The Unexpected Bride (The Brides Book 1) (11 page)

He looked up, and his weariness lifted at the sight of Rebecca standing in the doorway. She’d come out to meet him. Maybe that meant she’d missed him a little after all. Seeing a woman outlined in the lamplight was nice, but strange, like finding some exotic flower in a field of weeds. Her waist-length hair was damp and swung thick and wavy about her, surrounding her tiny frame like a golden cape. No, it was more like copper and gold mingled together, hanging loose around her. She looked like an angel.

For a long moment, Isaac could only stare, filled with a longing to touch her cheek, her hair, breathe in the scent of her soap. He shook himself and met her gaze. Spiky, gold lashes framed her eyes. Were they blue or green? Right now they looked bluish-green, like the sea. They seemed to change from one to the other, depending on her dress.

She was a pretty woman, all told.

And she loves Jack
, he reminded himself.

“Isaac?”

“Yes?” he asked cautiously, aware of her air of hesitancy, as if she had something bad to announce. Maybe she had to tell him she was leaving. She couldn’t do this after all.

What would he do then? Could they get an annulment, or would they be trapped: forever married but not?

“I wanted to ask you about...the privy. It’s the door. It keeps getting stuck.”

The privy?

Isaac felt his shoulders stiffen, a reflexive response. He’d worked hard all day. There’d been the incident with Jem too. The terror that had coursed through him. He didn’t need a list of things to do. He was bone-tired. He dropped the buckets to the ground next to his boots, sloshing the water in his haste.

“The privy?” he asked.

“Could you fix it?” She wrinkled her nose.

He grimaced. Her wife loved another man, couldn’t cook, and now she wanted him to fix the door to the privy. It was a start, he guessed, but not a very good one.

***

Later that evening—after another disappointing, blackened meal—Isaac sat back in the chair next to the fire and gave the spotless cabin an appreciative glance. The place was clean—that was something at least. She’d even moved Pop’s box of chains. He’d held his hat and thanked her for that—for all she’d done—and she’d brushed aside his comments with a pretty flush.

His mind wandered to the decisions he needed to make about Rebecca and their marriage. He dragged a palm over his weary face and sat up, listening to her quiet, singsong hum carrying across the room. Her uncertain glances flicked over him now and again. Listening to her, he could feel a scowl tugging at his lips and brow. Why did she have to hum that blasted waltz? It only reminded him that she’d come here loving another man. Maybe he should send her away before things got any more complicated. Things were complicated enough.

After all, he’d only heard about Rebecca a few days ago. The weight of what had happened since then pressed down on him. It had happened so fast, and he’d had no preparation time. He liked to think things through more. Jumping into things just felt wrong. It wasn’t in his nature. So maybe he should wait a few days until the air cleared a bit before making any more decisions.

Suppressing the huge sigh that longed to escape his lips, he tightened his jaw and decided then and there to sleep in his old bed. Rebecca’s heart wasn’t his...a fact he needed to remember every time he was tempted to touch her. Draw her close. Kiss her. Mentally shaking himself, he looked away from her and stood. No, he wouldn’t touch her.

***

As Isaac’s scowls grew, Becky wondered what he was thinking. Was he thinking how inept she was at even the most basic womanly tasks? The lame excuse for a breakfast this morning, the equally poor offering for dinner this evening. Her shoulders slumped. How did she ever think she could pass herself off as a proper lady?

“I think it best if I sleep out here,” Isaac said, “while things are unsettled between us. Sharing a bed won’t solve any of that.” He nodded decisively and stood.

He was sleeping out here? He didn’t want to share her bed. After one night, he was abandoning their marriage bed. Some wife she’d turned out to be.

“I understand.” Her voice sounded small even to her own ears.

“Goodnight, Rebecca.” He sounded firm and determined, and maybe a little sad. He paused and glanced at her over his shoulder as if waiting to see how she’d take it. She wondered if he even cared.

“Goodnight, Isaac.”

He gave a quick nod and disappeared behind the potato-sack curtain that separated the sleeping area from the rest of the room.

The room went cold, as if someone had left the door open and a draft had come in. Becky shivered. She stood and pushed the little three-legged stool she’d been sitting on into its spot in the corner next to the stove and picked up the lantern. She wandered into the room off the back of the cabin and shut the door behind her, feeling as though she was shutting the door on her marriage. She’d only been married one day, and she’d already failed to be a passable wife.

She shouldn’t have pestered him about the privy door right when he was coming home. It had been on her mind, but she should have stopped herself when she’d seen the weariness on his face. She hadn’t been thinking. Well, she’d been thinking, but only about herself and what she wanted.

That wasn’t the worst of it though. There was Jack. Now that Isaac knew about Jack, that had changed everything.

She’d seen the truth in Isaac’s eyes tonight. He regretted marrying her...that much was obvious from his scowls. She sank onto the bed, her heart nearly breaking all over again. She cared more than she’d like to admit what Isaac Jessup thought of her. More than anything, she wanted him to like her. Staring down at her hands, the ones that had ruined the last two meals, she resolved to do better. That stove was an awful monster, but she’d do her best to master it. She’d make him breakfast in the morning, and it would be better. Something wonderful to erase her burnt, soggy flapjacks and the charred sausages she’d served up tonight. It couldn’t get any worse.

She smiled wryly to herself.

Maybe she could make something fresh for dinner—a pheasant, or whatever other fowl they had around here. She’d have to employ some of her more unladylike skills to accomplish the task though. Hunting was something she was quite good at, thanks to one Jack Duncan. Not that she wanted Isaac to know that. She’d have to go out while he was off working. With any luck, he’d think one of his men had dropped some game by.

