Smoke River Bride Page 18

  “Me, too,” said another voice—Lucy Nichols, Leah gathered from the tone. “My mama’s having palpitations whenever the word Chinese comes up.”

  A claw dug into Leah’s spine. She kept her face averted.

  At that moment a scowling man stomped out of the mercantile and barreled into her.

  “S’cuse me, Miz MacAllister.” He jerked his head toward the mercantile as he brushed past. “Got a bad smell in there. That damned marshal’s pokin’ his nose into everything.”

  Before she could ask, shouts erupted from the store. Men’s voices. She stepped out of line to see, but a large figure blocked her view. Ike Bruhn! Thank goodness Thad was not here; the last time Thad and Ike had tangled she had used up the last of the liniment.

  When she finally reached the mercantile entrance the first thing that caught her eye was the lean figure of Colonel Wash Halliday, bent over a four-pound tin of Arbuckles’ coffee. A slot had been cut in the top to serve as a ballot box.

  A grim-faced Carl Ness stood stiff as a broom at one end of the counter. Opposite Carl, Marshal Johnson, Ellie’s husband, lounged casually against a display of hoes and axes and snowshoes. Showshoes?

  Leah studied the odd-shaped wooden objects. They were a reminder that eventually this awful dry, tense summer would be over, followed by fall—harvest season—with crisp air and scarlet maple leaves and, oh, please, God, some rain! And then would come winter, with snow. It did not seem possible these dreadful months would finally be over.

  The line swayed forward another arm’s length and a tantalizing spicy aroma wafted on the air. Leah peered past the mercantile display shelves to an upturned bushel basket next to the ballot box; on top rested a familiar flower-patterned platter heaped with cookies. Big ones. With raisins.

  Her heart flip-flopped. Uncle Charlie might be diminutive and shy and soft-spoken, but he was clever.

  People filed by, snagged a cookie and dropped their folded paper ballots into the Arbuckles’ tin. Leah clapped her hand over her mouth to keep from laughing. The pile of cookies was diminishing so fast there would be only crumbs left by the time Thad rode into town.

  Ellie joined her in line. “I just came from the schoolhouse. Plans are shaping up for the spelling bee.”

  Four people ahead of them, Leah spotted a woman she had not noticed before. The sadness and resignation in her face tugged at her.

  “Ellie, who is that?”

  “Elvira Sorensen. She rarely comes into town.”

  “She looks so unhappy. Do you know why?”

  “Not exactly. Her husband grows bush beans, and they have lived on a farm outside Smoke River for years, but there are no Sorensen children at school. I have often wondered why.”

  The woman kept her head down, but when she looked up to drop in her paper ballot, Leah flinched. Elvira Sorensen appeared dried out, her face lifeless.

  Was she mistreated? Or did she have a husband who—Leah caught her lower lip between her teeth—who no longer cared for her?

  Leah could not bear to think about it. She shook off the thought, then stepped forward, picked up the offered square of paper and a pencil, and marked her ballot with a big yes.

  When she turned to leave, she collided with Mrs. Sorensen in the doorway. For a brief instant the woman looked into Leah’s eyes. Her face was a mask of desolation.

  Leah swallowed over a lump the size of a lemon. Would she end up like Mrs. Sorensen? She tried to scrub the thought from her mind and walked to the hitching rail to mount Lady.

  Just as she reined away and headed toward the edge of town, she glimpsed Thad, looking handsome in the new shirt of white linen she had finished yesterday. His battered gray Stetson was tipped down so his face was hidden, but from the set of his shoulders she knew he was not smiling.

  His big black gelding moved slowly up the street toward her, its pace unhurried. She stepped her mare forward to meet him.

  “Thad?”

  He glanced up. “Looks like everybody in town came to vote. How’s Uncle Charlie doing?”

  Leah gave a short laugh. “Uncle Charlie is unsinkable. He is busy supplying cookies to the townspeople. You had best hurry before they are all eaten.”

  “In a minute.” Thad pushed his hat brim back with his thumb, and his gaze settled on her face. “First, there’s something I want to tell you.”

