Karen Kirst - Bride By Arrangement

“Perhaps. We’ll have to wait and see how your sister is feeling.”

“I’d like to see the chickens.” She traced a pinwheel with her finger, her blue eyes dancing with anticipation. Eyes very much like her father’s. “And the pigs. I wonder if Mr. Burgess has rabbits.”

A curious child, Jane had an affinity for learning. In the estate’s library, she’d spent hours scouring encyclopedias and nature tomes. The Kansas prairie must surely have captured her imagination.

Curling on her side, Jane tucked one hand beneath her cheek. “Where’s Mr. Burgess going to sleep, Momma?”

“I’m not sure yet.” She dimmed the lamp’s flame. Shadows flickered in the room’s corners. “We’ll figure something out.”

During his absence, curiosity had gotten the better of her, and she’d peeked into the loft. There wasn’t a bed, unfortunately. Only a desk and chair, and wall-mounted shelves with books and cabinets with closed doors. The cabin lacked a sofa, so that wasn’t an option.

“Are you ready to say your prayers?”

Yawning widely, Jane nodded. Grace began to kneel beside the bed before recalling this wasn’t her bedroom suite in Chicago and there wasn’t a plush rug to cushion her knees. The floor here was bare and in need of a good scrubbing. Perching on the mattress edge, she placed one hand on Jane and the other on Abigail.

“I’m going to pray for Abby.”

“That’s a wise idea.”

During her heartfelt prayer, Grace couldn’t take her gaze off her sick offspring. Abigail had rested fitfully throughout the evening. Even gotten sick once in a pail Grace had thought to bring into the bedroom. Thankfully, the sheriff hadn’t been around to see it. He acted as if he’d never seen a child before.

His discomfiture during dinner had been obvious. There could be no question he wanted them gone at the first possible opportunity. Noah Burgess was a hard-nosed, implacable man. He wasn’t going to change his mind. She’d had the fleeting idea to offer him money in exchange for his name and protection, but she’d dismissed it. He wasn’t dumb. No ordinary mail-order bride would do such a thing.

The last thing she needed was to arouse a sheriff’s suspicion. She’d tried explaining Frank’s dastardly behavior to her mother-in-law, only to be ridiculed and accused of trying to make trouble. Helen Longstreet hadn’t approved of Grace marrying her eldest son and had hinted that she’d married him to access his wealth and societal connections. Helen had refused to believe her younger son, Frank, would want her, too. Grace had been tolerated by her husband’s mother and targeted by his brother.

Jane ended her petition with a sleepy “Amen,” and Grace realized her thoughts had strayed during the entire thing. Familiar guilt pinched her. Not only was she duping the sheriff and anyone else she might come into contact with, she’d had no choice but to instruct her girls to go along with her story. Surely that made her the worst mother of all time.

I’m sorry, God.

Her divine Father had carried her through many dark days, His comfort her sole source of strength when everyone around her had proved an enemy. He’d been a friend when she’d been friendless. Disappointing Him in this manner wore at Grace’s soul.

Lord, if he’d agree to marry me, I could make things right. Once we’ve been married a little while, I can reveal the truth.

The outer door clicked, and the floorboards resounded with a heavy tread. Grace’s pulse tripped nervously.

Leaning down, she dropped a kiss on Jane’s cheek. “Sleep well, my love.”

Already drifting, Jane wriggled deeper beneath the quilt. Grace extinguished the lamp. Closing the door behind her, she remained where she was, watching as Noah removed items from a sack and lined them up on the wooden counter.

He flicked her a glance. “How’s the sick one?”

“Her name is Abigail.”

His mouth tightening, he continued his task.

“She’s about the same.”

Holding up a sachet, he filled a kettle with water and set it on the stove. “Elderberry tea will help with the fever.”

Surprised at his thoughtfulness, she advanced into the room, studying his efficient movements as he took kindling from a tin container in the corner and chucked it into the stove’s firebox. While waiting for the water to heat, he unpacked the remaining items and put them in their proper places. He set an enamel mug on the counter.

“You must be exhausted,” she said. “I can prepare the tea for Abigail.”

He gave her another considering glance that screamed dismissal. “You’re a guest in my home.”

In other words, it was his kitchen and she wasn’t welcome.

Grace tamped down her rising irritation. “I noticed we’ve taken over the only bed. And there’s no sofa.”

His arms folded across his broad chest, he kept his gaze trained on the kettle. “I’ll sleep in the barn.”

“With Wolf?”

He grunted.

“Where does he normally sleep?”

“By the fireplace.”

“So we’re not only displacing you, but your pet, as well.”

He pierced her with his cold blue gaze. “It’s temporary. I spoke to Will, and he’s committed to making your stay at the Cattleman a comfortable one. As soon as your daughter is well, I’ll check the train schedule for a return trip to Chicago.”

Grace bit the inside of her cheek. Arguing with him would get her nowhere. She had to use what little time she had to show him the many ways her presence would make his life easier. If she wanted to stay in Cowboy Creek, she had to make herself indispensable.

* * *

“Mighty thoughtful of you to bring me breakfast, Sheriff.”

Noah set his pail on Sheriff Davis’s desk—his desk now—and cocked a single brow in Deputy Buck Hanley’s direction. In his midtwenties, Hanley’s upbeat and sometimes flippant attitude initially had Noah questioning Davis’s decision to hire him. The more time he’d spent in his company, however, the more his positive traits became clear. Hanley was levelheaded and in possession of well-honed instincts vital for a lawman.

Noah balanced his battered Stetson on one of the chair’s upright slats and, adjusting his gun belt, sat and began to remove the pail’s items one by one. Wolf found a spot beside the desk to lounge in, his golden eyes assessing the lanky deputy.

While Hanley didn’t act afraid of Wolf, he didn’t approach him, either. His attempts to talk to the animal resulted in Wolf ignoring him.

Noah examined the row of cells to his left. Three cowboys were sprawled on cots, sleeping off the previous night’s excitement. A whiff of stale cigars and sweat assaulted his nose.

He tossed Wolf a sausage. “Busy night?”

Hanley nodded. “Yep. Broke up a fight on the south end of town shortly after midnight. These three weren’t keen on cooperating, so I offered them a place to sleep for the night.”

“Any property damage?”

“Nah.”

“Good work.”

Noah turned his attention to his breakfast, one he should’ve been enjoying at his own table, his grandfather’s Bible or a newspaper laid out in front of him. Instead, he was here, avoiding the widow and eager to be alone with his foul mood.

The younger man edged toward the door. “Well, I suppose I’ll go on home and rest up for tonight’s shift.”

He didn’t bother lifting his head. “You do that.”

The glass pane in the door rattled and Hanley’s footsteps faded. Sighing, Noah bit off half a boiled egg and offered the other half to Wolf. He surveyed the jail’s interior. He hadn’t spent much time here because his first days as sheriff had been spent chasing after the Murdochs. The interior boasted a high ceiling, rough-hewn walls decorated with maps, the American flag and wanted posters. Five cells lined the wall, facing the entrance door and windows flanking it, each with their own cot. The desk was made of oak and sported coffee-ring stains and a jagged gouge in the corner. He followed the gouge with his fingertip, wondering how it had gotten there, wondering how he had gotten here.