Heartland Wedding (11 page)

An hour later, Rebecca’s heart was still full of hope. Perhaps…maybe…
possibly
…she was on the right path to building a true marriage with Pete. Ah, but hope was a tricky emotion, one that could bring pain as quickly as joy. In fact, she’d been disappointed by her parents too many times during her childhood to trust the emotion growing in her heart now.

Exasperated with herself, she shoved her hair out of her face and smiled at Emmeline’s younger sister. “Well, Bess, you and I are going to make
kringler
this morning.”

Bess nodded.

“We’ll get started as soon as I put away this last pot.”

Bess sat down, folded her hands together in her lap and lifted an expectant gaze.

Still smiling, Rebecca wiped her palms on her apron and then went to the pantry to gather the ingredients she would need for their baking project. She chattered to Bess as she went. But without the girl responding, her own mind worked as fast as her lips, bouncing from topic to topic, worry to worry.

With so many thoughts colliding with one another in her mind, Rebecca felt unusually helpless. There was too much she couldn’t control. But she didn’t have the luxury of time to worry.

After a brief pause, Rebecca gathered what she needed to make the pastry, only to come up one ingredient short.

“Looks like we’re low on flour,” she said aloud for Bess’s sake. “Low” being an understatement. Rebecca was sure to run out before the end of the day. Normally she wasn’t so careless with her supplies, but thanks to the chaos of the past few days, she’d forgotten to place an order with Mr. Johnson.

“We’ll have to run to the mercantile.”

Bess calmly unfolded her hands, rose from her chair and walked straight for the back door. Rebecca couldn’t fault the girl’s cooperation.

There was a spiritual lesson here—Rebecca sensed it—but she was too busy dreading her trip to the mercantile to grasp what it could be. This would be her first trip back to the store since Mrs. Johnson had turned her away.

As much as she would like to avoid another altercation with the woman, Rebecca had to buy flour. Surely now that she was married to Pete, Mrs. Johnson wouldn’t refuse her service.

“Let’s get this over with,” Rebecca muttered as she opened the back door.

Bess followed quietly behind her.

The girl’s ongoing silence had Rebecca fighting off a good sulk. Even the weather was plotting against her. A sharp drizzle had started below a dreary gray sky.

Desperate to shake her bad mood, Rebecca tried to lure Bess into conversation. “Are you enjoying life on the Circle-L?”

Bess marched on without answering.

Well, all right. Maybe a more pointed question was in order. “Did Will say anything about the search for the twins?”

Bess’s shoulders stiffened, but she continued walking, her head bent against the pinpricks of rain assaulting them both.

Rebecca let out a long breath. Perhaps she was overstepping her bounds, but she felt compelled to push Bess a little harder than usual. “Do you think Mikey and Missy are nearby?”

Bess’s chin trembled, but no response. Not a sound. Not even a sob.

Guilt reared at the sight of the girl’s obvious discomfort. Rebecca stopped trying to break through Bess’s silence. They were at the mercantile, anyway.

Just as the wind picked up, Rebecca stepped inside the store. Bess scurried in behind her, nearly attaching herself to Rebecca’s back. Only when the door was closed to the weather did the girl lengthen the space between them.

It didn’t take medical training for Rebecca to see that Bess was still traumatized from her experience in the tornado.

Rebecca gripped the girl’s hand and squeezed. “This won’t take long, I promise.”

Bess gave an uncertain nod. Rebecca tugged her into a tight hug, then stepped back.

The aroma of apples and cinnamon filled the air around them. Breathing in the pleasant scent, Rebecca scanned the store only to end up biting back a sigh when her eyes locked with Abigail Johnson’s narrowed gaze.

Like her mother, the girl often treated Rebecca with open hostility, without provocation. Rebecca had no idea why.

On the surface, Abigail had all the advantages. Small-boned and ridiculously petite, she was considered High Plains’s greatest beauty. Her features were perfectly symmetrical, her eyes were a startling shade of green and she had hair the appealing color of golden wheat.

Nevertheless, Abigail had chosen to dislike Rebecca.
And with her face scrunched into a hard, unforgiving glare, she looked ready to battle once again this morning.

Rebecca stifled another sigh. At least the store was empty today, save for Clint Fuller.

She shot a swift glance in his direction. He waved at her absently. He seemed intent on studying a row of colorful ribbons. What could he possibly need with ribbon? Maybe he was looking for a gift to buy Cassandra?

How sweet.

Not wanting to embarrass him, she focused on Bess. “We’ll just purchase our flour and go.”

Abigail slapped her hands on the counter. Sneering, she dropped her gaze over Rebecca and then sniffed rudely.

