The Unexpected Wife

So Abby hadn’t grown up with silks or fancy parties. Instead, she’d lived in a simple Arizona parsonage that ministered to miners, harlots and the poor. To her parents’ sorrow, her mother had never carried another baby to term. There’d never been much money, but she always had enough to eat and there’d always been plenty of laughter and music. Her father played the fiddle and her mother the piano. Many a night her parents would play while she sang.

Smiling at the memory, she studied the boys. They weren’t underfed. Despite the dirt and grime, they looked to be a healthy size. She’d doubted there was music in their house and she couldn’t imagine their father laughed often.

Abby let her head drop back against the wall behind her. The now steady rocking of the coach coupled with the silence had her eyes drifting closed. She released a small sigh and let her shoulders sag. Perhaps she could steal a few minutes of sleep. Just a few minutes.

The coach jerked to a stop.

Her eyes popped open immediately and the boys started awake. Tommy, confused about his surroundings, rolled off the seat and hit the floor with a thud. He started to cry.

Immediately, Abby picked him up. Tired and disoriented, the boy didn’t struggle with her this time. Instead he laid his head on her shoulder and popped his thumb into his mouth.

Quinn pushed himself up. His hair stuck straight up and a wrinkle in the cushion had creased the side of his face. He looked around and stuck his lip out.

Abby held her hand out to him and he scrambled off the seat and came to sit beside her. “You two just rest easy. The coach driver should be here to tell us where we are.”

Men’s voices drifted from above as she heard the driver set the brake. The coach shifted to the right and she heard booted feet hit the ground outside her door before it swung open.

“Welcome to Crickhollow!” Holden the driver said, sweeping his hand wide. His face was deeply tanned by the sun and his eyes were clear and bright.

A fresh batch of butterflies fluttered in Abby’s stomach. “Thank you.”

“Looks like you and the young ones fared pretty well,” said Holden.

Behind him stood the man she’d overheard the boys call Grandpa. “They look right at home in your arms.”

Quinn and Tommy both grinned when they saw their grandfather, but neither seemed in a hurry to move away from Abby.

A silent communication passed between Frank and Holden. Both grinned at her as if they were Cheshire cats.

“We did just fine,” Abby said sitting a little straighter. She righted her hat, which had slipped too low over her forehead. “I need to find Mrs. Hilda Clements. She is to board me until my fiancé arrives.”

Holden unhooked a small block of wood from the side of the carriage and placed it below the door. “Just step right on down, Miss Abigail, and stretch your legs. I know you got to be stiffer than wood after that ride.”

Frank leaned in and took the tired boys, while Abby unlocked her joints and rose in the coach, which was only tall enough for her to stand hunched over. Her knees groaned as she moved the few steps to the door. Holden took her hand as she gathered up her skirt and climbed down.

She longed to stretch her arms over her head and work the kinks from her body but realized that would have to wait until she reached Mrs. Clements’s house.

Mr. Stokes placed his bowler on his balding head. “Where can I find a place to get a drink?”

Holden nodded toward a small dugout. “That’s the saloon. Danny’s got good whiskey.”

“Excellent.” Scratching his chin, he moved slowly toward the saloon.

Abby looked out at the collection of buildings. Just over a half-dozen in all, they sat low to the ground, had pitched roofs and small doorways. Only the one had a window.

The first bubble of alarm rose before reason took over. She glanced from side to side, half expecting to see the rest of the town, where the real buildings were. But to her west there was nothing but the single dusty road that snaked toward the mountains. “This is Crickhollow?”

“Sure is,” Holden said, his pride clear. “I know with you coming from the city it may seem a bit small but we’re growing by leaps and bounds.”

Mr. Barrington’s letters had described a thriving town. A growing mercantile, a bustling stagecoach line and populated community. “Growing, did you say?”

“Population fifty-six if you count the homesteaders.” He laughed. “Fifty-seven now that you’re here.”

Despite the cool June air she could feel a trickle of sweat run down her back. She’d walked away from San Francisco right off the end of the earth.

Abby lifted her chin. She even managed a smile. “When will Mr. Barrington arrive?” she said. Her voice sounded surprisingly steady.

Again Holden and Frank exchanged glances.

Frank leaned down and whispered something to the boys, who took off running toward the one building with windows—the mercantile. “He’ll be here before the day’s out.”

