Wed by Necessity

by Karen Kirst

  “I dinnae need tips on how to handle my wife,” he said incredulously. “I assumed that, seeing as she’s your only daughter, you’d be keen to deliver a warning to her new husband. Something along the lines of facing your wrath if I dinnae treat her right.”

  “As you don’t have children yet, Mr. McKenna, you wouldn’t understand. Fathers and daughters have little in common. Pray Caroline bears you many sons. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have pressing tasks to tend to.” With that, he spun on his heel and stalked toward the house.

  Stunned, Duncan watched his retreat. That was not the response of a caring father. He experienced a pang of sympathy for his wife. How would living with this cool detachment affect a person? Then there was Louise. While she appeared to bestow Caroline with more attention, it wasn’t the positive kind. She nitpicked and criticized. His own parents weren’t perfect by any means, but he was assured of their love and approval no matter what.

  His stomach rumbled, reminding him of his mission. Waving away a pesky mosquito, he strode for the stables. He spotted Wendell at the opposite end, leaving the room Caroline had said was used for personal storage.

  Duncan hailed him. Surprise puckered his wrinkles. Shifting a bulging sack behind his back, Wendell waited without speaking.

  “Have you seen Caroline? I’ve been searching everywhere—”

  The door opened scant inches and Caroline slipped out sideways, hurriedly shutting and locking it behind her. “Duncan.” Pocketing the key in a khaki-colored apron tied about her slim waist, she greeted him with lifted brows. “What a surprise to see you here.”

  “A surprise? Most of my work is in this building.” Suspicions aroused, he let his gaze linger on a tiny orange feather clinging to her sleeve. “It’s past noon.”

  For a moment, she looked perplexed. Then her expression cleared, and she nibbled on her lip. “Oh, I forgot. I was supposed to fix your lunch, wasn’t I?”

  Her casual manner put his hackles up. But then he remembered his conversation with Albert, as well as the fact this situation was as new to her as it was to him. “Our lunch. Aren’t you hungry?”

  “I could eat.”

  Wendell sidled toward the entrance. “I’ll be in the barn if anyone needs me.”

  She tucked a wayward strand of hair behind her ear, drawing his attention to her unadorned earlobes. His gaze trailed lower to the dress’s scooped neckline. Her usual cameo choker was absent. Her wrists didn’t glitter with diamonds. In fact, the only piece of jewelry she wore was the wedding band he’d placed on her finger. Her hair looked different, too. Instead of her usual sophisticated style, the light blond tresses had been woven into a braid. Her typical polish had lost its shine. The result was a warmer, softer version of the socialite he’d met at the Independence Day celebration a few short weeks ago.

  “I’m sure Cook would give us plates of whatever meal she prepared for my parents. It’s her habit to fix extra in case visitors drop in unannounced.”

  While tempted to agree, he didn’t want to begin a pattern of sponging off her parents. Caroline had to learn to be a proper housewife. Who knew if they’d remain on the Turners’ property? They might decide to build elsewhere in town or move away from Tennessee altogether.

  “Let’s go to the cabin and eat. I neglected to show you where the supplies are kept, anyhow.” Reaching out, he plucked the feather from her sleeve and held it out to her. “Was Wendell helping you sort feather boas?”

  Forehead knitting in consternation, she took the feather and joined it with the key in her pocket. “Not exactly.”

  “Hmm.”

  Settling his hand low on her back, he guided her outside. They fell into step together and, although they didn’t converse, he had to admit it felt nice to have company. In Boston, he’d rarely been alone. So in those first couple of months following his departure, he hadn’t minded the solitude. As the weeks had worn on, he’d begun to crave more companionship than his fellow workers were willing to provide. At the churches he’d attended in various towns, the congregants had been friendly but unwilling to seek deep friendships when he’d made it plain he wasn’t sticking around. He’d started seeking God’s counsel in the matter of marriage and had gone so far as to ask Him to provide a chosen bride. Glancing at the woman beside him, he was convinced God’s plan had gotten bungled.

