Gloree nudged him. “I’m serious. Why do you make that face when I talk about God?”
“Because it has been my experience that the ones who talk about God the most are the ones who appear to know Him the least. If He indeed exists at all.”
“Oh, He exists all right. If He didn’t, how would you explain everything that has happened since sunup this morning? Can’t you look at all of what’s transpired and say there is a God and I see Him everywhere I look?”
He shrugged. “I assure you that statement has never crossed my mind.”
“Well then, I’m going to challenge you to ask Him to show you He’s here.”
“You mean you want me to speak to an invisible being and demand he become visible?” The sarcasm in his voice was impossible to miss.
“No, Mr. McCoy, that’s not what I mean at all. Yes, He may be invisible to our eyes, but sometimes that’s just because we don’t know where to look. Why don’t you just ask Him where to look?”
“That’s all?” At her nod, he continued. “I’ll do that. Now one more thing. As long as you’re cooking my breakfast and advising me on spiritual matters, I wonder if we ought to dispense with the formalities and call each other by our first names.” He shrugged. “Of course, if you prefer to refer to me as Mr. McCoy, then I will be forced to call you Mrs. McCoy. For accuracy’s sake, of course.”
“No,” she quickly said. “Gloree is fine.”
“Gloree it is,” he said, “though I couldn’t help but notice the mortgage papers called you Glorietta. That’s a pretty name.”
“Mama always said that was too much name for me. It was her mama’s, and she was obligated to pass it on, but she never did call me by it.” She smiled at the memory. “I was always Gloree ever since I was a little baby girl, or at least that’s what I was told.”
“Then you’ll continue to be Gloree.”
She shifted positions and regarded him curiously. “Tell me about yourself, Mack. I know you’re just my husband temporarily, but I’m curious how a man from practically the other side of the world ended up in Colorado.”
“By boat and by horseback with at least two trains,” he said mischievously then looked her way, grinning.
“Stop it,” she said. “If you don’t want to tell me, just say so.”
“It’s not that I don’t want to tell you,” he admitted. “I just don’t know what to tell you.”
She settled back against the seat and stretched her legs. Exhaustion, her constant companion in her other two pregnancies, tugged at her now.
“Tell me about your mama,” Gloree said.
“Oh, that’s a story for another day,” was his cryptic response as he pulled the wagon to a stop. “Right now I’m torn between concentrating on the road and worrying if you run out of words, you’re going to fall asleep and tumble out of the wagon.” He gestured behind him. “There’s a pile of blankets that’d make a fine place for a new bride to take a nap.”
“And while I’m sleeping, you and the Lord can have a nice chat,” she said with a grin as she climbed into the back of the wagon and settled into a comfortable spot.
Though she intended to lightly doze, Gloree closed her eyes and did not open them again until the sunlight blinded her. Shielding her face, she sat up and looked around to find she was home.
In her own bed.
But how?
She sat up and stretched. It all looked the same. Same whitewashed walls. Same white iron bedstead on the other side of the room where the children used to sleep. Same view of the barn and the pasture beyond from the window opposite her.
Indeed she was home.
And then she smelled it. Biscuits and gravy.
Chapter 4
His bride was radiant in her rumpled yellow dress and blond curls tumbling down her back and around her shoulders. Sleep had softened her expression and given her a peaceful look she hadn’t worn yesterday. Mack had dispensed with the fancy clothes he’d worn yesterday and put on a simple pair of workingman’s trousers and shirt. He’d borrowed an apron from the peg beside the stove, something Gloree seemed to find amusing.
“I’ve set out the jelly I found in the larder,” he said as he set the plate of biscuits on the table then reached for the pan of gravy. “I’ve also got a few fresh eggs I collected from the yard if you want something to go along with the biscuits.”
“Thank you, but no. This’ll be plenty.” She reached for a biscuit. “I guess I was sleeping pretty hard.”
“Hard enough,” he said. “I hated to wake you.”
“Where’d you…?”
“Sleep?” He nodded to the bedroll stowed in the corner. “Suits me.”
“I hadn’t thought about offering a place for you. What with the house only having the one room upstairs for beds, it just didn’t occur to me that you’d need a place, too.” She set the biscuit down. “The barn’d fall down around your head in a decent breeze, so that’s not an option.”
Mack nodded. “Actually, my first act as ranch owner…” At her scowl, he shook his head. “That is, as temporary husband to the ranch owner, is to see what I can do to fortify that structure. I’ve found enough boards stacked behind it to do some patching. I think there are sufficient nails to do the job, but I may have to make a trip back into Calleyville if there isn’t.”
Gloree reached for the ladle and scooped up some gravy. “I still don’t think it’ll be sufficient to house you, though.”
“Nor do I,” Mack said. “That’s why I’m going to move in upstairs with you.”
The ladle landed in the pan of gravy with a plop. “You’ll do no such thing.”
“Was my guess correct in putting you in the bed across from the window?”
“Yes,” she said tersely as she swiped at the splashes of gravy on her sleeve.
“Then the other is mine.” He rose and turned away as if that was the end of the subject.
“I won’t allow it,” she declared.
