The Bartered Bride (The Brides Book 3) (8 page)

EIGHT

A
s Jem rode behind the ox wagon toward Castle Ranch, he led five stock horses behind him, keeping Lorelei’s mare, Flora, closest to him. He’d removed a stone from her hoof miles back, and she still seemed tender on it. He’d have to keep an eye on it when they got back to the ranch, maybe soak it.

He kept an eye on the wagon too. Not that he had much choice with it being in front of him. It was a sight he couldn’t have gotten away from if he’d wanted to. Mae must’ve been sleeping in the back, for she hadn’t poked her head up in a long while. If she were awake, she’d surely be leaning into the front seat to pet that puppy and pester Ray with questions. It was probably just as well that Ray could concentrate on his driving, given the precipitous drop to their left.

The wagon was an open-air affair, with a front bench seat wide enough for two, maybe three in a pinch. The wagon bed was framed in graying wood planks, held in place by iron bands and bolts that could have held an entire train car together.

Because the ox wagon didn’t have an arched cover over the back, Jem had a pretty clear view of the front seat. And Annie.

She wasn’t wearing a bonnet. Didn’t appear to own one either. No baggage to her name. No change of clothes. Nothing. Not even a brush to tame her hair. It was quite matted, braided to one side. Loose strands flew about as the wind tugged it free.

She looked like a street urchin.

What a strange existence, so different from his. Although there’d been a time once—running away from his pa—when he hadn’t had much more.

From what the young preacher had said though—if the man had been telling the truth—she hadn’t been running away. She was simply poor. Painfully poor.

She couldn’t speak either. Couldn’t write. It seemed unfathomable. Jem couldn’t wrap his mind around it.

And then he saw her turn toward Ray, who appeared to be rambling on quite a bit, talking about who knows what. Jem caught sight of her face in profile as she listened to Ray. Even from this distance her face was obviously smeared with dirt. She seemed smeared with dirt everywhere, truth be told. Poor thing.

Only...only there was something about her. Something about the curve of her cheek and chin that was surprisingly pleasing to the eye.

Who
was
she?

Jem noticed then they’d come to the turn that led up Castle Ranch way. From here on out, they’d be traveling across gently rolling hills and fields on the long dirt drive. At this pace, he estimated they’d arrive at the ranch house within the half hour. After all this time—so many days spent traveling—it seemed to sneak up on him all of a sudden.

He thought about seeing Ben. In his mind, his brother-in-law remained the same as when they’d first met: a lanky twelve-year-old, long on enthusiasm and a bit short on the practical, like most boys his age. The Ben of his earliest memories had worked when he needed to, slept as much as his Pa would let him, and he’d followed Jem around like he was some sort of miracle worker. They’d shared a love of horses and pie. Any kind of pie, and as much as they could eat. Ray had often joked he’d need to ship back East for apples and berries because they’d cleared Colorado of all its fruit, he’d made so many pies. Jem and Ben had just laughed at that and passed their plates for more. Ray had grumbled—secretly pleased, Jem thought—and gave them each another slice.

Pie.
Blackberry pie
.

Jem’s stomach rumbled. He hadn’t had near enough to eat lately. He’d lost weight—was down one notch on his belt.

If he looked forward to anything, it was Ray’s food. To be fair, Becky Jessup always cooked up some solid meals, and her biscuits—when they weren’t burnt—were worth fighting for. But Ray... Ray was a master. He could make a stew out of practically nothing and leave you begging for more. And his pies. Delicious.

People would pay good money for Ray’s fare.

Ben was fortunate to have him. With that, Jem’s mind dragged him back to where he’d left off. Ben. He was twenty by last count. A full-grown, man-size rancher. What did he look like now? A younger version of his father?

It was a lot to think about. All Jem wanted at that moment was to get to the ranch. Eat. Sleep. Get Mae settled. These past couple of days on the train, he hadn’t gotten any further along than that.

But now he had Annie to think about too.

What should he do about her? What should he say to Ray? To Ben? It wasn’t the easiest thing to explain—marrying up with her just like that.

His brain simply stopped. There was nothing. No words.

Thinking was tiring him out.

