“We both best get to bed,” he said. “Tomorrow, like every other day out here, is going to be a long one.”
The mention of bed swept away her fatigue and had her nerves dancing. “Where do we sleep?” Grateful for the fading light, she could feel the color burning her face.
“I’ll bunk with the boys for now. You can have Frank’s loft,” he said quickly. “It’ll give you some privacy.”
She glanced up toward the loft. She prayed she didn’t roll out of it in her sleep. “Okay.”
“Do you have any other bags?”
She retrieved her bundle. “No, this is all I have.”
“It’s light for such a long trip.”
She shrugged, unwilling to discuss her midnight flight from her uncle’s house. “I don’t need much.”
His eyes narrowed. “You running from the law?”
A grim smile twisted her lips. “No. But there’s no going back for me.”
The news deepened his scowl. “Don’t expect any happy endings out here, Abby. What’s between us is strictly business.” He turned and left through the front door.
Large tears welled in her eyes. Tipping her head back she refused to let them fall. Her lantern in hand, she climbed the small ladder to the loft. On her knees, she stared at her new room. The loft’s crude floor was covered with a pallet and several thick quilts. There was just enough room for one person to sleep.
She thought about her nightgown, her brush and tooth powder still wrapped in her tablecloth. She longed to wash the grime of the day off and brush out her hair, but in the darkness the task was impossible.
This day was over as far as she was concerned and she was glad of it.
Her clothes and shoes still on, she crawled up on the pallet and, lying down, she pulled the blankets up to her chin. Using her bundle as a pillow she put her head down. She blew out her lantern.
Despite her exhaustion, thoughts collided in her mind. Outside she heard an animal howl. Tales of wolves mauling pioneers dug their way out of her memory.
“Look at it this way, Abby,” she whispered. “It can’t get worse.”
The next morning, it got worse.
Chapter Six
When Abby woke hours before dawn, she was freezing. The roof overhead creaked and groaned and a cold chill whisked through the loft. She burrowed deeper under the thick quilts.
For the last ten years, she’d risen before dawn to begin breakfast. In San Francisco the mornings had been her favorite time. A little peace and quiet, just her, her pots and pastry recipes before the day began.
But here the day’s tasks felt as formidable as the mountains she’d crossed.
Abby had told Mr. Barrington Montana would not get the better of her. But she’d never prove that to him lying in bed.
Abby rose from the bed and reached for the lantern and match. She lit the wick. Squinting against the light, she wished she could sleep another half hour, even as she tossed back the covers. Because of the rat, she’d kept her clothes and her boots on all last night. Rubbing her hands on her arms, she summoned the courage and climbed down the ladder to survey her kitchen.
Mr. Barrington’s deep, even breathing filled the quiet cabin and like a moth to a flame she turned and looked toward his bed. He lay on his side, his long muscular body filling the bed. His arm was draped over the boys, who huddled close for warmth. There was no doubt the man loved his sons.
Smiling, Abby turned from the scene. Her smile vanished when she saw the supplies from town, unloaded by Mr. Barrington last night, littering the floor. Sacks of flour, beans and sugar were piled high on boxes that contained tins filled with fruits and vegetables. She’d need more light to sort through the goods, so she maneuvered past the store-bought goods to the kitchen.
Abby set her lantern down on the shelf above the cold stove. As she turned to search for kindling and matches she stumbled over a child’s shoe. She lurched forward and caught herself on the kitchen table. A plate on the table rattled like a church bell. A few choice words she’d learned from the cook staff came to mind.
In the silence, her toe throbbing she heard Mr. Barrington turn over in his bed. She peered past the glow of lantern light into the darkness and watched him roll to his back. For a moment she imagined that he was watching her.
Standing perfectly still, she waited, hoping she’d not woken him or the boys. She didn’t need Mr. Barrington seeing just how awkward and clumsy she was this morning. Several seconds passed. He didn’t move and soon, his deep even breathing filled the morning stillness. Relief washed over her. At least he wouldn’t be hovering close waiting for her to fail.
Abby soon found a pile of wood in a metal wood-box and near it matches. Kindling in hand, she opened the small door at the base of the stove and laid the wood inside.
Her hands trembled with cold as she squatted before the small opening and lit the dried twigs with a match. Cupping her hand around the flame, she held it under her fragile pile of sticks and waited for the fire to catch.
Slowly the fire flickered to life. The dried wood cracked and popped. Gingerly, Abby laid larger pieces of wood on the fire, blowing gently until the flames burned bright.
She set back on her heels smiling. She’d started hundreds of stove fires in her life but none had given her more satisfaction.
Over the next hour, she encountered obstacle on top of obstacle. First it was venturing outside into the cold, tramping through the three inches of snow to the rain barrel and cracking through the layer of ice with her bucket to get water for coffee. Then it was sorting through the assortment of empty tins until she found the coffee and then the grinder. Then there was the matter of a clean mixing bowl. With none to be found, she was forced to wash one of the dirty wooden bowls stacked on the counter. It was caked with unrecognizable dough.
No matter which direction she turned there was a roadblock. This cabin, like Mr. Barrington, was daring her to quit.
Like a spoiled mistress, Montana was beautiful but exacting. But Abby was used to the spoiled and difficult.
Her only saving grace was that Mr. Barrington had slept through it all and not witnessed her struggles.
As Matthias lay on his back and listened to Miss Smyth move about the kitchen, he would have sworn a herd of Buffalo made less noise.
He’d awoken the instant she’d turned on her lantern, about four by his reckoning. He’d been surprised when she’d risen so early. Knowing the mess she faced, he half expected her to give up and go back to bed once she got a good look at it. But she hadn’t gone back to bed. She’d continued to plow through the mess, banging her pots and pans as she worked.
To his surprise, as the first bits of morning sun seeped through the window, the delicious smell of freshly brewed coffee filled the cabin.
Matthias propped his hands under his head and looked into the kitchen. He expected to see Miss Smyth, standing tall. But in the deceptive morning light, he saw a woman, kneeling by the stove, her face turned in profile. And for just a moment, he imagined he saw Elise.
He sucked in a sharp breath and vaulted out of the bed. He’d worn his shirt and pants to bed, but
the cold air burned through his clothing as he raked a trembling hand through his hair.
Startled, she turned. “You’re awake.”
The sound of her voice calmed him immediately, banishing the specters from the past. “Yeah.”
Regaining his balance, he pulled on his boots and laced them up.
She brushed nervous hands on her apron— Elise’s apron. “Good morning,” she said. “I’ve made coffee.”
Silent, he watched as she poured him a cup of hot coffee from the pot Elise had brought from Missouri.
Unreasonable irritation grated over his bones as he stepped toward the warm stove and reached for the cup she offered. His fingers brushed hers. The cup warmed his icy fingers. And despite his best intentions to remain aloof, his gaze held hers and a fizzle of energy shot through his body. Before Elise had gotten sick, their first mornings had been spent making love and it had taken all that was in him to leave her so that he could do his chores. He’d not allowed himself to think about those days for a long time and the fact that Abby’s presence was fueling those memories churned his guilt.
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.”