“I'll be seein' ye in the mornin', then.” He kissed her forehead then sat, pulled off his boots and laid down on his make-shift bed, giving her his back. “I'll keep the fire goin’, but leave yer door open so the room will stay warm.”
“I will, good night.” He was snoring almost before the words were out of her mouth. It seemed the past days’ happenings were taking a toll on him, too. Hopefully tomorrow would be less eventful because she needed to think about making a plan for the future. Her future. Her new husband had his own plan and a life that probably wouldn’t include her. And, for some reason she couldn’t understand, the thought was devastating.
Too tired to change into her nightdress, she slid beneath the covers and closed her eyes. A couple of ideas for her future survival sparked in her imagination. She couldn’t muster enough gumption to get her wooden box that held her stationery and pen. She’d just have to write them down tomorrow.
Sometime before daylight Angel awoke to a great howling wind and sleet hitting the bedroom window. She wanted to burrow deeper under the blankets, but the slap of the barn door startled her. When she looked out the window, huge clouds of snow swirled over the already covered ground. The sight was beautiful but held deadly potential. As she strained to see anything through the flurries, the blustery weather blew open the front door.
Still dressed in her clothes from last night, she started for the main room and found Jamey standing in the entrance.
He shouted to be heard over the roar, “Angel! Get dressed, I need yer help.”
* * *
Jamey hated to ask her, but he couldn’t do alone what needed to be done. The stock had to be taken care of. He’d looked in on them before dinner and thought they’d be warm enough but, when the wind woke him up, he realized the temperature had dropped significantly.
He warmed his hands by the fire and called out to her, “Put on as many layers as ye can. I can't have ye freezin' to death.”
“How cold do you think it is out there?” Angel came into the room wearing a woolen shirt, the boots she’d worn the day they’d first met and a pair of men’s pants. After she finished cinching them in at the waist, she pulled on a knitted cap and handed one to him. “Here, this will help keep your head warm.”
“The thermometer on the barn wall read nine degrees.” He held up the cap. “This’ll feel good, thanks.”
“It wasn't this cold last winter. You’ll have to tell me what you need me to do.”
“Makin’ sure there’s plenty of feed and water is important, but we also have to plug some of the gaps in the planks to keep the barn as warm as possible. I have an idea that may work.” He walked to the door, pulled on his gloves and rested his hand on the latch. “Are ye ready?”
Putting on Will's coat, she smiled. “Might as well be.”
“Good, let's go.”
Out in the barn, she did as he asked, working as hard as he did. Thankfully the well was deep enough that the water hadn’t frozen and he’d been able to bucket up enough for the stock. He’d replenished the feed with extra protein yesterday so that would help keep the animals warm. When he finished with the makeshift roost for the chickens, he found her petting and talking softly to Rusty.
“Such a good boy, so handsome. We’re going to take good care of you.” She must have sensed him behind her for she stopped her crooning and faced him. “What’s next?”
“We need to block the two areas along the north wall that have the biggest gaps between the boards.”
“What’s the best way to do that?” Her brow furrowed in thought. “I suppose we could use the blankets from the beds to hang on the walls.”
“Good idea, but let’s save that as a last resort. I thought I’d rearrange the hay bales that are already there to cover the gaps. If we can stack them closer and tall enough, it should block the wind.”
“All right.” She tugged on her gloves and stuffed errant strands of her hair back under the cap. “I'm ready.”
Thirty minutes later, the bales were in place. The constant flow of air had been reduced to small whistles around the edges. Now they needed to get inside by the fire to warm up.
“We’ve done all we can do for the time bein’.” He didn't know about Angel, but he’d worked up a sweat and it wouldn't do for them to get sick from over exposure. “Let’s head inside. I'll come back out to check on our work in an hour or so.”
Angel checked the thermometer. “The mercury’s only at twelve degrees.”
“Not much gain in warmth ‘tis true, but at least it’s stopped droppin’.” Taking her by the hand, he pulled her toward the barn door. “Come on. I don’t know about you, but I could use a hot cup of coffee.”
“Sounds good to me, too. I'll set a pot to brewing as soon as we’re inside.”
When they walked out into the blustery north wind and headed toward the house, she held fast to his hand. Jamey took that as a good sign.
* * *
Angel fixed a fresh pot of coffee and set it to boil on the stove and then put the remainder of the dinner Jamey bought in town into the warming oven. Now that she was thawing out, she realized she was hungry. The ham, potatoes, and green beans had been delicious last night and even now, chilled from sitting in the room's cooler temperature, the food made her mouth water.
It would be a while before they could eat, so she decided to take the time to try and make herself more presentable. It had been a long time since she’d worn one of her pretty frocks. She smiled as she remembered how Mrs. Harold would call out to the girls to not get their frocks dirty while playing outside. She and Cissie had giggled behind their hands at the silly sounding name. Now, she found she rather liked the outdated term.
She’d like it better if she had the luxury of soaking in a tub of hot water, but a spit bath would have to do for now. When she fastened the last pearl button, she picked up her hand mirror and gasped. Patches of dirt decorated her chin and forehead, while her hair stuck out in a dozen different directions from being under the knit cap. She cleaned her face with cold cream, brushed and braided her waist-length blonde hair and pronounced herself presentable enough for Christmas dinner.
