A Most Inconvenient Marriage (19 page)

He was lying. He meant it with every ounce of his body and soul, if souls could be weighed, but the passion of one sultry afternoon couldn’t undo years of planning. A weak moment. That’s all it was.

Abigail clenched her fists as she pieced together his meaning. Her voice shook. “You used me. Laurel wouldn’t have you, so you . . . you . . .” She drew back and slapped him full on the cheek. By the time his sight cleared, she had her finger in his face, jabbing with every word. “I have stood by you and helped you at every turn, haven’t I? And then you dishonor me? I am not a substitute, Jeremiah Calhoun. I am not standing by to accept attentions others have rejected. Do you understand me?”

His cheek stung, but not nearly as much as his conscience. How had the strength of their friendship turned into something that could hurt them? “I understand, ma’am. It won’t happen again.”

How he wanted to smooth the thick hair he’d loosened, but he had to keep his distance. He’d given in to temptation once. He couldn’t afford to do it again.

Abigail stalked to the pasture and whistled. Josephine neighed in response and trotted forward.

“Where are you going?” he asked.

“I’m going for a ride.”

“By yourself?”

“Don’t try to stop me.”

So he didn’t. Instead, he watched her saddle Josephine. “Don’t forget the foal she’s carrying,” he said.

“How could I forget?” Abigail threw the blanket over the horse’s back. “It’s the only reason I’m still here.”

C
HAPTER 13

Jeremiah wouldn’t stop her, but he wouldn’t let her go alone. Not with the possibility of men loitering on the property. He wadded a handful of coarse hair from Lancaster’s mane and stroked his velvet neck. With all the worries that plagued him, he had to go and make one more. He’d kissed Abigail—Abigail!—and his brain might as well be pickled in brine after that. He waved the flies from Lancaster’s eyes and slipped the bridle into his mouth and over his ears.

What had made him grab ahold of Abigail in the first place? He remembered an argument. Something about Laurel. His jaw ground tight. Laurel was the least of his worries. First he had to figure out what to do with the hurricane that Abigail had kicked up in his bones. Not since he was a youth had he kissed a girl, but this was no childish game. Something very adult had passed between them, and he hadn’t meant for it to turn out like that. What he’d thought—if he could claim to have been thinking at all—was that she’d stop her yammering. From the hundreds of ways he could’ve quieted her, he’d chosen the most expedient, but he hadn’t expected to react as he had, and he hadn’t expected her to react, either.

But he had no time for confusion. No time for naïvete. He was a healthy man. She was a more than passable woman—a woman whose blood ran hotter than he’d suspected. For his part, the tenderness that caught him off guard was nothing more than the natural response God had given His creation to propagate the human race. On this occasion, his baser instincts had gotten the best of him. Simple as that. It settled his soul to have an excuse for his turmoil.

Once she’d put a fair distance between them, he loped around the far side of the clearing. She spotted him, turning to watch often, her blond hair blowing in her face, but he didn’t give an account for himself. He didn’t want to talk to her. They were both looking for the same thing—solitude—and once they reached the woods, he’d drop away and leave her to her own company.

Whenever he felt again the warmth of Abigail in his arms, he’d have to remember he’d promised himself to another woman. When he thought of her sweet lips responding—and she had responded, most definitely—he was safe knowing she’d never allow it again.

Abigail turned off the bare wagon tracks of the road and broke through the brush to forge up the side of the mountain.

Without thinking, Jeremiah reined Lancaster back toward the farm to catch a deer trail that cut through the valley. Once she got to the top, she’d spot the river, and nine chances out of ten, that’s where she’d head. It was a good quiet place to think.

And they both had some thinking to do.

Abigail saw him turn off and normally she would’ve joined him, but not now. Maybe never again. She’d rather face a firing squad than Jeremiah.

He’d been taunting her. Ridiculing her. And what had she done in return? She’d laid her heart bare.