Rebecca bristled. How many times had Matilda Johnson looked at her like this?

“If you’re here to buy flour—” Abigail’s words dripped with disdain “—you should know we only have a few kegs and the large sacks for sale today.”

Neither of which Rebecca could transport on her own.

A wave of frustration crested, but Rebecca kept her expression blank as she gazed at the fifty-pound sacks lined up against the back wall. “I can’t carry one of those.”

“That’s not my problem.” Abigail lifted an indifferent shoulder, then proceeded to study her thumbnail with rapt attention.

Resentment grabbed at Rebecca’s stomach, tying itself into a hard knot. “Could you sell me a portion of—”

“No.”

“Not even—”

“No.”

“You would turn away my business?”

Abigail lifted her gaze. “Apparently so.”

Rebecca had no idea what to say.

Lips curled in an unattractive pout, Abigail continued watching her, her green eyes steady, intense. And mean.

Refusing to be intimidated, Rebecca held Abigail’s stare without flinching. “Perhaps if I could speak with your father…”

She let her words trail off, hoping the thinly veiled threat sounded more like a request. Mr. Johnson always treated Rebecca with respect. He’d even reprimanded Abigail once, when his daughter had been openly rude to her in front of other customers.

“My father is not available. He’s pounding nails over at the town hall.”

“When he returns, will you have him—”

“He’ll be gone all day.”

Rebecca refused to give into Abigail’s obvious attempts to thwart her. “Then could
you
arrange to have the flour delivered to the boardinghouse this morning?”

Jamming her hands on her hips, Abigail rolled her gaze to the ceiling and clicked her tongue in exasperation. “We are not running deliveries at the moment.”

“But, surely—”

“Come now, Rebecca. What’s a little sack of flour to you?” A quick, mean-spirited grin flashed across her face. “You’re as big as a cow.”

Rebecca gasped.

A cow?
Had Abigail actually called her a big, dumb animal? Rebecca ducked her head, her fury building. Granted, she wasn’t as small as the petite blonde, but she wasn’t huge, either.

Was she?

She looked down at her waist. Twenty-eight inches was
not large, not by most standards in her country. But maybe the expectations were different in America. She hadn’t lived here long enough to know. Pete hadn’t mentioned anything about her weight, certainly nothing negative, anyway.

Bess squeezed her arm in a reassuring gesture, but nothing could keep the shame from building. And behind the shame came rage.
Blinding rage.

Rebecca was fed up with the Johnson women and their ongoing attempts to humiliate her. But no matter how furious Rebecca became, she could not—
must not
—react out of anger. That would make her no better than her tormentors.

Despite her resolve, Rebecca lifted her head and glared at Abigail. The pain from holding her tongue rolled over her, and she had to grind her teeth together to keep the words from spilling past her lips.

Something hot and ugly rolled through her.

Hate. That’s what she was feeling. The same strong emotion she’d struggled with when Matilda Johnson had refused her service.

When will this end, Lord? How do I overcome my anger and hurt? How do I resist spewing my own poison in return? Help me. I don’t think I—

Clint’s voice interrupted her prayer. “Sell
Mrs.
Benjamin the flour, Abigail. I’ll carry it to the boardinghouse.”

Abigail’s eyes widened as she stared at the man standing somewhere behind Rebecca. “Clint Fuller, you stay out of this.”

Boot heels clicked on the wooden floor behind her, the sound moving closer and closer. “You’ve had your fun, Abigail.”

“But, I…I…”

“Quit stuttering, girl. It’s unattractive.” Clint’s voice
came out condescending. “Give Mrs. Benjamin what she came for.”

“Fine.” Abigail’s glare turned vicious as she refocused on Rebecca. “You can have your flour.”

In the face of Abigail’s capitulation, Rebecca gathered enough courage to pivot around and connect her gaze with Clint’s. “I thank you. But I…I don’t think this is a good idea.” What would people say if they knew she was allowing this man, a man
not
her husband, to champion her like this? And so soon after her hasty marriage with Pete.

Bess squeezed her arm hard enough to get her attention.

“What? What is it?” Not wanting to be distracted, Rebecca’s words came out clipped and impatient.

Certainty filled the young girl’s gaze as she cocked her head toward the cowboy and nodded.

Of course. Bess would know Clint, since she lived at the Circle-L. Yet…

“Are you sure?” She lowered her voice.

If Pete was standing here, championing her like this, she wouldn’t hesitate. But what did she really know about Clint other than he helped out in the livery every now and then?

Bess tugged on her arm and nodded a bit more vigorously than before.

