He would never understand what it was about sleep that could turn looking at a child or wife into a heart-wrenching experience, but seeing Abby and Pamela was an epiphany rather than simply a moving sight. He knew without a doubt this was how things ought to be. He didn’t know why he hadn’t understood before.
Neither did he understand why Abby thought she didn’t want a family of her own. She had undoubtedly been hurt by someone, but everyone got hurt sooner or later. People got over it and moved on, rather than allowing one bad experience to ruin every chance for happiness. He’d never asked Abby about her past. Maybe telling someone else would help her put it behind her. It was obvious she loved Pamela.
Bryce knew the kind of wife he needed for his career. His experience with Margaret had proved to him that marrying for love could be dangerous. How could one tell true love from fascination, infatuation, or lust so strong it felt like a passionate and lasting love? His physical needs weren’t so strong that they blinded him to everything else. Pamela had needs that were equally important. And Abby was the perfect person who could fulfill them.
She wasn’t the perfect person to fulfill his career needs, but he was beginning to suspect she was the only person who could ever fulfill his personal ones. Giving in to those needs would mean turning his whole life— his career, his family’s expectations, and everything else—upside down. He didn’t know if he could do that. He didn’t know if he wanted to do that.
He left the room on silent footsteps.
But as he moved down the hall, down the steps, and to the kitchen, he couldn’t get the picture of Abby and Pamela out of his mind. If Margaret had ever comforted her child through the night, he didn’t know about it. She hadn’t wanted the discomfort of bearing a child or the responsibility of caring for it. His mother said women had children out of duty, that one of the advantages of wealth was to be able to hire someone else to take care of them.
His mother had never understood why he wanted Pamela with him. He hadn’t been sure himself in the beginning. He’d been away most of his daughter’s life. He hardly knew her. He just knew he couldn’t leave her to grow up without a mother or father. Maybe he’d resented the fact that he’d been brought up by maids and nannies.
He found the kitchen dark. Zeb had gone to bed. Bryce set down his lamp, lit the one Zeb had used, which still had plenty of oil, and blew out his own. He turned and retraced his steps.
The sight of Abby and Pamela together struck with even greater force than before. He had a visceral feeling that this was something he had to have if he was ever to be happy. That realization caused him to look at his life as he’d never done before. He’d been taught to judge his happiness by his professional success, the contributions he could make to society, to his country. Because of his privileged birth, he’d been taught his duty was greater than that of ordinary men. He was not to think of himself. Duty came before everything.
Abby had changed that.
Even though he’d done his best to convince her to go back to St. Louis, he’d been attracted to her from the first. He’d begun by thinking he was only looking out for his own interests, but somewhere during the last weeks that had changed to wanting to look out for Abby. He had fooled himself into thinking he wasn’t personally involved. Now he knew better. The question was what he was going to do about it.
He didn’t know. He’d only just realized he wanted far more from Abby than a love affair. He didn’t yet know what compromises he would be willing to make. He didn’t know whether she would be willing to make any at all. She had seemed determined to keep men out of her life. And then there was his conscience. He’d been taught his duty was to serve his country before anything else. Could be live with himself if he turned his back on that duty? Did he believe it was his duty?
Hell! He’d thought he had his life all figured out. Then a stubborn woman from South Carolina by way of St. Louis had come into it and upset everything. Grant had said Southerners were a stubborn lot who would stick to their beliefs no matter what it cost them. He wondered if Abby really believed she could never trust a man again.
“What are you thinking?”
The sound of Abby’s voice startled Bryce. “I thought you were asleep.”
“I woke up when you went downstairs. I’ve been watching you stand there, looking at us. What were you thinking?”
Chapter Nineteen
Bryce wasn’t ready to let anyone know what he’d been thinking. He still had more questions than he had answers.
“I was thinking it was extremely kind of you to give up your night’s rest for my daughter.”
“After all you’ve done for me, it was the least I could do in return.”
So she thought it was a duty, the repayment of a debt. Bryce felt disappointed; the excitement inside him cooled. He felt foolish for having considered turning his life upside down for a woman whose feelings hadn’t changed. This night hadn’t been an epiphany for her, but simply something she did out of duty, perhaps out of friendship as well. He wanted to leave the room, to hide. It felt as if his thoughts had somehow been exposed to her view and she’d rejected them. He was embarrassed he could be gullible enough to consider changing his life for a woman.
No, gullible was the wrong word, because it implied Abby was somehow at fault. She’d never vacillated from the position she’d laid out when he first met her. He was the one who’d changed. He was the one who was simpleminded enough to think all could be changed for love. Stupid to make the same mistake twice. What made him think he knew what love was this time? Maybe his epiphany was nothing more than the natural feeling of inadequacy a father experienced when he couldn’t comfort his daughter and his thankfulness to a woman who could.
“I appreciate what you’ve done, but I don’t want you to think it’s your duty.”
“I don’t,” Abby said, looking a little surprised. “I’m very fond of Pamela. I had earaches myself. I know how much they hurt.”
“She seems to be sleeping peacefully now.”
