The doorknob rattled.
Gasping, Nola shoved the papers back into the drawer and then faced the back of the wagon.
Torin stood in the doorway, a hand resting on the jamb. “You’re here. Did you decide against taking a walk?”
“No, I was just sitting here with the dogs for a few moments.” She stroked Gigi’s fluffy fur with one hand and scratched Queenie’s stomach with the other. Guilt at the fib didn’t settle well.
“May I accompany you?” He flashed a wide smile.
The genuine one that made his eyes appear clear and blue like a sparking mountain lake. The expression that always caused her lips to turn upward in response. “I would enjoy that.” She stood and brushed down her skirts then walked to the mattress and grabbed her brown woolen coat. After donning it, she slipped on her gloves. “I’m ready.”
Torin stepped inside far enough to twist his body and gather the leashes. Turning to face the interior, he patted the side of his right thigh and cooed, “Come here, pup. You want to go outside?”
Both dogs wiggled to the edge of the settee, panting, swinging their heads to look at the two people.
Torin waggled a finger between both dogs. “Which one is which?”
Always happy to talk about her beloved dogs, Nola walked forward and accepted the leads. “Come, Gigi.”
The poodle jumped to the floor then sat at her feet, her head tipped upward.
“Gigi’s about five and a half years old and is a miniature French Poodle. I like that she doesn’t shed.” Nola clipped the buckle on the lead to the collar. “Come, Queenie.” The dog obeyed with the same response, and Nola hooked on the leash. “Queenie here is six and a Jack Russell Terrier, or that’s the closest designation the breeder could claim.”
He glanced first at one and then the other, raising an eyebrow at the fluffy-haired Poodle. “I’ll take the terrier.” Torin held out his hand for the leash’s looped end and descended the metal steps with Queenie scampering ahead.
After she secured the wagon door and moved to the ground, Nola joined Torin, positioning herself on his right side to avoid bumping his injured arm. They walked for several yards in silence. She peeked at the shop and saw the door was now closed. Her curiosity ran wild. What arrangements had been made between her husband and the blacksmith? But she’d vowed to let him broach the subject. Being excluded from the discussion—even as nicely as he’d made the phony excuse sound and by bestowing that heart-melting smile—had rubbed her the wrong way, and she wasn’t sure she’d recovered enough to speak civilly.
Although used to handling her own business, Nola remembered how Mama always deferred to Papa when the family made purchases at the mercantile in town. Marriage caused that change in expectations, and even if that didn’t sit well, Nola had to along with the new arrangement. At least for a while. Whatever the decision was, together as a couple they would find a way to deal with the consequences.
He turned from the center of town, his boots leaving impressions in the slightly damp ground. “Are you warm enough?”
“I am, thank you.” She glanced up at the clear blue sky with only a few fat clouds dotted across its expanse. Winter would come soon enough, but here and there yellow and orange leaves still clung to the white oak trees. Far in the distance ran a ridge of mountains against the horizon. An unusual sight for a woman who’d spent most of her years on the Great Plains.
Gigi pranced through the prairie grass, stopping to sniff at weed stalks and stray leaves. In typical terrier fashion, Queenie kept her nose low to the ground, inserting it into dark animal burrows whenever she had the chance.
“The storm I thought was threatening when we were on the prairie looks like it has broken up.” Torin paused to allow the little dog to toss dirt from the opening of a hole. “Think I’ll soon be ready for a bite to eat. I don’t know if I should make arrangements with the livery owner again, or if we should attempt to build a rope corral where we set up camp last night. What do you think?”
Hoping to keep a hold onto her irritation, Nola pressed her lips tight. But she just couldn’t. “Now you’re asking for my opinion?” Inwardly, she winced because her words had snapped, but she kept her head high.
“I thought you were still miffed about that. Your eyes glow with a golden fire when you’re mad.” He reached out and pressed his glove over hers, then tucked her hand close to his body. “I didn’t want the blacksmith to take offense. We are stranded without his skills. If he got riled up at something he heard, he could make us wait.”
