Authors: Jillian Hart
“Anyone can fry an egg,” Maeve said, feeling relief flow over her. He meant to keep her for now. “And, coffee, of course.”
“We're set, then?” he asked.
She gave him a nod as she felt a slight roll in her stomach. It must have been the thought of frying eggs. The smell had given her problems when she was carrying Violet, too. Not that she had a choice now. She had to cook eggs.
Her friend in Boston had said that ad might not be all she hoped and it looked as if she was right. But it was winter and she had a daughter as well as a baby to consider. She needed to keep them warm and fed. Besides, if she gave Noah time to come to love Violet, she could tell him about the baby.
* * *
Noah clenched his hands into a fist. The woman looked pale. He had confused things and he didn't know how to make everything right. After she got rid of that hat, the woman had been glorious, with her pink cheeks and her copper hair tumbling down to her shoulders. She was a beauty and deserved the kind of happiness he'd heard a good marriage could bring. The very thought of working for him seemed to turn her sickly, though.
It depressed him to have to disappoint her, but he hadn't been able to keep his first wife, Allison, happy. And he'd loved her. Her list of things she wanted had been longâa proper house, a set of English china, a silk dress for every day of the week, copper pans in the kitchen, Irish linens in the bedroom, hand-painted angels on the mantel in the parlor and a maid. He would have sold every possession he had if she would have stayed with him and raised a family. Unfortunately, he hadn't had much worth selling in those days.
The irony was that, after she'd left him, his herd of cattle had increased. Slowly, he'd built up his ranch, adding the kind of proper house Allison had always said she wanted. He never expected to see her again, but he'd found himself adding all of the little luxuries she had wanted. It was more to prove to himself that he could afford them than because he had much use for them.
Maeve was silent and the preacher was standing next to her.
“I can't take advantage of her,” Noah said to the reverend, feeling guilty now that Maeve had stopped being angry with him. “And that's what I would be doing. She deserves a better marriage and she'll find it if she takes some time.”
“I won't be changing my mind,” Maeve said.
“You can get married any day you want if that's what you decide to do,” the preacher announced calmly. “Things might look different in the morning. Better to put it off until you are both happy about the decision. Your men will make good chaperones. I'll speak to them.”
Noah noticed that Maeve was watching him.
“Sounds sensible to me,” Noah said, ignoring that spark within him. He had begun to wonder what it would be like to forget about fairness and marry the woman. He had little doubt, though, that Maeve would find a better husband than him if she took some time to look around. The new banker was a widower. He was a few years older than Noah, but he seemed nice enough. And he played the violin. Women liked things like that.
“As long as I get paid for the cooking I do,” Maeve said, her voice wavering a little as though someone had taken advantage of her in the past.
She suddenly looked even younger than her twenty-five years, and he felt his hands curl into fists. He would not mind having a word or two with the man who had given Maeve a hard time. But he couldn't say anything.
So he nodded instead. “We better start heading home, then. Jimmy should have our wagon sitting out back.”
It didn't take long to say farewell to the preacher and the two women. They all promised to come back to the church in the next few days if that was what he and Maeve wanted. Noah could tell they were disappointed. He came to hear the sermons when the weather was nice enough to get into town, and he knew the women had been praying for him to find a wife. He hadn't asked them to do that, but he suspected his ranch hands were behind that, too.
The winds didn't let up when Noah helped Maeve and the girl into the wagon. He brought forward a couple of old blankets and a buffalo hide he kept in the back for when the weather was like this. He wrapped a blanket around their heads and tucked the others around their legs. He put the hide over all.
“That'll keep you warm,” Noah said as he picked up the reins. When he'd gotten out the blankets, he'd checked to see that the teapot was in the back, hidden behind the cases of canned peaches.
Noah set the horses to their course and they pulled the wagon along the road.
