Bear was a reader.
“Where are we supposed to sleep?” Miriam fingered her collar. Two bunks stood against one wall, each spread with a striped wool blanket. Deborah squatted before the fireplace to stare into the glass eyes of a grizzly bear head. The rest of the bearskin covered the floor of the cabin.
“Lookit his teeth.” She touched one of the ivory spikes. “I bet he could bite your head clean off.”
Tabitha took one look at the bear’s frozen snarl, gave a yelp, and ran toward the door, only to collide with Bear’s leg. She bounced off, landed on her bottom, and burst into tears. Bear backed off, guilt and confusion clouding his expression.
“What’s wrong with her?” His voice caromed around in the cabin as if looking for a way out, and Miriam clapped her hands over her ears.
Emmylou rushed to Tabitha and picked her up, cuddling her close and whispering against her curls. “It’s all right, sweetie. Shhh.”
Bear slung the bags onto the bottom bunk, ripped his hat from his head, and thrust his fingers into his hair. “Can’t you make her stop?”
“I’m trying,” Emmylou snapped. “Do you think this is easy for any of us? We’re tired and hungry. We’ve been dragged up a mountain far away from everything we’ve known, and then to wind up in this … storage shed …” She turned her back, lest he see her tears, only to come face-to-face with a giant mounted elk head. She squeaked and closed her eyes, trying to hold on to the last shreds of her composure.
“This place is full of dead things, ain’t it?” Deborah made her observation from the top bunk.
Emmylou locked eyes with Miriam, who seemed to be searching for reassurance.
Too bad Emmylou had none to give.
That evening, Bear laid out his expectations, and it was all Emmylou could do to bite her tongue as he paced the narrow open space in the center of the cabin.
Emmylou was to confine her attention to caring for the girls. The only reason he married her was for the sake of his cousin’s children. There was to be no hen-pecking, no nagging, no crying, no moods, and no manipulation. If she or the girls needed something, she was to tell him in plain English. She should not expect him to read her mind, and she would absolutely not say one thing when she meant another. He would mind his own business, and she would mind hers.
As for the girls, they were to mind Emmylou and not get into his things. They were to stay within eyesight of the cabin and not wander off. They would not touch his guns or his traps.
“And I want them to stop giggling and crying. I don’t like it.”
Emmylou boggled. “You don’t want them to giggle or cry?”
“No.”
“And how do you propose they go about doing that? Both are natural, especially to little girls. It sounds like you’d prefer to stuff them and mount them to the walls.” She knew she was being snappish, but it had been such a long, confusing day, she didn’t seem to be coping too well.
His scowl would scare a statue. “I’m just telling you the way things need to be.”
And I’m telling you the way things are going to be. Some of his rules made sense, and some were downright silly. It would be up to him to discover the difference.
Following a dinner of cold biscuits and canned beans, which nobody was too enthusiastic about, the sleeping situation was solved by putting Tabitha and Miriam in a quickly fashioned trundle bed, Emmylou on the bottom bunk, and Deborah on the top bunk. Bear removed his bedroll from a hook on the wall.
“I’ll bed down in the toolshed for now. We’ll have to figure out something different before the snow flies.”
At Emmylou’s gasp, he rolled his eyes. “I mean something like adding a room or two to the cabin.” He slammed the door behind himself.
Tabitha was the first to fall asleep, having cried herself out and been reassured time and again that neither the bear nor the elk would suddenly leap to life and harm her. Or the bobcat on the mantel or the turkey in frozen flight on the wall. Miriam curled beside her little sister, and her lashes soon fanned her cheeks in deep sleep. Deborah didn’t settle as easily, popping her head over the edge of the bed every few minutes.
“Bear’s awful grumpy, isn’t he? I guess I would be, too, if four people moved into my house and I had to sleep in the toolshed.”
“Go to sleep, Deborah.”
Emmylou’s brain whirled as she tried to get comfortable on the lumpy mattress.
“Do you think he shot that bear? It sure has big teeth. I’d hate to meet up against something like that, wouldn’t you?”