“You know my fiancé?” she said.

Frank shifted, clearly uncomfortable. “Everybody knows everybody in the valley.”

Just then a portly woman hurried out of the mercantile. She wore black and her graying hair was pulled back in a tight bun. Her white apron flapped in the breeze and she hurried across the dusty street toward them. “I was beginning to worry about you, Holden. You’re four hours late.”

He shrugged his shoulders. “You name it and it went wrong today.”

“The boys okay?” Frank said.

The woman smiled. “I gave them each a piece of candy. They’re quite content.” The woman looked past him and the boys to Abigail. “Miss Smyth?”

“Yes,” Abby said hopefully.

“Welcome! We have been waiting for you.” She hurried forward and took Abby by the arm. “You must be exhausted. I’ve got cookies and tea for you and the boys. Holden, Frank, you want to join us?”

Holden raised up his hand. “I’ll pass for the moment. I’ve got to get the horses changed and get the stage unpacked and repacked. If I’m lucky, I can leave at first light.”

Frank’s eyes brightened. “Make sure you load my luggage.”

Surprised, Abby shifted her gaze to the old man. “You’re leaving town?”

“Time I got back east. I only came out here to care for the boys when my daughter became ill. Now that’s she’s passed there’s no need for me to stay.”

The boy’s didn’t have a mother. And their father didn’t have a wife. Of course his marital status was none of her business but that didn’t stop the ripple of emotion that tingled through her body.

With an effort she forced her mind back to what really mattered. “Who’s going to take care of the boys?” It was none of her business, of course, but Abby wanted to know they’d be cared for.

Mrs. Clements glared at Holden and Frank. “You didn’t tell her?”

Holden shoved his hands into his pockets. “I figured it was best the news came from another woman.”

“Is something wrong?” Abby said.

Mrs. Clements was the first to recover. “I just thought that these men would have seen to the introductions while you were out on the road.”

“There were no introductions,” Abby said.

“On the road, the man you met?” Mrs. Clements asked.

“Yes.”

Mrs. Clements glanced at the other men, her jaw jutting forward. Men. Without fanfare or nonsense, she said, “He is Matthias Barrington. He is your fiancé.”

Abby’s mind reeled. “He is my fiancé? He didn’t say a word to me, and I’m quite sure that I mentioned I was here to meet my intended.”

Mrs. Clements’s smile was quick and too bright. “Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that, dear. He just had a lot on his mind. Everything will be fine as soon as he gets to town.”

It was just past nine the next morning when Matthias pulled his wagon to a stop in front of the Clements’s Mercantile. The night chill still clung to the air, and Matthias’s back and arms were stiff from sleeping on the ground.

He’d hoped to make town by last night, but the repairs, like most everything else lately, had taken much longer than he’d imagined. By the time he’d finished, the sun was setting on a moonless night. And unless he wanted to risk another broken wheel, his only choice was to bunk down. He knew Mrs. Clements and Frank would look after the boys, so there were no worries there.

Now, as he set the hand brake he realized just how weary he was. He would have traded his soul for a hot bath and eight solid hours of sleep but he had to talk with Frank. Somehow he had to find a way to get his father-in-law to stay another few months.

As he hopped down, he was struck that things weren’t as they should be. The wind blew as it always did, but Mr. Clements and Danny weren’t sitting out front of the saloon, as they were most mornings. And there was no sign of Holden’s coach.

Matthias’s gut clenched. Something was wrong. The boys.

He strode straight to Mrs. Clements’s store. A blast of warm air and the smell of bacon and biscuits greeted him as he stepped into the store. Children’s laughter drifted out from behind the army blanket that separated the shop from Mrs. Clements’s living space. The tightness around his heart eased. The boys were fine and for the first time in a good while, they sounded happy.

Suddenly, the memory of his late wife sliced through the fatigue and worry. Elise’s laugh had been clear and bright, like church bells. No matter how many worries he had, his mood had always lightened when she laughed.

Matthias shoved aside the thoughts that only made his days feel longer.

He pulled off his hat and started down the center aisle cut between rows of barrels filled with flour, sugar and dried beans. In front of him, a plywood counter was piled high with cans of peaches, a jug of white lightning, tin cups and a scale for measuring sugar and spices. From low-lying rafters hung buckets, baskets and three lanterns.

