The Independent Bride (23 page)

He’d encouraged Pamela to spend time in Sarah’s home because he hoped Captain Rodney Mitchell’s society-born wife would teach Pamela how to behave when he moved back to Philadelphia, but he hadn’t expected her opinions to be leveled at him as criticisms.

“Is Miss Abby going to Europe?” Pamela asked.

“No,” Abby said, her lips twitching. “But if learning to shoot is all right for the crowned heads of Europe, I’m sure it’s all right for me.”

“What’s a crowned head?” Pamela asked. “Does it hurt?”

“Only when they lose it,” Bryce said, almost at the end of his patience. “And don’t ask any more questions,” he said, when Pamela opened her mouth again. “You’ve known from the beginning that Miss Abby and Miss Moriah would move into the store. We talked about what they’ve done to their rooms every evening.”

“I didn’t mink they’d really leave,” Pamela said, pouting. “I thought they liked it here.”

“We do,” Abby said, “but this is not our home. We’ve only been visiting.”

“Sarah’s momma says unmarried ladies need a chaperone,” Pamela said to her father. “Can I go live with Miss Abby and be her chaperone?”

“You’re too young to be a chaperone.”

Bryce was amused that Pamela thought she could chaperone a grown woman. On the other hand, he’d always thought he and his daughter were inseparable. It shocked him that Abby had become so important to Pamela that she would leave her father to protect her. He hadn’t realized she needed a mother figure so badly.

He liked Abby and didn’t want her to leave, either. Rather than disturb his life, she’d made it flow more smoothly. His life at home, that is. Outside of his house, her presence was something else entirely. Yet that didn’t change the fact that he’d miss her. Abby had a presence that was impossible to ignore. Things were different when she was around. They were better, though he couldn’t always say why.

“You’ll be able to visit them whenever you like if you promise not to cause them any trouble,” Bryce said to his daughter.

“I never cause trouble,” Pamela said, incensed. “Miss Abby says she doesn’t know how she could get supper on the table without me.”

That remark caused memories to materialize in Bryce’s mind with startling vividness. Margaret could never prepare a meal without the assistance of a cook, who generally ended up banishing her mistress from the kitchen. It was the same with the housekeeper. Bryce could remember more than one disaster. He’d almost been relieved when the war broke out and he could leave Margaret to his mother. Then Margaret had died, and Bryce had never stopped feeling guilty for not being brokenhearted.

“I’m sure you were a great help,” Bryce said to his daughter. “Maybe you can help Zeb.”

“Zeb doesn’t want me in the kitchen. He says I get into things.”

“Men don’t understand about women and their kitchens,” Abby said. “You can come over to the store and help us cook sometimes.”

“Why can’t you cook here?”

“Because I’m sure they’re tired of cooking for five people,” Bryce said. “Now stop badgering them.”

“Am I badgering you?” Pamela asked Abby.

“Moriah and I want to move into the store,” Abby said. “We’ve been looking forward to having our own home. I’ve enjoyed staying with you and your father, but we really want to go.”

Bryce wouldn’t tell Pamela he’d been thinking of suggesting that Abby and her sister stay permanently in his house. Sarah’s mother was right; it wasn’t proper for two women to live unchaperoned with nearly two hundred single men around. Not that he and Zeb weren’t single as well, but he had his position as commander of the fort to protect him from gossip, though he wondered if it was sufficient to protect him from himself. It didn’t matter. The presence of Pamela, as well as Moriah, would guarantee that he and Abby would never be alone long enough for the opportunity—or the need—to overtake him. His daughter really was a perfect chaperone.

The very fact that he was having these thoughts was the best possible argument for Abby’s departure. Maybe he’d been a widower too long. Or his position allowed him little chance to satisfy his physical needs. Or having Abby so close all the time was a temptation he couldn’t ignore. He’d started to think that maybe he could let himself go, indulge in a little harmless romancing. Despite what she said, Abby was attracted to him as much as he was to her. She valued her independence, but she was also a woman with a woman’s needs. Maybe they felt the same way.

