How long had it been since he’d had a hot meal? “No matter.”
“I wrapped them in a cloth for you to take to the range.”
He frowned down at the bundle she pushed across the table toward him. More irritated, he swallowed the last of his coffee and scooped up the bundle. He’d not grow dependent on her. “I’d best get going.”
She followed him to the door. “We’ll see you this evening.”
He shrugged on his guns and reached for his coat. “You won’t have trouble with the boys?” He couldn’t say why, but he didn’t worry about leaving Tommy and Quinn with her. She’d do right by them.
She smiled. “We’ll be fine.”
No, today wouldn’t be hard. The hard part would come later when she left. Sooner or later she’d realize how harsh this land could be and she’d leave. He resolved to have a talk with the boys. He didn’t want them getting too attached to Miss Smyth.
She held out his hat, standing so close to him that he could feel the heat of her body. Her eyes sparked with a nervous anticipation. He’d always kissed Elise goodbye before he headed out to the range. Logic reminded him that he had hired Miss Smyth for the summer—nothing more, nothing less. And still, he wondered what it would feel like to kiss her, to hold her in his arms, and feel her body nestled close to his.
What would one kiss hurt? Just to touch her once. Abruptly he stopped the train of thought and took a step back.
“You look angry,” she said. “Have I done something wrong?”
“No.” Matthias shrugged on his coat. He snatched his hat, jerked open the front door and closed it behind him.
Wind carried the brisk air across the valley churning the loosely packed snow. Tucking his head low, he headed toward the barn to milk the cow.
No matter what his body demanded, his brain understood that Miss Smyth was off limits.
Abby stared at the closed front door, wondering what she’d done wrong. She’d not expected anything from Mr. Barrington, but then his gaze had met hers. And instantly, she had seen the heat. Desire had seared her body. And she’d wanted to feel his lips against her.
But the fire in Mr. Barrington had vanished as quickly as hers had ignited. From the ashes, frustration and anger had risen.
She pressed the heel of her hand to her forehead. How had her life become such a complete mess so fast?
The fact that she wanted a man who didn’t want her scared her more than the wilderness. Perhaps she should consider cutting her losses as he’d suggested all along and simply leave.
She shook her head. There was no going back to San Francisco. Her uncle would have discovered the missing money by now. He’d never have her arrested, fearing a scandal, but he would see to it that no one hired her if she returned.
Then again, she didn’t have to return home. Chicago was less than a week’s ride. And there was the east.
“Mommy!” Quinn’s panicky voice sliced through her thoughts. He was still asleep, but thrashing wildly. Tommy slept next to him but it would be just a matter of seconds before he’d wake if she didn’t quiet Quinn.
Abby hurried over to the bed, stumbling around a sack of flour in the process. She sat on the edge of the bed and patted the boy on the back. “It’s all right, Quinn, Abby’s here.”
Her touch soothed the boy and soon he settled down. He put his thumb in his mouth and rolled onto his stomach.
Abby’s heart squeezed as she saw the worry lines in the boy’s face. She stroked the bangs off his forehead, studying the sprinkle of freckles there. His frown reminded her of Mr. Barrington, as did his nose. But his lighter coloring and pale blond hair were likely from his mother.
“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.”
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.”