What he said was correct, but she still couldn’t get used to being excluded. She counted off ten more steps before she went against everything she’d promised herself. “So what did you men decide about the repairs?”
In succinct terms, Torin repeated what the blacksmith told him.
As each issue with the wagon repairs was mentioned, Nola slowed, and her stomach pitched like she’d just driven the wagon through a pothole. “Those sound like so many problems. Can’t we just fix the worst one?” Did she have to share her concern about the depletion of her savings? To reveal the simple existence of her savings? Probably that’s what married people did. But did that circumstance really apply in this case, since theirs wasn’t a true love match? She scrambled for a rationale to justify withholding that information. “After all, Mr. Thomas was of the opinion the troupe could reach Omaha without repairs.”
Torin stopped walking. Wide-eyed, he stared, all pretense of a smile wiped from his face. “How can you put such faith in the opinion of a man who deserted you and the others?”
Queenie jerked back at the sudden pull of the leash and sat, looking over her shoulder.
His incredulous tone stopped her progress. Nola opened her mouth to issue a retort. But the logic of his words washed through her mind, and she clapped her mouth shut.
“I saw the worn and misshapen parts, Nola. Reinhart showed me each place where this wagon has not been kept in the highest state of repair.” He placed a hand on her shoulder and tipped down his head to meet her gaze. “I won’t jeopardize the wagon or, more importantly, your safety if you happened to be the one driving.”
Hearing his protective tone tickled a little thrill over her skin. For the first time, she noticed how lines of lighter skin radiated from the corners of his eyes. Must be from spending so much time outdoors. Dark blue flecks dotted the lighter blue of his eyes. The pattern was scattershot, and a compulsion to see if she could discern which had more overcame her. Then, a single word echoed in her thoughts. Safety. Since he would be doing most of the driving, he shouldn’t be placed in danger of being hurt, either. “Nor I you.”
After a quick nod, Torin turned and started walking again. “All right, so we need four dollars and ninety cents.”
She swallowed hard. That amount matched what she’d sometimes made in two weeks’ worth of shows when the troupe performed in big cities. “And how long did he say the repairs would take?” On the troupe’s first trip through Sweetwater Springs, she’d gone into the mercantile and viewed the limited inventory of merchandise. Her mind raced with what she had in the showman’s wagon that the mercantile owners might purchase.
“Correction, we need two dollars and forty-five cents by noon before he starts the work.”
“Noon tomorrow.” Nola heaved a sigh. If the mercantile here was like others she’d seen in her travels, the store wouldn’t be open on a Sunday afternoon. “Where will we get the money?”
“I figured you’d have money saved from your vaudeville earnings.” He ran a hand down his face. The scritch of whiskers sounded.
True, Nola had a nest egg saved for her trip east, but that savings was hers. She’d traveled the long miles, spent hours training, and stood in front of audiences to earn that money. I’m not willing to touch it. “Only a little. But what about you?”
“I have only a few coins left over from Nic’s loan for the wedding ring.”
She sucked in a breath and absently ran a gloved thumb
over the spot where her ring rested at the base of her finger. “You had to solicit a loan to buy this?”
“Nic offered, and I felt you’d appreciate having a wedding that included a ring.” He turned to face her, his brows crunched low and shading his eyes. “If your sister had a better memory, then I obviously could have saved some money.”
“That’s not fair.” The realization he had to borrow money for their wedding left her shaken. Besides, no one spoke badly about her sister. “Cinnia had a lot on her mind.”
For only a moment, his gaze focused on her pearl earring studs before flicking away.
He wouldn’t dare. Almost without realizing she’d moved, she lifted a hand to cover the small creamy white orb on her ear lobe.
“We can go to the telegraph office right now and wire my father to send the money.”
“What type of man borrows from his parents?” The instant the words were out of her mouth she regretted them.
