Noelle Marchand - The Texan's Inherited Family

Book abandoned, she stared at him, since he wasn’t paying her any mind, anyway. The firelight caressed his jaw with golden fingers that swept up to his cheek and back down again as he bobbed his head in time with the music. His strong arms curved around the instrument while his left hand slid back and forth across the neck of the banjo and his nimble fingers coaxed music from the strings. His brow furrowed slightly in concentration. She bit her lip to hold back a sigh. Talk to me.

He glanced up and caught her watching. His fingers stalled. She smiled her entreaty. His lips curved upward in response. He went back to playing. She closed her eyes in annoyance then opened them to find his gaze fixed on her again. Progress! She’d better do something while she had his attention. His piercing cobalt eyes rendered her mind a complete blank. She reached for something sensible or meaningful to say then dared to speak over the music. “This is a nice room.”

Really? That’s the best that I could come up with?

It seemed to take Quinn off guard a little, too, for he glanced around as though with new eyes. The furnishings of the living room weren’t fancy, but they were comfortable and of good quality. The floors were the same rather worn oak that seemed to stretch through the entire house. The burgundy rug on top of it reflected the red brick of the fireplace, which was cooled down by the hunter green and dark blue in the settee and matching chairs. Having finished his inspection, Quinn offered her a nod. “I’m glad you like it.”

Her mind scrambled for something else to say. What could she talk about? The ceremony? She wasn’t eager to discuss the fact that he’d made her a nervous wreck by originally accidentally refusing her. The children? All she could think about was the fact that they wouldn’t return until tomorrow. Leaving her alone. With her husband. Who had only just discovered that she was in the same room with him.

Realizing they hadn’t stopped staring at each other while he played, she wanted to look away but was afraid she wouldn’t get his attention again. To be honest, she was tired of trying. It had been such a busy few days with her finishing up at school, packing her things and moving them into her new home. She was worn out. Perhaps she ought to just call it a night and hide until the children returned. She stood.

The music stopped. Quinn looked up at her expectantly. Her mouth opened then closed as she realized that, though she was ready to turn in, she had no idea where to turn in to . She’d been so distracted by laying out the wedding supper their friends had sent home with them that she hadn’t seen anything of the house besides the kitchen and living room. After supper, Quinn had been too involved with his banjo to offer a tour. He stood, watching her with a concerned frown. “Something wrong?”

“No.” Without her permission, her gaze strayed to the banjo which he still clung to rather tightly. “I’m just tired, that’s all. I’m ready to go to bed, but I’m not sure where I’m supposed to sleep.”

He carefully laid the banjo in its case. “I already put your trunks in my room. It’s the first door you’ll come to in the hallway.”

“ Your room?”

Her words were infused with just enough panic and disconcertion to jerk Quinn’s head up. His eyes were already widening when they connected with hers. A flush spread just above his well-shaven jaw. “I didn’t— I mean—I’ll be sleeping in the boys’ room from now on.”

“Oh.” A wave of relief washed over her, but ebbed with confusion. He’d asked her to marry him because he needed a mother for his children. However, since he’d never specifically said that their marriage would be in name only, she’d assumed it would become like any normal marriage after they fell in love. Was he ruling out that prospect? If so, did that mean he was also ruling out the far more important possibility of falling in love with her?

She really ought to ask him to clarify the issue. After all, she had a right to know exactly what she’d gotten herself into. She paused with the question on her lips. Did she want to know the truth? Absolutely. Did she have the nerve to ask? Certainly not.

Instead, she wished him a good night and easily found the right bedroom. The door was heavier than she’d expected so she pushed it open only far enough for her slim frame to slip through. Readying herself for bed, she tried to sort through the myriad emotions tangling in her chest. This marriage had not started out at all as she’d imagined it would. Even the ceremony had been a bit flubbed. She had to admit that Quinn had been rather frustratingly adorable in that moment. He’d been so serious, so confused, so desperate to make things right. He’d even called her “honey.” Then he’d kissed her and she’d felt a sensation similar to the one she’d felt at the circus when she’d placed her hand on a glass ball that conducted static electricity—only more powerful. Of course, he’d followed all of that up by ignoring her the whole evening.

One labored sigh later, she slid under the covers of her new bed. At least, she tried to slide in. Her legs would only go so far. She kicked and pushed and wiggled to no avail until one overenthusiastic effort sent her careening toward the floor. She landed with a loud thump, clamping her lips shut a second too late to smother a startled scream. She groaned in a mixture of pain from her soon-to-be-bruised hip and pure, honest-to-goodness frustration. The pounding of bare feet sounded in the hallway. The door flew open, setting off a popping sound as an avalanche of rice covered her concerned husband.

Helen burst out laughing. Quinn ignored the sticky rice clinging to his body in his hurry to kneel by her side. “Are you hurt?”

She shook her head even as she winced at the stitch in her side that came from laughing too hard. “I just hit the floor a little hard.”

He helped her up. “How did you end up down there?”

“Try to get in the bed.”

He glanced from her to the bed then down at himself. “But I’m covered in rice.”

“Doesn’t matter. Go ahead and try.” She smirked as she watched him lift the covers as though they were going to bite him. “Scaredy-cat.”

He narrowed his eyes at her then jumped under the covers. His long legs had nowhere to go. He fell out of the bed, but managed to control his fall with catlike grace. He grinned up at her from the floor. “Helen, I reckon we’ve been shivareed.”

“I hope that’s the extent of the troublemaking.” She shook her head. “Interesting how it isn’t quite so fun when you’re on the receiving end. I think I’d better get a broom.”

“You can put the rice in the slop pail for the pigs. Meanwhile, I’ll see how they rigged up the bed and undo it.”

By the time she returned, he’d pulled back the quilt completely from the bed to reveal their saboteur’s handiwork. The fitted sheet seemed untouched, but someone had tucked the top sheet into the head of the bed so that it looked like the fitted sheet. They’d then doubled it over so that it also appeared to be a normal top sheet. Lastly, they’d tucked in the sides so the sheet became sort of an impenetrable envelope.

Quinn quickly remade the bed correctly, shaking his head the entire time. “I made this bed myself this morning with new sheets and all. It kind of gives me an eerie feeling to know someone was prowling around the place, causing mischief when I was gone. I’ve a mind to go into town on Monday and get a better lock for the doors around this place. There. All fixed. I’ll take the trash you have with me when I leave.”

“Thank you for coming to my rescue.” She swept the last of the rice into the dustpan and emptied it into the slop pail.