“You ought to lie down,” Abby said. “You have a full day ahead of you tomorrow.”
“I’ll stay.”
“Then you’d better settle down and stop talking. We’re liable to wake her.”
Bryce settled down next to his daughter, his arm around her, his fingertips touching Abby. That seemed like a metaphor for their relationship. Nothing more substantial, nothing more enduring.
Yet something within him had changed. After tonight he could never view Abby or himself in the same light again. He was certain his life would never be complete without her.
“You could stay with Pamela again tonight if you want,” Moriah said to Abby as they got ready for bed. “Now that Colonel McGregor has a guard on duty, I don’t mind sleeping here by myself.”
It annoyed Abby that Moriah continued to refer to Bryce by his title. She’d done her best to make her sister understand their relationship was purely friendship. As for Pamela, no woman could ignore a sick child calling her name. Neither meant Abby wasn’t capable of controlling any foolish tendency to become romantically interested in her father.
“She’s much better today. Practically well, in fact.” Abby had come back to the trading post after breakfast, but she’d checked on Pamela three times during the day, the last time after supper.
“Her father ought to get married. That child needs a mother.”
“He plans to do so as soon as he gets back East. With his looks and family connections, I’m sure it won’t take long.”
“What happens if he doesn’t get posted back East?” Moriah asked. “Dorrie says promotions are practically impossible to get since the end of the war.”
“Bryce’s family is wealthy. They have important connections.”
“This young colonel we’ve been hearing so much about, George Custer, is a personal favorite of General Sheridan, but he’s stationed in the Dakotas.”
“From what I’ve heard Bryce say, he’s a bad officer and ought to be r
elieved of his command. Maybe they’ve sent him to the Dakotas to get him out of the way.”
“Custer’s not the issue. The promotion is. Dorrie says no one is getting them.”
“Fortunately we don’t have to worry about that.”
“I think we do,” Moriah said, looking directly at her sister. “If he doesn’t leave soon, you’re going to fall hopelessly in love with him.”
It was useless to deny what Abby knew to be the truth, but there was no point in letting Moriah know it was already too late. “It wouldn’t matter if I did fall in love with Bryce. I’m not what he’s looking for in a wife.”
“I’m not interested in him. It’s you I’m worried about. I don’t want you hurt.”
“Bryce can’t hurt me unless I let him. I’m not going to talk about him anymore. I’m so sleepy I can hardly keep my eyes open.”
“You should have taken a nap.”
“I left you alone too much as it was. Don’t fret I’ll be fine as soon as I get a good night’s sleep. Start thinking about when you want some time off.”
“I don’t need any time off. I’m your sister, Abby. You don’t have to try to make up for every minute you’re out of the store.”
“I feel guilty leaving you alone so often.”
“I don’t like leaving the store. I’m comfortable here.”
“Everyone says you’re a brilliant saleswoman, better than Father ever was.”
“That’s nonsense,” Moriah said, brushing the compliment aside. “I just happen to like what I do.”
“As well as be very good at it.” In her own quiet way, Moriah had learned more about the people at the fort than Abby. Some of the soldiers had even started asking her for advice. Moriah always declined, but that seemed only to encourage them. Abby wished her sister weren’t so reclusive, but that was past praying for. She gave her a hug and a kiss. “Have I told you lately how much I love you? I couldn’t have done this without you.”
“You can do anything you set your mind to,” Moriah said, her voice brusque. “You don’t need me. And you don’t need Colonel McGregor.”
“Forget Bryce,” Abby said, striving to keep the irritation from her voice. She picked up her lamp. “Now I’m going to bed for what I hope is a dreamless sleep. See you in the morning.”
Sleep, however, was reluctant to fold Abby in its embrace.
She knew she was in love with Bryce. She couldn’t change that, so it didn’t make sense to deny it. How was she to protect her heart when Bryce left?
Pamela’s future worried her just as much. She fell asleep worrying about how she would be treated by a stepmother who might not love her and a grandmother who didn’t understand her. She finally dreamed that Bryce’s house had caught fire and there was no one to rescue Pamela. She was hanging out an upstairs window calling Abby’s name.
“Abby! Abby! Wake up.”
Abby fought her way to wakefulness to find Moriah bending over her. Abby must have called out in her dream and wakened her sister, but Moriah spoke before Abby could.
“The store’s on fire!”
“No,” Abby said, sitting up in bed, trying hard to clear the cobwebs of sleep from her mind. “I was just dreaming about a fire. I’m sorry I called out, but—”
“You’re not dreaming,” Moriah said, dragging her sister to her feet. “Smell the smoke.”
Abby had waked enough to distinguish reality from her dream. The rank smell of smoke was very real. “The store!” she cried. “We’ve got to save the store or we’ll be ruined.”
Without stopping to put anything over her gown, Abby rushed from her bedroom into the parlor. She could see smoke coming from under the door. She unlocked the door and threw it open. Flames covered half the store. She could see piles of clothing burning, hear cans and bottles explode in the heat. She didn’t know where to begin, but if she didn’t do something soon, they’d lose the trading post and everything in it, including their living quarters.
