by Jillian Hart
Bracing herself for the worst, she swallowed hard and lowered her gaze, staring at the food on her plate. She drew a forkful of potato through a puddle of gravy, forcing herself to eat for the baby’s sake. She knew she was too thin. Echoes of Jed’s rage played over and over in her ears. The terrible words he shouted and the things he called her seemed to reverberate in her mind like silence in the room.
“I brought a little mare home for you.” When he finally spoke, there was no trace of anger in his words and no disappointment. No emotion of any kind. “I don’t want you isolated out here when I take Calvin to work, and she will be easy to handle. I wasn’t sure if you’d driven before.”
“No.” She shook her head, swallowing hard. Her throat burned. So did the back of her eyes. “Jed didn’t allow me to drive the horses.”
“Well, I expect you to. You’ll need to get out and get to town for groceries and the like.” He didn’t look at her as he picked up his knife to cut another bite of meat. “I picked the mare up at a sale a while back. She’d been so mishandled, scared of every little thing and had so many scars, I couldn’t handle leaving her there. Who knew what would have come of her, so I bought her. She’s been living at the livery for a while now, but she’ll do better here in a quieter barn. She’s gentle and she would be a good match for you.”
“But I don’t know how to drive.” The words rasped out of her throat, each one painful against the rising tide of emotion she couldn’t seem to hold down. It rose in an excruciating bubble, bringing tears to her eyes.
“It’s easy to learn.” He lifted his gaze to hers, letting her see the shadows and the disappointment. It didn’t show in his voice, but she knew she’d hurt him.
Despair filled her, and she could say nothing more.
* * *
I have no love in me. I know I never will. Willa’s confession haunted him as he added wood to the fire. The flames leapt and danced, greedily consuming the bark and moss on the outside of the log, snapping and popping. He straightened, aware of the rattle of the dishes as Willa dried them in the silence that had stretched from the rest of the meal and threatened to continue until sleep claimed him.
Not the evening he’d figured on, with her keeping to one side of the room and he to the other. It felt as if the Rocky Mountains separated them. The breach between them was so wide, he wasn’t sure if anything could bridge it. Standing in the shadows of the room, hands on his hips, he watched Willa’s slender form as she put away the dishes. The swish of her faded skirt, the curve of her arm, the desolation that clung to her.
He could not imagine her earlier life. He’d been the oldest boy, welcomed into a loving marriage. His childhood had been one of laughter and familial closeness. The only thing wrong was his luck in love.
It looked as if that hadn’t changed any, either. He finally had a wife, but it seemed like love might always elude him. He’d picked the wrong gal, he thought, hating the loneliness that clung to him like shadows as he crossed the room. Snow had melted on the gunnysack still slumped in the entrance corner. He dusted off the slush and slung the sack over one shoulder.
“That is next on my list,” she said. A final dish slipped into place on the stack. Uncertainty twisted the bow of her lips. “You shouldn’t need to bother with that, Austin.”
“I don’t mind. I suppose you were going to put these things away.” He couldn’t say why anger knotted tight in his throat, but it did.
“That was my plan, unless—” She paused, turned fully toward him and straightened her slender shoulders. She looked fragile and determined not to be. She took an unsteady breath, remorse shimmering in shades of blue. “Unless you were planning on taking it all back to the store?”
“Now why would I want to do that?” He set the sack down on the nearby end table and shoved a few things out of the way to make more room.
“Oh, maybe you’ve changed your mind about me and, Austin, if you have, I would understand.” She lifted her chin, standing tall, but for all the good it did. She was petite, too thin and looked far too lonely. His chest warmed against his will, filling with feelings that had nothing to do with anger.
It was heartbreak. When he dug beneath the layer of burning emotions, he could feel his hopes breaking. It looked as if the happy family image he’d been holding on to for so long wouldn’t come to pass. “You think I would send you away?”
“I’m not what you expected.” She shrugged, her only explanation.
Another spear of anger threatened but he ignored it, seeing it for what it was. “I know you hardly know me, Willa, but I am not a man to break his word. I promised to take care of you and I will. Those vows I made at our wedding? I meant them.”
Relief whispered out of her in a sigh. The way she clutched the edge of the table with a white-knuckled grip told him something of her fears of being abandoned and unwanted.
He swallowed hard, trying to hide his hurt. “You can’t get rid of me that easily, pretty lady.”
She almost smiled, but it wasn’t humor that curved the corners of her mouth or eased away the tension in the dainty line of her jaw. She didn’t speak, she didn’t whisper, all she could do was to mouth the words thank you across the distance between them.
She really didn’t understand what he wanted from her. He grimaced at the disappointment dragging him down. He worked the ties of the gunnysack free, his teeth clenched and jaw taut, at a loss what to do now. There would be no easy conversation between them from this point on. No good-natured moments, no sitting companionably together in front of the fire as the evening ticked by like he’d hoped.
“What are you doing?” The quite notes of alarm in her voice shook him out of his thoughts.
“Hanging up your new coat.” He figured it was obvious.
“But my old coat is still usable.” She rushed toward him in her patched shoes. “I was hoping to save the new one for good.”