  A rock dropped into her belly. She could see his eyes now; they were a stormy grayblue, and the bleak expression in them made her insides go cold.

  “What is it? Tell me.”

  He rubbed his jaw. “The wheat’s pretty far gone. The well went dry before we could dump even one bucket of water on the crop, and there’s not a goddam thing I can—” His voice choked off.

  She leaned forward to touch his arm. “Oh, Thad, I am so sorry.”

  “I figure I can wait two more days for rain, then I’ll have to plow it under.” He studied his saddle horn.

  Her heart twisted. What could she do to help him?

  She gripped her reins so tight the mare jerked. “I thought I would make potato salad for supper tonight, with some cold sliced beef. When you come home, we could eat out on the porch, where it is cool.”

  “Yeah. Sure.” He reached out and squeezed her shoulder. But his eyes had that faraway look she was learning to fear. In silence he moved the gelding on past her, and her chest tightened into an ache.

  She blinked hard to keep back the tears, dug her heels into the mare’s flanks and galloped down the road until she could scarcely breathe for the dust.

  Potato salad was a small thing, but it was all she could think of to offer.

  Long after dark Thad started up the porch steps with tired legs and a mind fuzzy with exhaustion. Leah sat on a chair in the shadows, but she didn’t say a word, just looked at him. In the pale moonlight her face appeared drawn. Only then did he remember she had expected him for supper.

  With a sigh he climbed the last step and shoved his hat back. “I’m sorry, Leah.”

  He could say he had been jawing with Henry Pritchard and Wash Halliday about the drought. Or that he’d stayed at the mercantile to help tally the ballots. Or…

  No, he couldn’t. He could never lie to Leah.

  “I plain forgot all about your potato salad.”

  She stood up slowly. “I saved your supper. I will bring it out here.”

  “I can get it. In the pantry, is it? And I’ll bring you some…tea?”

  “Coffee,” she murmured. She sank back onto the chair. “Good and strong.”

  The screen door swished shut behind him. Sometimes he hated that calmness she had. It’d be a hell of a lot easier if she laid into him, like most wives would.

  He found the plate of potato salad and sliced beef waiting for him under a damp tea towel in the coolest part of the pantry. On his way out, he juggled two mugs of coffee from the blue speckleware pot on the stove and pushed open the screen door with his knee. Lord, the night smelled good—earth and the pungent scent of pine trees.

  “Teddy has finished his supper,” she said. Thad handed over her coffee and settled himself uneasily on the straightback dining chair beside her.

  “Where is he now?”

  A ghost of a smile flitted across her mouth. “Up in his loft, reading the last chapter of Ivanhoe.”

  Thad raised his brows. “I’ll be damned.”

  “Remember, I stopped reading it aloud just before the joust between Ivanhoe and Front de Boeuf. Teddy wants to see how it ends.”

  Thad heaved a sigh and forked potato salad into his mouth. “You’re a good teacher, Leah. You know how to prick a boy’s interest. To be honest, I don’t remember where you left off reading.”

  “You missed a great many chapters, Thad.”

  “Yeah, guess I have.” He knew she was referring to more than Ivanhoe, but right now he didn’t feel up to tackling the real issue.

  “After I left town I couldn’t stop thinking about that damn wheat. Just couldn’t get it out of my mind.” />
  Leah nodded and sipped her coffee. “You have missed many things because of it.”

  “Yeah, I have to admit that.” From the unsmiling line of his wife’s lips, he guessed he’d missed a lot more than he realized.

  Something had changed. She was different, somehow. Almost…what? Not angry, just…distant.

  Well, sure she is, you damn fool. You haven’t been close to her in weeks. But he’d thought about her. There were nights in the barn when he’d wanted her so much he’d counted the hours until daylight. But something clawing at him in the dark had held him back.

  He still dreamed of Leah. Even now, just the scent of her hair floating on the balmy air made him close his eyes with longing.

  Leah leaned forward to set her coffee mug down on the porch. “What about your wheat, Thad?”

  Her voice, low and controlled, sent a shiver of premonition through him. He hunched over his still-warm coffee.

  “Have you ever thought about what that field really represents to you?”