She opened the door and saw Jamey sitting at the table. When she joined him, he got up and poured coffee for both of them.
“Thank you, but you should stop doing this.”
“Stop doin’ what, Colleen?”
He tried to sound clueless, but she saw his grin.
“This.” She waved her hand from the table to the stove and dishpan. “Women’s work. I'm not accustomed to men working in the house and it makes me uncomfortable.”
“I was taught there was no such thing as women’s work.” Sitting back in his chair, he sipped the hot liquid and, setting the cup on the table, he explained, “My ma worked alongside my pa on our farm in Ireland. She raised me to help when I could and otherwise stay out of the way. My sister feels no different.”
“Your family seems to be the exception. My mother, like most women, was taught to treat men as the lord and master of their domain. Johan Clemens never lifted a finger inside the house.”
“How did he manage after ye left?”
“He’s gone now, but he had the housekeeper he hired following my mother’s death.”
“I'm sorry both yer ma and pa have passed.”
“Don’t be. I barely remember my mother and my father gave me no reason to miss him.”
“Do ye have brothers or sisters?”
“No, but I do have a close friend who I’ve always thought of as a sister.”
“Did ye leave her behind as well?”
“Yes.” She couldn’t have said why but his questions started to wear on her. Placing her hands at the small of her back, she stretched out the kinks. Frowning, she said, “I really hate talking about myself, but so we don’t keep dragging this on and on, I'll tell you all there is to know about me. All right?”
“Sur’n’ I’m not tryin’ to be nosey, Colleen, I’m just—”
He got up to refill their cups and sat back down. “Go on, Colleen.”
She felt herself flush at his use of the name she now recognized as a term of endearment. She’d begun to like it but wondered how many other women he’d used it on. Stopping herself short before going down a road that could only lead to her disappointment, she straightened in the chair and cleared her throat.
“I came with my parents to this country from Germany in 1860. We settled in Ohio where my mother died of pneumonia the first year. Father found Hallie, our housekeeper, right away and it was she who raised me.
“I met my friend, Cissie Harold, in school. We became inseparable until we both married, she to a boy at our school and me to Helmut Brunner. The man my father gave me to in marriage.”
“Ye didn’t have a say in the matter?”
“It wasn’t my place to argue. My father’s word was law. You don’t have arranged marriages in Ireland?”
“Aye, we do, though I’ve never agreed with the thinking.”
“You wouldn’t have to, would you?”
“And why is that now?”
“Because you’re a man and no one tells you what to do, do they?”
“Tis clear, ye’ve never met the women in my family,” he said with a chuckle. “I’m used to women who think for themselves.”
“When my papa died, Helmut decided to move close to his daughter and her family in Boerne. So we bought a wagon, packed, and headed south.” Angel drained her cup’s contents and stood. “That brings you up to date. You know the rest.”
“Not so fast, Mrs. O’Donnell.”
“What could possibly be left to say?”
“It isn’t words I’m after, fair Colleen,” he said with a wink and a crooked grin. “My stomach’s gnawing at my backbone. Do you think we could have a plate of Christmas dinner?”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Angel wrapped the last of the ham and set it together with the yams and beans in the larder. There was enough for one more meal and possibly they could even have ham and biscuits for breakfast in the morning. Buying prepared food from the hotel certainly hadn’t been cheap and she wondered, not for the first time, about her husband’s prosperity.
He’d paid for their supplies and set up an account for future purchases. He had a letter of credit from a bank, and he’d made a business deal to buy Will’s land. That alone spoke volumes for his affluence.
She dried the plates and utensils and put them away, while giving herself a stern talking to. What he had in the bank didn’t concern her. Just because he’d married her and promised to pay off her debt didn’t mean he owed her more. She had to figure out how to make a life for herself here on the Double R. How to make enough money to pay him back and to pay her own way. She realized no decision would be made today. Her situation would take more thought and planning than she could manage by herself.
She wished her friend, Cissie, was here to help her. They’d always been able to talk a situation through to where it made sense. And she was too exhausted to think straight. She knew so because every time she got overly tired or down on herself, her thoughts jumped to Cissie and her family. They were her comfort, like her mother’s silver pinecone tree ornament. They meant home to her.
It seemed like she’d been awake for days, yet it was just now a little past noon. Jamey had gone out to the barn to check on the animals and should be coming back inside soon. He’d had a long day, too. Hours had passed since they’d gotten up before daylight.
She straightened his bed on the floor in front of the fireplace and added logs to bring up the temperature inside the cabin. One thing she could do was to have the place cozy for him when he came in from the barn. He deserved that much.
Besides it was Christmas day.
***
Jamey heard voices from inside the cabin and a horse’s snort as he approached the porch. He walked to the opposite side and found a horse with the reins tied loosely around a shrub that had seen better days. Their visitor obviously hadn’t wanted to be noticed. Silently, Jamey made his way back to the front of the cabin.
