Chapter 8

He rode until he was sure she couldn’t see him through the sparse woods before doubling back. She didn’t spot him as she hurried to tug on her clothes. Instead of the flowery blue dress she’d worn the previous day, she put on a black skirt and bodice under her late husband’s coat. The skirt was split to allow her to ride astride.

She tightened the straps on her saddlebag and checked the girth before swinging a leg over her gelding’s broad back, her fine Winchester in a saddle holster next to her right knee and her Colt in its holster at her thigh. She looked back for a split second before chirping her horse into a slow jog back toward Pueblo. He followed, keeping a careful distance, telling himself he wanted to make sure she arrived safely.

It had been a risk to force her into marriage. He’d be lucky if she didn’t call the law down on him. Judges took a dim view of such behavior. She rode all day, only stopping to water her horse, and made camp in a thicket a fair piece from the road. She didn’t sleep. Her eyes glittered in the moonlight as she rested against a tree with her rifle laid across her knees.

She reached Pueblo a few hours after dawn the next day and made straight for the church. Not long after, she exited carrying a folded piece of paper and an envelope. She left her horse tied and walked straight toward his hiding spot, a dark scowl turning her expression thunderous.

Marching right up to him, she kicked him in the thigh, knocking him to his ass. “How much will I have to pay you to stay married to me just long enough to prevent my ex brother in law from suing me for breaking a contract?”

“What?”

Tapping her foot impatiently, she threw the letter at his feet. “Read it. It’s from my late husband’s best friend, Archibald Cox. He took care of our financial and legal affairs, and is married to my cousin, Jane.”

He read the words on the page, his brow furrowing in concentration. When he reached the end, he looked up at her. “Did you sign such a document stating that you would work the Hartford Distillery until your death?”

She snorted. “Of course not! Benjamin tried to force me to sign it when Matthew got sick, but I refused straight out. He and Matthew fought about it and I brought Archie in to stand by our decision.”

“Why did you refuse?”

She wrinkled her nose and scowled. “It bore a disturbing resemblance to one of those old indentured servitude agreements. Benjamin offered me room and board in my own house in lieu of a wage, assuming I would take it when Matthew passed.”

He watched her pace, her hands clenching and releasing with irritation. “That foul little man drove Matthew to his grave as surely as the consumption did.”

“What does this have to do with our marriage?” She grinned and tapped his nose and his breath stuck in his throat. He’d never once seen her turn her lips up into a real smile. It illuminated her whole face.

“He says I signed the contract after you proposed in Oklahoma. Since I was engaged to be married in a different state, I can hardly have signed it, now could I? All you have to do is stay married to me long enough to write a document saying that and sign it in front of witnesses. I’ll deliver it to Kansas City myself.”

He stood up and handed her the letter. “I’ll take you. He won’t be able to say the document was forged if your husband shows up to refute his claims.”

She looked away, her expression troubled. “I can’t ask you to...”

“I’m offering. Consider it my repayment for causing you distress.”

“I’m afraid I...”

“Don’t say no, Abby.” He took her hand and squeezed her fingers. “Let me do this for you, please.”

“No. You’ve ignored me for long enough, Mr. Walsh. Before you say another word, tell me why I should trust you to spend another minute in my company without trying to hurt me.”

“Because I let you go rather than watch you be unhappy.”

She flinched and lowered her face, making him wonder what she was thinking. “What about your homestead? You can’t leave it.”

“I hired a caretaker. There’s already a house on the property, so I doubt anyone will say a word. We can make Kansas City in less than two days on the train.”

He walked her back to her little house and kissed her on the cheek when they reached her door. She blushed, turning away quickly to fumble with the latch. “You might as well come in. I’ll make lunch and pack us some food for the trip.”

She stepped aside to allow him through the door and he ducked his head as he entered her tiny home. He knew from having been there before that she kept a tidy house, but it seemed empty without the normal signs of her presence.

Once she’d filled the tiny stove with wood and washed her hands, she mixed flour and lard with a few splashes of buttermilk from a jar. The room grew warm from the stove and she checked the fire before sliding the first pan of biscuits into the oven. She twisted the lid off a jar of stewed beef, mixing it in a pot with flour and a jar of carrots. Her movements were economical and graceful as she moved about the tiny kitchen. While their food cooked, she filled a large kettle with water to heat for washing up.

Soon, she dished out the stew and set a basket of fluffy biscuits on the table. There wasn’t any butter, but he didn’t care. He devoured the first in two bites and reached for another before she’d joined him at the table.

Lifting an amused brow, she asked, “When was the last time you ate?”

He thought about it as he chewed. The last decent meal he’d had had been the rabbit he’d hunted on their wedding night. In the interest of their peaceful lunch, he decided it was best left out of the conversation. “Biscuits this good? Never.”

“Thank you. My Aunt Louise taught me, but hers are much better. We’ll stay with Archie and Jane, but they live right next door to her, so maybe we’ll get some. I have raspberry preserves if you’d like.” She hopped up, returning with a wax sealed jar and a spoon.

He took a bite of the stew, watching as she doctored hers with something from a clear bottle. “What’s that?”

“It’s pepper sauce. There’s a woman from China who makes it. One of her children is a student and she gave it to me.” She passed the bottle over. “Be careful, it’s very hot.”

He tipped a bit to one finger and tasted it. It was hot, but very flavorful. He shook a sprinkle into his stew and stirred it before taking a bite. Damnation, the woman was a fine cook. His bowl went empty before he knew it and he swiped up the last bit of gravy with another biscuit.

“There’s more on the stove if you’re still hungry. Stay out of the biscuits, though. I’m going to pack those up to take with us along with the last of the ham and cheese in the larder.”

She spooned up the last of her stew and took her bowl to the sink. “Finish up. I’m going to use up the last of the buttermilk on more biscuits so it doesn’t go bad. There’s a comfortable chair in the sitting room if you’d like to rest a spell.”

“I’ll wash,” he offered. “You do the biscuits while I finish eating and I’ll clean up when they’re done.”

“All right. The train passes through at five tonight. We have time if you need anything from town.”

She was silent as she rolled out the last of the biscuits. What happened to the man who had threatened to shoot her in the knee not two days ago? Was he some sort of changeling from those old stories her Irish grandmother used to tell? The man at her kitchen table hardly seemed to be the same person.

Would it be so bad to stay married to him? She still hated the idea of burying another husband, but if she could trust that he’d stay kind and gentle, maybe it was better that they try to work things out. Both Jane and Aunt Louise had tried to tell her she was too young to remain unmarried, but her grief had been too fresh and she couldn’t listen to them.

When he excused himself to step outside, she watched him walk out and caught sight of the coiled whip still hanging from his saddlebag. Shuddering, she thrust the thought away. Maybe if he gave up on the idea of disciplining her ... She jumped when he tapped on the door and opened it, chiding herself for her nerves.

“Is everything all right?”

“Yes, of course. The last of the biscuits will be done in a few minutes, but I can get out of your way if you want to start washing up.” She moved out of the way and checked the time on the watch pinned to her bodice as she sat down at the table.

He rolled up his sleeves and spilled a bit of soap powder into the warm water, mixing it around with a cloth to dissolve it. “What do you do when you’re not teaching?”

“I’ve been spending time putting up preserves and getting ready for winter. Folks have been very generous with the surplus from their gardens.”

“Did yours not do well?”

She chuckled and shook her head. “No, I had plenty, almost more than I need. I just kept canning it all, but most of it will go to the church to distribute to needy folk.” She traced circles on the table with a fingertip. “I have a big mess of canned beef from a half steer one of the ranchers gave me when I taught her son to do his figures. It was a godsend.”