“All right, then.” Rebecca focused her attention back on the cowboy. “Thank you, Clint. I would greatly appreciate your assistance.” She gave him a weak smile.

Abigail snorted in a very unladylike fashion. “Figures you would accept an unmarried man’s help.”

Rebecca gasped. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Ignore her,” Clint said in a disgusted tone. Grinning broadly, he looked down at Bess. “Hey there, half pint.”

Bess’s answering smile spread across her face.

Rebecca blinked. Emmeline’s sister was actually smiling. At Clint. And her eyes had a look of undeniable affection in them. In fact, Bess’s expression reflected the same emotion Rebecca felt whenever she thought of Pete.

Well, if Bess thought that highly of the cowboy, then Rebecca would take a chance on him, too. “Thank you, Clint. I’d be grateful for your assistance.”

“I’m glad to help.” Shooting Abigail a warning glare, he walked to the back of the store and then hoisted a sack of flour over his shoulder.

Rebecca went to finish her transaction. Throughout the exchange, Abigail’s face remained pinched in a sour expression. But instead of feeling threatened this time around, Rebecca had to bite back a smile. High Plains’s most notorious beauty didn’t look quite so pretty at the moment.

The thought kept Rebecca smiling all the way out of the store.

O
nce they were all gathered on the sidewalk, Clint insisted Rebecca and Bess lead the way. Bess kept sending the cowboy quick glances from under her lashes. Unfortunately, her fascination didn’t translate into speech. And since Rebecca had no idea what to say to Clint after Abigail’s open nastiness, the journey from the mercantile to the boardinghouse was accomplished without a word.

Just as they entered the kitchen, Clint spun in a circle. “Where would you like me to put this?”

“On the table, please.” Rebecca pointed to the end closest to the pantry. “And thank you again for your help.”

“Happy to assist.” He set the flour where she’d indicated.

Bess sank in a nearby chair. But instead of lowering her head, she kept her gaze locked on the cowboy. Rebecca didn’t fault Bess her fascination with the man. Now that she looked, she realized Clint was handsome, in a rugged sort of way, with masculine features, dark hair and blue, blue eyes. But she wasn’t surprised she hadn’t noticed before. After all, the last time she’d seen him, he’d been standing
next to…next to her
husband,
and who could blame her for not noticing Clint Fuller when Pete was in the room?

“Rebecca, I—” He straightened and looked awkwardly around him, landing his gaze everywhere but on her. “The way you handled Abigail this morning, well, it was real mannerly.”

“Mannerly?” She enunciated the word carefully, puzzling over its meaning in her mind. “I’m afraid I’m not familiar with that word.”

He took off his hat, then ran his hand down his face. “What I meant is that no one would have blamed you if you’d told Abigail what to do with her, uh, bad manners. You were real polite.”

Polite? Rebecca wasn’t sure that was the correct word for her earlier behavior. She couldn’t allow Clint to think she was a better person than she was. “Telling Abigail what I thought would not have been right, but make no mistake, my thoughts were extremely ugly.”

“Which is my point exactly.”

Rebecca didn’t understand. “I’m not sure what you’re trying to say.”

“I guess what I’m saying, or rather
asking,
is—” his gaze darted away from her “—would you teach me how to act like that?”

Act like what? Her mind wasn’t making the connection with the English words Clint spoke. She pressed her fingertip on a spot between her eyes and tried to focus. But she was unable to organize her thoughts. She looked at Bess for help, but the girl’s gaze was still riveted on the cowboy’s face.

Rebecca dropped her hand and took a deep, fortifying breath. “I don’t understand what you’re asking.”

“I want you to teach me how to be mannerly.”

“Mannerly?” She repeated the word with more confidence than before, finally understanding what the awkward-sounding word meant. “Are you asking me to teach you manners?”

He gave her a big, boyish grin. “Exactly.”

He couldn’t be serious. What he asked was beyond strange. And what would Pete think? She doubted he would want her spending time with an unmarried man, no matter how innocent. More to the point, Rebecca didn’t feel right about it.

“Clint, I’m not at all sure such a thing would be proper.”

Mrs. Jennings chose that moment to enter the kitchen. “
What
wouldn’t be proper?”

Rebecca twisted her hands together, only just realizing the mistake in her word choice. It wasn’t that Clint had asked her to do something inappropriate. Yet surely, such a thing wasn’t done in this country.

“Are either of you going to answer my question?”

Before Rebecca could organize a suitable response, Clint spoke up. “I was just asking Rebecca if she would kindly teach me manners. Nothing fancy, mind you, just the basics. But she told me that wouldn’t be proper.”

“Well.” Mrs. Jennings sniffed. “She’s perfectly correct.”

