He held still for all of two or three seconds before he started wiggling again. Fortunately, this time she unhooked the buttons and scooted him back into the outhouse. “Quinn, stay with your brother in case he needs assistance.”
“He can do it by himself. Pa showed him.”
She thought about Tommy’s slender body falling into the outhouse hole. “Well, just stay in there anyway.”
Quinn grumbled something about babies, then shouted, “He’s spraying the walls.”
“With what?” Abby shouted.
Tommy giggled. So did Quinn.
Abby opened the door just as Tommy yanked up his pants. The smell of urine told her exactly what he’d been about. “Thomas Barrington, come out here this instant.”
She knelt down and started to fasten his pants. “No more spraying.”
The boys laughed.
Abby couldn’t help but smile. She had not the faintest idea how to raise boys, but she imagined it would be an adventure.
She hustled the children back into the warm cabin and took off her coat. As she hung her coat on the peg by the door, Quinn and Tommy shrugged theirs off and dropped them on the floor.
“Oh, no, little misters. We’ll be hanging our coats from now on.”
“But Pa doesn’t care,” Quinn said.
“I do.”
He crossed his arms. “But you ain’t our ma.”
“That is correct, but you will hang your coats, nonetheless. And the correct word is aren’t, not ain’t.” She moved a kitchen chair closer to the pegs. “Climb up now and hang those coats. We’ll wash up for breakfast and then get to work on this place.”
“Breakfast!” Tommy said. He scrambled up on the chair. “I’m hungry.”
Quinn kept his lips flat and his expression defiant, but she saw the twinkle of excitement in his eyes.
After the boys washed their hands, she served them hard tack, ham and warmed milk. Neither complained about the simple fare and each asked for seconds.
Once the breakfast dishes were scraped and cleaned, they set about the task of sorting through the supplies from town.
When the downstairs was somewhat organized she climbed the ladder to her loft. The boys followed. Together they smoothed out the blankets.
“What’s that?” Quinn said pointing to her bundle of possessions still bound in the tablecloth.
“It’s just a few things I brought from home.”
She unwrapped the tablecloth. As if they’d found a buried treasure, the boys studied the meager contents. Quinn picked up a brush and Tommy studied her black Sunday shoes, which had long lost their sheen.
“What’s that?” Quinn said pointing to a package wrapped in pink tissue paper and bound with a delicate white ribbon.
That special extra purchase she’d bought when she’d arrived in Sacramento. It was a cotton nightgown trimmed with lace and bought special for her wedding night. Less than two weeks ago she’d watched the shopkeeper gently wrap the gown in the tissue paper. She’d imagined what it would feel like to have her husband unfasten the row of tiny pearls that trailed down the middle.
Then, her husband had no face. He’d simply been words on a page.
Now, he was a flesh-and-blood man, with rawboned features and penetrating blue eyes. This time she pictured Matthias’s rough hands on the buttons and her naked flesh. A burning sensation flared in her body.
“It’s nothing of import,” she said, her voice rusty. She cleared her throat and set the bundle aside.
The gown, like her dreams, had no place in Montana.
Chapter Seven
By late afternoon the sun scorched through the clouds, revealing a vibrant blue sky. Under the warming sun, the snow thinned to reveal patches of green dotting the countryside.
Watching his herd of cattle, Matthias leaned forward in his saddle. His low-crowned Stetson blocked the bright sun from his eyes.
Last night’s snowfall had been a few inches at most. If the warm temperatures held, it would be completely gone by tomorrow and his cattle would soon be grazing. This snowfall had been an annoyance, but not a disaster like the crushing blizzards of a year ago when he’d lost half his herd.
Those had been some of the darkest days of his life. As his cattle had died, he’d been trapped in the cabin with the boys and a wife who by then didn’t have the strength to get out of bed. His life had been falling apart. He’d never felt more helpless, more out of control.
A sane man would have abandoned his land which had bled so much from him. Yet he had stayed. He’d never walked away from a fight and he hadn’t walked away from this one.
And look what it had cost him.
Anger choked his throat.
He should still cut his losses and move back to Missouri. Frank had said there’d be a place for him if he returned. He hated the idea of returning east and never would have considered the move if his choices only involved him. But he had the boys to consider.