When he drove the team over the rise that led down to his ranch, his face was raw from the force of the blowing snow and the sun was beginning to set behind the storm clouds. If it had been a nicer day, he would have taken pleasure in showing Maeve and the little one the view from the top of the rise. His land stretched out in all directions as far as the eye could see. At this time of year, only the tumbleweeds broke the whiteness on the ground, but in the spring tufts of green grass would dot the landscape.
His two-story house was nestled in a dip after the rise, making it close to the creek that ran through his property. Noah thought sometimes the land he'd chosen for his home was curved until it looked as if God was holding the house in His hands. Noah never mentioned his fanciful thinking to anyone, but he liked to walk up to the rise when he prayed in the mornings. He knew he had many blessings even if the love of a wife wasn't one of them. Some distance from the house was a tall red barn with a long, squat bunkhouse built against its side. The ranch hands never had cause to complain about their quarters. Their long room was snug and homey with a fireplace at each end and chairs scattered around for sitting on a winter evening. Beds lined the walls.
The house itself was the jewel on his property. Windows faced in every direction, each one of them gleaming despite the frost curling around the edges of the glass. He'd had to send back East for the beveled windows in the main door. A wide porch wrapped around the front part of the house and, in the summer, bright red geranium plants were scattered around in clay pots.
Suddenly, Noah frowned. What looked like a sheet was blowing from one of the upstairs windows. Then he noticed that the door to the bunkhouse had opened and a stream of ranch hands was spilling out. They stood a moment, watching the wagon as Noah guided it down the road. Dakota was in the lead, waving his hat as the men started to walk closer.
Noah didn't know whether to warn Maeve that they were being welcomed or try to figure out a hand signal that would convince the ranch hands to go back inside and pretend they hadn't noticed them coming home.
Finally, it was too late to do either.
Maeve had lifted her head out of the blankets and was looking straight ahead.
“Is someone doing the wash?” she asked, puzzled. “Isn't it too cold for anything to dry?”
“It's not laundry,” he said and hesitated a few seconds before adding. “It's hung there to celebrate our wedding.”
“But we didn't get married,” she protested, looking over at him in surprise. “Oh, of course, your men don't know that, do they?”
He shrugged as he looked into her green eyes. The shadows made them dark, but he noticed they had some sparks to them that they hadn't before. The woman was not hiding her feelings from him as much as she had earlier.
“They mean well,” he said, smiling at her. “And, if I'm not mistaken, they've already told everyone from miles around that we were getting married today. They've been waiting since I got your letter. But it doesn't matter. I'll explain it to them and they'll spread the word that it didn't happen.”
Maeve looked away from him then and his throat tightened. She was upset that they had not gone through with their vows. If he didn't believe she'd feel differently in a couple of days, he would have turned the wagon around and headed back to the church.
But he couldn't live with a woman who felt trapped in a marriage to him. His wife's unhappiness had left them both miserable.
Just then, his men came up close to the wagon. They were all noisy, grinning and carrying their rifles. No doubt they intended to fire off a volley in honor of the occasion. Noah stopped the horses and held up his arm. He wouldn't be surprised if Dakota had organized all of this; that man was determined to give up his cooking duties.
The crew looked at Noah expectantly.
“We're not married yet,” he explained as he surveyed the ranch hands. “I felt it was only right to give her a chance to see what she's in for before she goes through with it. In the meantime, I know you'll honor Maeve as if she were my wife.”
“Maeve?” one of the men in front of him asked as he tilted his head. “Isn't that Irish?”
“You can call her Mrs. Flanagan for the time being,” Noah replied. Some of the men had hard feelings against the Irish after a brawl with some soldiers from nearby Fort Keogh. “She and her daughter, Violet, are my guests. Now let me get this wagon up by the porch. You can help carry everything inside before the storm gets any worse.”
He started the horses forward.
“Is she going to cook for us in the morning?” Dakota called after them. “I mean, since she didn't marry you?”
