“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.”
Before she could answer the boys looked up from their catalogue. “Can we go?”
Mr. Barrington stoked a poker into the glowing embers. “It’s up to Abby. She’ll be the one that’ll have to make us the extra meals and get us packed.”
The boys jumped to their feet. “Can we go? Please.”
She wasn’t sure what Mr. Barrington was up to. This ranch meant everything to him and time was as precious as gold. “Are you sure you can take the time? You’re building that larger corral for the horses and you said you were behind on wood chopping.”
His gaze stayed on the flames. “A family outing might be good for us.”
Family. She wasn’t going to do this. She wasn’t going to let herself believe in things that weren’t meant to be. “Giving up two days of work is not very practical, Mr. Barrington.”
He frowned as if he’d not expected her to be so hesitant. Likely, he thought she’d jump at the chance. She wondered why she hadn’t.
Quinn grabbed her hand. “Abby, please! I want to go into town.”
“There’s a pie baking contest,” Mr. Barrington said. “I’d be willing to bet you’d win hands down.”
Tommy tugged on her skirt. “Pleeeease.”
She stared into the little boy’s eyes, so full of hope and wonder. “Mr. Barrington, you are backing me into a corner.”
Mr. Barrington smiled, an occasion so rare, that when he did she found him irresistible. “I know.”
Her stomach fluttered with tension. “We can go to the picnic, but be warned, Mr. Barrington, this picnic isn’t going to change anything. My plans are set.”
He rose and faced her. Like a warrior ready to do battle, his dark gaze burned into her. “So are mine.”
Chapter Fourteen
Abby awoke in the middle of the night with cramps. It wasn’t uncommon for her to have pain with her cycle but she’d not had real trouble in years. This month promised to be one of her worst.
Experience told her she needed something hot to drink. Groggy, she pushed herself off her pallet and climbed down her ladder. Since she’d arrived she’d always kept the fires in the stove burning to keep the chill off the cabin and make breakfast preparation less complicated. If she could just stoke the flames, she could make a cup of tea to soothe her discomfort.
Pressing her hand into her back she moved across the room, trying her best not to wake Mr. Barrington and the boys. She’d grown so accustomed to the cabin, she didn’t need a light until she reached the kitchen. She lit a lantern, keeping the wick low so that the light wouldn’t disturb the others. Soft buttery light hovered on the stovetop as she set the full kettle on the burner. It would be a good ten minutes before the water was hot enough for tea.
The pain in her back throbbed through to her stomach and shot down her legs. Of all the times to have trouble. Why couldn’t her body have cooperated and waited until she’d left the ranch?
The creak of floorboards had her turning. Mr. Barrington stood in the kitchen. Since the bear’s nocturnal visit, he’d taken to sleeping with his pants on and his guns within reach. She didn’t need light to know dark stubble covered his square jaw.
“What’s wrong?” he said his voice gruff with sleep.
She turned, the tea box in her hand. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“What’s wrong?” he repeated. His gaze took in the kettle and the tea box.
“I just needed something hot to drink.”
“It’s not cold.”
Embarrassment kept her silent.
He watched as she turned slowly and reached for a cup on the shelf above the stove. Her legs ached and she wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed.
He brushed her hand aside and took the cup from the shelf. “Sit down.”
She just wanted to be alone. “Just go back to bed. I’m fine.”
“Sit.”
Too sore and miserable to argue, she sat down. Getting the weight off her legs felt good.
Mr. Barrington went to the front door and took the horseshoe that always hung there from its hook. He returned to the stove, moved the kettle to the back burner and laid the horseshoe on the hot front. “It should just take about five minutes to heat up, then I’ll wrap it in a cloth.”
Despite her best efforts, she slumped forward. “What are you doing?”
“Your stomach aches, doesn’t it?”
She could feel the color flooding her cheeks. “I just wanted a cup of tea.”
He shoved his fingers through his hair. “There’s no cause for embarrassment. I understand what’s happening.”
Were the spaces between the floorboards wide enough for her to melt into? “I—I’m not embarrassed.”
Amusement flickered in his eyes. “I’ve been married before, remember? I know what women go through each month.”
She laid her forehead on her hand. She wanted to die. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He rolled his eyes and shook his head. “Get in bed with the boys. That bed is more comfortable than that pallet.”
“No, I won’t put you out of your bed.”
“Get into the bed.”
Too humiliated to quarrel, she crossed the room to the bed. Gingerly, she sat down, wincing as the mattress ropes creaked. She glanced over at the boys who both were in a deep sleep. Quinn was snoring. Tommy’s mouth hung open.
Mr. Barrington dampened the tip of his finger and touched the horseshoe. Satisfied, he wrapped the horseshoe in a cloth as he moved to the side of the bed. “Go on, put your feet under the covers and then roll on your side with your back facing me.”
Abby complied, grateful not to have to look him in the eye. The only person she’d ever discussed her monthly cycle with had been her mother and now to have Mr. Barrington ministering to her was almost too much to bear.
Gently, he laid the warm horseshoe against her back. And immediately, her muscles relaxed. “Oh my.”
“Better?”
“Yes, much.” She wasn’t used to receiving help, only giving it. “You should get some sleep. I’m feeling much better.”
He didn’t move. “I’ll give it a few more minutes.”
“No really, I can manage.” She started to turn to face him.
“Is it always bad like this for you?”
The personal question stopped her dead in her tracks and she rolled back to where she was. Finally, she said, “No. It’s usually not a problem.”
“Well, if it ever is, get me up. I’ll help you.”
The heat seeped into her skin. Her cramps eased a fraction. “I’m not very good at taking help.”
“I don’t like it much, either, but I’ve learned it’s a fact of life. Sometimes you need it.”
Silence settled between them as he continued to press the horseshoe to her lower back.
Abby was grateful for the dim light. “You realize there won’t be a baby now,” he said softly.
“Yes.”
A baby was the last thing she needed in her life now, but logic did little to soften her disappointment. Deep in her heart she’d hoped there would be a child to bind her and Mr. Barrington. Tears filled her eyes. She rolled toward him and took the horseshoe from him. “I wanted
a baby.”
He stared down at her, his face an unreadable mask. Finally, he brushed the hair from her face and rose. “Get some sleep.”
He picked up his guns, boots, shirt and lantern and started for the loft ladder.
“There’s nothing binding you to me now,” she said, her voice barely a whisper.