Emotions had turned her life into a disastrous mess eight years ago and now they were doing it again. She’d come to Montana to gain control, not lose it.
The boys’ squeals of laughter had her looking up from her churn. Quinn and Tommy were watching a frog peeking out of a hollowed-out stump. They were such good boys. Leaving them would break her heart.
“Abby, come help us catch the frog,” Quinn shouted.
She pushed the plunger into the churn. It seemed all she did was work. For the first time since she’d arrived, she resented her chores. It had been so long since she’d had a bit of fun.
The clear creek waters glistened and beckoned. Abby glanced at her butter churn then back at the water, tempted beyond reason.
Excitement bubbled inside her. She quickly unlaced her shoes and tugged off her stockings. The boys laughed as she hiked up her skirts and stepped into the stream.
“Abby, you are getting wet,” Quinn laughed.
She leaned down and splashed a handful of water onto the boy. “Now you are, too.”
Quinn swiped the water droplets from his face then ran to the water’s edge. “I thought we weren’t supposed to get wet.”
Abby shrugged. “Once in a while it’s okay, Quinn.”
“Pa says the bears stay close to the water.”
Abby searched the tree line. “It’s okay.”
Tommy laughed at his brother as he ran past him into the water. He splashed Abby and then Quinn.
Not to be outdone, Quinn barreled in and started to kick up water. Abby laughed. The three played and time drifted. Soon water dripped from her hair.
Abby suddenly stopped. She felt the hair on the back of her neck rise.
She sensed Mr. Barrington’s presence even before he spoke. Her back stiff, she looked down at her dress. She was drenched and the bodice fabric stuck to her like a second skin.
“Boys, you know better than to play in the creek. With that bear loose, there’s no telling where it’ll turn up.”
Quinn looked up at Abby. “See? I told you.”
She patted him on the shoulder. “It’s my fault. Quinn did warn me.”
Mr. Barrington reached out and hauled the boys out of the water. “It’s time you went inside and changed into dry clothes.”
“But Pa, we’re playing,” Tommy said.
Mr. Barrington nodded as he tried to brush the mud from the seat of Tommy’s pants. “I can see that, but it’s time to go inside.” The steel in his voice left no room for argument. “Quinn, take your brother inside.”
Quinn took his brother’s hand. “Come on, Tommy.”
Breathless, Abby hiked up her damp skirts and followed the barefooted boys out of the water. Dripping wet with muddied bare feet, she felt like a fool standing in front of Mr. Barrington. “There’re sugar cookies on the stove after you’ve changed, boys. I’ll get them for you.”
Mr. Barrington grabbed her arm, halting her escape. “Boys, you go on ahead. Miss Abby will be there presently.”
“Can we have two cookies?” Quinn said.
“Sure,” Mr. Barrington replied.
When the boys were out of earshot, Abby tugged her arm free. “They’ll eat the whole jar if I’m not there.”
“Let ’em,” he said. He held out his hand to her.
She considered ignoring him, and climbing out of the creek without help, and then decided she was being silly. She laid her hand in his. He closed his long callous-tipped fingers over her hand. Heat seeped up her arm as he hauled her out of the creek.
“You’d be smart to pay close attention while you’re by the water,” he said. His voice sounded gruffer. “I found more tracks out on the range yesterday.”
Her stomach soured. “More bear tracks?”
“I didn’t want to tell you, but the other night when we were together—”
She shot him a look of warning, daring him to bring up what had happened between them in the barn.
He shoved out a frustrated breath. “I was talking about the bear tracks.”
“I know,” she said hastily.
He knew she was lying. “I tracked the bear the next morning but lost his trail half a mile from the ranch. There was no sign of the bear until today. I found more tracks.”
“Are we in danger?”
He stood on the bank, his powerful legs braced apart. “We need to be extra careful.”
She swiped a wet lock of hair off her face. The freedom and joy she’d just felt vanished. “We’ll be more careful.”