The horse scrambled up the rocky surface. Abigail leaned forward, her burning face nearly buried in Josephine’s mane, urging her up and up. Of course he didn’t mean it. He loved Laurel. Not her. And now what could she do? Avoid him? Impossible. Pretend that she was toying with his affections, same as he was hers? She shivered. She may be able to hide the truth about her family, but she wasn’t that good of a liar.

She paused at the crest. It was challenging country. Harsh, jagged, and for the most part not worth the taming. It’d take generations to clear these hills, and then what would they find? Only more rock. This beauty demanded to be appreciated for itself, not for the way it could serve you.

Carefully Josephine descended, stepping over fallen limbs and stones until she found a path leading down to the river. The horse surged ahead once she gained clear ground. Abigail rode on, nerves raw, shocked by his betrayal. He’d taken her friendship and profaned it. If he’d made a sincere declaration of affection . . . well, he hadn’t and he never would.

The trail joined the river, really more of a wide, shallow creek. Minnows darted above the rocky bottom. So clear. Must be spring fed, which meant cold. Maybe taking a quick plunge would cool her toasty skin and erase the memory of his caresses. Maybe not. Her shadow passed over the pool, and the minnows streaked away. She wished she could disappear just as effortlessly, but she had nowhere to go. Despite his boorish behavior, she was trapped.

And just across the river rode Jeremiah. Where had he come from? She clenched her jaw. Didn’t he understand she wanted to be alone? Could he not give her some time to compose herself, or would he claim it merely coincidence that he was riding the
same direction, at the same speed, on the same river? Opposite sides of course. His horse showed no signs of being winded, which meant he’d cut through some pass to meet her there. As familiar with the gullies and hollows as a gopher with his tunnels.

They both rode forward, neither acknowledging the other. Surely he had better things to do than follow her. And then it hit her. He wasn’t worried about her safety. He was guarding his property.

Her chest tightened. He didn’t trust her after all. Were his kind words after Varina’s accusation empty?

A snap, and Josephine lost her footing. Abigail clutched at her mane as Josephine plunged, then reared. Bucking, thrashing. A flash of metal and Abigail’s blood boiled. A snare? Caught on the horse’s fetlock was a mean, metal trap. Josephine jerked the anchor out of the ground, but the jaws held tight.

Abigail jumped off her horse, still gripping the reins. Just as she slid down, the horse pitched again and threw her off balance. She landed poorly, causing a sharp pain to bolt from her ankle to her knee. Terrific. Already they had a shortage of healthy limbs. They didn’t need to lose another one.

Murmuring soothing, calming noises even as she fumed, Abigail hobbled to Josephine’s side. One quick look across the river told her that Jeremiah had disappeared again. Lot of help he was.

Grimacing at the sharp metal teeth digging into Josephine’s fetlock, Abigail bunched her skirt around her hands and dug them in between the jaws. Pulling with all her might, she separated them an inch, but it would take more, and with a throbbing ankle her balance was off. She went to her knees and behind her an unfamiliar voice put goose bumps on her teeth.

“What do we have here?”

For a moment she thought Jeremiah had come to help, but
instead she found herself looking up at a man on the bluff above her. His unbuttoned coat resembled the butternut uniform of a southern militia, but his boots and hat were Federal.

“Is this your trap? You buried a trap on the trail?!” Her voice pitched.

His eyes glinted as he descended. “What better place to catch someone?”

A chill ran down her spine. This was no accident. Abigail stood, but she couldn’t outrun him. With eager steps he descended, his glee more evident as her fear grew.

But before he reached her, Jeremiah thundered into sight. He swung between her and the man, forcing him back a step.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he growled at the man.

“Just having a talk with the lady. None of your concern.” The man fell back another yard and sized Jeremiah up. “Why don’t you stay on your horse and let me help her? You wouldn’t want to hurt that crippled leg any further.”

Her ankle twinged with every step, but it was probably only a sprain. It’d heal quickly—if she survived this encounter. Abigail tightened the cloth around her hands, crammed them into the trap, and pulled again. The teeth cut through her skirt and broke the skin on her fingers.