She kneeled at the foot of the bed and opened her trunk, taking a moment to finger the drying bouquet of wildflowers that Isaac had given her on their wedding day. They were a crushed mess, but she still couldn’t bring herself to throw them out. So she set them to one side and dug around until she found just what she needed. She took out th
e rifle Jack had given her on her fourteenth birthday. The gun was weighted perfectly for her size and had a strap just the right length for hanging across her back while she rode. She rubbed a finger slowly over her name scratched into the handle. Jack had even added a crude flower engraved in the wood underneath the “B” in Becky. The weight of the gun felt comforting and familiar.

Yes, this would do quite nicely.

THIRTEEN

T
he next morning, as she’d promised herself, Becky set out to master the awful stove. After fending off the few hens in the coop next to the lean-to, she carried the precious eggs she’d found back to the kitchen. By watching her skillet carefully, she was able to turn out a platter of cheerful, yellow-faced fried eggs and a tall stack of nearly decent flapjacks. The grudging look of approval on Isaac’s face turned to appreciation with the first bite.

His eyebrows rose a notch. “They’re good,” he said and grinned.

Her whole body relaxed, only then making her realize how tense she’d been, wanting so much for him to like them. She smiled back, noticing how his brown eyes seemed to gleam a little.

“I’m glad you like them,” she said. Last night she’d slept alone in the wide bed. Even after only one night together as a married couple, she missed his tall frame stretched out beside her, his dark head resting on the pillow next to hers. At some point since she’d met him—maybe even on the voyage over—she’d felt this desire to make him happy. Breakfast was such a small thing, but his appreciation meant so much.

He tucked into his meal, and she sat across from him, happily eating her breakfast. She caught herself humming one of her favorite tunes, but at Isaac’s swift glance, stopped short.

Why had his eyes gone cold?

Maybe he didn’t appreciate music at the table. She pressed her lips tightly together to remind herself not to hum anymore, and then finished her breakfast quietly. A little light had gone out of the day though.

This getting used to living around another person wasn’t the easiest thing. Would there ever come a day when she understood him? When he understood and maybe even liked her?

Well, it wasn’t as if he
hated
her. He’d been kind and thoughtful. She’d noticed first thing this morning that he’d made an effort to fix the door to the privy.

Isaac pushed his chair away from the table and carried his plate over to the basin. Scratching the back of his head, he turned to her. His mouth opened and shut and opened again. She was suddenly nervous, wondering if he had something difficult to tell her.

“I’m going off to work,” he said, looking a mite uncomfortable about the fact. Did he think she expected him to entertain her all day? “You best keep near the cabin, Rebecca,” he added.

“All right, Isaac.” She matched his tone of formality, wondering if he’d start every day with the same warning. The thought brought a small smile.

She followed him outside to the lean-to and watched as he saddled his horse.

“I expect you’ll have to take Siren back to the livery soon?” She stroked the brown mare’s velvety nose. The horse nickered softly and bumped Becky playfully in the shoulder with her head. What she wouldn’t give to keep her. The little mare had a lot of fire, and they’d seemed to be of one spirit from the first. Having her around had eased the pain of missing China a bit.

“Take her back?” Isaac looked over his shoulder, met Becky’s eyes briefly, and then turned back to his horse. “She’s yours now.”

“Mine?” she repeated dumbly.

“That’s right.”

“You got her for me?”

“Of course.”

He’d bought her a horse.

A horse of her own.

Quick tears stung her eyes. Staring across the clearing at his meager cabin, she felt another pang of guilt. Isaac couldn’t afford to buy her a fine mare like Siren. He’d been cornered into marrying her, and now he felt obligated to buy her a horse, when he obviously couldn’t spare a cent. “You didn’t have to do that.”

He turned to her and stepped closer, one wide hand settling over her shoulder. “What’s this? Tears?” He brushed the moisture from her cheek with his thumb. “You need a horse, Rebecca. But don’t go off riding alone. There are wild animals up here, and I want you close to the cabin.” He squeezed her shoulder gently, then released her and swung around to face his big gelding again.

She stared after him as he quickly mounted and rode off down the mountain with a parting wave of goodbye. His unexpected gift and brief tender touch had both charmed and humbled her.

She stroked her beautiful new horse’s nose and spoke to her softly, “Siren, my darling. You look game for riding bareback.”

Becky felt a glow of anticipation. A little ride wouldn’t hurt anything. She remembered Isaac’s repeated warning and promised herself she’d stay close to the cabin. No, that wouldn’t hurt anything at all. With a nod, she marched back to the cabin to clean up the breakfast dishes.

It didn’t take her long to set the kitchen to order and change into her riding clothes: a faded cotton shirt, a pair of boy’s trousers that she’d once secretly bought from Papa’s store, and an old pair of riding boots that eased on and fit snugly around each foot. Her bulky, dark-green wool jacket and a brown felt hat completed the ensemble. She was ready to ride. Siren was a sidesaddle-trained mare, and maybe she’d never been broken for riding astride. Well, Becky would find out soon enough.

She untethered the mare, slipped the bridle on, and led her around the clearing, keeping her hands in contact with her glossy hide at all times. Then she gradually leaned her weight more and more against her side, looping first an arm and then a leg over the now skittish mare’s back. And then she was up! She gripped the reins firmly in her hands and murmured little sounds of approval to the mare to soothe her.

“That’s a good girl,” Becky praised softly. She leaned low over Siren’s neck and rested her cheek against the bristly hair of her mane.

Siren snorted and tossed her head. She danced away, giving a little buck of protest. Becky slipped to one side and nearly fell, but years of training kept her glued to the mare’s back. Careful not to prod her unhappy mare, she righted herself and patted Siren’s glistening neck.