The Bartered Bride (The Brides Book 3) (21 page)

“Well, this is quite a mess,” he said, as if remarking on the chance of rain.

“It’s pie, Uncle Ben,” Mae said. She frowned severely at him.

“Oh, it’s pie, is it?” he asked, his expression softening as he strode over to his niece’s side. “Well, your uncle Ben does like pie...”

“Annie made it. Annie made pie. And I made pie too. For Daddy’s birthday. Annie’s birthday too. She didn’t have one afore, so she’s taking Daddy’s too.” As Mae stood on her chair, addressing him so earnestly, Annie marveled at her. She’d never heard Mae say so much all at once.

Annie glanced at Ben, embarrassed by how much Mae had revealed, but hoping he appreciated his niece’s ability to express herself so well. He seemed more interested in the flour spread out on the table. Annie itched to wipe her horse picture from his sight, but he’d already seen it.

“What this?” he asked, his expression frankly curious now. If Annie didn’t know better, she would’ve guessed he was impressed with her skill. But that couldn’t be, because Ben didn’t like anything about her.

“A horse, Uncle Ben! See? Annie did it,” Mae said with pride. As if she’d done it herself. Somehow, Annie drawing it for her had made her proud. Like they were a team. A family. It set a warm glow burning in Annie’s chest, and she couldn’t help smiling, gratified by the little girl’s enthusiasm.

“She draws. She draws lots,” Mae added.

“Oh, she does, does she?” Ben asked. He seemed distracted. He bent for a closer look. He glanced at Annie. “You did this?”

She nodded, embarrassed, pleased, and annoyed all at once. He was surprised at her skill, which was nice to see. But he didn’t have to imply that someone else had surely done it. Who else was there? she thought crossly, partly amused.

It was nice to surprise him though, to impress him—to have Ben, who so obviously didn’t like her, recognize that maybe she had a bit of talent.

“I thought you couldn’t write,” Ben said, looking at Annie with a question in his voice.

“Annie draws,” Mae repeated. Thankfully, she didn’t elaborate and tell Ben how Annie sometimes spread dirt on the back porch, drew in it, and swept it off afterwards. Of course, Annie usually only did that while Mae was napping and no one else was about.

“She does?” Ben asked.

“Do it again,” the little girl cried all of a sudden, making Annie jump slightly. She glanced at Ben, then back at Mae, making a sorry face. She withdrew to the sink and gathered up one of the damp rags that Ray had left out, intent on wiping down the table. Flour was everywhere.

“Go on,” Ben said, jerking his head to the table. “Draw another.”

Annie looked at him uncertainly. It was one thing to draw for sweet Mae. It was another to draw in front of Ben.

She hesitated, testing the weight of the rag in her hand.

“Let’s see it,” Ben said, drawing a chair out and straddling it.

Annie felt a flutter of nerves. She wanted very much to wipe down the table and head straight to her room. But she also wanted very much to impress him. Impressing him won out. She tossed the rag back into the sink. After drying her hands on a towel, she returned to the table and drew a tiger, then a lion, and an elephant. A bear, a bird... Annie drew them all one after the other, delighting when Mae sang out each of their names.

She drew one last animal.

“Fish?” Mae guessed, pulling a face.

“No, that’s a whale, lamb,” Ben said.

Lamb?
Since when did Ben call Mae
lamb
? Annie had heard Jem call Mae that, but never Ben.

Annie blinked at him in shock. Then she was stunned to utter stillness when he drew a small fish in the flour and wrote two words, WHALE and FISH, then spelled them aloud for Mae.

Mae scrunched up her face and repeated, “Whale?”

“That’s right,” Ben said. Next, he wrote out B-E-N in the flour. “Do you know what that spells?” he asked.

Mae traced the word out with her forefinger. “Pie?”