“Deborah.” Emmylou’s voice sharpened. “That’s enough. Not another peep. You might not be tired, but the rest of us are. Go to sleep.”
With a huff, Deborah’s face disappeared.
With Deborah finally silent, Emmylou had time to contemplate just what she’d gotten herself into. In the space of two days, she’d gone from jilted spinster to wife and mother.
The feeling of water closing over her head made her sit up, taking deep breaths. In the dim glow of the banked fire, the eyes of the elk gleamed at her, and she slammed her eyes shut, dropping back on the pillow.
But if she was feeling unsettled and panicky, how must Bear be feeling? He’d had four women dropped into his life like baggage, and now he was ousted from his home and his normal existence. No wonder he was a bit grumpy.
Perhaps tomorrow, when they got their bearings, things would be better.
Chapter 4
After two weeks Bear would swear there were more than three of them. Every time he turned around, a pint-sized redhead was asking him a question or poking into his stuff. Miriam had organized his traps on their hooks by size, and his books on the shelves by author. Tabitha had taken to playing dress-up with his hat, his winter gloves, his heavy boots, any part of his clothing she could get her hands on. And if Deborah ever stopped talking or moving, he’d never witnessed it. She stuck to him like a cocklebur from sunup to bedtime.
“What’s that?”
“Why do you have such a long beard?”
“Why do people call you Bear? Is it because you growl so much?”
“Can I ride your horse?”
“Why do you have so many guns?”
“Why can’t I try cutting wood with the ax?”
“Can I have a skunk for a pet?”
“Why can’t I go fishing with you?”
All day long, yammer, yammer, yammer. A man had sticky work to escape without one of them following him. And yet, he found himself not minding so much. Their giggling and chattering didn’t set him on edge as often as it had at first.
Bear shouldered his rifle and shifted his grip on the turkey he’d shot for supper. With the leaves turning and the nip in the air, it would be time to bring down a couple of deer or elk and get them smoked before winter set in. With more mouths to feed, he’d have to be sure not to run short.
The cabin came into view as he broke the tree line, and the now-familiar battle set up in his chest. The smoke wafting from the chimney and the knowledge that he wouldn’t be coming home to an empty house warred with the uneasy awareness that he was growing much too fond of the girls.
And not just the girls.
Emmylou had followed his rules to the letter, and yet somehow she still managed to invade nearly every corner of his life, including his thoughts and even his nocturnal dreams. She’d lost that tight-strung look, and though she worked too hard, she had a healthy glow in her cheeks and a sparkle in her eyes. Especially when she was with the girls.
The changes she’d wrought in the cabin were amazing. At first he’d resented every moved item, every sign that he wasn’t the sole proprietor any longer. He’d barely held on to his temper when he’d walked into a clothesline of damp little-girl dresses strung across the cabin one day. And when he saw it was strung from the top bunk to the antlers of his trophy elk, he’d had to walk right back out into the rain. But he’d started coming around to his new way of life. For the first time in a long time, he h
ad a clean shirt whenever he wanted it. He had delicious meals eaten in congenial company. He had companionship that drove away a loneliness he hadn’t known he’d felt.
“Bear’s here!” Deborah bounded from the cabin doorway and skipped down the path. “Lookit that turkey. He’s a whopper.”
He stopped and set his rifle butt on the ground, propping it against his side as he ruffled her hair. “Were you good today?”
Her nose wrinkled, and she squinted up at him. “No worse’n usual.”
It was her customary reply, and he couldn’t help but grin. She was so much like him, it was scary. Bear dropped his hat on her head and hefted his gun once more. Emmylou and the rest of the girls stood in the doorway, and his heart beat a little faster.
“A successful day.” Emmylou reached for the bird, but Bear held it away.
“I’ll pluck and clean it first. That’s no job for a lady.” He handed her the rifle. “If you could get a fire going under the washtub, I’ll scald it.”