“I’m not worried about my leg none,” Jeremiah said. “What’s your business here?”

“Just passing through. Don’t mean any harm.” Even his voice had changed. Neighborly, now, but Jeremiah didn’t sound fooled.

“You wouldn’t know anything about a moonshine still set up on my property, would you?”

Josephine’s eyes rolled, the whites flashing. Abigail was scared, but nothing like her poor horse. She ignored the searing pain and held the trap open until Josephine pulled her leg free.

“Moonshine?” The man grunted. “That’s your property? My apologies. I thought that was Fowler’s land.”

Abigail surveyed Josephine’s leg. Deep scratches gashed her bone, but the tendon looked intact. With bloodied hands she pulled herself back into the saddle, surprised to see Jeremiah still shielding her.

“You know Fowler?” Jeremiah spared a quick glance at her, then surveyed Josephine’s injury. With a nod of his head he motioned her toward home. Abigail didn’t need to be told twice.

“Come on, girl,” she urged. Her skin crawled at the stranger’s voice behind her, but as much as she wanted to flee, she wouldn’t force a run on a hurt leg and a pregnancy. She’d reached the crest of the ridge that overlooked the farm when she heard Jeremiah catching up with her. Maybe racing Josephine wasn’t a bad idea after all, but she held her at a steady pace, no matter how badly she wanted to avoid him.

“Do you know him?” She couldn’t bring herself to look at Jeremiah, instead focusing her attention on controlling their pace.

“I know his type, and I don’t like it. I might have dug at him harder, but if he challenged me I’d have to admit I didn’t have a revolver. I shouldn’t have left the farm in such a hurry.”

“I didn’t ask for your company.” Abigail sat even straighter in the saddle.

“You’ll have to forgive me,” he said. “Again.”

She lifted her chin, hoping that the gesture communicated the appropriate level of disdain. He might have saved her life, but it was his fault she was out there in the first place.

They’d gained the clearing now. Blood from her fingers slicked the reins, and her tightening boot gave evidence of swelling in her ankle. Between her, Jeremiah, and Rachel, they might as well open a hospital ward on the Calhouns’ farm. Maybe they could keep Dr. Hopkins so busy Laurel would have to take another
look at Jeremiah. Then again, Abigail liked Laurel. Should she wish such a curse on her?

As they reached the barn, Jeremiah jumped down and dragged Lancaster inside. Abigail dismounted gingerly and limped to the water pump, shoving a bucket beneath it. The jagged cuts on her hands couldn’t compete with the hurt in her heart, but both would have to wait until the horse was cared for. Ripping a piece off her already tattered gown, she padded her palm, grasped the pump handle, and shoved it through its motions, gritting her teeth with every pump.

“Let me do that.” Jeremiah bumped her out of the way, only then seeing her bloodied hands. He stopped. Fine creases appeared around his eyes. “Did the trap do that?”

“I was in a hurry.” And she didn’t regret the stinging pain. Not when it meant saving Josephine.

When she bent to retrieve the filled bucket Jeremiah stopped her. “Put your hands in the stream.”

Remembering how their last argument ended, she complied. The first splash of the icy water burned. She jerked away, but he caught her hand.

“Don’t touch me.” She pulled against his grip.

“You need help.”

“Not from you.” The pulse in Abigail’s wrist throbbed against Jeremiah’s stern grip, but he didn’t release her. He turned her wrist over and pried open her hand.

“You are my responsibility. We’ll care for you first, then worry about the horse.” Gently he ran his thumb over the cut, knocking loose any debris, then immersed her hands again in the stream. Whether she was shaking from the stinging water or his touch, she couldn’t tell. Abigail looked away as he bent to inspect the injury.

He nodded his satisfaction and released her. She propped her
hurt foot on the trough and fumbled with the shredded skirt for another clean strip to bandage her hands with. With a look that could cauterize an artery, Jeremiah swooped down, snagged the bottom ruffle, and tore it clean off.