Sarah My Beloved (Little Hickman Creek Series #2) (11 page)

"Bears?" she repeated.

"And wolves-famished ones," he said with emphasis.

"Wolves?"

But he didn't say another word, just hauled her along
toward the little shanty at the rear of the yard, holding the
lantern in front of them.

Indeed the path was narrow with several gullies and rises,
and she had to admit to being thankful for his presence. Once
he'd even had to catch her by the arm when she started to stumble. She felt certain the words I told you so were fighting to
get past his mouth, yet he restrained himself.

"I'll wait here," he said, stopping a short distance from the
little building and handing the lantern back to her.

Without a word, she took the final few steps.

After tending to her needs as quickly as possible, shivering
the entire time, she pushed open the heavy wood door, which
slanted and squeaked on its hinges, and frowned. And when
she meant to close it quietly, gravity pulled it shut with a loud
thump. "That alone should wake the bears," she murmured.

The tiniest hint of a smile washed across his stern face.
"I've been meaning to fix that," he answered quietly.

The first signs of daylight struck a straight path through
Sarah's bedroom window. It was either that or the sounds of
pans clanging and banging in the kitchen that woke her with
a start. The first thing she did was open her eyes and stare at
the blank wall she faced, familiarizing herself with her whereabouts. When the realization struck her that she was freshly
married and waking up for the first time in her new home,
she leaped out of bed. Fine way to start a marriage, she thought,
especially after his comment last night about wanting to stick
to the chores intended for each of them. She supposed the
cooking chore fell to her. Already she'd failed.

Racing across the small room to her yet unpacked trunk,
she threw on the first dress she could find, a full-skirted, purple
satin gown she'd purchased two years ago. It was the perfect
day dress for Winchester's social circles, but undoubtedly i11-
suited for Little Hickman. Bell-sleeved and decorated with a dipped sequined collar and lovely pearl buttons, it seemed an
unlikely housedress. Perhaps she would shorten the sleeves
later and replace the buttons with something more sensible.

She ran to the door, then stopped dead in her tracks
after skimming her fingers through her mass of auburn
curls. Muttering to herself, she backtracked for a brush and
quickly ran it through the tangled mess, then yanked a silver
comb off the nearby dressing table and, after twisting her
hair into a thick knot, wedged it firmly in place. Pinching
her cheeks for color, she mumbled in disgust, "Oh, phooey,
if he doesn't approve of my appearance, he can just look the
other way."

She took a deep breath for courage and opened the door.
He stood in front of the stove, stirring something. Bacon and
eggs? Whatever it was, it smelled wonderful, and her stomach
growled right on cue.

She didn't want to stare, but since his back was to her, it
gave her the perfect opportunity. His black hair, yet uncombed,
fell just over his shirt collar. As if he sensed she watched, he
swept a large hand through the loose strands, then went back
to tending the unidentified concoction.

Feeling somehow guilty for watching, she quietly stepped
forward. Without so much as a turn of his head, he mumbled,
"I see you finally decided to get up."

So this was how he greeted his wife on the morning after
his wedding. Refusing to be intimidated, she swallowed a dry
lump. "Good morning."

"Is it?"

"What are you making? It smells wonderful."

"Breakfast."

She chewed her lower lip. "I see that." She stepped up
beside him, fully aware of his daunting presence, and looked
into the fry pan. As she'd supposed, he was scrambling eggs
on one side of the large pan and frying several strips of bacon
on the other. A mound of fried potatoes lay warming on a hot
plate beside the pan, covered with a thin towel.

"It looks delicious."

"How did you sleep?" he asked, ignoring her compliment.

"Quite well." Quite terribly, actually. She wasn't accustomed
to a straw mattress, having always slept on downy feathers, but
she thought it best to keep that tidbit of information to herself.
To make matters worse, she'd been cold most of the night.
Of top priority today was finding herself another blanket. She
wondered if the children also shivered but were too afraid to
let their uncle know. "And you?" she asked.

"Fine." It seemed her husband was a man of few words.
Well, she would just have to find a way to make him talk.

"Have you seen anything of the children yet?"

"They don't usually rise until they smell breakfast."

"I see. Then I suppose they'll be appearing most any
minute. Will they need help with dressing?"

"They haven't yet." He reached into the cabinet above the
stove and brought out some plates from behind a dusty curtain. She made a mental note to take down all the curtains
that covered the cupboards and wash them first chance she
got.

"I see. Shall I set the table?"

"Suit yourself," he said, walking to the little square table.
"You'll find forks and spoons in that drawer by the stove. Hester always kept it..." He halted mid-sentence, his entire
body seeming to go stiff. Since his back was to her, she couldn't
determine his expression.

"Hester?"

"Uh, my wife," he said flatly.

"It's all right if you mention her," Sarah said. "I'd like to
hear about her."

"It's not necessary"

"I'm sure you must miss her deeply." And your son, she
thought.

When he didn't respond, just laid the plates on the table,
she let the matter go. There would be plenty of time later for
discovering his past.

She pulled open the drawer, noting that she had to use
force, and counted out enough spoons and forks, all tarnished
and mismatched, for the four of them. There was no semblance of order for how they were stored, so she had to dig in
the small wooden box to find each utensil. She made another
mental note.