Her nod and smile made him feel like the sun had just burst through the clouds. Shaking his head, he rounded the cabin and drew his knife from his belt. How had things changed so quickly? He’d vowed long ago to steer clear of women. He’d long thought himself cured of every ounce of romance or relationship. But now he found himself eager to spend time with “his girls.”
Returning to the cabin with the cleaned bird, Bear handed it over and sank into his chair. He’d made the slat-backed rocker to fit his large frame and draped it with wolf pelts for comfort and warmth. As he leaned back, he waited. Sure enough, little Tabitha—with one of his mufflers draped around her neck and dragging the floor—left the bunk where she’d been playing with the rag doll Emmylou had fashioned for her, and sidled over to him. Her finger went into the corner of her mouth, and she turned her big eyes up to his face.
“What do you want?” He eyed her, pretending to be stern.
“Story.” The little sprite had seen through his gruff exterior before any of the others, and he had a feeling if he didn’t steel himself against it, he’d spend the rest of his life wrapped around her little finger.
“Story, huh?” Leaning down, he lifted her into his lap, where she cuddled back against his chest. It had become their ritual before supper each night. He started in on a continuation of the lives of a family of squirrels he’d made up a week ago.
While he talked, Miriam set the table. Bear couldn’t miss how she took extra care with his place setting, nor how she gave him the biggest slice of bread from the basket.
A man could get used to this.
Deborah hopped around like a flea at a dog show, not appearing to listen to the story but commenting whenever he stopped for a breath.
Firelight bathed Emmylou’s face as she bent over the coals to slide the Dutch oven over the heat. The ease with which she’d sliced up that turkey, made a quick gravy, and whipped up dumplings fascinated him. She sure knew her way around a cook-fire. He’d have roasted that bird whole and had to wait until near midnight for it to be done.
Maybe he should think about dragging a stove up the mountain.
Her skirts swayed with her movements, and fine wisps of hair teased her cheeks. Funny how he’d not thought her much to look at when he first met her. The truth was, Emmylou Paxton … McCall was worth more than a second glance.
Yep, he had a few things to be thankful for.
Best of all was when the girls were ready for bed. Deborah insisted that Bear be a part of tucking them in and hearing their prayers. He was clumsy when it came to brushing hair and tying nightgown strings, but Deborah squealed when he tossed her up on her bunk, and Tabitha giggled when he chucked her under the chin. Miriam was more reserved, but she smiled when he patted her shoulder and tugged the blanket up.
When they were settled, Emmylou poured him another cup of coffee then seated herself near the lamp with one of his shirts and a needle and thread.
“Seems I’ve been pretty hard on my wardrobe.” He settled into his chair with his book. “You’ve been patching and mending every night.” Mostly he just wore something until it wore out, then got a new one. Having her wash and mend his things was a kind of intimacy he hadn’t been prepared for when he’d jumped into this marriage.
“I haven’t even started on the socks.” She smiled, her hands quick as she turned the plaid collar to hide the worn spots. “You’re hard on those, too, and darning isn’t my forte.”
He turned the book to catch more of the lamp and firelight. “It’d be the first thing you weren’t good at. I guess I got the better end of the deal marrying you.”
She was quiet for a moment, and the color in her cheeks entranced him.
“I wouldn’t say so. Compared to where I came from, and compared to what waited for me in Denver, this is very nice.” She didn’t look up.
“Where did you come from?” He set his book in his lap. “I don’t know much about you.”
“Nor I you.” This time she favored him with a quick glance. “I’m from Harrisburg, Pennsylvania. I was orphaned when I was about Miriam’s age and sent to live with my aunt and uncle. They had no children, nor any clue what to do with one. Aunt Ida is stern and exacting, and Uncle Henry is cold and remote. I always knew I was a burden to them, that I wasn’t really wanted there. When I saw a copy of the Matrimonial News, I thought it was my way out.”
“Then you got jilted at the train station.” Guilt at his bluntness pricked him when she winced. “I know how you felt.” He rushed on to cover his gaffe. “I got jilted, too. Left at the altar in a new suit and tie. My bride hopped it with the best man at the last minute. He’d come into some money, and I guess she figured the grass was greener on his side of the fence.”