“Grab anything you can to beat out the flames or smother them,” Abby said to Moriah.
“You can’t go in there. The fire’s too hot.”
“I have to, or we’ll lose everything.” Abby grabbed one of the heavy wool blankets folded neatly on a shelf behind the counter and began to beat the flames. It didn’t take her long to realize she wasn’t making any progress. It took her even less time to discover why. She smelled kerosene. Someone had soaked the merchandise with the extremely flammable fluid.
“We can’t stop this by ourselves,” Abby shouted to her sister. “Go for help.”
“I can’t leave you.”
“Go!” Abby screamed.
Abby didn’t know whether she sent Moriah for help because she thought they could save the store or because she didn’t want her to see the destruction of their dream of independence. She attacked the fire with renewed fury, cursing the man who’d set it, hoping she found out who he was so she could have the pleasure of killing him herself.
She struggled on, oblivious to the smoke, the heat, and the danger. Only when she was on the verge of giving up did she hear someone pounding on the door and shouting for her to open it. A wall of flame separated her from the exit, but her only hope of saving the store was to open that door.
“Wake up, Daddy. There’s a fire in Miss Abby’s store.”
“It’s just a dream,” Bryce said, dragged unwillingly from a deep sleep. He hadn’t slept much the previous night and was dead tired.
“It’s not a dream,” Pamela insisted. “I can see it.”
“It’s probably just a light.”
“I saw a man climb in the window. Then he climbed out again. I saw him strike a match and throw it in the window. That’s when I saw the fire.”
Bryce was fully awake now. He threw back the covers and hurried to the window. Pulling back the curtain, he saw a bright light coming from the trading post.
“Run downstairs and wake Zeb. Tell him to get as many people as possible over to the store with buckets, wet blankets, shovels, axes, anything they can lay their hands on.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to the store as soon as I can get some clothes on. Now hurry.”
It seemed to Bryce his clothes had rebelled against him. Even putting on his pants seemed to require thought, whereas before he’d done it automatically. Finally he managed to shove his feet into his boots and snatch up a pair of gloves. As he raced across the parade ground for the second time in recent weeks, he decided he ought to include foot racing as part of the men’s fitness regime. He arrived to find some men pounding on the door.
“Use your ax to break it down,” he directed. “Break out the windows.”
“That’ll just make the fire burn hotter,” one man said.
“That’s a chance we’ll have to take. We can’t stop it standing out here.”
Before anyone could lay an ax to the door, it opened and Abby stumbled out. Bryce managed to catch her before her body hit the ground.
“Is she dead?” somebody asked.
“Just fainted.” He hoped he was right. The fire had singed her hair and eyebrows. Blisters covered her face, arms, and hands. If he hadn’t known who she was, he might not have recognized her. “Put out that fire,” he ordered as he picked Abby up and carried her away from the building.
He didn’t need to stay to help. The men could do just as well without him. Someone had to take care of Abby.
Pamela was waiting at the door when he returned.
“Is she dead?” she asked, tears glistening in her eyes.
“No. She fainted. Run upstairs and turn back the bed.”
“Is she going to stay with us?”
“For as long as it takes her to get well.”
“Can I sit up with her?” Pamela asked, running ahead of her father.
“If she wants you to.” Bryce had dreamed of holding Abby in his arms, but this price was too high.
“She doesn’t look alive,” Pamela said when he lai
d her on the bed.
Abby groaned.
“She is. Now go tell Zeb I want him immediately.”
By the time Pamela returned with Zeb, who’d had the forethought to bring hot water and an emergency medical kit, Bryce had managed to get Abby into bed and under the covers. Though it wasn’t cold, she was trembling from shock.
“Is she all right?” Zeb asked.
“I think so,” Bryce said. “She seems to have nothing worse than some bad burns on her fingers.”
“The fire burned her hair,” Pamela pointed out.
“It’ll grow back,” Bryce said.
Abby tried to talk, but she couldn’t choke out a word he could understand.
“Give me some water,” Bryce said.
“I’ll get it,” Pamela said. She dashed from the room and came back seconds later, bringing the water from her own bedside table. Bryce poured some into a glass, which he handed to Pamela.
“Hold that while I sit her up.”
Putting his arm around Abby, he lifted her into a sitting position, then took the glass from Pamela and held it to Abby’s lips.
“Let me hold it,” he said when she tried to take it from him. “You burned your fingers.”
“Key,” Abby managed to say after draining the contents of the glass. “I burned them on the key when I unlocked the door.” Her voice rasped from the smoke she’d inhaled.
“Let me look at your hand,” Bryce said.
Abby held out her hand for his inspection. The pads of two fingers and the thumb on her right hand were badly blistered. “The first thing to do is put some salve on the burns and bandage them,” he said. It didn’t take long, but Abby’s reaction told him the burns were very painful. “Now you need to rest.”
“I can’t sleep until I know about the fire. Where is Moriah?”
“I’ll send Zeb to look for her. I expect she’ll be able to tell you how much damage the store suffered. Tell her to come prepared to stay here,” Bryce told Zeb.
The Independent Bride Page 23