Once they'd set the table, Rocky poured the food onto a
large white platter and brought it to the table. "I'll see that the
breakfast is taken care of from now on," she stated, straightening a napkin beside one of the plates then clasping her hands
together at her waist.

His back to her, he reached for the coffee pot on a back
burner. "You do drink coffee, right?" His question implied
she'd be foolish not to.

Actually, she hated the stuff, but she supposed she could
learn to adjust to its bitter taste. "Of course," she replied.
"About the meals..."

"I understand that you must have been exhausted this
morning. Don't worry about it." He poured coffee into two
mugs, picked them up, and brought them to the table.

She glanced at the clock on the wall. It wasn't quite seven.
Exactly how early did he expect her to rise every morning? She
opened her mouth to ask the question just as Rachel appeared
in the doorway, sleep still evident in her large blue eyes, her
hair a shambles.

"Good morning, Rachel," Sarah said, walking over to the
girl. "Is your brother up yet?"

Rachel shook her head. "He don't get up till I wake him."

"I see." She peeked past the girl and noted her brother
still sleeping snugly in his narrow bed, blankets stacked atop
him. It pleased her to know that he appeared warm and cozy.

"Did you sleep well?" Sarah asked, noting another narrow
cot opposite her brother's, blankets drawn up, signifying the
girl's attempt to make the bed. It wouldn't be long before the
children would need separate rooms. She wondered if Rocky
had considered that.

"You best wake up your brother," Rocky said. "Breakfast is
cooling fast."

Rachel nodded and rubbed her eyes.

"I'll go with you,,, Sarah offered, following the child into
the little square room.

Breakfast was a tranquil affair; the only sounds were the
clanking of fork against plate and Sarah's occasional throat
clearing between chews and swallows. Only sporadically did
she glance up, and that was to smile at the children. It seemed that Rocky's failure to encourage her earlier attempts at conversation had earned him a measure of peace and quiet.

For the most part, Rachel and Seth behaved themselves;
Seth even attempted a couple bites of eggs when Rocky cast him
a warning glance. The boy must have sensed that his uncle was
in no mood for fighting on this first morning with his bride.
Even Rachel had very little to say, astonishing in itself. She'd
been especially quiet throughout the wedding ceremony and
reception, but he'd figured that by morning she'd be back to
her usual irritable self.

Rocky rested curious eyes on the new Mrs. Callahan. She
was clothed in some kind of glimmery, purple getup, and he
tried to imagine her ever doing a stitch of work in it, or even
working at all. Dainty features, gracefully carved, made up her
perfect oval face. She had a streamlined little nose, straight
and charming, a genial, soft-looking mouth, a gentle chin,
and sparkling blue-green eyes that even now twinkled under
a somewhat solemn expression. He wondered what she was
thinking as she continued to eat in silence.

When she looked up and caught him watching, her long
auburn lashes swept down over rosy cheeks, giving her the
appearance of innocence even though he'd seen her downright
outspoken side. Had she any notion of the life that awaited her?
Hickman was a place where dirt seemed a natural ingredient
at every meal, and blood and sweat mingled with the drinking
water. How long before she pulled up stakes and headed back
East, tossing out the ridiculous notion that God had called her
here for a reason? It would be nice to think that God had seen
fit to bless him with a wife, and a pretty, refined one at that,
but heaven knew God didn't owe him any favors.

"Do you like eggs, Miss Sarah?" Seth's voice broke the
blessed quietness.

Sarah gave the boy a thoughtful look and set her fork on
the edge of her plate. "Actually, I do, but I don't think I was
fond of them as a child. I had to learn to like them." With
that, she picked up her coffee mug and took a sip. She grimaced after swallowing, then set the cup down. It didn't seem
to Rocky that she'd ingested more than an ounce of the dark
brew.

Seth leaned forward, his chin just coming to the rim of his
plate, where his yet unfinished eggs had been neatly pushed
to the other side. "Did your mama and papa make you eat
?
em."

Sarah's face flooded with softness. "No, no, they didn't
force me. I think if they had I would have wound up hating
them all the more." With that, her gaze veered toward Rocky.
Was there a challenge hidden somewhere in her depths?

Her shrewd manner unnerved him. What could he say
that wouldn't make him out to be the bigger fool? He pushed
his chair back and heard the grating squeak of wood against
wood.

"Are you finished?" Sarah asked, touching a napkin to her
chin.

"I am," he answered pointblank, standing.

"Then it would be thoughtful to excuse yourself."

Now he stared at her, disbelieving. "What?"

She continued dabbing then faced him head-on. "If you
want the children to mind their manners, you'll need to set
the example."

"You expect me to..."

"It won't destroy you to say excuse me, Mr. Callahan," she
urged with a hint of a smile. When he flashed a look across the
table at Rachel, he found her grinning like a Cheshire cat.

He paused a moment longer, having already stood to his
feet, the fingers of both his hands steepled on the table. He
pushed the chair out of the way. "Oh, all right, excuse me.
How is that?"

"Not very sincere, I'm afraid, but it will do. Perhaps you
will have improved by the noon meal."

Rocky felt his temper rise but knew his need to restrain
himself. Outright anger would only give her an additional
reason to lecture. He started to walk away, but halted when his
wife rebuked him for having forgotten to push his chair under
the table. Biting back a reply, he stepped over to the stool, bent
to pick it up, and placed it under the table. "Will that do?" he
asked with clear sarcasm.