Jem’s gut tensed when they finally rode through the ranch gate and up the long dirt drive. There were no buildings in sight yet. The Castle’s land dipped and rolled in such a way that they’d have to travel some distance before the rooftops came into view. With the afternoon quickly fading and the trees casting shadows on the ground, it was tricky to navigate all the bone-jarring rocks and holes.
Craters, more like
, Jem thought, as he steered the horses with care around a hole big enough to hide a calf in.

When the main house came into view eventually, it struck him as almost shockingly the same as he remembered. The cedar shingle siding was the same, as was the deeply pitched roof. Most strikingly, it had the same long porch along the front, covered by a tin roof that made the most comforting pinging sound whenever it rained. How many times had he stood on that same porch in the early days, trying to get Lorelei to notice he was alive?

That porch had come to represent Castle Ranch to him in many ways. It was the heart of the property. The place to watch all the comings and goings. Or do nothing at all.

Since the nearest neighbors were a good half-hour ride across open fields, he’d often stood on that porch with Lorelei, and it had felt like they were the only two people on earth.

Still felt like that as he looked around. It was a scene awash with the familiar tones of Colorado Springs: the red clay in the rock outcroppings of the Garden of the Gods, the ash-colored stone faces of Pikes Peak, the greens and golds of the grasses, several vast fenced paddocks, horses grazing, and a sweeping sky, its colors mellowing to purples and pinks with patches of clouds just above the mountain peaks.

He was struck anew by how different the Colorado landscape was from the lush blue-green firs of the Cascades and the waters of Puget Sound. Although, this had a beauty all its own though. The sky above him felt bigger somehow, for one. It was like he had two homes now: Seattle and Colorado.

After they married, he and Lorelei had bought a house in Iowa, where he’d attended university. An opportunity had come up to start a veterinary practice there. With Lorelei’s help, Jem had built it into a successful business, then sold it off after she died. Without her, Iowa hadn’t been home. Coming back here—to this “home”—brought on an uncomfortable ache in Jem’s chest, one he’d been dreading. His insides churned, upsetting the gray flatness of his existence of late.

Four ranch hands Jem didn’t recognize strode from one of the stables to meet them—young men wearing the typical ranch garb of chaps over denims, work shirts, and leather vests. They already had the tanned, hard-bitten faces of men who spent their life outdoors. After Ray introduced the men, two of them took over the reins of Jem’s horses.

“Flora—this chestnut here—is coming up lame, I fear. I’ll be out to see to her just as soon as I see to these ladies,” Jem told them, as he scooped Mae up in his arms. She didn’t stir one bit. Her head just lolled senselessly off the side of his arm. She was missing her first real view of her mother’s home. She’d been here once before as a newborn, but she wouldn’t remember that, of course. They’d meant to come the summer after her first birthday, when the weather was good. But...plans had changed.

With respectful nods, the ranch hands led the horses away.

Jem shook off his memories as Annie drew close to his side, the puppy squirming in her arms. It took him a second to realize this was
her
first view of the ranch. What must she think of the place? Her chin was ducked so low he couldn’t see her face properly, but she seemed suitably awed, and maybe a little intimidated. He couldn’t blame her—he’d felt much the same his first arrival here. He couldn’t help wondering what kind of home she’d had in Tennessee. The furthest east he’d been was Iowa, but he pictured a Tennessee landscape with green rolling hills and a perfect white church, the kind with a steeple and white wooden cross up top. Wagons and buggies, folks carrying baskets of food for a Sunday picnic. A proper town lining the streets, with houses and stores, a post office, and train depot. Something like that.

He watched as the other two ranch hands lifted the trunks out of the back of the wagon and carried them inside the house. He’d only brought two—one for his and Mae’s clothing and another for household items, anything of their previous life that he hadn’t already given away or shipped ahead.

“What about this box?” Ray asked, patting the last item Jem had brought, a large wood-slat crate that had been hammered shut. Inside, he’d carefully packed Lorelei’s old saddle, which he hadn’t been able to part with, and a collection of reins, bridles, bits, and saddle blankets.