Shoulders slumping forward, the cowboy scrunched the brim of his hat between his fingers. Bent over like that, he looked like a sad little boy. Rebecca felt instantly sorry for him. His request, odd as it seemed, was important to him. And she had a good idea Cassandra Garrison was the reason. He wanted to impress the pretty schoolteacher. How could she fault the man for that?

Mrs. Jennings must have sensed something similar, because she patted him awkwardly on the back, much like
she did when she was trying to comfort poor little Alex whenever he was sad over losing his brother in the tornado.

“Now, now. Don’t fret,” she said. “I see no problem with Rebecca teaching you a few basic manners, as long as
I
am in attendance during the lesson.”

A smile lit across his face. “You’d do that?”

“My dear young man.” Mrs. Jennings tapped him lightly on the nose. “It would be my pleasure. We’ll meet again next week, right here in my kitchen, you name the day.”

“Tuesday afternoon?”

“That sounds perfect.”

He jammed his hat on his head and smiled at the older woman. Mrs. Jennings grinned back.

Rebecca stared at the two in horror. “But I didn’t—”

“Thank you both.” Clint nodded at Mrs. Jennings and then at Rebecca. “You have no idea how grateful I am.”

“But…” She couldn’t make her mind organize words in the proper order. Or language. “I can’t. It’s not…”

Ignoring her completely, Clint moved to Bess’s side and ruffled the girl’s hair. “See ya, half pint.”

“Wait, I…” Why couldn’t she get the words out? “I…”

He strode to the door. “I’ll be back Tuesday afternoon.”

“Clint,”
Rebecca called after his retreating back. “You must not misunderstand. I did not agree to—”

The door banged shut behind him.

“—teach you manners,” she choked out a moment too late.

She gaped at the back door still rattling on its hinges. What had she gotten herself into? Thanks to Mrs. Jennings’s interference and her own inability to speak up, Rebecca was committed to teaching basic manners to a man she hardly knew.

Could her life get any stranger?

Shifting from foot to foot, Pete waited for Rebecca at the bottom of the stairs leading out of the boardinghouse kitchen. He tried to concentrate on what he would say to her, but his mind kept returning to the information Clint had shared this afternoon. Abigail Johnson had been rude to Rebecca in the mercantile.

It was bad enough that he hadn’t been the one to protect her from the attack. But when he’d heard that Abigail had called his wife a cow, Pete had set out to give that girl a piece of his mind. He’d stopped himself just outside the store. For Rebecca’s sake, he’d held back from entering, resolved never to act rashly on her behalf again.

After his disastrous confrontation with the girl’s mother, Pete knew that no matter how gratifying it would be to confront Abigail, the best way to protect Rebecca was to focus on presenting their marriage in a positive light to the town.

Not that he knew how he was going to pull that off. He wanted to help Rebecca, not hurt her any further. He wanted to make her life easier, happier—fuller. But he’d failed to do so for Sarah. How could he expect anything different this time around?

Lord, help me to discern the best way to provide for my new wife. I don’t want to make any more mistakes.

The obvious first step was to present a united front as a married couple. A wave of nerves filled him at the thought, followed by a hint of expectation. Despite the awkwardness between them, he was looking forward to seeing Rebecca this evening. She made him feel less burdened, less soul-weary. Less…something, something stronger and harder to define.

Feeling guilty at the direction of his thoughts, he tried to form a picture of Sarah in his mind. Unfortunately, the image of her beautiful dark hair and soft features wavered just out of reach. He felt as though he was losing her all over again. He didn’t want to forget her—the memory of their life together deserved more—yet lately thoughts of her came in a blurry haze, if at all. Was Rebecca taking Sarah’s place in his mind, now that she was in his life?

Guilt dug deeper, setting him to pace.

What would it mean to Sarah and their life together if he allowed himself to open to Rebecca, just a little? Yet how could he hold on to the one he’d lost without hurting the one to whom he’d pledged the rest of his life?

He didn’t have long to consider the question before Rebecca exited the house and caught sight of him midway down the steps. “Oh, Pete, I…what are you doing here?”

He stopped pacing. He wasn’t sure why her obvious surprise at seeing him sent a wave of sorrow through him, but he pasted a smile on his face and resolved to change that look in his wife’s eyes. After only a day of marriage, he already knew he liked her smiles far better than that wary expression staring at him now.

“I came to escort you home.” He reached for the picnic basket she held, brushing his palm over her knuckles as he took most of the weight from her.

Her fingers trembled under his light touch, but she relinquished the handle without argument.

“What a nice thing to do,” she said.