“Mrs. Clements?” Matthias called out.

The storekeeper emerged from the curtained door behind the counter, her blue calico dress and a white apron hugging her full hips. Her hair was piled high on her head in a loose topknot. “Ah, you finally made it. Frank was a little worried when you didn’t arrive by nightfall. I told him not to worry. Chores always take twice as long as we ever imagine plus you’re as tough as a mountain goat.”

“Where is everyone?”

“Mr. Clements was called out of town three days ago—delivery to Ephraim Collier’s ranch. And Mr. Stokes went with him so he could have a look at Collier’s stock.”

“Who is Stokes?”

“That greenhorn on the stage. Turns out he’s with the railroad, looking for ranchers to supply him with beef and horses.”

Matthias flexed his fingers, tight with tension. “Of all times to break a wagon wheel.”

Mrs. Clements’s eyes brightened as if she could read his mind. “Don’t worry, he’ll be back in early July. I told him your horse flesh was the finest in the valley.”

If he were going to show the man his stock, he’d have to spend the next month rounding them up. More work. And still not enough time.

“Thank you.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “Where’s Frank?”

Her eyes dimmed a fraction. “Why, Frank left with Holden at first light on the stage. He’s on his way to Salt Lake.”

Shock and bitter disappointment tightened his throat. “I’d wanted to speak to him before he left.”

The anger in his voice had her smile fading a fraction. “He said you two had talked a good bit already.”

His fingers bit into the rim of his hat. They’d talked but to his way of thinking, they’d not come to a satisfactory conclusion. “Damnation.”

“I’m sorry,” she said quietly.

Matthias shoved out a sigh, tamping down the anger coiling in his gut. Frank was gone and there was no sense worrying about what couldn’t be fixed. Time to cut his losses. “I’ve a list of supplies,” he said, his tone as matter-of-fact as he could manage.

“Of course. Holden brought in some fresh supplies. A few candies and couple of bolts of a nice thick wool.”

Matthias hoped by the end of the summer when he took his cattle and horses to the railhead there’d be money for a few extras but for now every cent counted. “Just the basics this trip.”

Again, children’s laughter drifted out from behind the curtain. He was surprised the boys hadn’t come running when he’d first spoken. Then he heard a woman’s soft voice speaking to them. This last year the boys gravitated toward women—a sure sign they missed their mother.

For just a moment, he imagined Elise holding the boys, singing to them as she did when they were real little.

But when the curtain opened, it wasn’t Elise but Society Miss who was staring at him.

Disappointment slashed at his heart.

He’d forgotten all about Society Miss.

He nodded his head. “Ma’am.”

She’d gotten rid of that awful hat and changed out of that fancy traveling dress into a simple calico. Her cheeks looked pinker, a sign that she’d picked up some sun yesterday. She’d also unpinned her hair and tied it back at the nape of her neck with a simple ribbon. Her hair was thick, lush and despite a slight curl nearly reached her narrow waist. He imagined it felt like silk.

The smell of roses drifted around him again. His gut tightened and he grew hard. His body was letting him know loud and clear that it had been a long time since he’d been with a woman.

“I’d like you to meet Miss Abigail Smyth from San Francisco,” Mrs. Clements said.

Miss Smyth nodded as a faint blush colored her cheeks. “It’s a pleasure to meet you formally, Mr. Barrington.”

“Ma’am.”

Miss Smyth smiled. “Things were rather hectic by the wagon yesterday. No time for formal introductions.”

“No, I suppose not.” As much as he liked her feminine scent, he was burning daylight. There was a lot of work to do before the sunset today. “Pleasure meeting you. Thank you for your help with the boys.”

“They’re good children.”

“Yes.”

She looked as if she wanted to say something else. Another time he would have indulged in the conversation. He liked the sound of her voice. But he turned away from her now. He had more important matters on his mind.

“Mrs. Clements, can I talk to you outside?”

Mrs. Clements glanced at Society Miss. “Here’s fine, Matthias.”

He didn’t like airing his business in front of strangers. “I need to talk to you about the boys.”

Mrs. Clements didn’t look interested in stepping outside. “Go ahead.”

“With Frank gone and all, I’m in a bind. I was hoping they could board with you for the summer.”