What was wrong with him? Even if Abby had been willing to indulge in an affair, even if they’d had the opportunity to do so, he was an idiot even to think about it. He might have been able to do so safely with some other woman, but with Abby it was the same as committing suicide. Once he started, he wouldn’t be able to stop. There was something about her that kept pulling at him, trying to draw him in, tempting him. He couldn’t blame it on Abby. She’d been careful to keep her distance. He was the one who kept stepping over the line, who couldn’t keep his hands off her, who might find himself enslaved by her hazel eyes. He was the one in danger of becoming a willing slave. If he’d had any sense, he would have put every carpenter at the fort on the job of getting the trading post ready so the sisters could have moved out of his house almost immediately.

Now he’d come to enjoy her being here so much he doubted if he’d be able to put her out of his mind. One more reason to hope his family could hasten his reappointment. His mother kept writing that she had several eminently suitable candidates anxious to meet him, women who came from wealthy families with the necessary connections to promote his career, who knew how to run a household, who were willing to provide him with children. That was what he needed for his career. What he needed for Pamela. But a small voice whispered it wasn’t what he wanted for himself.

“When do you want to move?” Bryce asked Abby. “It’s too late tonight.”

‘Tomorrow morning,” Abby said. “That’ll give us plenty of time to carry all our things back to the trading post.”

“There’s no need for you to do that with so many able-bodied men about,” Bryce said. “I’ll get Lieutenant Collier to send a few over.”

“We don’t want to impose,” Moriah said.

“Thank you,” Abby said. “I’d rather not be required to drag my trunk across the parade ground.” She turned to Moriah. “We’ve accepted so much help already, there’s no point in getting cold feet now.”

“I’m not getting cold feet,” Moriah said. “I don’t want strangers in my bedroom.”

“They’ve been in there for weeks,” Abby said.

“I wasn’t living there then. It’ll be different now.”

“Just tell the men where you want them to leave things,” Bryce said. “I’ll make sure they know not to go into your bedchamber.”

“Bedchamber
is a little grand for our living quarters,” Abby said with a laugh. “I just hope we can keep from feeling that we live in the cellars.”

“I like the thick walls and the lack of windows,” Moriah said. “It makes me feel safe.”

“Having two hundred soldiers surrounding me makes me feel safe,” Abby said.

“Daddy makes me feel safe,” Pamela said.

“Your father makes everyone feel safe,” Abby said.

The smile she directed at Pamela, then turned on Bryce, caused him to feel he was facing something very dangerous, something so close it could grab him at any minute. It was his duty to protect the owner of the trading post, whether it was Abby Pierce or some withered old man who cussed and chewed tobacco, but he should have recognized his growing emotional attachment. Well, he had now and was determined to fight back. He couldn’t afford to make another mistake.

“Maybe we shouldn’t have tried to move in one day,” Abby said to Moriah as she dropped into a chair. “I’m exhausted.”

“What did you expect after working in the store all day? I told you I could take care of it.”

Abby was delighted with the appearance of their living quarters. The four rooms—parlor, kitchen, and two bedrooms—were small, but they were clean and neat. The walls had been whitewashed, so it didn’t feel so much as if they were living in a cave. Bryce had found them new mattresses for their beds. They hadn’t been able to salvage much of their father’s furniture, but chairs, tables, dressers, and various other items women at the fort decided they didn’t want any longer provided Abby and Moriah with all the furnishings their small rooms could hold. Dorrie promised pictures for the walls.

“There are three reasons why I couldn’t let you do everything yourself,” Abby said. “First, you had as much work to do as I did. Second, you couldn’t take care of everything by yourself, not with getting proposed to at least once a half hour. Third, I couldn’t let you receive all the proposals. I’d become unbearably jealous.”