Noah reined in the horses and looked over at Maeve. She had pushed more of the blankets back so she could see what was happening. Her green eyes were sleepy. Her hair tousled. He didn't need to ask to know she was exhausted.
“Dakota can fry eggs in the morning,” Noah said. “Same as usual.”
That was enough to make all of the men turn to stare at him.
“But he burnt them last time,” one of his men reminded Noah, although he didn't do it loudly. “I almost couldn't eat mine. And you know me. I eat anything.”
“I was looking forward to a biscuit,” a younger cowboy complained, as well. “How hard can that be to make?”
Dakota bristled at this and turned to the younger man. “I'd like to see you try to make some.”
They hadn't had bread of any kind for months. The last batch of biscuits Dakota had made had been hard as stones. No one could eat them. Noah had finally ordered the man to stop even trying so they wouldn't keep wasting flour. He wasn't sure if Dakota was relieved or still held a grudge over the incident.
“The woman deserves a rest,” Noah said. And he intended to see that she had one.
He wasn't sure what decision he and Maeve were going to make about the marriage, but he did believe she was a decent woman who had been overcome by trouble. Whether she wanted to marry him or not, he meant to see that she got a new start in life.
“I'll get up early anyway,” Maeve said with a yawn and then sat up straighter on the wagon bench. “I always do.”
Noah didn't answer as he pulled the horses to a halt in front of the house. For however long Maeve and her daughter were with him, he wanted them to be welcome.
“You're entitled to stay in bed in the morning,” he said firmly. “You've had a long trip here. And treat my place like your home. Don't let the ranch hands convince you to get up and cook for them.”
Maeve looked at him, speechless, and then smiled before turning to wake up her daughter.
“I can carry her in,” Noah said as he started to climb down off his wagon. “I'll come around.”
His men had walked up to the back of the wagon and were starting to unload the supplies.
Noah hurried to the other side of the wagon and held out his arms for the girl. He had moved most of his clothes out of the bedroom yesterday and put them in the room at the end of the bunkhouse. The woman and her child would be comfortable in the house. His room shared a wall with the parlor fireplace so it was the warmest place in his house, except for the kitchen.
He could hear Violet murmuring as her mother gathered her up. The girl was likely still half-asleep. Noah's hat was knocked off by the wind and it fell into the back of the wagon. He left it there since the woman was ready to set the girl in his arms. For a moment, he let her weight settle. He was surprised at the contentment he felt holding her. He'd never had a child on his ranch before, not one he could lay claim to as his own. His neighbors, the Hargroves, brought their girls over once in a while when they visited, but there was no one else.
Noah had hoped his wife would have his children, but, even if she had stayed, she had made it clear she didn't intend to be a mother. She had muttered something about little ones having sticky fingers and colic.
The girl shifted suddenly in his arms, and then stiffened as she opened her eyes. A shriek of pure terror split the early night as she screamed.
“What's wrong?” Noah looked up at Maeve in alarm. The girl was rigid in his arms.
“She's frightened.” Maeve slid to the end of the wagon bench and opened her arms to take her daughter back. “She was startled when she saw you. I should have known. She hadn't fully woken up yet. I wasn't thinking.”
Noah gave the now-shivering girl back to her mother. Maeve was apologizing, but Noah didn't think she was surprised. The child had been terrified.
Dakota had opened the door to the house and two other ranch hands were moving the trunk inside. They set down the burden and ran back to the wagon at the sound of the scream.
“What's wrong?” Dakota asked breathlessly. The other ranch hands crowded around.
Maeve was rubbing her daughter's back and Violet's whimpering was slowing down.
“We'll be fine,” Noah answered. The girl's eyes had opened wider at the sight of the other men. She might be silent now, but she wasn't at ease.
“Give her some room to breathe,” Noah advised the other men.
The men were used to animals that panicked and nodded.
“Anything she needs,” Dakota whispered as the men turned their backs.
They all walked away quietly and picked up the trunk again.