He heard Miss Smyth’s sharp intake of breath. No doubt, Miss Smyth thought him hardhearted for sending his children away. He couldn’t blame her.

Mrs. Clements’s smile faded to embarrassment. “Before we talk about that, there is another more pressing matter you and I need to discuss.”

“Is there a problem with those renegades again?” he said. So much anger and frustration bunched his muscles now he wouldn’t have minded a fight to work off the heat inside him.

“Oh, no, nothing like that. There’s a matter you and I need to discuss.”

Discuss. Hilda Clements could talk a man’s ears off if given half the chance. He decided to head her off. But before he could answer, Miss Smyth spoke.

“I thought caring for the boys was going to be my job.”

He swung his gaze to meet hers. He was certain that he’d heard wrong. “Ma’am?”

She held his gaze, though he sensed she was nervous. Still she pulled back her shoulders. “I mean, since I am going to be your wife, it only seems right that the children stay with us.”

For a moment, his head swam as if a prizefighter had landed a knockout punch. “My what?”

Mrs. Clements stepped forward, wearing a broad grin that hinted at trouble. “Miss Smyth is the bit of news I was referring to.”

Matthias’s head started to throb. The last thing he needed was a riddle. “What the devil are you talking about, Mrs. Clements?”

The older woman smoothed her hands over her white apron and cleared her throat. “We ordered you a wife. Miss Smyth is your fiancée.”

Chapter Four

“Y ou ordered a what?” Matthias shouted.

Abby started at the sound of Mr. Barrington’s bellow. His voice, rich and full of anger, hinted at a man who was used to giving orders, a man who didn’t like surprises.

She watched the color drain from Mr. Barrington’s face and his full lips flatten in a thin grim line.

He hadn’t been expecting her.

Of course, it all made sense now. On the road yesterday and moments ago when he’d arrived he’d acted as though she was a complete stranger to him. Which of course, she was. Why hadn’t Mrs. Clements told her the truth last night?

For a moment her knees nearly buckled. She’d come so far, and given up so much. For what? A lie. “Mrs. Clements, what do you mean, we ordered you a wife? Who is we?”

Mr. Barrington glared down at the older woman. The children’s voices drifted from behind the curtain. He lowered his voice. “Very good question.”

There was no hint of remorse in Mrs. Clements’s eyes. “Frank, Holden and I decided you needed a wife,” she said, her tone clipped and practical.

“Tell me this is a joke,” Mr. Barrington said, his voice laced with fury.

Abby closed her eyes, clinging to her composure. If this was a joke, she was the one who’d been fooled.

Mrs. Clements’s smile remained intact but her gaze reflected steel. “No mistake, Matthias. We put an ad in the San Francisco Morning Chronicle.”

“Was she in on this?” he asked, jabbing his thumb toward Abby.

Annoyance flickered in Abby. Her life was dissolving into a mess and Mr. Barrington was blaming her. “I can assure you, I had no idea. I believed your letter…the letters to be genuine and from you.” Abby pressed her hand to her unsettled stomach. Now she understood why Mrs. Clements had artfully dodged many of her questions last night.

Mr. Barrington’s gaze pinned her. “What letters?”

The heat in his blue eyes made Abby take a step back before she turned and went to her reticule. Frustrated by her cowardice, she pulled out a neat bundle of four letters tied together with a blue ribbon. Anger and frustration quickened her step. “Letters from you.”

He took the letters and thumbed through them, before he handed them back to her. His warm fingers brushed hers. There was nothing tender about his touch. Strictly matter-of-fact. “They are not from me.”

Abby lifted an eyebrow. It took everything in her not to run screaming from the room. “Yes, I surmised that much.”

Her sarcasm seemed to catch him by surprise. She imagined a glimmer of respect in his eyes.

“I wrote the letters,” Mrs. Clements said. “I acted on your behalf, Matthias.”

Mr. Barrington’s face looked as if it had been etched from granite. “Why would you stick your nose into my life? I did not ask you to do anything like that.” His voice rose again.

Mrs. Clements shrugged, but she did take a half step back. “You’ve done so much for everyone in the valley and you’ve been struggling so since Elise died. You are not the kind of man who asks for favors, so we took matters into our own hands.”

“Did anyone stop to think that I don’t want a wife?” he said tersely.

“In Montana one must be practical. It’s not always about what we want,” the older woman shot back.