Careful not to slip, he stepped onto the porch and stomped his booted feet to remove what little snow he’d accumulated. It was a miracle he’d made the trip from the barn without falling and busting his butt on the hard-packed snow. He listened briefly at the door and heard a man speaking to Angel. With only one horse, he figured it safe to assume there was only one visitor.
He opened his coat, rested his right hand on his Colt and opened the door. Quickly, he scanned the room and confirmed there was a single intruder. One of Cleve Moran’s henchmen sat at the table drinking coffee. Angel stood by the stove, her hand within reach of the iron skillet. Good girl.
“Tis happy I am to be back inside. It’s colder than a well digger’s fanny out there.”
“Took you long enough,” she grumbled. “What were you doing, singing them a lullaby?”
Her hand trembled as she poured him a cup of coffee, and he knew he was right in thinking her grumpiness was false bravado. He’d play along until he knew why their visitor was here.
“Sure’n I’ll be doin’ what’s necessary to keep the stock calmed down.”
“The screeching I heard would likely incite a stampede.”
“And yer tone reminds me of a screamin’ banshee.” He noticed her flinch slightly at his remark, but she continued their banter.
“I just hope you remembered to wipe your boots before coming inside.”
“Aye, I did. After yer lecture yesterday, it’s imprinted on my brain. ‘Leave the dirt on the step. It’s called the outside for a reason’.”
She glared at him but spoke to their guest. “Mr. Radley, please forgive us for airing our dirty laundry in front of you.”
“Quite all right, little lady,” he drawled and chuckled. “I’ll let Mr. Moran know he made the right decision.”
Jamey thrust out his hand. “Jamey O’Donnell. We weren’t formerly introduced the other day.”
“Curly Radley. I run things for Mr. Moran. Make sure there’s no hiccups or surprises.”
“I’m sure he finds yer services invaluable.” Jamey reclaimed his hand and gave him a pointed look. “It’s mighty cold out today. What can we do for ye, Mr. Radley?”
“Call me, Curly . . . please.”
Jamey doubted the word ‘please’ crossed this man’s lips often, if he ever said the word at all. He seemed more muscle than courtesy.
“Curly, how can we help ye?”
“I just stopped by to relay a message from Mr. Moran. He said to tell you he’s real sorry he missed your meeting in town. He was called out of town on personal business. He’ll contact you when he returns.”
“Thank ye. I’d wondered if he was backin’ out of our deal.”
“Mr. Moran doesn’t give his word lightly and honors a handshake deal.”
Unlike yerself?
“More coffee, Mr. Radley?”
Jamey stood. “Curly, has to be goin’ now.”
The man returned Jamey’s stare with one more sinister. “Thanks, ma’am. It’s getting late and I have a ways to go to get me and my horse put up for the night.” He placed his hat on his head and tapped the brim with his forefinger. Grinning, he walked out leaving a wide expanse of frigid air in his wake.
Jamey closed the heavy wooden door behind Curly Radley and set the latch. The encounter left him feeling like he’d stepped into something oily and slick. He turned toward Angel and found her frozen in the same spot, her arms folded around her middle. Closing the distance between them in two strides, he gathered her into his embrace. She was shaking like a leaf in the middle of a blue norther.
“Colleen,” he soothed, his hand stroking her hair. “He’s gone. Don’t worry.”
“I can’
t help it. He always seems threatening even though he never says anything.”
“Radley’s been here before?”
“Yes, many times. Always on the pretense of talking to Will, but I was usually here alone.”
“What’d he say to ye today?”
She didn’t answer but circled her arms around his waist and hugged him tight.
“Angel?” He pushed away from her far enough to look her in the eye. “What did he say?”
“He told me not to get too comfortable being Mrs. O’Donnell.” She shivered and buried her face in his chest. “He grinned and said you wouldn’t be around forever.”
“I’ve made a promise to ye, Colleen. I’m not goin’ anywhere.”
“But I think he’s the one who killed Will and now he’s threatened you. I can’t lose another husband.”
For some reason he couldn’t figure out, Jamey found himself wishing she’d said she couldn’t lose him but she hadn’t. He took her chin between his thumb and forefinger and lifted gently. “I’m stayin’ right here.”
Angel reached up and closed her fingers around his hand. “I sincerely hope so.” Funny thing was, she meant what she’d just said. She’d only known him for a few days but couldn’t imagine living here without him. Not that she could tell him.
Suddenly her stomach felt funny and she pushed away from him. The chill she experienced was immediate. What was happening to her?
He cleared his throat and studied the toes of his boots. Looking up, he gave her a big grin. “Have a seat, I have somethin’ for ye.” He walked over to a spot behind the tree and picked up a box tied with purple ribbon. Handing it to her, he said, “Merry Christmas, Angel.”
“Jamey, you didn’t have to . . . when did you . . . ?”
He grinned again, obviously pleased with himself. “The other day at Krutchmeyer’s. I wanted ye to have somethin’ pretty for Christmas.”
The fragrance coming from inside the box was heavenly. She untied the bow, removed the lid, and breathed deeply. “Jamey, this is luscious. I’ve never had smelly soap before.”
Angel and the Texan From County Cork (The Brides of Texas Code Series Book 3) Page 5