Abby lifted her damp skirts and tried to sidestep him. He moved, blocking her path. Slowly she lifted her gaze to his. The lines around his eyes and mouth looked deeper. Tension had tightened the muscles in his body. He looked ready for battle.
Suddenly, her whole body ached with sadness. “We made a mistake, Mr. Barrington, that’s all. My leaving is going to correct it.”
He stabbed his fingers through his hair. “You’re right, we did make a mistake. I made a mistake.”
His admission added salt to Abby’s wounds. He was sorry they’d made love.
Abby lifted her chin a notch. “I don’t really blame you. I should have left town the minute I found out you didn’t want a wife. I pushed when I should have retreated.”
He planted his hands on his hips. “You’ve got spirit. I admire that about you.”
“Admire. Respect.” Bitterness laced her words.
“Admiration and respect are good foundations.”
She searched his dark, clear eyes. “What are you saying?”
“I don’t want you to leave.”
“I will speak to Mrs. Clements about caring for the children.”
“This isn’t just about caring for the children. I want us to build on the respect we have for each other.”
She shook her head sadly. “When I first arrived I thought respect was all I was looking for in a husband. I didn’t want love because it’s too messy and painful. But the other night, my heart opened for the first time in a very long time. For a few brief moments I felt loved.” Unshed tears tightened her throat. “I’ve discovered that I want more from a husband, Mr. Barrington. I want love.”
He tightened and released his fingers. “I don’t know if I have that to give.”
Tears pooled in her eyes. “I know. You’ve been saying from the start and I didn’t listen. But I am now. I understand you can never love me.”
He lifted his hand to touch her arm, and then let it drop as if he feared touching her. “I still think we could manage well of it if you’re willing, Abby.”
“Manage well.” She scraped a tear off her cheek. “Not the words of endearment I was looking for.”
He swallowed. “I’m not a romantic man, Abby. Words are hard for me.”
She could see that he was struggling and she couldn’t watch this proud man suffer for what he didn’t feel. “It’s okay that you don’t love me, Mr. Barrington. I know you are a fine man. You gave your heart to Elise and there’s nothing else left to give. You don’t have to marry me because of what happened.”
“Many couples do well without love.”
“You are right, but for the last few days I’ve been thinking about my parents. Theirs was a love match. What they had was special. And that’s what I want.”
His eyes narrowed a fraction as if he were trying to pry into her brain and analyze her thoughts. “Tell me about them.”
She smiled. “You don’t have to do this.”
“What?”
“Make small talk. Like I said, it’s okay you don’t love me. The other night was my fault as much as yours. Don’t blame yourself.”
His lips flattened in frustration. “I wouldn’t be asking if I didn’t want to know.”
She stared at him, trying to gauge his emotions. He stared at her with such intensity; she could almost imagine that he was interested. For reasons she couldn’t explain, she started to talk.
“They met when my mother was working on a charity drive for the l
ocal parish. She was just out of the schoolroom. Mother didn’t want to be at the church because her father had sent her as punishment. She’d had a tantrum because her last gown hadn’t been made out of silk. Grandfather wanted to teach her humility.”
Her mother had told her this story a hundred times when she was a girl and she never got tired of hearing it. “Father was a young parish assistant, just out of seminary. He, too, was working the clothing drive. He and Mother were assigned to work together.”
She glanced up at Mr. Barrington to see if he was really listening. To her amazement he was staring at her, listening closely. “At first they hated each other. Mother hated missing her parties and she didn’t like the young idealist minister who had grand ideas of opening a mission church for the Indians. But Father was always teasing her, goading her into fights. ‘No one could get under my skin better than Papa,’ she used to say. Soon an attraction sparked and out of that grew love.
“My grandfather didn’t approve of the marriage. In the end my parents eloped.”
“What happened to them?”
“They had fifteen very happy years. They died in a cholera outbreak.”
“That’s when you went to live with your aunt and uncle?”
“Yes.”
“That explains a lot.”
“What do you mean?”