The Unexpected Wife(23)

Blushing under his gaze, she turned back to her sink. “The last thing I expected today was snow. It was so warm yesterday.” Her tone sounded stilted, formal.

“Late spring storms happen, but I’d hoped that after the last few warm days we’d finally turned the corner,” he said.

“Will it last long?”

The morning chill had added color to her cheeks and sunlight caught her hair, casting a honey-blond hue. “Hopefully not long.”

“Do you have a lot to do today?”

“I’ve got to ride out and check the herds. A few calves were born a couple of weeks ago. I need to see how they fared.”

He cradled the cup in his hand then sipped it. To his surprise it tasted good. Real good. Foolish but he was almost sorry for it. He wanted her to do something wrong—something to prove that she was better off leaving.

“I haven’t sorted through the kitchen yet, so I won’t be able to make you a hot breakfast but Frank left behind hard tack and I’ve sliced some ham.”

How long had it been since he’d had a hot meal? “No matter.”

“I wrapped them in a cloth for you to take to the range.”

He frowned down at the bundle she pushed across the table toward him. More irritated, he swallowed the last of his coffee and scooped up the bundle. He’d not grow dependent on her. “I’d best get going.”

She followed him to the door. “We’ll see you this evening.”

He shrugged on his guns and reached for his coat. “You won’t have trouble with the boys?” He couldn’t say why, but he didn’t worry about leaving Tommy and Quinn with her. She’d do right by them.

She smiled. “We’ll be fine.”

No, today wouldn’t be hard. The hard part would come later when she left. Sooner or later she’d realize how harsh this land could be and she’d leave. He resolved to have a talk with the boys. He didn’t want them getting too attached to Miss Smyth.

She held out his hat, standing so close to him that he could feel the heat of her body. Her eyes sparked with a nervous anticipation. He’d always kissed Elise goodbye before he headed out to the range. Logic reminded him that he had hired Miss Smyth for the summer—nothing more, nothing less. And still, he wondered what it would feel like to kiss her, to hold her in his arms, and feel her body nestled close to his.

What would one kiss hurt? Just to touch her once. Abruptly he stopped the train of thought and took a step back.

“You look angry,” she said. “Have I done something wrong?”

“No.” Matthias shrugged on his coat. He snatched his hat, jerked open the front door and closed it behind him.

Wind carried the brisk air across the valley churning the loosely packed snow. Tucking his head low, he headed toward the barn to milk the cow.

No matter what his body demanded, his brain understood that Miss Smyth was off limits.





Abby stared at the closed front door, wondering what she’d done wrong. She’d not expected anything from Mr. Barrington, but then his gaze had met hers. And instantly, she had seen the heat. Desire had seared her body. And she’d wanted to feel his lips against her.

But the fire in Mr. Barrington had vanished as quickly as hers had ignited. From the ashes, frustration and anger had risen.

She pressed the heel of her hand to her forehead. How had her life become such a complete mess so fast?

The fact that she wanted a man who didn’t want her scared her more than the wilderness. Perhaps she should consider cutting her losses as he’d suggested all along and simply leave.

She shook her head. There was no going back to San Francisco. Her uncle would have discovered the missing money by now. He’d never have her arrested, fearing a scandal, but he would see to it that no one hired her if she returned.

Then again, she didn’t have to return home. Chicago was less than a week’s ride. And there was the east.

“Mommy!” Quinn’s panicky voice sliced through her thoughts. He was still asleep, but thrashing wildly. Tommy slept next to him but it would be just a matter of seconds before he’d wake if she didn’t quiet Quinn.

Abby hurried over to the bed, stumbling around a sack of flour in the process. She sat on the edge of the bed and patted the boy on the back. “It’s all right, Quinn, Abby’s here.”

Her touch soothed the boy and soon he settled down. He put his thumb in his mouth and rolled onto his stomach.

Abby’s heart squeezed as she saw the worry lines in the boy’s face. She stroked the bangs off his forehead, studying the sprinkle of freckles there. His frown reminded her of Mr. Barrington, as did his nose. But his lighter coloring and pale blond hair were likely from his mother.