Mack swiveled around, his expression turned dangerous, or as dangerous as a man could look while wearing a flowered apron with ruffles and bows. “That was a statement, not a question, Gloree.”
A ruckus rose outside as the horses began to protest. Mack tossed the apron over his head and let it fall to the floor as they hurried to the window investigate. A cloud of dust materialized at the horizon along with several riders.
“Looks like a cattle drive,” she remarked.
“My guess is it’s our cattle.” Mack hurried to his horse and headed out to meet them while Gloree watched from the window. And though she knew she’d be sparring with the man again before bedtime, she couldn’t help but smile as she watched him now.
The remainder of the day was taken up with getting the cattle settled, mending the fences, and feeding the men Mr. Quentin had sent over to deliver the animals. By the time the last plate was washed and the kitchen set to rights, the sun had gone down behind the mountains.
Mack remained outside well past the time the shadows gathered and the sky darkened to black. She heard him speaking in low tones with Quentin’s men on the porch until the sound of hoof beats told her they had gone.
Still he didn’t come inside.
Gloree tended the fire and lit a lamp beside her chair then reached for the book she’d started weeks ago. She jumped when she heard an owl’s call. Jumped again when a coyote barked off in the distance.
Finally she’d had enough. She set her book aside and extinguished the lamp then went to the window. Her husband sat at the edge of the porch, seemingly staring up into the night sky. Though she was tempted to latch the door, she turned away.
She’d managed through near death in Texas and real death here in Colorado. What was one stubborn man? She’d manage him, too.
She headed upstairs, shaking her head at the squeaking noise the first riser had made since a few weeks before Pitt’s death. Odd that even the staircase marked the time since she’d been left alone.
Oh, but it did. But then,
so did she.
Removing the pins from her hair, she sat on the edge of the bed to brush it. If she stretched her toes, she could reach the other bed. Though the room filled the length of the house, she had clustered the beds together to make caring for her sick family easier. She hadn’t been able to keep Pitt in bed—he’d been determined to get the crop in the ground before the illness took him. But her babies had been just an arm’s length away from her throughout those long, anxious nights.
Now, however, it just meant that the man she’d married solely for convenience was going to attempt to sleep a most inconvenient distance away.
Mack closed the door behind him and waited until his eyes adjusted to the murky darkness of the farmhouse’s interior. It had been far too long since he’d spent the day outdoors doing real, satisfying work. He smiled as he slipped off his boots and then stepped away from the door to move toward the staircase.
The first riser squeaked beneath his feet, though the remainder of them did not. A quirk of the old house, he decided. Eventually he would have to repair it. For now, the item would go at the bottom of an ever-lengthening list.
At the top of the stairs he stopped to place his hand on the doorknob. Locked. Of course.
He reached into his pocket for a tool from one of his former not-so-legal trades: a small metal pick that made short work of his bride’s locked door. Bowing to her sense of propriety, he tiptoed past his sleeping wife with the intention of climbing into the bed he’d claimed.
But the sight of the moonlight slanting over Gloree’s features captured his attention and held it. She’d woven her hair into a braid and donned a white gown with a ruffle that teased her neck.
A chill breeze puffed up the curtains and caused her to shift positions. Mack tiptoed over to the window to close it.
“Leave it open.”
He froze and then turned around slowly to find his bride siting up in bed with the covers drawn up to her chin. “Leave the window open,” she repeated. “And then leave.”
He chuckled at the threat in her tone. “I’ll do one of the two,” Mack said. “But I won’t be doing the other.”
He stalked over to the empty bed and reached down to fluff the pillow. The lamp came on, and he glared over at Gloree.
“Go sleep wherever you slept last night,” she demanded.
“Last night I laid my bedroll on the kitchen floor because that parlor set of yours is the most uncomfortable furniture I’ve had the unfortunate experience of trying to sleep on. And I have slept in some uncomfortable places.”
“I do not care where you’ve slept before,” she snapped. “I only care where you think you will be sleeping here.”
The fact that this woman—his wife—was even prettier when she was riled wasn’t lost on Mack. Neither was the fact that theirs was a marriage in name only.
“I can sleep with or without that lamp, but if you’re worried about your modesty or what you might see when I drop these trousers, you probably ought to shut it off.”
“You wouldn’t,” she said, her eyes wide.
Exhaustion had worn down his patience just enough to cause him to reach for the tail of his shirt and slip it over his head. Before an inch of his chest could be exposed, darkness flooded the room.
Though he was sorely tempted to leave his dusty trousers on the floor with his shirt, he lay down on top of the blankets and fitted the pillow beneath his head. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Gloree turn her back on him and pull the covers over her head.
She was still in that position when Mack donned his shirt and headed downstairs to find his boots and start his day. Gloree met him in the barn just after sunrise.
“Good morning, wife,” he said as cheerily as he could manage. “What have you got there?”
“Breakfast,” she said as she left the cloth-wrapped bundle on a stack of lumber and walked away without a backward glance.
He considered letting Gloree know how pretty she looked when she was mad then wisely decided against it. He stood and admired her until she disappeared inside.