He laughed, an amazingly pleasant sound to Annie’s ears. He suddenly looked so much younger, almost likable. Annie could only stare. She tried to make his name in the flour, but as always the letters in her mind got tangled up on the way to her fingers. She quickly wiped her attempt away, but not before Ben saw. He frowned at the tabletop and then at her. Not so much like he was angry with her, more confused.

He turned his attention back to Mae and spelled her name too. “That’s you,” he said, indicating the letters with a quick dip of his head.

“Me?”

“That’s right. That spells Mae. You try.”

Mae grew as serious as Annie had ever seen her. She stuck her fingertip in the flour and spelled out M-A-E. Her M was enormous and wide, her A had no middle stem, and her E was backward, but still she did it: M-A-E.

Annie placed her hands behind her back, filled with the most painful longing. She wanted to write. She wanted to be the one to teach Mae.

What could
she
do? She could draw silly pictures, but she couldn’t tell Mae their names or spell them for her. She couldn’t give Mae the correct name when she was wrong. How she wanted to. She wanted to do all that and more. She wanted to talk. She wanted to talk as easily as Ben and Mae could. It was always the same, and she knew better than to dwell on her heart’s desires for too long. It was a fruitless path.

Still...it had been the most amazing thing, watching Ben change before her eyes. Watching Mae learn...

Taking a cue from their expectant faces turned toward her, Annie drew a series of turtles in a line. Then a fat cow. And a particularly ridiculous rabbit whose floppy ears dragged in the grass, making them all laugh. It would only be more perfect if Jem were there too, laughing with them.

TWENTY-EIGHT

J
em followed Ray up the two steps onto the back porch.

“What in the world?” Ray muttered, reaching for the screen door handle.

Jem caught him by the arm, a staying touch.

“Leave them be,” he said, pausing for a moment. Through the mesh of the screen door, he saw Annie and Mae at the kitchen table. There were streaks of flour all over tabletop like they were baking. Making a mess, more like. And Ben was there. Ben was
smiling
. Something delicious was in the oven too—pastry from the smell of it. They all looked so cozy.

Something shifted in Jem and came to center in his chest. Maybe a sense of homecoming. He hadn’t felt “at home” since Lorelei died, he realized.

Was he forgetting her?

Should he feel guilty?

He waited for the familiar crushing sense of loss to come barreling over him. But it just didn’t come. There was nothing—only her memory, sitting there like a photo on a shelf.

To move on and live was healthy—of course it was—but he was left wondering what he was feeling. And what it had to do with Annie.

Every instinct in him told him to back up and go back to the shed. He’d make some excuse about checking on Sugar, though he knew the pup was fine, resting comfortably after he’d put a fresh bandage on her sutures and given her something for the pain. He wanted to rush off, but he held out, making himself bear all the weight of uncertainty.

It was like he had stepped out onto a frozen mountain stream, like back home in Seattle—up in the Cascades. With a stream like that you never quite knew if the ice would hold you. He knew better than to simply start to walk across. That was what a young boy did—or a man who didn’t know any better. He’d been that boy once, and he’d gotten a cold dunking. He wouldn’t make the same stupid mistake twice. He had fallen through once—literally. But more than that, it seemed like his whole young life had simply been a series of lessons in what not to do.

It was all right to think Annie was pretty.

It was all right to be grateful for her help with Mae.

There were a whole lot of “all rights.”

But it wasn’t “all right” to get all wrapped up in her—to allow himself to feel any more than appreciation.

If he did, he knew he’d just fall right in.

That wouldn’t be fair to Lorelei, would it? Seemed like not enough time had passed to let go of someone he’d loved so much. It couldn’t be time yet...

But maybe it was. Maybe he had to let go. Had to do it sometime or other...

But that wouldn’t be fair to Annie.

Jem’s inner ear picked up on that thought quick-like, and he turned it over in his mind.

What wouldn’t be fair to Annie? Letting go of Lorelei?

Something about that didn’t quite ring true, but he latched onto it anyway.

