“If I tried to touch her right now, she’d likely brain me with a frying pan.”
Holden laughed. “Which is exactly why you need to woo her, win her over.”
“Woo my wife.”
Holden shrugged. “Desperate times mean desperate measures.”
“A picnic? Elise did like picnics.”
“That’s another thing. If you want to win Abby over you’re gonna have to stop comparing her to Elise.”
“Easier said than done.”
“How would you like it if every time you crawled into bed with Abby she was comparing you to another man?”
His jaw tightened just thinking about Abby with that damn Douglas. “Point taken.”
“So we can count on you for the picnic?”
The idea was growing on him. “The boys would sure like it.”
Holden groaned. “This outing is about Abby, remember that.”
He watched Abby walk toward the house, her calico skirts billowing in the wind. There were a hundred reasons why he should love her.
However, he accepted the fact that the chances were slim. His heart had turned to stone, and he doubted anything would bring it back to life.
But for the first time in a very long time, he wanted to try.
Past seven that night, the fire crackled as Abby sat by the fire in a rocker mending a torn shirt that belonged to Mr. Barrington. The boys leafed through a two-year-old copy of Harper’s Monthly magazine while Mr. Barrington reviewed his accounts.
The evening was painfully normal, and there were moments when it was easy to forget that she was leaving in six weeks.
“The horse roundup is going well. The herd is healthy and strong this year. I should make a fine profit when I take them to the railhead,” Mr. Barrington said as he tossed another log on the fire.
The sound of his voice startled Abby. She looked up from her mending.
“I know you’ve been worried about that,” she said.
“Abby,” Quinn said.
Mr. Barrington glanced at his son, as if annoyed by the interruption, but he said nothing.
Quinn pointed to a pen-and-ink sketch in the magazine. “What’s this?”
She glanced down over his shoulder to the picture. “That’s a bicycle.”
“What’s a bicycle?”
“You sit on it and push those pedals with your feet. The wheels turn and you start moving. It’s kind of like riding a horse.”
“Does everybody in the city ride a bicycle?” the boy asked.
“Not so many people. It’s hard to ride on the cobblestone streets.”
“Have you ever ridden a bicycle?” Quinn said, looking up from the worn page.
She laid her darning in her lap. “No, but I saw one when the carnival came to town.”
“I’d like to see a bicycle,” he said. “Did you like living in the city?”
“Sometimes, I loved it. Sometimes it wasn’t so fun.”
“What did you like about it?” Mr. Barrington asked.
She glanced up at him, startled by his interest. “The theater. I would go once or twice a year. And the shops. In San Francisco, there are always ships coming in from the Orient. There are so many spices to choose from.”
“Are there children there?” Quinn said.
She laughed. “Oh yes. Lots of children. Where I live they all go to the park in the morning to play in the grass. In the summer there is a merry-go-round.”
“What’s that?”
“It’s a big wheel that has painted wooden horses on it and it turns round and round while music plays.”
Tommy frowned. “Why would anyone want a wood horse?”
These children had lived their entire lives in wide-open spaces. Horses were a part of their lives. “It does seem rather silly doesn’t it? But it can be fun.”
She would have liked to have shown the boys San Francisco and take them to the merry-go-round and maybe buy them an ice cream. Then she caught herself. She’d be doing none of those things.
“What didn’t you like about the city?” Mr. Barrington said.
Her gaze skidded to him. He still knelt by the fire. And though his voice had been casual she noted a tension in his shoulders.
“The crowds. The smells in the streets when the garbage is piling too high.”
“And which do you like better, Montana or San Francisco?” Mr. Barrington asked.
“There’s something to love about both.” In truth she loved Montana best. “The city has a lot to offer but out here, there are not so many restrictions.”
He nodded. “That’s what drew me here. The freedom.” He rose and leaned against the stone hearth. Tension seemed to wash over his body before he said, “There is going to be a picnic in town next week to celebrate the Fourth of July.”