Abby felt as insignificant and unwanted as she had in her uncle’s house. “Mr. Barrington, perhaps we need a moment to talk alone.”

Mr. Barrington speared her with a hard look. “Look, Miss…”

“Smyth,” she supplied.

He rubbed the back of his neck, clearly tired and very frustrated. “We have nothing to discuss.”

Abby blinked at Mr. Barrington. “I beg to differ. There is a great deal to discuss, considering I just uprooted my life to be here.”

He was clearly a man who relished control. He worked his jaw and tipped his head back to stare at the ceiling as if he were trying to keep his temper in check. “When will Holden be back, Mrs. Clements?” He fired the question like a bullet.

Mrs. Clements tucked her hands in the deep pockets of her apron. “He said he’d be gone at least a week.”

“If he’s smart he’ll stay away a hell of a lot longer. It’ll take longer than a week for my anger to cool on this one,” he said. “Damn his scrawny hide.”

Abby pinched the bridge of her nose. At this moment, she was sorely tempted to take the last three dollars she had and buy a stage ticket to anywhere. The unknown was far more appealing than Mr. Barrington at the moment. But like it or not, she was stuck. “Mr. Barrington, you and I really do need to discuss this matter.”

He swung his gaze to her. “Lady, you were brought here under false pretenses and for that I’m truly sorry. But I’m not marrying you.”

Pride had her lifting her chin a notch. “Nor was I expecting you to.”

“Good.” He stared at her with bone-jarring intensity. Never had a man looked at her so intently. A soft shiver danced down her spine.

“Matthias…Abby,” Mrs. Clements said sweetly. “I think you’re both being a bit hasty. Miss Abby is right. You need time alone to get to know each other.”

He rubbed the back of his neck with his hand. “Time is the one thing I don’t have, Mrs. Clements. I got two boys to raise and a ranch to run. I don’t have time to be a nursemaid, let alone court a city woman.”

Abby clenched her fists. “I am not helpless, Mr. Barrington.”

He let his gaze roam the length of her body. “Lady, you don’t know the first thing about life out here.”

“I’ve learned many skills in my life. Montana is no different than many of the other challenges I’ve faced.”

He lifted a gaze. “That so?”

“Absolutely,” she said all bravado as she stepped toward him. Inches away, the energy from his body radiated.

“So you know all there is to know about working back-breaking hours, milking cows, planting gardens, churning butter and chopping wood.”

In truth, she didn’t know a lot about those things. “I know about hard work.”

“That doesn’t cut it. And I don’t have the time to teach you.” He swung his dark gaze to Mrs. Clements, dismissing Abby completely. “Put Miss Smyth up and when Holden arrives she can catch the next stage home. I’ve got a ranch to tend.”

Abby grabbed his arm. The muscles tightened like steel. “You can’t dismiss me like this. I’ve come too far to turn back now.” He was her only real connection to this land—the man she’d thought she’d marry. And Uncle Stewart would never take her back a second time, nor would she ask him.

For a moment she imagined his eyes softened before a wall of ice descended over them. “I’d help you if I could, lady. But I can’t.”

The boys’ voices had grown silent. She imagined they were on the other side of the curtain listening to every word. She wondered how much of this they understood.

Mrs. Clements started to stack the can of peaches in a neat triangle. “Like it or not, Matthias,” she said, “you need a wife.”

“I had a wife,” he bit back.

“You loved Elise, but she’s dead and gone,” the older woman said softly. She jabbed her thumb toward the curtain behind her. Their laughter had stopped. “But those boys of yours need a mother. And you need a helpmate.”

“We’re surviving.”

“Not for long. You’re running out of choices,” Mrs. Clements said.

Sadness rose in Abby. This scene was nothing like what she’d pictured. If she had a lick of sense, she’d follow her first inclination.

But she didn’t.

Abby was through hiding in the kitchens and watching life pass her by. “Excuse me for saying this, Mr. Barrington, but you and the boys don’t look like you’re doing so well.”

Anger flashed in his eyes. “How the hell would you know?” he roared.

Quinn and Tommy appeared at the curtain then. Their freshly scrubbed faces tight with worry, their gazes darted between their father and Abby. They were holding the rag balls she’d made for them last night. She’d never imagined a handful of rags could be so entertaining.