very little female companionship since then, only seeing her friends in town on the odd occasion she drove in, and the memory of her mother was soft and sweet.
“Olivia? Are you awake?” followed a soft rap on her door. Joe—he was up early, too.
She crossed to the door, flinging it open, to the sight of a fresh bouquet of flowers, the same as the ones she’d seen in front of the house the evening before. He smiled as he thrust them in her direction.
“Good morning. I trust you slept well,” he said as he took a step back from the door.
“I did.” Olivia reached for the flowers, bending her head toward them as she inhaled deeply. The scent of roses captured her, their beautiful orange and pink fairly vibrating in her hand.
“Roses. However do you grow these here in the desert?” Her eyes grew wide at the explosion of color in her hand.
Joe looked down the hallway toward his mother’s room. He lowered his voice and said, “My mother tends them. Spends most of her time in the garden, and I must say we all are rewarded for her efforts.”
“Quite a talent she has,” Olivia said as she searched her room for a vase. She found one on her nightstand and filled it with water, arranging the flowers loosely. “I tried for years and finally gave up out
on the ranch. My time was better spent on things like onions and tomatoes, and even that was a challenge.”
“We get our vegetables at the mercantile here. I suppose living in town will be a big change for you,” Joe said as he gestured for her to follow him downstairs.
“I should say so. I rarely went farther than the cellar after we’d canned for the year. Except for ham and bacon...had to go all the way to the smokehouse for that.”
“We get that at the mercantile, too. The best ham and bacon you’ve ever tasted.”
Her skin prickled at the mention of the ham and bacon at the mercantile. She couldn’t blame Joe—how would he know that those products had come from her farm for years, the very ones he thought were the best? But now...there was no way to guess where Suzanne and Sadie would receive their meat.
“Have you heard anything about Sadie? The baby?” Olivia followed him down the stairs as the sun peeked over the top of the mountains to the east. “She could have had a baby by now.”
Joe ushered her into the kitchen and she sat down at the table to a steaming mug of tea and a plate of lovely pastries. She looked around for Joe’s mother, and in her absence, her eyebrows rose. Joe must have done this for her. She’d always been up early to make breakfast for her father and Percy—and then just Percy. She hadn’t been served breakfast since her mother died.
“I hope you like pastry,” he said as he sat down opposite her at the kitchen table.
“It’s lovey, Joe. I—it’s lovely.” She dumped two teaspoons of sugar into her tea and a dollop of cream.
She’d been given a quick tour of the house the previous evening. Now, in the light of day she could see more. Flowers, everywhere. Porcelain tea service painted with flowers stood in the corner, and the curtains that swayed in the breeze—flowers. Even the flatware had flowers engraved on the handles.
The Blacksmith's Mail Order Bride: A Sweet Western Historical Romance (Wild West Frontier Brides Book 5) Page 9