The Unexpected Wife(40)
Respect flickered in his eyes before he turned. “I don’t understand why you are here.”
She struggled to keep the emotion out of her voice. “I like it.”
“How could you like such a life? The work is backbreaking, the hours long.”
“This place breathes life into me. I’ve never felt more alive in my life.”
He tightened his hands over the railing. “Don’t set your heart on this place or me. You’ll end up hurt or worse.”
She sighed impatiently. “You are a frustrating man, Mr. Barrington. I am in Montana because I want to be. I’m not chasing your dream, but my own.”
“Then you’re a fool.”
She shrugged. “I’ve been called worse.”
He studied her. “I don’t understand you. Why come out here? Why didn’t you marry in San Francisco? You are good wife material.”
She laughed. “You make me sound like a plow or a chair.”
Unrepentant, he shrugged. “It was meant as a compliment.”
At first she wasn’t sure if she’d answer him. San Francisco was far away now, and a part of her past forever. But Mr. Barrington had been nothing but honest with her and she owed him as much. “I was trapped between two worlds. My bloodlines put me above the servants yet I didn’t have the social graces that elevated me to my aunt and uncle’s station, either.”
“So you carved out a place for yourself in the kitchens.”
“It wasn’t as bad as you make it sound. I was always so busy. My aunt and uncle had many parties and loved to show off my baking talents. Often I cooked for other families as a favor to my aunt and uncle. For a time I considered opening a bakery.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“I wanted a family. I would have had little life outside of work if I owned a bakery.”
“And there was never anyone for you to love in a big city like San Francisco?” She imagined a hint of jealousy underlined his words.
Crimson rose in her cheeks. “There was, once.”
He leaned his head back against the porch post, studying her. “What happened?”
She’d not spoken of Douglas to anyone in years. Her shame had run too deep. This conversation should have been awkward considering that they were strangers in so many ways. But talking to him was as natural as breathing. “His name was Douglas. He was a distant relative of my aunt’s visiting for the summer holiday. Immediately, he seemed to take a fancy to me. He was quite charming.”
Mr. Barrington grunted. “I know the type.”
She shrugged. “Unfortunately, I didn’t. At the time I thought he was the best man in the world. He promised me the moon and I believed him.” She leaned out over the railing and stared at the stars. They’d been the same stars she’d gazed at with Douglas so many years ago. The stars remained constant, while she was nothing like the girl who’d been fooled by a man who whispered words of love in her ear.
“He lied.”
The night chill seeped into her bones. “Yes.”
He was so close she could feel the heat of his body. He raised his hand and she thought for a moment he’d touch her. Instead, he let his hand drop. “You deserve a man who can give you a proper home and children, Abby.”
“Yes, I realize that now.”
A heavy silence rose between them. “I can never be that man.”
“Why not?” The anguish in her voice was palpable.
“I’m used up. There’s no love left in me.”
Pride had her lifting her chin. “Ah, but that’s where you make your mistake. Love is not what I am after. I simply want a place where I belong.”
“Then you best leave here now. Because you don’t belong here.” He turned and strode toward the barn.
Her insides were quaking and for a moment she struggled with tears that welled in her eyes. A moment passed before she took a deep breath and regained control of herself.
Why was she doing this to herself? Why not take his advice and leave? She certainly didn’t love the man.
Love.
She shook her head. No, not love. She’d never fall into that trap again.
Mr. Barrington had left a lantern glowing for her by the door. Picking it up, she returned inside the cabin, kissed each of the sleeping boys on their cheeks then climbed the small ladder up to her loft. Too restless to sleep, she knelt on her pallet. The lantern burned softly as she changed out of her work dress into a nightgown and unpinned her hair. Unbound, it teased the top of her hips.
She picked up her brush from beside her pallet along with a silver mirror that had belonged to her mother. She started to brush her hair, counting out her nightly one hundred strokes.