Clamping his jaw so tight a muscle ticked, he stared at the ground for several moments. He looked up, and his gaze had narrowed to a slit. “I left Four Clovers amply supplied for the intended two-week trip into the mountains to round up wild ponies. That is my job, after all. I’m a simple horse trainer. The bi-annual round-ups don’t usually involve much of a cash outlay. At the time I waved goodbye to Morain west of Helena, I had no clue that a wedding ring, a wife, and a broken-down wagon would soon be part of my life.”
Nola stiffened like an affronted schoolteacher facing a recalcitrant student. She crossed her arms over her chest, barely acknowledging a surprised yip from Gigi. “I’ve been in control of my life for too long to rely on the beneficence of others.”
“Beneficence? The “others” you refer to are my family…” Torin slapped his right hand against his chest with a resounding clap. “My flesh and blood. Family provides for family. I guess now that you’re my wife, you’re their family, and they’re yours, too.”
At the stubborn finality of his tone, she jerked her chin even higher. “I look out for me.”
“Except for the fact that since the wedding yesterday, sweetheart, you relinquished that duty. The responsibility is now legally mine.”
The sneered tone as he spoke the endearment hurt. Less than twenty-four hours ago, she’d had no idea what to expect of this temporary marriage. Never had she thought they’d be standing squared off in opposition and spitting harsh words at one another. “So what is your idea for how to get the money?” She pointedly stared at the sling on his injured arm. Her stomach churned, and her breath caught in her chest. Arguing like this wasn’t something she normally experienced. For the past ten years, she’d made the decisions, and Cinnia always agreed…or at least she had until a few days ago.
His lips pressed tight before he turned and paced a rod or so out over the prairie.
By the lift and fall of his shoulders, she knew he struggled to regain his composure. Her mind raced to find a solution. When the vaudeville troupe was first abandoned, she’d considered running the dogs through their tricks in this town’s saloon. Between her and Dorrie, Nola figured they could put on two one-hour shows a night. Too easily, she’d been dissuaded from believing anyone would pay much for a single act.
But what choice did she have?
The repairs might take every penny she could earn, but that was a better solution than digging into her nest egg. A niggle of guilt crept into her thoughts. The showman’s wagon had become rundown due to her travels, so by rights, she should make the offer to work for the needed money. Having a plan released the knot in her chest, and she breathed easier.
Torin stomped back toward where Nola stood. “We’re taking the wedding gift saddle to the mercantile or the livery and selling it to whoever offers the most. That way, we can pay Reinhart the entire sum and be on our way as soon as he finishes.”
A gasp escaped before she could stop it. “Oh, Torin, we can’t. Think of the embarrassment Cinnia will endure upon learning her new husband’s gift has been rejected in such a way.”
With his hand held upright, palm out, he shook his head. “Nic will understand.”
Knowing she had to get him to change his mind on this matter, she stepped forward and opened her mouth to offer the possibility she’d come up with.
“No more discussion.” Torin took a step backward, out of reach. “That’s my decision.”
****
Hours passed in silence as they worked together. First, Nola prepared a light meal of beef sandwiches and apples, and they ate—her perched on the settee and him on the metal porch. More space than he wanted separated them. No matter how badly his arm ached without support, he couldn’t make himself ask about the folding chairs he’d seen the women using while they’d been in Morgan’s Crossing. When he saw her struggling to unhook the rolled dog pen from the undercarriage, he stepped close to help. He watched her movements and noted the spot where she stored the hammer, knowing he’d need it later.
Next, he set out to locate the biggest spindly sticks he could find within an easy walk of the campsite. Clamping them under his elbow was unwieldy, but he forced himself to complete the task. From the corner of his eye, he spotted Nola replicating what he did and dumping the sticks at the edge of the stone circle they’d created the previous night.
So much had happened since the group of four had sat around the campfire, staring at the stars. He didn’t know what to say or do to break this impasse. Heck, before arriving in Morgan’s Crossing less than a week ago, he’d not spent much more than the length of a Virginia reel or a Czech polka in the company of a female since the barn dance at last year’s harvest festival. Those conversations were brief and full of jokes, compliments, and laughter—exactly the way he preferred. Nothing involving topics of a serious matter.
