“‘Perfect’?” She scoffed. “I thought you agreed to no romantic nonsense.”
“If the truth sounds like nonsense to you, I can’t help it. You should hear my men sing your praises. Their feathers were ruffled at first when you poked your nose into their business, but they’re impressed with how hard you work—even if they won’t let you do everything.” He shook his head. “I certainly picked a better wife than Matt.”
“You didn’t pick me. You were forced.” She stared at the messy counter in front of her and fiddled with a wood scrap. “If you’d known my past beforehand, I suspect you’d not have chosen me.”
His silence went on long enough she couldn’t help but look up. Though she’d expected to see pity, his expression seemed more confused. “I think you’ve forgotten lots of men marry widows with an intimate past.”
“Sure, but they pursued them knowing so. A man in love with a woman he believes is a virgin bride would recoil once the truth came to light.”
“The light changed nothing.” He shrugged. “You’re the same woman.”
If he’d been in love with her, his tune would’ve been different. The fact that they meant nothing to each other was what kept him level-headed—which was good. So why was she arguing with him about it? She took a deep breath and dropped the wood scrap. “Well, thank you, and also for how you treated me before and after knowing.”
“You’re welcome, and if you enjoy tinkering, don’t give it up because you’re worried it’s a waste of time. You don’t have to spend all day making things that will benefit the ranch. I want you to make things that make you happy, too, all right?”
She swallowed against the lump in her throat. “Thank you. I ended up with a pretty perfect pretend spouse myself.”
The soft look in his eyes faded, and he cleared his throat. “Well, then. Let’s get back to pretending we’re together and head to the house. Having you out here burning the midnight oil so soon after our wedding might set the men to talking.” He scooted off his seat, and after adjusting his newly padded leg, he headed out the door.
She frowned at his retreating back. If he’d wanted to put on a show of them being together, heading off without her wouldn’t do it.
And why did that sting? He’d not meant together together, just that they shouldn’t be apart so much.
But after feeling like someone was listening to her for the first time in a long time…
She reached for the experimental leg, but stopped short. Ranching should come first, like the chicken coop among other things.
This leg was nothing special. Just like all her washing dollies, stain removers, and clothing irons.
She leaned over and blew out the lamp.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Bang!
Nolan startled awake, his heart pounding. Was that a gunshot? Swinging his legs over the side of the mattress, he stumbled forward and hit the floor.
Growling, he picked himself up. How many years had to pass before he’d stop waking in the middle of the night and falling because his brain still thought he had two legs?
The hum of men’s voices called his attention to the open window. When they continued with no hint of panic or distress, his heart slowed. Why were his men up at this hour?
Mickey’s low growl rumbled somewhere outside.
His men were responsible enough he didn’t have to put himself together to go check, so Nolan hauled himself back into the bed.
Lying down, he tried to drift back to sleep, but the men kept talking—though not loud enough he could figure out what was going on. Hopefully Corinne hadn’t been awakened.
He refolded the pillow under his head and closed his eyes. He’d pray himself to sleep again if possible, and he needed to begin with his wife.
Last week, he’d thought encouraging Corinne to invent to her heart’s content would’ve made her happy, but she’d abandoned her projects instead.
Lord, give her peace. Cover her in a supernatural ability to sleep through—
His eyes flew open. A woman’s voice. Outside.
He swung his legs back around and reached for the shirt hanging on the footboard. She must’ve heard something was amiss to have gone out at this time of night. Had he been awakened by them pounding on the door?
The voices faded as he searched for his crutches. When everything went quiet outside, he stopped. By the time he could make it downstairs, they’d likely be back in bed.
He attuned his ears, waiting for the sound of the back door, but never heard it.
Was she being exceptionally quiet so as not to wake him? Or was she not going to inform him of what happened?
He shook his head and settled back into bed. She’d likely tell him over breakfast, and not having her in his room, in the dark, in her nightdress … a good thing.
He was getting worked up over nothing.
Just when his breath began to slow enough to return to sleep, his door creaked.
“Nolan?” Her whisper floated over.
“Hmmm?” He likely shouldn’t have muttered that as if he’d just awakened, but he didn’t want her to know he’d been fretting for fifteen minutes either.
A scratch, and then a flame filled the room with light.
He sat up and rubbed at his eyes. Why was she lighting the lamp? “What’s happened?”
“Something got the chickens.”
Why was she still whispering?
“Killed all of them.” Her face contorted as she turned the flame down. “Took the men too long to figure out what Mickey was whining about to save any. We gathered up the bodies before he was tempted to chew on one, but the eggs…”
She made some sort of frustrated whining noise. Why would losing eggs make her sadder than losing animals?
The lamp light flickered as she turned to walk toward him. She thrust both hands in her dressing gown pockets, and then pulled them out, eggs in both hands. Why would she have brought them up here?
“These three are the only one’s left. They’re supposed to hatch tomorrow, according to what I learned in The Prairie Farmer. We can’t let them die.” She thrust one of the eggs toward him. “So here.”