“No, this is for every day.” He refused to hand over the rag. “Just like the dresses. You should be wearing them.”
“To do work in? They are too fine for that. I could spill something on them and stain the fabric.” She tried to grab the old coat out of his hands.
He let it go. “You may wear it to the barn. You may wear it outside if you’re throwing out wash water or such. But that’s it. And your dresses? Only to work in, Willa. Do you hear me?”
She swallowed hard, fisting her hands, clutching the patched wool garment as if it was all she had left in the world. Was it so hard to accept something from him, her husband?
He rasped out a breath, trying to wrestle his own hurts down and get them under control. Maybe he just couldn’t grasp what was driving her. “I’m trying to make your life better, Willa. Will you let me do that for you?”
“Yes, of course. I’m thankful.” She looked wistfully up at him, the light in her eyes fading to a silent plea for him to understand. “I’ll put these things away. What else can I do for you this evening?”
How did he ask her to be what she could not? He would have been happy to start with being friends.
He shook his head, noticing how tired she appeared. Dark circles bruised the skin beneath her eyes. Remembering how bony she’d been against his hand, a painful thinness she worked to hide from him, he sighed heavily. He cared for her. So very much.
“Do you know what you can do?” He hefted the gunnysack to carry it into the bedroom for her. “Please enjoy hanging up your new things. I’m going to sit and read until bedtime.”
“Oh. Okay.” She must have felt the failure between them, too, because sadness clung to her the same way it did to him. She didn’t seem to know how to fix it any more than he did. As her gaze met his, a connection he couldn’t explain whipped into place, as if lassoing his heart to hers.
When she walked away, he’d never felt lonelier. He sat down with his vo
lume of Shakespeare, but not even Hamlet’s dilemma could make him forget that she was in the next room, or that the distance between them grew with every breath he took.
Chapter Eight
The blizzard woke her. It thrashed like a wild animal against the north wall of the bedroom, crazed as if trying to get in. The air felt brutally icy against her face, so she buried herself deeper into the soft pillow and drew the edges of the covers up over her head. It muffled but could not silence the eerie roar of the wind bashing against the siding or the snow scratching like sand against the windowpanes.
In the front room, the clock chimed faintly. It was hard to hear through the layers of blankets, the wall and the storm, but she counted four dongs. Four in the morning. She rolled onto her side to stare at the man asleep beside her. Austin’s soft breath puffed in and out in a peaceful rhythm. Unlike Jed, his wasn’t the deep, lost sleep of the drunk, measured by bouts of deafening snoring.
She did not know what to make of the man. Austin wasn’t like anyone she’d known before, at least no one she’d been close to. He reminded her of the popular children when she’d been young and attended school, before her mother pulled her out to work in the hotel. She’d admired those classmates with their fine things and confident happiness, whose lives seemed golden and untouched by the shadows that filled hers.
In the dark, she could make out the high plain of his forehead and the tousled hair tumbling over it like thick silk. She took time studying the slope of his nose and the cut of his cheekbones. The carved crags chiseled into his cheeks remained, even in sleep. Powerful masculinity clung to him, strong enough to make her shiver. She dug her teeth into her bottom lip and had to wonder.
Why hadn’t some woman set her bonnet for him long ago? She didn’t believe for a moment that any lady would choose another man over him…unless there was a reason to do so. She kept coming back to the same conclusion. It frightened her because she hadn’t seen that part of him yet.
Last night she’d caught a glimpse of his anger, but he’d kept it veiled and in control. Last night was another night he hadn’t drank or tried to force himself on her. After he’d put his foot down about her new clothes, he’d retreated to read on the sofa. He held no grudge when she’d padded into the room with her mending. She’d sat on the far end of the cushion, stitching quietly, aware of how disappointed he must be in her. She’d gone to bed early, leaving him behind in the lamplight.
Now what did she do? Already her stomach quivered. She hated the morning sickness she had to fight. She hated the condition that had pulled her back into a marriage when, for one brief moment standing sadly at Jed’s graveside, she thought she had been free.
The minutes were ticking by and soon Austin would be up. She had to figure out what to do. She’d hurt him with her honesty last night. Guilt filled her and she rolled away to stare at the ceiling. Icy air burned the inside of her nose and turned the tip numb, so she ducked under the covers again. She’d never wanted to hurt him, only to set the record straight and keep him from expecting something she could never give.
Whatever his faults, whatever the side of Austin she did not yet know, he’d been good to her. Better than anyone ever had and she owed him much more than she could ever repay. But how could she begin to make this right for him? He’d kept her when she’d given him an out, a reason to end the marriage. She didn’t know what else to do, except to try harder.
At least yer good for something, Jed’s voice echoed through her memories. Yer good for hard work but not much more.
Willa tossed back the covers and sat up slowly, hoping her stomach cooperated. The little twist of sickness was nothing to worry about so she eased off the bed, careful not to jostle Austin awake. She pulled on her old housecoat, stepped into thick slippers she’d knitted long ago and crept from the dark room.
