Robin Lee Hatcher (17 page)

From the corner of his eye, he saw her dab her cheeks with a handkerchief. Yes, she’d been crying.

“I’m sorry you were forced by circumstances to marry me.” His gaze returned to the moonlit range below. “I promised your father I’ll do right by you, and I meant it. No one will speak unkindly about you without having to deal with me for it.”

“Thank you.”

“You’ll be safe while you’re with me.”

“I know.” She sniffed.

Did she have any notion what he meant? No, probably not. She was young and naive. And the kind of safety he meant wasn’t something he wanted to try to explain to her.

“I don’t pretend to be a gentleman. I don’t have a lot of fancy manners. I’m a cowboy. I’ve spent more time with cattle than with women since I left Chicago. But I’ll be kind to you.”

“I like you the way you are.” She leaned toward him, the moonlight caressing her face.

“You barely know me.” His voice was low and gruff. Not because he was making sure she kept her distance, but because her words had touched his heart. And that was a dangerous thing for him to allow.

Oh, that he might have kissed her. She wanted him to. Surely he knew that.

Instead, he stood. “Come on. I’m starved. You must be hungry too.”

She should be, but she wasn’t. Her appetite was for his kisses. Why didn’t he understand that? They were married now. He had the right to kiss her.

He offered his hand, helped her to her feet, then stepped away from her, breaking the connection. With Hawk setting the pace, they walked — side by side but without touching again — down the hillside and into the house.

“Have a seat.” He lit a lamp in the center of the kitchen table. “Fried beefsteak and potatoes all right?”

“Yes. May I help?”

“I’d better do the cooking tonight.”

She was happy to oblige. They were more likely to enjoy their supper that way. Besides, she took pleasure in watching him. Strange how quickly her mood could change. When she left the house for a walk and sat down on the ridge overlooking the ranch, she’d felt sorry for herself. She hadn’t expected to find herself all alone on her wedding day. That’s what she’d told God as she sat in the gathering darkness. And then, like an answer to prayer, Hawk had come for her.

She didn’t care that he wasn’t a gentleman. She loved him because he was different from the other men she’d known. He thought she didn’t know him well enough. He was right. He was a stranger to her in many ways. Perhaps in most ways. And yet she’d seen enough to lose her heart to him.

Forty-five minutes later, they dined on fried steak and potatoes. Bethany enjoyed the food. She’d been hungrier than she thought. But she couldn’t help noticing Hawk’s reluctance to talk. She suspected he was in pain again. It showed in the hard set of his jaw and in the way he held his ribs with one arm.

Finally, he set his fork and knife on his plate and looked at her. “It’s late. I’ll leave the dishes until morning.”

“Griselda would be horrified,” she said, hoping to win a smile.

It didn’t work. “Griselda isn’t here.”

He rose from his chair and picked up the lamp with his left hand. There seemed nothing else to do but rise and follow him out of the kitchen and into the parlor. Nerves fluttered in her belly as they moved toward the bedroom.

But he stopped in front of the wrong room and held the lamp high so that light spilled into it. “As you can see, I told your father to have the men put your trunk in here. I thought, under the circumstances, you’d prefer to have your own room.”

Under the circumstances?

He stepped into the bedroom and set the lamp on a tall chest of drawers. “It isn’t fancy. Rand never spent much time here. I imagine there will be things you’ll want. You can make a list and next time I go to town for supplies, I can get them for you.”

Her parents shared a bedroom and a bed. They always had, even when they’d lived in a much larger home than the one in Sweetwater. Wasn’t that how it was supposed to be?

He doesn’t want me near him
.

His rejection hurt more than she would have thought possible. He’d said he was sorry that she was forced by circumstances to marry him, but he didn’t seem sorry for her sake. He seemed sorrier for himself.

Hawk met her gaze for a few seconds, then shook his head as he slipped by her. “Good night, Bethany.” He left the room.

He didn’t want her. He didn’t love her. The worry that had begun to flower in her mind moments before they spoke their vows, the fear that he might not love her or want to marry her despite his offer, had not been for nothing. It was all too true.

Swallowing bitter tears, she closed the door and hastened to shed her gown and undergarments, replacing them with a nightgown from her trunk. Then she crawled into bed and cried herself to sleep.

TWENTY

By the time Bethany awoke, sunlight had replaced the glow of the moon. It surprised her that she’d slept past sunrise. Was Hawk still asleep as well? Tears welled at the thought of her new husband. She wouldn’t have thought she had any tears left in her, but there they were, burning her eyes, twisting her heart.

She rolled onto her back. He couldn’t have married her only to protect her reputation. Surely not. He must care for her at least a little. Maybe he didn’t know that she loved him. She hadn’t told him she did, but she’d thought for certain he must know her feelings. If she told him . . .

But what if he didn’t love her in return? What if he resented her for accepting his proposal? What if it had been a polite gesture that he thought she or her father would decline? She couldn’t bear it if that were true.

He wasn’t mended yet from his beating. It could be that was the reason for the distance he’d put between them. Yes, that must be the cause. She would be patient. She would be his helpmeet. Then, as he mended, he would be ready to open up to her, to express his true feelings and devotion.

A delightful odor wafted into her room — bacon sizzling on the stove. Hawk must be cooking breakfast.

Wash your face and make yourself pretty for him. Don’t let him
know you’ve been crying.