He took the egg but frowned. Maybe he needed to have a talk with her about not getting attached to farm animals. “Honey, when you live on a ranch, you’re subject to the whims of nature. Wild animals, the life cycle, disease—”
“I know all that.” She scoffed at him. “We don’t make friends with food, but look, this one is already cracking.”
She put the speckled egg to her ear. “I can hear it scratching.”
Without warning, she crawled over his legs and scooted herself into a sitting position on her side of the bed.
Of course, she didn’t really have a side. But that hadn’t stopped him on occasion from turning over in the middle of the night and wondering why she wasn’t there.
Her cold hand cupped his and lifted his egg toward his ear. “Do you hear anything in yours?”
Listening to eggs in the middle of the night seemed more than a little absurd, but he held his laughter. “I don’t think so.” He took a glance at her but quickly looked elsewhere—she was entirely too close. “I’ve seen gadgets in the catalogs for hatching motherless chicks. We could order one if you’d like for future mishaps, but this is what happens—”
“We’re not going to let it happen.” She snatched the egg from him and laid them all in her lap. “We’re going to hatch them.”
He shook his head. Maybe he’d fallen back asleep and was dreaming. “You think we’re going to sit on eggs?”
“No.” Her voice slid down in timbre, as if he’d been the one to propose something silly. Then her cold hand landed on his chest and slipped under the unbuttoned yoke of his nightshirt.
Seemed it was entirely possible to forget how to breathe.
She slipped an egg under his arm and patted his shoulder. “We can keep them warm like a momma bird though.”
His eyes widened. She wanted him to
hold the egg in his armpit? The desire to laugh fled as her hand slid back across his chest.
Stopping her hand atop his rapidly beating heart, she glanced up. Was he imagining things, or had she stopped breathing, too?
A few ticks of silence passed before she snatched her hand away. “You only have to take care of one. I’ll hatch the other two.”
She sat back and stuffed the other two eggs inside her nightdress. “It shouldn’t take long.” The warble in her voice had changed, now clearly colored with embarrassment. Was that because she’d dragged a hand across his bare chest or because she’d asked him to hatch an egg in his armpit?
And yet, she’d come to him for help in the middle of the night. “You do realize we’ll have to stay up to be sure not to crush them. Why not put them next to the lamp? Either way, they probably won’t make it.”
“Oh, I forgot to prepare the crate.” She handed him her two eggs.
She wanted him to stick these in his armpit, too? With a sigh, he tucked one under his opposite arm and cupped the third in his hands.
She’d crossed the room and started setting up another lamp next to a crate he’d thrown on the burn pile the other day.
“Do you expect me to sleep with cheeping chicks?”
“If they hatch, I’ll move them out in the morning.” She turned to him. “You told me you didn’t want a light on in my room.”
Surely burning lamps to keep chicks warm in the guest room could be explained, though did he really want her to leave? “This might not work.”
“I’m fine with that, but I need to try.”
With all his insistence that she do whatever tinkering she wanted, why stop her? “You sure you don’t want to ask one of the men to do this so you can go to sleep?”
She crawled back onto the bed, took the third egg from his hands, and slipped it beneath her nightdress’s top. “I didn’t think it appropriate for me to stay up all night with one of them.”
Chewing her lip, she held out her hand, and he gave her back the second egg.
An awkward silence descended as he adjusted himself to sit beside her, yet not touch her.
It was inappropriate for her to stay up with one of their men, but he wasn’t sure sitting up all night with him was a good idea either. And yet, he couldn’t, or maybe his brain refused to, come up with a reason to send her away.
With eggs under her arms, Corinne tipped her head back until it thumped the wall behind Nolan’s bed.
This was ridiculous. What had she been thinking? Hatching eggs in their armpits! She should’ve just chosen to try to save two and cover the cracking one with lamplight and prayer, and yet, she was pretty sure this would work. The eggs only needed to be kept warm a few more hours.
Designs started flying about in her head on how to make an incubator with lamps, though this time, she’d find the catalogs Nolan mentioned before building anything. If what she came up with wasn’t better, she’d buy something more promising, so they would be better prepared for a next time.
As silly as it was having an egg tucked under each arm, how had she found the nerve to march into Nolan’s room, set up a nursery, hand him an egg, and crawl into bed beside him to spend the night together? She’d not even given it a thought. She’d simply barged in—as if one chick was worth asking him to skip a night of sleep.
With the way he was silently sitting there, staring at nothing, he was probably wondering how he’d ever talked himself into marrying such a crazy woman. Maybe she should pack up this silly setup and head downstairs.
His hand landed on her thigh, sending a delicious jolt through her. “I hope this works for your sake. But if they aren’t hatched by morning, you’ll need a different plan.”
She blinked hard, trying to make sense of what he’d just said. But her brain was far too focused on the pleasant feeling of his hand—just like earlier when she’d realized hers had been flat against his bare chest. She scooted away, pretending to readjust her gown.
When he took his hand back, she closed her eyes and breathed out forcefully.