Her hands stilled. “That’s terrible.”
“Sure hurt at the time, but now I’m glad. Meredith was a mistake.”
“What did you do?”
“Sold my farm, left Indiana, came to the mountains to get away from people, women especially.” He chuckled, looking over at the three cherubs who had invaded his life. “I guess God’s got a sense of humor, huh?” He opened his book again.
“Would you mind reading aloud?” Her lower lip disappeared behind her teeth, and she dropped her gaze back to her work.
It was the first time she’d asked him for anything. That strange warm feeling in his chest expanded.
Emmylou shook the rug, sending dust billowing into the crisp morning air just outside the doorway. Behind her Tabitha swished the dishrag around in the washtub water while Miriam swept the cabin floor. Golden aspen leaves floated down around Emmylou. She drew in a deep breath, rejoicing in the peace of this place. Here, no one belittled her. No one made her feel unwanted—not even Bear, who had every excuse to do so. For the first time in her life, she had a purpose, plenty to keep her busy each day, and three little girls she was coming to love dearly.
Then there was Bear.
Even now the ringing of his ax told her where he was, felling logs and dragging them up to begin adding two rooms onto the cabin, one for her and one for him. Once those were completed, she could stop feeling guilty that he had to spend his nights in the toolshed on a hard bedroll. Everything he’d done since she met him had been to provide for her or the girls. He was a provider and protector by nature, even if a gruff one.
And from the moment he’d shared his own ill-fated brush with matrimony, she’d felt a kinship that went beyond their marriage of convenience. He understood the humiliation of being jilted. He understood wanting to get away from the past. He understood what it was like not to be wanted.
Maybe that was why, in spite of his growling and grousing, he made room for the girls in his life. He snuggled Tabitha, answered Deborah’s thousand-and-one questions every day, and made time to compliment and encourage Miriam. It was as if he knew how desperately each of them wanted to be somebody’s little girl.
And the girls were blossoming. All day long it was “Bear” this and “Bear” that. She’d eve
n caught Tabitha telling her dolly the squirrel stories and trying to imitate Bear’s growl.
Then there was the eager, flighty feeling Emmylou got every evening after the girls were asleep and she and Bear settled in front of the fireplace and he read aloud to her. He had a rich, mellow voice, and he’d obviously had good schooling at some point, because his diction was perfect. But more often than not, Emmylou would lose track of the story as she watched the firelight flicker in his brown eyes, the way his big hands held the spine of the book, the way he lounged in his chair, so masculine and certain of himself. That easygoing confidence in his abilities was very appealing to her.
She held the rug to her middle as she surveyed the glade. It would be time to call Deborah in for lessons soon. Miriam and Deborah did schoolwork each day, something Miriam thrived on and Deborah endured.
Emmylou scanned the high meadow. A glimpse of bright color flashed under the trees on the far side of the meadow. Deborah in her blue coat. The cabin never seemed big enough to hold Deborah. What it would be like in winter when she had to stay indoors, Emmylou couldn’t imagine. She’d give her a few more minutes to play.
“Emmylou, can we make cookies for Bear today?” Miriam whisked the dirt over the threshold and stood the broom in the corner behind the door.
That was her Miriam, always looking for ways to serve, especially Bear.
Emmylou paused. Her Miriam. How had these girls snuck into her heart so quickly? Because she really did feel as if they were hers.
Tabitha, with a dish-towel apron slung around her neck, finished “washing” the tin plates while Emmylou gathered the ingredients for cookies. They were just about set to begin mixing when a faraway scream rent the air.
Deborah!
Emmylou dropped the flour sack, sending a cloud of white dust into the air, and ran for the door. “Girls, stay here!” Slamming the door behind her, she scanned the area for Deborah.
Another scream rent the air, nearly drowned out by a ferocious roar. A flash of blue fabric darted through the trees. Scrabbling up into a slender aspen, Deborah climbed as fast as she could.
The Convenient Bride Collection: 9 Romances Grow from Marriage Partnerships Formed Out of Necessity Page 49