Something else nagged at him. The feeling that he was on the outside looking in. He’d been feeling that a lot recently. It kept him up some nights. He’d stare at the ceiling wondering how he’d gotten to a point where he couldn’t be with people, really be
with
them.

As he stared through the wire mesh of the screen door—looking at Mae and Annie living life, laughing, and Ben too, amazingly—one truth stood up and slapped Jem cold in the face.

It was
his
fault.

He was the one pushing people away. He was the one walking around asleep most of the time. Flat. That’s what he was.

It wasn’t healthy.

If he saw it in someone else, he would have shaken them out of it. If he weren’t in the place he was now. Where he’d been for...well, since Lorelei died.

God, I want back in.

I want to be in there. I want to be
in
life, not just watching it go by.

I just—I just don’t know how. Not anymore.

Would you—could you—help me?

No instant sense of peace washed over him. No choir of angels sang over his shoulder.

But something happened.

One moment he was lost, without Lorelei—the next, he was ready to accept that she was gone. She was gone, but he had other people in his life.

Most importantly, he had Mae. He had a daughter and she needed a father, a father who loved her wholly and completely. Not just protecting her from anything bad that might happen, but being with her. Sharing her life.

He also—much as he’d been avoiding the realization—had a wife now. He hadn’t planned it, hadn’t sought her out, but maybe God had put her in his path. It was a frightening possibility. Frightening because it just might mean he needed to accept that Annie was here to stay. And if that were the case, then he needed to change.

What was fair for Annie?

His mind clogged at the thought and there were no quick answers to latch onto, besides Mae had seen him.

She frowned when she saw only him and Ray standing outside the screen door. “Where’s Sugar?” she demanded, planting her palms in a layer of flour strewn across the tabletop. Though she sounded every inch a bossy two-year-old, Jem saw the slight quiver of her chin and knew how concerned she was about the puppy.

He opened the door and stepped into the kitchen. “She’s going to be fine. She’s just resting. Ray’s going to take her into town to see the veterinarian later on today—the animal doctor,” he amended, seeing Mae’s look of confusion.

“But
you’re
a doctor,” she said.

“I’m a horse doctor.”

“You don’t tend to dogs?” Ben asked. For some unknown reason he too was coated in flour up to his wrists, an odd sight.

“Not anymore.”

“But you used to,” he probed, possibly sensing Jem’s discomfort with the subject.

“Yes, I used to,” Jem said evenly, hoping his tone would let Ben know he wanted to leave it at that.

“And you stopped after Lorelei died,” Ben said, brushing his hands off, one against the other. What had been an almost pleasant expression on his face turned sour. “Is that right?” He seemed to think he’d caught Jem in something. Perhaps he thought he’d uncovered some dark and dirty secret, but Jem was too tired to set him straight. He wasn’t sure it would do any good anyway.

“I’ve done what I could with what I have, but I’d still like the vet in town to have a look at her,” Jem said, keeping his tone even. “Besides, Ray’s going up to the mill.”

Annie stood watching them. She had a stillness about her he found appealing. The blue summer dress she was wearing was one of Lorelei’s old ones, but she’d nipped and tucked and hemmed it, and somehow it looked like something new. And she certainly was a small thing, didn’t even make it to the top of his shoulder. Not like Lorelei at all.

Looking at Annie now, with the morning sunlight slanting in from the back windows, it was like Jem was seeing her anew. Her brown hair picked up the light with bits of gold and of red here and there. She must have brushed it with care this morning, for it curved softly around her face, then she’d braided it low on one side. Her skin had a touch of golden color on her nose and cheeks—perhaps from time spent in the sun without a bonnet. The touch of color suited her.

She gathered up a damp rag and began dragging the flour into a pile before her. As she worked, he noted how tiny her hands were. Was the skin on the back of her hands as soft as it looked?

He found himself wanting to touch her to find out.

He wanted to run his fingers down the length of her braid and unravel it. See how soft her hair was.