“You know proposals don’t bother me. I don’t even hear them.”

“Not even when someone asks you for the second time?”

“Especially not then.”

Abby was sure her sister heard the proposals, but Moriah would go on talking as though nothing had been said. Abby couldn’t do that. Though she wasn’t interested in any of the dozens of men who proposed to her, she couldn’t bring herself to ignore them. She knew they didn’t love her and didn’t expect her to love them in return. She also knew they were only proposing because a wife would make their lives easier, but she still felt sorry for them. They were away from home and family for years at a time—in some cases for the rest of their lives. They had very little feminine company of any kind. They worked hard and risked their lives for people who, according to Bryce, rarely showed gratitude. She couldn’t blame them for wanting wives even if their motives were mostly selfish. She did her best to make them realize her refusal wasn’t personal. She wanted them to understand that she didn’t intend to marry anyone. Ever.

“You’re too nice,” Moriah said. “By the time you finish talking to them, they’re half convinced they’re in love with you. It’s much kinder to ignore them completely. I don’t raise any false hopes.”

“I don’t think they have any hopes at all. Bryce has made it absolutely clear he won’t grant anyone permission to marry.”

Abby knew she ought to get up and help Moriah with supper, but she didn’t want to move just yet. “Don’t fix anything for me,” she said. “I’m not hungry.”

“You always say that when you’re upset,” Moriah said without looking up from her work. “You need to eat.”

“I’m not upset. I’m just too tired to move.” Abby looked at her sister. “I suppose you think I’m upset because I can’t find anyone to agree to make the next beef shipment to the reservation.”

She didn’t intend to worry about it just yet. Bryce had said he would speak to some of the ranchers. It was as much in his interest to make sure the beef got to the reservation as it was in hers. She was sure the ranchers’ refusal stemmed from their prejudice against working with women. She didn’t understand why they should care who paid them, but she was certain she could overcome that problem once they got to know her.

“I wasn’t thinking of the contract,” Moriah said. “I was talking about the colonel.”

Abby snapped to attention. “What do you mean?”

“Everyone knows you’re sweet on him.”

“Everyone
can’t
know because I’m not.”

Moriah didn’t say anything, but the lengthening silence annoyed Abby.

“You know I have no intention of getting married,” Abby said, irritated. “Albert completely destroyed my faith in men. And if he hadn’t, I certainly wouldn’t be fool enough to think any respectable man would want a wife who’s suspected of being an embezzler.”

“You were cleared.”

“I was not cleared. They just couldn’t find any evidence to arrest me. I’m sure they’re still looking.”

“The colonel doesn’t know any of that.”

“I know it, and that’s enough. What makes you think I’m sweet on Bryce?”

Moriah shrugged her shoulders, irritating Abby further.

“You can’t think I’m sweet on him just because I’ve agreed to let him help us. It makes sense to let him do the things we can’t do for ourselves. It’s in his best interest to make sure the Indians get their beef. He’s said that several times. You’ve heard him yourself.”

Moriah continued to work in silence.

“He hasn’t done anything for me he didn’t do for you as well,” Abby told her unresponsive sister. “I might think you were sweet on him.”

“No, you couldn’t.”

No, not with Moriah trying to turn down his help at every opportunity and scowling nearly every time she set eyes on him. From the way she behaved, you’d think Moriah was the one who’d been betrayed.

“Why do you think I’m sweet on Bryce?” Abby asked again.

“You always use his Christian name. I never do.”

“You don’t call any man by his Christian name, not even men you’ve known all your life.”

“It’s not proper.”

“I don’t see why not Bryce isn’t much older than I am. I’m not one of his soldiers, who’s obliged to recognize his rank.”

She had tried to address him as she would any other formal acquaintance, but she found herself thinking of him as Bryce. Before long that was what she called him. It just seemed the natural thing to do. When you saw someone every day, you just naturally got past the point of using formal titles.