  When they left the fields behind and entered the wooded route to the cabin, she burst out, “Aren’t you going to demand answers?”

  Duncan didn’t have to ask to what she referred. “Are you doing something illegal in that room?”

  “What? Of course not.”

  “Then I’m not going to press the matter. You’ll share when you feel comfortable.”

  A glance at her revealed that she was stewing over his answer. He directed her to the smokehouse and told her to wait while he fetched a knife. Returning, he lifted her hand and slapped the handle into it. “Smoked pork makes fine sandwiches.” Bending to avoid hitting his head on the low door frame, he straightened inside the cramped space. “Since it’s just the two of us, we dinnae need a large portion.”

  She followed him inside, blinking to gain her bearings, the knife held at an awkward angle. “I’d rather you cut it.”

  “You learn best by doing.” Wrapping his hand around hers, he lifted the knife to the slab hanging from the ceiling hook and set the blade at the preferred spot. “Start here and work your way down.”

  Her shoulder butted against his chest. Where their arms aligned, her coconut-scented skin—she must’ve switched soaps—was smooth and still warm from the sun. His gaze zeroed in on her profile, following the line of her brow, her nose, her mouth.

  She angled her face his direction. “What if I don’t cut it like you want?”

  Duncan’s thoughts drifted to yesterday’s ceremony and missed opportunities. She was his wife. He was allowed to kiss her.

  He cleared his throat. “I don’t care how it’s cut, Caroline.”

  Edging away until he bumped into another slab, he tried to calm his rapid pulse. Kissing her would complicate matters, not to mention make it difficult to maintain objectivity. They had to get to know each other. Decide how this relationship was going to work before moving into intimate territory.

  When she’d finished, he praised her efforts. She didn’t seem inclined to accept his compliment, however. He led her to the toolshed where the previous owner had stashed a dozen or so jarred vegetables and preserves.

  “Do you like pickled okra?” he said.

  “Too slimy.”

  “What about beets?”

  She took the jar from him, her fingertips fluttering over his. “This one’s mine. You can have the okra.”

  “You’re not used to sharing, are you?”

  She was so easy to tease.

  Her somber gaze landed on his. “I never had to. Only child.”

  “You’re never too old to learn.” He snatched it back and, chuckling at the protest brewing on her features, sauntered into the light and discovered a familiar woman peeking into the cabin windows. “What is she doing here?”

  Chapter Ten

  “Vivian, hello.” Caroline attempted to mask her dismay. Being gossiped about was bad enough. The last thing she wanted was for her friends and acquaintances to witness firsthand how far she’d sunk. “If I’d known you were dropping by, I would’ve met you at the main house. We’re not equipped to entertain guests here.”

  Standing closer to the steps, Duncan cast her a sharp glance. She ignored it. A rundown cabin may be good enough for him, but it didn’t meet her standards.

  Not ashamed in the least at having been caught peering into their windows, Vivian waved away her concern. Caroline couldn’t help but notice how her dress, crafted of fine rose fabric, enhanced her milk-white complexion. Beneath the dainty hat per
ched upon her head, the coils of her chocolate hair held a rich sheen.

  A disturbing thought struck her. Did Duncan have a preference for any one hair color? Did he even like fair-haired women like herself? Or did he like other hues more...say brunette? She had always admired raven-haired men and hadn’t given a thought to auburn until Duncan. Now, she couldn’t imagine anything more beautiful than his fire-kissed locks. Not that she’d ever tell him that. His ego was healthy enough as it was.

  Hips swaying as she joined them in the yard, Vivian cooed, “I heard the dreadful news this morning and decided to stop and express my condolences. I can’t imagine how horrible this must be for you both.” She tucked her gloved hand into the crook of Duncan’s arm. “Is there nothing anyone can do? An annulment could be had, I’m sure.”

  Vivian batted her eyelashes and pressed her generous curves against his side. Caroline felt ill. While the other woman possessed a pure heart and meant no harm, she had the tendency to flirt with any man in her vicinity. It had never bothered her until this moment.