Nolan scooted farther up against the headboard. “Would you mind handing me that book on your table?”
Her table? She turned to look at the items beside her, but it was as if she couldn’t see a thing. The feel of his hand was no longer distracting, yet now, wishing his hand would return made it impossible to think.
He pointed across her lap. “That one.”
With arms tucked against her, she fumbled the slim green volume. “Sorry, didn’t want to drop the eggs.”
He took the book, his fingers skimming hers. Gooseflesh formed up her arm, and when he fumbled to light his lamp with one hand and knocked into her leg, every nerve in her lower half prickled. Her body’s reactions were nothing short of trouble.
She remembered these anticipatory feelings all too well—and once the anticipation was satiated, everyone wound up disappointed. Feelings were just that—feelings, and she’d promised herself if she ever experienced them again, she’d do nothing about it.
Nolan turned. “Would you mind getting—”
“What are you—” She’d turned at the same time, and his warm breath brushed across her lips causing her to shiver.
His eyes dropped to her mouth.
None of her muscles seemed capable of scooting away, and yet, she found the ability to lean…
A tap under her arm made her jump. “Oh.”
“What?” He blinked.
She swiftly slid off the bed. Thankfully something had made her do so!
“I think it’s hatching.” She rushed the egg over to the crate and turned up the flame, illuminating a small chipped-out hole. “It worked!”
Or maybe the chick would’ve hatched anyway, but she’d take credit for doing something right this once. Because what she’d almost done a second ago would’ve been a mistake. “How much oil do you think I’ll go through with it turned up high? Do you think I should put in some batting—or wool? Good thing it’s not winter. Or maybe it would’ve been better if it had been, because then we’d have a fire going.”
Was all her babbling distracting him from what had almost happened? Hopefully he hadn’t realized she’d been about to kiss him.
The eggshell buckled, starting a crack. She handed her other egg to Nolan and rushed out to bring in a second lamp.
Her feet echoed in the stairwell as she muttered to herself, “You are not going to play the fool again, Corinne. Screw your head back on and get a hold of yourself.”
Grabbing the parlor’s smallest oil lamp and some scrap wool, she returned upstairs. Back in the room, she tossed the fabric in with the egg, picked up the crate and the other lamp, and headed out the door.
“What are you doing?”
She didn’t answer, just blew out a breath as she made her way to the parlor and set the stuff down. What was she doing? Getting herself out of that room, that’s what. As far from him as possible.
She started a fire in the fireplace and stoked it until it burned bright. The heat would not be good for sleeping, but she’d be chastising herself all night, anyway.
Once she had the sofa set up for her and the egg’s top had nearly cracked all the way around, giving her a glimpse of wet yellow feathers, she returned to Nolan’s room. She walked in, keeping her gaze fixed on his forehead, not sure it’d be a good idea to look him in the eyes. “I’m sorry I interrupted your sleep. I should’ve realized I needed a fire, even if it is summer. So I’ll take the eggs now and let you get back to sleep.”
She reached over, but he didn’t seem willing to hand them to her. She waggled her fingers. “Thank you for humoring me.”
Head tilted, he looked at her for a second, but then pulled an egg out. “I hope I didn’t give you the impression I was upset with you. In fact, I’m happy to know what lengths you’re willing to go for the ranch. I don’t—”
“No need to thank me. I’m obligated to help.”
He opened his mouth once, then twice, but then
pulled the other egg out from under his nightshirt. “All right.”
Cupping the eggs, she turned for the door.
“I’m still thankful, Corinne.” His words were softer and more gracious than she deserved.
She hesitated at the door. She didn’t want him thinking she was mad at him, but she couldn’t go back over and talk to him either, nor explain why she had to leave. “Good night, Nolan. I’ll see you in the morning.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Nolan was pretty sure he was being ignored. All week, whenever Corinne had sat down to eat, she had immediately pulled out her notebook and started scribbling.
He’d tried not to ask much of her since she’d hatched those three chicks, ecstatic that she was coming up with all kinds of absorbing ideas. However, he’d caught her joking with his men earlier, yet the moment he’d walked in the door, she turned frantic in her need to get everyone their supper. Once she’d handed out the plates, she’d opened her notebook and refrained from joining in with the evening’s banter.
Now that the men had left, she was still glued to whatever it was she was drawing.
He cut his pork into tiny pieces. “What are you sketching?”
She looked up at him blankly, as if she’d forgotten he sat across from her. “Not sure, actually.”
“Are you not drawing with a goal in mind?”
“No, just…” She took a sip of water, then picked up her pencil again, twirling it between her fingers. “I’m searching for an idea worthy of a patent. After I told you about the paint the other day, I realized I wanted to show people my tinkering is worthwhile. I want to come up with something better than what my father took credit for.”
He let out a chuckle. “Revenge inventing, huh?”
She shrugged. “I bet some of the best inventions didn’t have altruistic motives behind them, but they still changed the world. So I’m going to ride my emotions as far as they’ll take me and hope to discover something impressive.”
Pretending to Wed Page 18