Her pleased tone told its own story. She was happy he’d come for her. His heart gave one solid kick in his chest and he vowed to put the past out of his mind and focus on the present. At least, for tonight.

“Is this my dinner?” He lifted the basket slightly.

“No. It’s
our
dinner. We’re eating together, remember?”

The shyness in her manner was so sweet, so unaffected, he found himself wanting to pull her into his arms and…well, he wasn’t sure what he wanted to do, exactly. All he knew was an ache clutched his chest whenever he looked at his new wife.

Lord, don’t let me hurt this woman.

“I remember.” He tugged her hand in his. Thankfully, she didn’t pull away.

As they set out, a comfortable silence spread over them, giving Pete a chance to think. Although their marriage was unusual, and may never be normal if he didn’t figure out how to let go of Sarah and his past mistakes, he liked to think they could at least have a friendship. He’d seen many marriages built on less.

Lord, I pray You guide this union. I…

He wasn’t sure what else to pray for. Time, maybe? Patience? Wisdom?

“Pete?” Rebecca glanced at him with that cautious look back in her eyes. “I have to tell you something.”

He nodded, expecting the worst. Hundreds of possibilities came to mind, most including Matilda Johnson and her mean daughter.

“Clint Fuller asked me to teach him manners next Tuesday afternoon.”

A small amount of relief washed through him. Not that he was happy about Rebecca spending time with the younger man, but Pete knew Clint was solely interested in Cassandra Garrison. That made the situation almost bearable. Almost. “He told me. He wanted to make sure I approved.”

She lifted her face to his. “And do you?”

No.
But he held on to the rash answer and lifted a casual shoulder. “As long as Mrs. Jennings is there, I don’t see a problem.”

“Oh.” She sighed. “All right.”

She didn’t sound happy with his answer. Had she wanted him to say no? Did he have that right? They were married, yes. But he didn’t believe that meant he had to control every part of his wife’s life. Regardless of the reasons for their wedding, he wanted a marriage of mutual respect. He’d become her husband to protect her, not to tell her what to do.

Which reminded him. “Clint also told me about your trouble with Abigail Johnson in the mercantile.”

Shame filled her eyes and she lowered her head.

“No, Rebecca. You don’t need to feel embarrassed.” He maneuvered directly in front of her, softening his voice. “You did nothing wrong. Abigail did.”

“She called me a cow.”

“That was wrong of her.
Very
wrong.” He waited until she looked up at him. “You’re the perfect size.”

Her expression said she didn’t believe him. But she gave him a shaky smile, anyway. “That’s very kind of you to say.”

“It’s not kindness. It’s the truth.”

Her smile wobbled, then held. An improvement.

“Rebecca.” He moved a step closer, determined to make her see the person he saw—an attractive, kind, sweet-tempered woman.

“You’re beautiful.” He traced one of her eyebrows with his fingertip. “Any man with a lick of sense would be happy to call you his wife.
I’m
certainly proud that I gave you my name.”

Without giving her a chance to reply, he lowered his
head toward hers. He wasn’t sure what he had planned, but friendship was not the first thing on his mind.

When his face was inches from hers, she drew in a sharp, frightened breath.

He was scaring her.

Angry at himself, he quickly stepped back. Clearly, he hadn’t learned his lesson. He was a big man. He
must
be more careful with her. “We should get home.”

“Yes, of course.” He hated the dejection in her voice, but couldn’t think how to erase it.

Turning toward home, he let her set the pace. They covered the last two blocks in complete silence.

This was not the way Pete had planned the evening to go, but that did not mean he couldn’t rescue the situation. Perhaps if he asked Rebecca questions about herself, if he focused on her for a change, she would see he didn’t mean her any harm. That he really wanted to be her friend, if nothing else.

Placing his hand on her elbow, he guided Rebecca up the back stairs and into the kitchen. He knew the exact moment she saw the surprise he’d left for her because she stopped abruptly and twirled to face him. “Oh Pete, you picked flowers.”

The wonder in her voice, along with the pleasure in her eyes, told him he’d done the right thing. His nerves settled. “I’m glad you like them.”

“I love them,” she said, blinking up at him for a long, uninterrupted moment.

His heart beat hard against his ribs. No woman had ever looked at him like that, with the embodiment of pure, uncomplicated joy on her face.

Who would have thought such a simple gesture as
picking flowers and placing them in a glass jar would bring a moment of peace and understanding between them?

He allowed a sense of unexpected pleasure to spread through him. But just as he started to relax into the moment, her expression changed. She looked sad. Worse, the distance was between them again, only this time he hadn’t been the one to put it there. “What’s wrong, Rebecca?”