Cold pressed on her from every direction and she shivered all the way to the kitchen. She used the little shovel to uncover the ashes and the poker to stir the bed of embers kept warm through the night. As she added a handful of moss to the glowing coals, she planned her morning. First, she would get coffee boiling and then—
“What are you doing?” A booming voice startled her as it thundered around the kitchen like a storm. The poker slipped from her hand and crashed to the floor. Large stocking feet marched into view. She looked up the length of his legs to the man towering above her with fisted hands on his hips, anger lining his face.
Her hopes withered. Maybe there was no way to make things right with him. “I—I’m fixing coffee.”
“But it’s freezing out here.” He grabbed her by the wrists and lifted her off the floor. “And so are you. What were you thinking?”
“That you might want a hot cup of coffee before you go out to the barn.” His hands weren’t bruising her exactly, but his grip held her captive. Fear beat behind her ribs. What would Austin’s rage be like? She swallowed hard, still determined to do the right thing. “I thought you liked coffee in the morning, but I can make tea.”
“Willa.” The anger slid from him and he let her go. “Getting up and lighting the fires is my job. I don’t want you doing my work.”
“But I thought it would help.” She felt foolish and ridiculous. As if she could ever make up for not being what he needed. Now what did she do?
Silent, he turned away from her, rescued the poker from the floor and knelt in front of the stove. She had to scoot back to make room for him and bumped against the table. It moved noisily a few inches and the sharp creak of wood on wood shot through the kitchen like a gunshot.
The moss had burned out, but Austin added kindling anyway, slivers of dry cedar that smoldered and caught on the red coals, burning hot and fast. He didn’t say a word while he worked, adding small chunks of wood to the flames in the stove. Maybe he was thinking about what to do with her. The fire grew steadily, licking and snapping. Heat blew out like a wind and the frost on the side of the stove began to melt in quiet plops onto the hardwood floor. She resisted the urge to mop them up, not sure how Austin would react.
He closed the door, squared his mountain-strong shoulders and rose to his full height. She couldn’t meet his gaze, so she stared at the top button of his flannel shirt and wished she understood him.
“From now on, you stay in bed until the house is warm.” His tone brooked no argument, ringing above the droning blizzard and the greedy roar of the fire. “Do you understand? I don’t want you catching a—”
Her stomach cramped, nausea rose and she clamped her hand over her mouth. Oh, no. She raced back to the bedroom and slammed the door, unable to hold back the illness that left her weak and slumping over the chamber pot.
* * *
“Not sure what I’m going to do about the woman,” he confessed to Rosie as he stripped the last of the milk from her udder. Droplets splashed into the bucket, steaming in the early morning cold. “Do you have any insights on that? You’re a female. Maybe you can give me advice on the way a woman thinks.”
If Rosie had any wisdom to share, she kept it to herself. She flicked her tail, watching him with silky brown eyes.
“Yeah, I figured you might stay silent on the subject.” He winked, grabbed the pail by the handle and whipped the milking stool out of the stall. “I’m not surprised you females are sticking together.”
Rosie ambled over and laid her chin on his shoulder.
Nice girl.
“Yeah, don’t try and be sweet to make up for it. I know where I stand,” he quipped, giving her a rub on the nose before he latched the gate tight.
Calvin nickered, leaning over his gate, too. His black forelock tumbled into his eyes and his chestnut coat gleamed in the lantern light. Curious brown eyes met his, begging for attention, so Austin ambled over and rubbed his nose, too. “How’s the grain tasting?”
The gelding rumbled deep in his throat, a co
ntented sound as he offered his head for more petting. They were old friends and understood each other well. There was no need for words as they stood in silence, Calvin lipping Austin’s woolen scarf with affection.
He couldn’t get Willa out of his mind. The image of her kneeling on that icy floor, shivering in nothing but her housecoat, called up a protective fury strong enough to blind him.
Just calm down, he told himself, aware of the mare backing into the corner of her stall. She sensed his mood and he was frightening her. Much the same way as he’d done to Willa before she’d darted from the room, overcome with morning sickness.
What made a pregnant woman think to start a fire on a bitterly cold morning, he didn’t know. She’d wanted to make him coffee? Couldn’t she see it was his concern for her that mattered? Frustration ate at him. Calvin blew out a like-sounding sigh, reaching over to grab Austin’s hat brim. Perhaps trying to fix his master’s mood.
“You are a good friend.” He patted the horse, rescued his Stetson and shrugged off his frustration. Emotion like that never did anyone a lick of good. “You’ve got everything you need, buddy. A clean stall, a comfortable bed, enough water and food. You’re set for the morning, right?”
Calvin looked over his shoulder to check on the grain in his trough.
“I’ll be back to slip you some more around lunchtime before I hitch you up,” he promised, then ruffled the gelding’s forelock lovingly and turned in the aisle. The little mare watched him with cautious eyes, still in her corner. He’d been caring for her for three months and she still didn’t trust him.
She reminded him a good deal of Willa.
He slipped through the door and barred it behind him. The storm blew hard, battering him as he started out and whipping his face. At least he could see the faint outline of the house through the veil of thickly tumbling snow. A glint of light from the front window guided his way. Would Willa be in the kitchen, forcing herself to work when she felt ill? He bowed his head into the wind and trudged through the drifts, not sure if he could make his bride understand.