And that—
that
was a dangerous thought. He stopped himself right there.

Why, he was practically undressing her in his mind. And staring at her. Ben had noticed. Ray had noticed too. Ben just smirked, mocking Jem. But he gave Mae’s head a pat before he strode out the back door. Ray nodded meaningfully at Annie and slanted a sideways glance at Jem. A glint of mischief lit his eyes. The old rascal. He began whistling then, the sort of too-innocent whistling of someone who thinks they know something.

Jem rolled his shoulders back and ignored Ray.

He went to stand by Mae, ignoring Annie too. The warmth of embarrassment crept up his neck and into his face, and he hoped she wouldn’t notice. His beard would hide any color in his cheeks, but his neck was sure to give him away. Not that she’d have any clue what he’d been thinking.

“Daddy, look!” Mae said. She tugged on his sleeve.

“What’s that?”

“That’s me.” She beamed, guiding his attention to the marks on the tabletop in the scattered flour, where Annie hadn’t reached yet with her rag. “That’s me, Mae,” she added, tracing her finger over the letters before her. “M–A–E.” Her face was glowing with pride. “Look!”

“Well, I’ll be.” Though Jem could see just fine, he leaned in for a closer look and injected a note of impressed disbelief into his voice. “You wrote that?”

“I did it!” she said, giving a little hop as she stood on her chair. That’s when he realized she was barefoot, with no stockings, no shoes. Typical Mae.

“Careful now,” he said. “You’ll fall off.”

“No, I won’t. I’m big.”

“Oh, you are, are you?” He looped his arm around her to steady her and kissed the top of her head. He’d had no idea she was old enough to write anything.

“Annie taught you that?” he asked, puzzled, noting how Annie froze at the sound of her name. She was leaning nearly halfway across the width of the table, in the middle of one long swipe with her cloth. Her eyes met his, and his heart skittered a beat in his chest. She just looked so…vulnerable. As if he’d just hurt her with his words.

Of course. She couldn’t have taught Mae that. She couldn’t even write herself. He’d known that. He should have been more thoughtful—

“Ben did.” Mae captured his attention.

“Ben did,” Jim repeated, surprised. That Ben had left his shell long enough to do anything with any of them was a thing to remark on.

“See, there’s Ben,” Mae said, pointing to another name printed in neat capital letters.

“That’s right. B-E-N,” Jem said. “Ben.”

“Not
pie
,” she said, with a knowing lift of her chin. Her eyes sparkled.

He chuckled.
What on earth?
He had a feeling he’d missed something. “No, it’s not pie. Where’s the pie?”

“Annie put it in the oven. And I made one too. With cim-mamon and sugar!”

He blinked, never having heard her say so much at once, and it struck him—she was nearly three. November was going to come up quick.

“Of course you did,” he said, giving her a gentle squeeze. “Because who’s my girl?”

“I am,” she said matter-of-factly. She gave another little hop, and her curls bounced.

At the sound of Ray laughing at them, Jem glanced up. When he did, he caught Annie staring at him and Mae with an odd, almost yearning expression. Maybe she missed her family. Or maybe she’d never had
this
.

She went back hurriedly to her cleaning. She had half the table done now. Ray had noticed that too and seemed a mite more relaxed about his kitchen. In fact, he took the dirty rag from her and gave her a fresh one. She grunted her thanks and kept right on cleaning, missing the softening of Ray’s expression. Annie certainly had a way about her, Jem thought, whether she realized it or not. She’d won Mae’s heart almost from the first. And now here was Ray, practically smiling at her. More surprisingly, she’d somehow managed to get Ben to loosen up.

And now—Jem fingered his beard absently—here
he
was. Drawn in, when all he’d wanted to do earlier was run the other way. He wasn’t sure what to make of her. But he had to admit he
liked
being here. He was softening toward Annie too it seemed. But was he prepared for the changes that would bring?