The Unexpected Wife(24)

“Momma,” he mumbled, his thumb still in his mouth.

She remembered those long nights after her own mother had died. The loneliness had been crushing and there’d been no one to talk to, no one to dry her tears. Quinn was only four but his sadness was just as real.

She glanced over at Tommy, who slept on the edge of the other side of the bed. On his back, his mouth hung open. He was snoring. Tommy was so young. Likely, he barely remembered his mother.

But Quinn did remember. Leaning forward, she kissed him on the forehead. “It’s all right, Quinn. I won’t leave you.”

The front door slammed closed.

She jumped to her feet and saw Mr. Barrington standing at the front door holding a bucket of milk. Snowflakes peppered his shoulders and hat. And his expression looked murderous.

“What’s going on?” he said, his voice sharp.

She rose. “Quinn had a nightmare. He was calling for his mother,” she whispered.

Mr. Barrington’s features softened a fraction. “He’s not had those in a while. Frank’s leaving must have stirred up old dreams.”

“He’s back to sleep now. And if you keep your voice down he’ll stay that way for another hour or two. I could use the quiet to get the dishes clean.”

He strode into the kitchen and set the bucket down. He paused for a moment, then shoved out a breath and faced her. “Maybe it’s best you leave as soon as the snow melts. It’ll be a day or two at the most.”

He was looking after his children. But so was she now.

She stared at him a long moment, then nodded toward the front door. “You forgot your lunch. You best get going. We both have a lot of work to do.”

Mr. Barrington’s eyes narrowed and for a moment she thought he’d argue. But he didn’t. He turned and left. This time there was no hint of a kiss, no jolt of desire.





Abby doubted she’d ever worked so hard as she did this day. In San Francisco, her days had been filled with activity but there’d always been diversions to get her out of the kitchen. Back home, after breakfast was served, she had a quiet half hour to read and enjoy her breakfast. And the midmorning trips to the market were always time for gossip and conversation with the vendors.

But in Montana, the work never stopped. It took her nearly a half hour to scrub caked-on food from the skillet and bowls. As soon as the dishes were stacked neatly on the dish rack, she dug a few cakes of yeast and flour from the town supplies and made sourdough starter so that by week’s end there’d be bread for the table. Next, it was time to strain the milk.

She’d just begun sorting the supplies when Quinn sat up in his bed and rubbed his eyes.

“I have to pee,” he said.

Hearing his brother’s voice Tommy sat up and yawned. “Me, too.”

She thought about her own early-morning trip through the snow to the outhouse. She shivered. “Well, then, get your coats and boots on. There are a couple of inches of snow on the ground out there.”

Quinn’s eyes brightened. “Snow!” He scrambled out of bed and tugged on his well-worn boots.

Tommy quickly yanked on his boots and ran up to Abby. He thrust his foot toward her. “Tie me.”

Abby knelt down. She pulled the shoe’s tongue up straight and smoothed out his socks before she tied the shoelaces. His toes bumped against the tips of the shoes. He’d need new ones soon.

Both boys grabbed their jackets from the edge of the bed where Matthias had left them last night and hurried out the front door.

“Be careful out there!” Abby said, running after them as she shrugged on her own coat.

Laughing, they ran to the outhouse. Quinn scooped up a handful of snow and hurled it at Tommy, hitting him squarely in the chest. Instead of crying, Tommy grabbed his own ball of snow and propelled it into Quinn’s head.

“That’s enough out of you two,” she schooled. “You’ve no clean clothes and I don’t want you getting wet.”

The boys’ laughter trailed through the clean morning air as they darted into the outhouse while Abby waited outside.

“Is everything all right in there?”

“Yessss,” Quinn shouted.

When she didn’t hear from Tommy, she knocked on the door. “Tommy?”

“My buttons are stuck.”

Though she’d heard enough of Cook’s bawdy stories, she had no firsthand knowledge of the male plumbing. She could unhook buttons, but Tommy was on his own from there.

“Come out here then,” she said, opening the door. Quinn was just fastening his pants.

Tommy wiggled and shifted his feet from side to side. “Hurry.”

She wrestled with the buttons. “If you’d stop wiggling, I would.”