Being a child in his father’s household had taught Torin that important life lesson. Hiram Quaid was raised in a farming family living outside Shawneetown, Illinois. Bitter disagreements about the right to own slaves created tension among the six brothers. Some joined a local group of dissidents who wanted the Little Egypt portion of southern Illinois to secede from the Union. Others wanted to just keep their heads down and farm the cotton and grain like they always had. When Hiram could no longer stand the name-calling and bullying from his older, Southern-sympathizing brothers, he married his girl, Minnie, packed a prairie schooner, and headed for the fertile green valleys of Oregon. During their trek west, they’d learned the Civil War broke out, and Hiram never knew what happened to his brothers.
Torin dumped the sticks near the fire pit, turned, and trudged out into the prairie, walking in a new direction. About once a year, usually in winter, Hiram sunk into a deep melancholy about the breach with his birth family. On many occasions, the Quaid children were subjected to hearing the story for several nights running. Although they tried, no family member had succeeded in dissuading Hiram from this practice until he felt ready to stop. That experience of seeing his father brought so low by this one huge regret prompted Torin to focus on the lighter side of life. So far, the attitude had served him well.
A fresh breeze skittered across his neck, and he angled his head upward. Thin clouds stretched across the blue sky. Temperatures were bound to get cold tonight. Torin straightened, searching his mind for where the stove was located in the wagon. He remembered seeing a stove pipe extending from the roof, but no fire had been laid the previous night. Soon enough, he’d learn how to deal with the contrasts of Nola’s outbursts of argument and her bouts of silence.
As he’d done so many times on the trail, Torin unfurled the coils of rope onto the prairie grass first, creating the perimeter. Then he dropped a stick onto the rope about half a rod apart and set two stocks close together where he’d position the entrance. Returning to the wagon, he selected the hammer from a toolbox attached to the outside of the wagon bed. Surprise at seeing Nola standing at the near side of the circle and holding a stick upright stuttered his steps. Was this a truce? He searched her face, bu
t she kept her gaze directed toward the ground. No words were exchanged as she held the stick so he could drive it deep enough to stand upright. Then he wrapped a rope length around the wood while she stepped around the circle to the next stick.
Within fifteen minutes or so, the horses grazed inside the corral and barely shied when Torin crouched beside each to attach the leather hobbles around their pasterns. As he approached each animal, he cooed and spoke in a soft voice, telling them every move he performed to avoid making them skittish. He then tied off the long leather cord to the lower rope, securing them for the night. From Banan’s pack set just outside the corral, he pulled a shallow pan, and from another saddlebag, he grabbed a burlap bag of oats. The time needed for each horse to finish the grain allowed Torin a few minutes to stroke a slow hand along their necks and withers. Only the black stallion reacted with quivering muscles under his coat.
Supper was a potato and beef hash cooked in a skillet over the campfire. Edible enough, but he wished for the wild onion that flavored the previous night’s meal. At least, the coffee was strong and hot. For several moments, he cupped his hands around the tin mug as he stared into the dancing flames of the fire. Guilt stabbed his gut at the horror that had crossed Nola’s face following his suggestions—first over the loan from his family and next after how to earn quick money. Selling the new saddle was the only solution he could imagine. Not a single item of the possessions he carried on this trip was worth any more than Nic’s skilled creation.
Not like the earrings stuck in his wife’s ears. If those were real pearls, they were probably worth plenty. A detail he should have taken into consideration at her first mention of this arranged marriage. What did he really know about Nola York? Glancing over his shoulder, he watched as she cleaned the supper dishes. Although he’d liked her forthright attitude from the first day they met, what he really admired was her fierce loyalty. A joke he’d made about her roommate Dorrie had not hit on forgiving ears. Only in hindsight had he realized his comment could have been construed as rude. In defending her friend, Nola had jutted out her chin and skewered him with a flashing glare. She’d been magnificent.
Montana Sky_An Unlikely Marriage Page 4