“That’s tack,” Jem said. “Just leave it for now. I’ll drag it up to the barn.”

“No, no,” Ray said. “May as well leave it on the wagon. Going up to the barn anyway. The boys’ll take it from there. Won’t you, boys?” He nodded pointedly to two ranch hands who were eyeing Annie a bit too curiously for Jem’s taste. He hadn’t noticed until now. Evidently, Ray was more aware and was hoping to nip any untoward interest in the bud. Not that she was much to look at—what with that filthy dress she was wearing—but she was a young woman. Best let them know she wasn’t available for courting.

Jem shook his head, realizing with a sense of delayed shock that he was married to her.

Married
.

Never in all his wildest dreams would he have thought this morning that he’d ever marry again—let alone
today
, with a complete stranger. He glanced at Annie standing there. Her eyes met his for one instant, then just as quickly she ducked her chin. Skittish as a fawn. How strange it was to have a woman in his life again. He didn’t quite know how to feel. It was all too new and unexpected. And, if he were honest, not entirely welcome.

As Ray led the way to the front steps, Jem hitched Mae up a notch, making sure she was secure before he took the steps, climbing with a sense of purpose. He realized then that he was looking forward to seeing Ben again. They needed to catch up. They could be friends now—man to man. That would be nice. It felt strange to have something to look forward to after being numb so long.

NINE

A
nnie stopped at the foot of the porch steps. She couldn’t go in this big beautiful house like this. The ranch house had a certain rustic appeal with its cedar shingles and an enormous stone chimney to one side, but to her eye it still looked like a mansion. She couldn’t drag all her filth inside. She couldn’t.

Somehow she managed to bend down and untie her boots without dropping the puppy. She wriggled out of each boot, wobbling, and left them on the bottom step. For a moment she just stood there, ashamed of her bare feet. A decent woman would be wearing stockings, but hers had worn completely through weeks ago, and so she’d stopped wearing them. The holes had cut into her toes, and she’d figured it was warm enough in summer to go without them. She wished her skirt dragged to the floor to cover her toes, but it didn’t.

She couldn’t have looked worse. A shabby girl.

But then that’s what she’d always been.

Well, not always. Annie brought herself up short, dismayed at the downward turn in her thoughts. Where the thoughts went, soon the spirit would follow. There had been a time, she reminded herself, back when Mrs. Ruskin was alive, when she’d made sure Annie was always properly dressed. Mr. Ruskin would have too if times hadn’t gotten so hard. Annie was sure of that.

Despite what Jem must’ve thought earlier when Danny was spouting off about Mr. Ruskin “selling” her off—or however he’d put it exactly—it hadn’t been like that at all. Mr. Ruskin had been a proper southern gentleman preacher. They’d lived in one of the prettiest little mountain towns that the glorious state of Tennessee had to offer, and he’d served his community and congregation well. He wasn’t evil, not in the least. It was just hard times had caught up with the town and thus with him. And so he’d needed to find a place for her. It wasn’t like she was truly family. The Ruskins had taken her in when she was twelve or so as a servant girl, after all, not as a daughter. There was nothing wrong in that. She’d never thought so anyway, no matter how much she might’ve wished things were otherwise. The fact was, she’d needed work. She’d needed a place to live, food, clothes...and she hadn’t lacked for anything.

Noticing Jem’s questioning glance, Annie quickly followed him and Ray up the front steps of the house. It took nearly all her attention to keep the puppy settled in her arms. It squirmed and let out a sharp yip.

“Should I take it out to the barn for you?” Ray offered, frowning at the creature with an expression of distaste.

“It’s not a barn dog, Ray,” Jem answered, to Annie’s relief. “It’s a house dog. You may as well get used to it.” There was a slight smile in his voice, and Annie watched curiously to see how Ray would respond. He obviously didn’t like the idea of a puppy in the house.

All Ray did was grumble under his breath. He pushed the front door open, a big double door affair that spoke of money. Annie crossed over the threshold into a foyer with towering ceilings.