A short while later, she left the bedroom and went straight to the kitchen. Her husband was nowhere in sight, but the table was set with plates and cups and the bacon she’d smelled cooking was now on a platter on the sideboard.

“Thanks for bringing those things.” Hawk’s voice drifted to her from the half-open side door. “I’ll give them to Bethany when she wakes up.”

“Still asleep?” That was Rand. “Late night, huh?” He sounded amused.

“Not what you think.” There was no humor in Hawk’s reply.

She moved across the kitchen.

“You okay, Hawk?”

“I’ve been better.”

“We’ll find out who did this to you.”

“That’s not what I meant. It’s Bethany. If it weren’t for my blasted pride, she wouldn’t be stuck in a marriage neither of us wanted.”

Bethany covered her mouth with one hand as she pressed her back against the wall near the door. She’d feared that he might not be the most willing of bridegrooms, but it was terrible to hear him say it. He didn’t want a wife. No. Even worse than that. He didn’t want
her
.

“Stuck? She married you willingly. Remember? I was there. I reckon she’s in love with you.”

Hawk laughed — a sound without humor. “I’m not sure she knows what she wants.”

“You underestimate her.” Rand cleared his throat. “And you care more than you think you do.”

“Just because you’ve lost your head over Ingrid, don’t think — ”

“Tell yourself all you want that you were courtin’ her to get even for that wager she made with Ingrid . . .” Rand continued to talk, but what he said next was lost on Bethany.

To get even for that wager . . . To get even for that wager . . .

Oh, that cursed wager. How had Hawk learned of it?

Her mother often said that people who listened at doors to the conversations of others were apt to hear unkind things about themselves. Bethany didn’t want to hear what else Hawk said. She didn’t want to hear him say he didn’t love her, that he’d been trapped by circumstances into marrying her.

She eased away from the wall and hurried to her bedroom, closing the door without a sound, not wanting the men to know she was up. They mustn’t know she’d heard them talking. Hawk mustn’t ever know her true feelings.

She’d kissed him. Flirted with him. Fallen in love with him. But his only design was to get even because of her bet with Ingrid. He’d married her because it was the honorable thing to do — because of his pride, because of those awful circumstances that were neither his nor her fault — not because he wanted her for his wife.

“O God, why? Why can’t he love me too?”

She fell onto the bed and dissolved in another pool of tears.

Hawk heard sounds from inside the house. “She must be up. Thanks again for bringing those things from town. She’ll be glad to have them.”

“I’ll get to the chores then. You remember what the doc said. You take it easy a few more days. I’ll see to things around here ’til you’re back on your feet.”

“What about your work on the new place?”

“The boys’ve been pitchin’ in to help, so it’s comin’ along good. But it’ll keep a while.”

Hawk gave his friend a nod. “Thanks. I appreciate your help.”

“Sure thing. Now you go see to your wife.” Rand grinned. “And Hawk? It wouldn’t hurt for you to spark her a little.”

He didn’t tell his friend, but sparking Bethany wasn’t in his plans. Not if he meant to protect not only her reputation today but tomorrow too.

He reentered the kitchen through the side door just as his bride appeared at the entrance to the parlor. When she saw him, she smiled, but it was a sad, tentative one. And there was no mistaking that she’d been crying. The puffiness around her eyes declared it so.

His fault, and he hated himself for it. It took all his resolve not to draw her into his arms, hold her close, and swear he’d never make her cry again.

“I didn’t mean to sleep so late,” she said.

“No problem. Breakfast is ready if you are.”

She nodded as her gaze moved around the room. “You did last night’s dishes. I meant to wash them.”

“I’m used to doing for myself.”

Her voice dropped to a near-whisper. “I may not know how to cook, but I’m not entirely useless. I can wash dishes.”

He remembered that girl he’d seen outside the Plains Saloon, the girl whose wager had turned his life upside down. He remembered the way she could toss her head with a confident air. He remembered her laughter and the way joy of living seemed to bubble up from inside her. But that wasn’t the girl he saw before him now.

And that too was his fault.

Careful, Chandler. She’ ll never stay with you. She’ ll never be
happy here. You knew that from the outset.

TWENTY-ONE

They lived together as polite strangers. Bethany rose at dawn to prepare breakfast, the results not always appetizing, but at least edible. Hawk ate whatever was put before him without complaint. Then — once his body had mended enough — he saddled his horse and rode out, returning when the day was nearly gone. After a supper most often eaten in silence, they retired for the night to their separate rooms.

Bethany tried to keep herself so busy during the days — washing clothes, sweeping and scrubbing the floors, dusting the shelves, mending clothes, rearranging the furniture — that her thoughts didn’t have time to stray to her husband. Her efforts were unsuccessful. Reminders of him were everywhere. She prayed for wisdom. She searched for ways to break through the invisible wall he’d erected between them since their wedding day, but she found none.

She was lonely, but never completely alone. Hawk’s hired hands had returned to the bunkhouse after giving the newlyweds two days of privacy. When her husband was away, one of them was always within shouting distance of the house, and she felt certain they were there by his instructions. She took some comfort in that knowledge. Perhaps it meant he cared, at least a little.

And so the days passed until they became one week and then two and then three. Summer arrived with its clear skies and unrelenting sun that baked the Montana range and the log house that was nestled at the foot of the mountains.