If she’d been his wife—his real wife—he might have followed her inside. Instead, he went back to the massive job of trying to piece together the patchwork that was the barn’s walls.
Before he realized the time had gone by, Mack was startled from his work by Gloree delivering lunch. “Thank you,” he said to her retreating back.
Again, he allowed a moment to watch her walk away. Indeed, Gloree could have easily held her own among women of distinction and wealth. And the spunk she showed? Mack grinned as he tore off a piece of bread. His mother would have heartily approved.
As the shadows lengthened across the pasture, Mack straightened from his work on the barn and decided he’d start again tomorrow. One quick round of the fences on horseback, and he was ready to call his day complete.
Then he spied a calf, new by his measure, caught in the brush some distance away from the herd. Mack jumped off his horse and hurried to free the baby from its trap, expecting it would rejoin the herd. Instead, the calf stumbled and fell at his feet. Now what?
He picked up the calf and felt it go limp in his arms. He’d need to get this one to its mama soon, or it would be in trouble.
Approaching the herd slowly, he set the little one on its feet and then stepped away to watch and see what happened. The calf began raising a ruckus that showed it had a healthy set of lungs.
Just when Mack was ready to give up and bring the little one back to the barn, a cow broke from the herd and moved toward it. Mack stood stock-still as the heifer nudged the baby and then allowed it to nurse.
He waited until he was sure the calf wouldn’t be rejected or wander away again, and then he headed back. Gloree met him at the door, worry etching her face.
“Where have you been?” she demanded. “Supper’s cold.” She gave him an imperious, sweeping glance. “You’re a mess!”
He told her about the calf, and her expression immediately softened. “Oh that sweet baby,” she said. “You’re sure his mama isn’t going to let him get lost again?”
“Well,” he said slowly, “I suppose it could happen again, but I doubt it.”
Her eyes misted. “I just can’t imagine not being able to find my little one. How awful.”
“It’s just a cow, Gloree,” he said. “And don’t worry about heating up supper. I’ll have whatever you made cold. I’m that hungry.”
A few minutes later she set a plate of beans and leftover chicken on the table and nodded for him to sit down. Gloree was a good cook, but it wouldn’t have mattered if she hadn’t been tonight. He barely finished his meal before he felt his eyes wanting to fall shut.
Only when he removed his boots and stepped on the first squeaky riser did he recall the bedroom battle of last night. Too tired to repeat the exchange, Mack decided he’d fall asleep wherever he landed and ignore the consequences.
What he did not expect was that while he’d been patching up the barn and saving a calf, his wife had been rearranging the bedroom and making a few other changes. The beds that had once been situated close together were now on opposite ends of the room. To further delineate the ownership of the space, Gloree had strung a clothesline across the center of the room. Hanging from it were what appeared to be every mismatched sheet and blanket the woman owed except for what was on the beds.
While she’d retained ownership of the lamp, she had provided him with another along with a washstand, a pitcher of water, and a length of toweling. Exactly what he needed before falling into bed.
Mack slipped through the curtain and removed his shirt. Then off came his trousers. Once clean, he pulled back the blankets to find a nightshirt folded under the pillow.
Tired as he was, Mack managed a smile. He’d put the nightshirt on tomorrow night. When he could raise his arms high enough to slip them into the sleeves.
For tonight, all he could do was fall into bed and close his eyes.
Gloree stared at the closed curtain and
waited for Mack to turn off his lamp. The minutes ticked away, witnessed by the sound of the mantel clock’s chime. Still the lamp burned on the other side of the room.
She’d been quite proud of herself to come up with such an ingenious solution to a problem completely caused by the stubborn Englishman. Until she realized the one flaw in the plan lay in the fact that she had no control over when his side of the room went dark.
So she lay there very still and tried to be patient. Mama had once warned her not to pray for patience, because that was one prayer the Lord loved to answer. It felt as if He was answering it now.
Finally, she decided to take action. “Mack,” she called timidly.
Nothing.
She tried again.
Still nothing.
“This is silly,” she decided. “I’ll just sleep with that light on.”
Gloree turned over and closed her eyes, willing herself to fall asleep. Unfortunately, the harder she tried to force sleep to come, the more awake she felt. Finally, she’d had enough.
Throwing back the blankets, she stalked over to the makeshift wall and called her temporary husband’s name again. Once again, nothing happened.
“Mack,” she said louder. “Turn. Off. The. Light.”
The snorts began immediately, settling quickly into a resonant and very male snore.
“Great.”
Then she realized that if he was asleep, she could easily slip over to his side of the room and turn off his lamp. As a measure of protection of her decency, she went back to her bed and wrapped a blanket around her shoulders.
Retracing her path to the wall of blankets, she paused only a moment before moving a blanket aside and stepping into the golden glow of the lamp she intended to douse. And, apparently, into a room where her sleeping husband had not bothered to don the nightshirt she had so generously offered.
Horrified, she ran back toward her bed. The blankets that tangled around her as she attempted to escape slowed her progress only slightly. They did, however, cause her to tumble to the floor and slide against the wall.
The Lassoed by Marriage Romance Collection Page 45