The two farm hands stood on the landing above them, shouldering Jem and Mae’s trunks. As Ray called directions up to them, Annie surveyed the space, taking in the two impressive curved staircases. They split off into what appeared to be two separate wings of the house. The wooden balustrades were as heavy as any she’d ever seen and simply carved. Quality. Just like the wide pine paneling and the open wood beams above. For some reason, the sight settled her nerves. It was an impressive property, and she’d known right off that the family was quite wealthy, but one look around told her they preferred “woodsy and comfortable” over fancy. Woodsy and comfortable she could handle. Gold leaf, polished mahogany, and velvety wallpaper would’ve made her feel even more out of place.

The foyer was dimly lit from the upper windows, but at the other end she caught a glimpse of the kitchen, awash with bright light. There was something homey and welcoming about that light and the familiar sight of a kettle steaming on a big cast iron stove. She loved to cook. Perhaps that was one way she could help earn her keep here?

A young man steeped into her view and filled the doorway, framed by the light of the kitchen behind him.

“Jem’s here with Mae,” Ray told him. “And this here’s Annie.” Ray didn’t add anything else by way of introduction, for the younger man strode forward and stopped about a yard away from Jem, keeping his distance. His eyes fell on Mae, her eyes closed in sleep, her head still lolling off the crook of Jem’s arm. He smiled the briefest smile—here one second and gone the next. When he looked back at Jem’s face, his expression hardened.

“Hello, Ben,” Jem greeted him with a quiet sort of warmth, quiet perhaps because Mae was still sleeping. Despite the young man’s stony appearance, Jem sounded glad to see him.

“Jem,” the young man said, not moving. “You came.”

“You’re all grown.” Jem’s voice sounded a little surprised to Annie’s ears, as if he’d gone away for a spell of time and expected to return and find everything and everyone the same as he’d left it.

“You can blame Ray—he keeps feeding me.” The words sounded like a joke, but Ben’s demeanor didn’t lighten in the least. He looked a little like Jem actually, in build anyway. Not unlike a pair of rugged cowboys, tall and lean in their worn denims and Stetson hats. They could have been brothers. Maybe they were?

Although, Annie could see very little of Jem’s face, so perhaps their features looked nothing alike.

“Ray always did make the best stew,” Jem said, sniffing the air appreciatively. It did indeed smell like beef stew. Annie’s stomach rumbled painfully.

The farm hands exited down the stairs and out the front door, giving her openly curious stares.

The puppy in Annie’s arms stirred as they passed by, then let out a yip so loud her ears rang.

Ben looked her way, as if just now registering she was there.

“Who’s that? Your maid?” he asked with a sneer. Annie didn’t like the way his gaze roved over her. It wasn’t so much impertinence as disdain. He’d already decided he didn’t like her—didn’t trust her.

She froze in place, all too aware of her filthy dress and bare toes. All too aware that she smelled like the wrong side of a barn stall. While she wanted to shrink into herself, Jem only appeared to grow bigger. Before her eyes, his frame seemed to grow two sizes in width and breadth.

“That’s my wife,” he said. There was a warning in his voice that didn’t seem to penetrate Ben’s ears.

“Your wife? Your
wife
? Lorelei’s not been gone a year, and you’ve already married up with—with
that
?”

“I expect that’s my own business.” Jem’s face was all shadows under his hat. Intimidating. Somehow communicating a threat without saying much at all.

Annie watched fascinated. She saw Ben swallow and lose some of his bluster.

He’s young
, she thought,
younger than he tries to appear
. His hard face was a front. Seemed to her there was more underneath. Pain, insecurity, hopefully something softer.

Still, he shouldn’t treat Jem that way. Jem who had been so glad to see him.

Jem who had been nothing but kind to her.

Annie suddenly felt the need to shake Ben and tell him to smile properly at Jem and say, “Welcome,” or “I missed you,” or “Glad to see you,” but he said nothing like that. His gaze bordered on rude, and Jem was plainly confused by it. And disappointed from the way his shoulders fell slightly and then stiffened, as if he wasn’t going to allow such feelings. Men were like that. They’d much rather feel anger or nothing at all than feel any awkward emotion. At least, that’s the way it was with men in her admittedly limited experience.

“She hasn’t been dead a year!” Ben repeated, his voice still accusing, but with a little less steam.