  Duncan’s brows pulled together. “What’s done is done. There’s no going back.”

  “What a shame.” She made a tutting noise. “I had hoped...” Her smoky gaze skittered to Caroline and she gave a tittering laugh. “Forgive me, I’m being rude. I’m just so overwhelmed to learn of your nuptials.”

  Caroline was reminded of how they’d looked dancing together at the celebration, Vivian’s dark-haired beauty a perfect foil for the Scotsman’s cinnamon-tinted complexion and auburn hair. Studying his face more closely, she tried to ascertain if he was as disappointed at their lost opportunity as Vivian seemed to be.

  Jiggling the jar in his hand, he said, “We’re getting ready to eat. Would you like to join us?”

  She gave a flirty toss of her head. “I’d love that. Unless Caroline would rather keep you all to herself.”

  The pair regarded her with expectancy. She couldn’t refuse, especially since Duncan had issued the invitation.

  “Of course you must join us.” Sweeping past them, she went inside and plopped the hunk of meat on the counter. “This certainly won’t match Cook’s standards. I hope you won’t be disappointed.”

  “I’m sure Vivian doesn’t expect a seven-course meal,” he intervened.

  Oh, they were on first-name terms, were they? Had they spent time together besides that one dance? Her gaze fell on the bed, and she rejoiced that he hadn’t yet gotten the second one. No way did she want that tidbit bandied about town.

  The brunette’s smile bordered on worshipful. “It doesn’t take much to impress me.”

  His gaze brightened with approval. “I’ve learned to find value in simple things.”

  “Oh, yes, I know what you mean,” she gushed. “It’s like that verse the apostle Paul wrote about being content no matter what your circumstances.”

  At his murmur of surprised pleasure, Caroline turned away, the feeling of sickness intensifying. She told herself it didn’t matter. His opinion of her didn’t matter. His admiration for Vivian didn’t matter. He wasn’t what she wanted in a husband, either.

  “Caroline? Will you set the table?”

  Turning, she thought she caught a smirk on the other woman’s face but couldn’t be sure. Duncan’s exasperation was clear, however. He’d opened the beets and started slicing the meat. Beside him, Vivian was carving up a loaf of bread.

  The meal was one of the most excruciating in recent memory. The worst part was the prayer. Duncan reached for her hand and then, in a moment of awkward uncertainty, also took Vivian’s. Caroline didn’t recognize the turmoil bubbling up inside her. Afterward, she remained mostly silent while the other woman regaled him with local gossip. Duncan did attempt to draw Caroline into the conversation, but she was too upset.

  By the time Vivian had taken her leave, Caroline was desperate for escape. She yearned to ride into the hills atop her beloved horse and leave reality behind for a while. But Rain was far from healed. And Caroline wasn’t sure she deserved to ride any horse after endangering Rain.

  “I thought you liked Vivian.”

  His accented voice jolted her out of her thoughts.

  “I do. She’s not someone I’d confide my closest secrets to, but I’ve known her for years.”

  He stacked the plates and carried them to the counter. “Is there some reason you didn’t want her here?” Balancing a hip against the edge, he crossed his arms. “Are you ashamed of our home?”

  She couldn’t admit the more humiliating truth—that her husband’s obvious admiration for another woman made her feel more inadequate than usual. His already low opinion of her would suffer.

  “Our home?” She snorted in an unladylike fashion. “This doesn’t feel like a proper home. For the past decade or more, it’s been the abode of an unkempt, elderly bachelor.” Executing a complete circle, she held out her hands. “This is nothing like what I pictured my future home would be.”

  “Let me ask you something. Did living in the lap of luxury make you happy?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “It’s not a difficult question,” he said patiently. “Did wearing stylish dresses and being surrounded by expensive furnishings make you happy?”

  His words sliced to the heart. She couldn’t recall ever being truly content. She’d been too busy striving to earn her parents’ approval. “Wealth isn’t wrong except to those who don’t possess it.”

