The Unexpected Wife(22)

Smiling, Abby turned from the scene. Her smile vanished when she saw the supplies from town, unloaded by Mr. Barrington last night, littering the floor. Sacks of flour, beans and sugar were piled high on boxes that contained tins filled with fruits and vegetables. She’d need more light to sort through the goods, so she maneuvered past the store-bought goods to the kitchen.

Abby set her lantern down on the shelf above the cold stove. As she turned to search for kindling and matches she stumbled over a child’s shoe. She lurched forward and caught herself on the kitchen table. A plate on the table rattled like a church bell. A few choice words she’d learned from the cook staff came to mind.

In the silence, her toe throbbing she heard Mr. Barrington turn over in his bed. She peered past the glow of lantern light into the darkness and watched him roll to his back. For a moment she imagined that he was watching her.

Standing perfectly still, she waited, hoping she’d not woken him or the boys. She didn’t need Mr. Barrington seeing just how awkward and clumsy she was this morning. Several seconds passed. He didn’t move and soon, his deep even breathing filled the morning stillness. Relief washed over her. At least he wouldn’t be hovering close waiting for her to fail.

Abby soon found a pile of wood in a metal wood-box and near it matches. Kindling in hand, she opened the small door at the base of the stove and laid the wood inside.

Her hands trembled with cold as she squatted before the small opening and lit the dried twigs with a match. Cupping her hand around the flame, she held it under her fragile pile of sticks and waited for the fire to catch.

Slowly the fire flickered to life. The dried wood cracked and popped. Gingerly, Abby laid larger pieces of wood on the fire, blowing gently until the flames burned bright.

She set back on her heels smiling. She’d started hundreds of stove fires in her life but none had given her more satisfaction.

Over the next hour, she encountered obstacle on top of obstacle. First it was venturing outside into the cold, tramping through the three inches of snow to the rain barrel and cracking through the layer of ice with her bucket to get water for coffee. Then it was sorting through the assortment of empty tins until she found the coffee and then the grinder. Then there was the matter of a clean mixing bowl. With none to be found, she was forced to wash one of the dirty wooden bowls stacked on the counter. It was caked with unrecognizable dough.

No matter which direction she turned there was a roadblock. This cabin, like Mr. Barrington, was daring her to quit.

Like a spoiled mistress, Montana was beautiful but exacting. But Abby was used to the spoiled and difficult.

Her only saving grace was that Mr. Barrington had slept through it all and not witnessed her struggles.





As Matthias lay on his back and listened to Miss Smyth move about the kitchen, he would have sworn a herd of Buffalo made less noise.

He’d awoken the instant she’d turned on her lantern, about four by his reckoning. He’d been surprised when she’d risen so early. Knowing the mess she faced, he half expected her to give up and go back to bed once she got a good look at it. But she hadn’t gone back to bed. She’d continued to plow through the mess, banging her pots and pans as she worked.

To his surprise, as the first bits of morning sun seeped through the window, the delicious smell of freshly brewed coffee filled the cabin.

Matthias propped his hands under his head and looked into the kitchen. He expected to see Miss Smyth, standing tall. But in the deceptive morning light, he saw a woman, kneeling by the stove, her face turned in profile. And for just a moment, he imagined he saw Elise.

He sucked in a sharp breath and vaulted out of the bed. He’d worn his shirt and pants to bed, but the cold air burned through his clothing as he raked a trembling hand through his hair.

Startled, she turned. “You’re awake.”

The sound of her voice calmed him immediately, banishing the specters from the past. “Yeah.”

Regaining his balance, he pulled on his boots and laced them up.

She brushed nervous hands on her apron— Elise’s apron. “Good morning,” she said. “I’ve made coffee.”

Silent, he watched as she poured him a cup of hot coffee from the pot Elise had brought from Missouri.

Unreasonable irritation grated over his bones as he stepped toward the warm stove and reached for the cup she offered. His fingers brushed hers. The cup warmed his icy fingers. And despite his best intentions to remain aloof, his gaze held hers and a fizzle of energy shot through his body. Before Elise had gotten sick, their first mornings had been spent making love and it had taken all that was in him to leave her so that he could do his chores. He’d not allowed himself to think about those days for a long time and the fact that Abby’s presence was fueling those memories churned his guilt.