“I know that, Ben. Do you think I don’t know that?” Jem asked.

“Seems like you already forgot,” Ben challenged.

Jem shrugged. “I’m not likely to ever forget.”

Ben laughed, a disbelieving sound. “You forgot everything.”

* * *

Jem stared back at Ben blankly. What did he mean,
forgot everything
? As if there was something very specific on Ben’s mind. But whatever it was, Jem had no inkling.

He shifted Mae to over his shoulder, securing her with one arm. She let out a little drowsy mumble, nothing that made sense, and he absently patted her back.

“What?” he managed to ask, not quite sure he was hearing Ben right. Why was he behaving this way? Why was he so angry? Jem could see why he’d be grieving, but why go on the attack like this? It was like he’d been waiting all day—maybe for months—planning every word.

“You never sent a letter,” Ben said accusingly, his expression still full of anger and blame. And something more underneath it all. Hurt?

Jem blinked.
A letter?
Ben was right. He hadn’t sent a letter, just a couple of short telegrams. He’d sent a note to Lorelei’s father later of course, along with a few of Lorelei’s things. But he’d never written Ben directly. Ben who’d once looked up to him and followed him everywhere. Had he really treated Ben—the closest thing he had to a brother, besides Isaac Jessup—like he didn’t matter? Like he’d forgotten him entirely?

Jem winced inwardly.

It was true, in a way.

Right after Lorelei died, it was like he couldn’t think clearly at all. It was like his brain only had room for one thought:
She’s gone
.

He’d thought about how Lorelei’s father and Ben would take the news. Of course he had. He’d known they’d miss her. He’d known they’d grieve too, but it had been a far-off sort of realization, like something happening to someone else. Certainly, not anything he could help them with.

He’d wanted to hide himself in a cave for months and never come out, but he’d had Mae. She’d just been a baby, not quite two. He hadn’t been able to hide. He had to keep going. Any ounce of wherewithal went to his daughter: getting her fed, comforting her when she wouldn’t stop crying, rocking her until she finally fell asleep. He’d had to pack up the house and sell off his veterinary practice on his own. He’d had to pack up the rest of their belongings too. There’d been all that sorting: going through Lorelei’s dresses, her papers, all her stories and the bundles of letters she’d kept, her jewelry, even her underthings. Every little thing had taken a slice out of him. There’d been nothing left of him to give.

He’d gone to Seattle to grieve, to get help with Mae. By the time he got to Becky and Isaac’s, he’d nearly fallen on his face in bed and not risen for weeks. That was what he’d wanted to do, needed to do. He hadn’t been able to though. Not with Mae still needing him. Demanding his attention. So he’d walked around like he was walking through water over his head. Everything came at him sort of slurred. Nothing seemed to have as much meaning anymore.

“You’re right—I should have.” It was like scales falling from his eyes. “I should have sent something.”

“But you’re not sorry.”

“Of course I’m sorry,” Jem said, annoyed now. He reflexively scratched through his beard. “I wrote after your father died, didn’t I?”

That too had been a short note.

“What’s that all over your face, anyway?” Ben asked, changing tacks. “Forget to shave for the last six months? Or maybe you’re hiding...?”

So much hostility. It was a new Ben, one Jem wasn’t so sure he liked very much.

“I’m not
hiding
from anything. Or anyone,” Jem said, glancing at Ray, who was standing back silently watching, eyeing them as if they were a couple of irate bobcats circling each other.

“Sure you’re not,” Ben said. “I think you’re scared—scared someone’s going to find out—that it was all your fault she died. You could have stopped it. Could’ve brought her home first.”

Jem flinched, hopefully not so much that anyone noticed, but, from the glimmer of awareness in his eyes, Ben did.

“It wasn’t that way, Ben,” Jem said, each word a pinprick of pain. “She died. There wasn’t anything I could do.”

Ray shifted, his stance a bit hesitant, like he wanted to intervene, wanted to say something.

“Couldn’t?” Ben asked, his face a mask. He wasn’t snarling, he wasn’t yelling, but an air of disdain practically rolled off him. “You’re a doctor, aren’t you?”