  “It’s a matter of perspective and learning to be grateful for the little things. For the time being, this is our home. Could use a bit of sprucing up, ’tis true, but it keeps the elements and critters out. Not everyone can say the same. I’ve seen a lot during my travels. Things that would make you weep.”

  Caroline’s conscience prodded her. She wasn’t ignorant. She’d seen poverty in her own town. Take the young woman wearing her dress—that was probably the first new dress she’d owned in her entire life. One example of why Caroline was dedicated to her charity work.

  Going to the window, he ran a finger across the glass, leaving a streak in its wake. “With a bit of hard work, you could turn this cabin into a cozy space.”

  “My idea of work is organizing the table seating for a formal dinner or gathering donations for Christmas baskets. Not scrubbing floors.”

  “Your ideas are going to have to change.” Settling his Stetson on his head, he angled his chin toward the kitchen. “Starting with those dishes.”

  The chore did not appeal in the slightest. “Things would be easier if you’d agree to let me hire someone.”

  “And deprive you of the satisfaction of a job well done?” A twinkle entered his eyes. “I can’t do that. What I can do is help you with supper. I’ll be done between five and six o’clock. You’ll be here, right?”

  She grimly nodded. “Where else would I be?”

  * * *

  “I’m not putting my hand near that brooding hen.”

  A smile creased Duncan’s face. “Are you always this pleasant in the mornings?”

  Her glare didn’t have the usual effect. How could it when her clothing was rumpled and her blond hair still in the long, messy braid she’d slept in?

  “Until two days ago, I was awoken every day by the gentle rays of the sun and the sweet smell of hot cocoa on my bedside stand.”

  He let loose a low whistle. “Cossetted lady.”

  “You can understand why my mood isn’t the best right now.”

  “Like I said, you’re slow to wake up, and we have a lot to accomplish today. I couldn’t wait an hour for you to decide to open your pretty eyes.”

  Surprise softened her mouth. He hadn’t meant to let that slip. If she sensed his attraction, she’d wield it to her advantage just like Maureen had.

  Having separate sleeping areas was for the best. He’d procured a second be
d frame and feather-filled mattress yesterday afternoon and positioned it on the opposite wall from his. To ensure her privacy, he’d hung a quilt from the ceiling, obscuring her bed from the rest of the cabin. That morning, he’d called her name several times from the outside of that barrier. When that didn’t work, he’d ducked under the quilt and, setting the lamp on the floor, jostled her shoulder. Muttering her displeasure, she’d pushed his hand away and turned on her side toward the wall. As a last resort, he’d whipped off the covers and started tickling her feet. He grinned again thinking about how she’d scrambled off that bed in a flash, her disorientation quickly turning to irritability.

  Her gaze sliding away, she observed the hen atop its nest with concern. “If I put my hand there, she’ll bite me.”

  Around their feet, most of the hens pecked at the bits of stale bread scattered on the ground. He had gathered four eggs. It was Caroline’s turn. “If you don’t want to use your hand, use a stick.”

  Leaving the pen, he found a slim twig in the grass and brought it to her.

  “How about I watch you this time?” she said.

  “I don’t think so, because tomorrow you’re doing this on your own.” Like he had with the knife, he placed the twig in her hand and, with his hand guiding her, showed her how to gently prod the chicken out of the box.

  With a disgruntled squawk and flurry of wings, the hen abandoned its haven. Caroline jumped back, knocking into Duncan. His arms came up to steady her. “Whoa, lassie. No need to be frightened.”

  His lips caught in her hair. Beneath his hands, her blouse was smooth cotton and her arms were slender yet strong. He was reminded of that long, uncomfortable ride on Jet’s back. Then, she’d been an intriguing, annoying complication. Days later, she was Caroline McKenna, his wife. No matter how many times he registered that fact, it never failed to surprise him.

  She shifted out of his reach. Disappointment flooded him, and he longed to pull her back.