Miss Smyth stirred her pot. Her movements weren’t as unsure as Elise’s had been. Instead, she moved with efficient precision. Every action had a purpose. He couldn’t imagine her sitting by the river reading poetry as Elise had or daydreaming about taking a steamer to Paris. Elise’s gentility had been what had attracted him. She was the mirror opposite to his raw wild nature, coaxing him back from the wilderness with her soft words and tender smiles.
Miss Smyth was no-nonsense. She wasn’t the kind of woman who cajoled. She ordered, a trait he was more than happy to see.
“How was your day, Mr. Barrington?” Her voice was cheery and she sounded genuinely interested.
“It was fine.”
She wrapped a cloth around her hand and peeked in the oven at a skillet of cornbread. “I didn’t know if you preferred biscuits or cornbread so I made both.”
“I like both,” he said, stunned at her efficiency.
“Did you find your herd?”
“They were right where I left them. The storm didn’t do as much damage as I feared. I accounted for all the calves.”
“I’ve a good bit to learn about ranching.”
He rubbed the back of his neck with his hand. “Hard work and luck is all a man needs to succeed.”
“I suspect you are a hard worker.” She inserted a knife in the cornbread. Satisfied when it came out clean, she removed the pan from the oven.
“It’s the luck I lack.”
She smiled, looking at him. “Well, perhaps that has changed.”
He found himself relaxing, and then caught himself. Perhaps because he’d not had anyone ask him about his day in so long. This easy conversation made him feel just a little too married. “I’ve learned not to count on anything.”
“You men wash up,” she said, her smile a little less relaxed. “Dinner’s ready.”
“We got to wash our hands again?” Quinn said. “But we washed before breakfast and lunch. Ain’t we clean enough?”
“Aren’t we clean enough,” Miss Smyth corrected.
“They had a bath recently,” Matthias said.
“They’ve been rummaging around on the floor since lunchtime.” She nodded toward the sink. “There’s water in the basin and a rag to wash.”
The three washed, but none was happy about it, including Matthias.
“I like Abby,” Quinn said.
“Is she going to be our new mother?” Tommy said.
Matthias pulled in a deep breath. “She’s just helping me out for the summer.”
“She acts like a mother,” Tommy said.
Quinn wiped his damp hands on his pants. “Tommy called her ma twice today.”
Tommy looked up at his father, clearly unsure.
Matthias swallowed the jolt of anger. “It’s okay, son.”
Tommy looked relieved and they headed back to the table.
However, despite his words, Matthias’s anger spread like wildfire in August. It made no sense to him. The boys had asked fair questions, and it wasn’t Tommy’s fault that he’d called Miss Smyth “Ma.” But it did bother him that Miss Smyth had slipped into Elise’s role so easily. And what added salt to the wound was that Miss Smyth was doing a better job than Elise.
When they sat at the table, Miss Smyth set a pot of hot beans on the table. It had been a long time since he’d eaten a hot meal in his house and even though he knew it was rude he didn’t thank Miss Smyth. Instead, he fell on the food. He served a plateful to each boy as they grabbed corncakes off the tin platter. Without a word exchanged between the three, they dug in.
Several minutes passed before he realized Miss Smyth wasn’t eating. She sat primly in her seat, her hands folded in front of her, staring at them as if they’d grown horns.
Matthias set his fork down. It clanged against the plate a little too loudly. He was itching for a fight, if only to prove that he wasn’t all that impressed with what Miss Smyth had done here today. “Something wrong?”
“It’s customary to say prayers before a meal.” Her voice sounded so damn reasonable. She snapped open her napkin and spread it over her lap.
He scowled. “We have never bothered with such formalities out here.” In truth, they had when Elise had been healthy, but that had been so long ago.
Her chin lifted a notch at his stare, which had sent grown men running for cover. “Perhaps it’s time you started.”
His temper strained against good sense. “I don’t see why.”
“Don’t you want better for the boys? Don’t you want to see them grow up to be gentlemen who can move in polite circles?”
Deep inside, he saw the reason behind her words, but the burr under his skin wouldn’t let him walk away. “Lady, the cows on the range and the trail bosses don’t care if the boys know a bunch of useless society nonsense. All I care about is that they grow up to be honest and hard-working men.”
She met his fiery gaze. “And those are important traits, but it’s also important that they know their manners. One day they will go to school, perhaps a university, and they need to know how to handle themselves.”
He wasn’t accustomed to a woman being so direct. When Elise had gotten angry there’d been tense silences and sighs. “They’re my boys, so what I say goes.”
“If I am to care for them—”
“You aren’t their mother.” He spoke much more sharply than he’d intended.
Miss Smyth’s skin paled. Fire flashed in her eyes. She laid her napkin on the table. “You’re quite right, Mr. Barrington.” She looked as if she’d say something else. But she realized the children had stopped eating and were starting intently at her.
Slowly, she rose. “I’m going out for some fresh air.”
“This isn’t the city. It’s not wise to go roaming at night.”
She moved toward the front door, where her coat hung on a peg next to the children’s. “I’ve no intention of roaming.”
Tossing his napkin on the table, he rose. He’d been an ass and he knew it. “You don’t know your way around out there.” He knew she was mad at him and frankly he couldn’t blame her. She’d worked hard today and he’d been little more than a clod. It wasn’t her fault that she wasn’t Elise. Or that she never would be. “If it’s the outhouse that you’re needing, I’ll get my gun and go with you. There are bears this time of year.”
She reached for the door handle and opened it. “I’d rather deal with a bear.”
Before he could say another word, she slammed the door behind her.
Tears stung Abby’s eyes as she strode toward the barn. With no lantern, she had only the light from the half moon to guide her over the snow path Mr. Barrington had beaten between the house and the barn. She wasn’t sure what she was going to do when she got to the barn. She simply knew she had to get out of the house.
She stumbled on an unseen stick and it took several quick awkward steps before she caught herself. In the city there was always a street lamp or lantern to guide the way. But out here the night was so blasted dark.
She wanted to hide from Mr. Barrington’s unexplainable irritation and the shocked expressions on the boys’ faces. She’d worked so hard today because she’d desperately wanted to make that cabin feel more like a home.
And Mr. Barrington, for reasons she’d never understand, had been annoyed with her for doing just that.
Reaching the barn, Abby pushed back the wooden latch that kept the door closed. Earlier, she and the boys had toured the homestead. She’d inspected the chicken house where she’d collected half a dozen eggs. As the boys chatted happily, she’d toured the barn, which unlike the house was surprisingly organized.
She paused inside the barn. The earthy smell of hay drifted over the chilly night air.
The interior was pitch-black and she could barely see her outstretched hand. Relying on the bits of moonlight by the door, she found a lantern hanging by the door and a box of matches. She lit the wick and turned it up until the light burned bright.
The barn h
ad four stalls. Two sat empty. However, one stall on the north side held a chestnut gelding and on the other side there was a black mare with her colt.
Abby moved toward the mare and her colt. She held up the lantern. The mare eyed her with big brown eyes, then moved forward an inch as if to shield her baby.
“Don’t worry, girl. I won’t hurt your baby.” Abby held out her flat palm, waiting for the horse to sniff her hand.
The horse snorted and did not approach. “Do you have a problem with me, too?” Despite the animal’s haughtiness, she continued to hold out her hand. If anything, Miss Smyth was good at being patient. She’d spent the last ten years being nothing but patient.
A full minute passed before the horse sniffed, as if trying to figure out if Miss Smyth had a treat in her hand.
“Sorry, it’s just me tonight.”
The animal pawed at the dirt and turned her back, clearly uninterested in Abby.