  “Well, sure. I knew it was a gamble from the beginning. I’m known hereabouts as a successful rancher, so growing wheat was a challenge. A matter of pride, too, I guess.”

  “I think it is more than that,” she said quietly. “I think something is twisted around in your mind, that your wheat field represents some kind of control you want over your future.”

  He could think of nothing to say. He swallowed hard and cleared his throat. “Nah. Growing wheat is an experiment. This land is prime wheat country.”

  “That may be true,” she replied. “But there is still more to it.”

  His shirt collar began to chafe his neck. “What more is there?”

  She waited a long minute before answering. “I think it is all mixed up with losing your wife. I think you are afraid it might happen again.”

  For a moment he couldn’t draw breath. “You’re way off track, Leah. Besides, what’s that got to do with my wheat? I’m just a man trying to do his best for his family.”

  “You don’t want to think about it, I know. Or about me. So you think about your wheat field.”

  “You’re wrong, dammit. You’re seeing some significance that isn’t there.”

  She watched his face. “Am I wrong? You don’t eat breakfast or supper with Teddy and me. You sleep in the barn. You avoid being close to me.”

  “I—” Thad snapped his jaw shut. Hell, a worried woman could imagine all sorts of things. Some of her words pricked him, but dammit, his wheat field had nothing to do with her. Or Hattie. Or anything else.

  He leaned forward and lifted both her hands in his. “Leah, with no rain since last December, any rancher would be worried.”

  “I know,” she murmured. “I understand that.”

  But she didn’t. He could tell by the odd, hopeless look in her gray-green eyes. She didn’t understand, not really. He let out a heavy gust of air. But he’d be damned if he knew what to do about it.

  Maybe he should have owned up to her right off, told her how scared he was, not just about the wheat but about losing someone he loved again. Maybe now it was too late.

  He released her trembling hands and sank his head onto his palms. The joke was on him. He’d fallen in love with his delicate-looking, industrious, sensible and thoroughly female wife. He loved her, and wild horses couldn’t make him stop.

  Yeah, he could force himself to stay out of Leah’s bed, but now, after weeks of protecting his heart by keeping his distance, he realized he was losing what he most wanted to hold on to.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Leah had just puffed out the kerosene lamp and turned to crawl into bed when an unwelcome thought invaded her mind. She had seen something she could not understand in Thad’s troubled expression and the confusion that shadowed his eyes. Something that had nothing to do with his wheat field.

  He was not being honest with her. Was it because he did not understand his own mind? Perhaps he was not being honest with himself, either. How could a man as intelligent as Thad MacAllister be so blind to what was happening to their marriage? Did it not matter to him?

  She knew she would not sleep, so she padded into the kitchen. A pan of thick cream waited in the pantry to be churned—just what she needed, something to do with her hands. She rinsed out the wooden churn with hot water from the teakettle, dried the interior and poured in the cream. The blurping sounds decreased as the churn filled up; she attached the wooden paddle and began to turn the crank.

  As she worked she thought about Elvira Sorensen. The woman was obviously struggling to live with some kind of unhappiness, and Leah felt more than a tug of sympathy. Perhaps Mrs. Sorensen, too, was married to a man who did not love her?

  Leah’s thoughts turned to Thad and herself. She knew she was not what he had expected when he’d sent for her; he had married her out of decency and kindness. But she had grown to love him and, after that night when they had made love, she’d thought he cared for her, as well.

  She tried to concentrate on the sloshing sounds inside the churn, to clear her mind, but her thoughts went roiling on. How could she live with a man who did not care about her?

  Would she end up like Elvira Sorensen? She slapped the paddle against the inside of the churn, and Teddy’s face appeared over the loft railing.

  “Whatcha doin’, Leah? It’s gotta be past midnight.”

  “I am churning butter,” she said steadily. “Go back to sleep.”

  “Can’t.”

  She rested her arm for a moment. “Why not?”

  “Someone’s trampin’ around in the barn. I kin hear it through my window.”

  “Probably your father. Go to sleep.”

  Teddy’s head disappeared from the railing and then instantly reappeared. “How come Pa’s in the barn so late?”

  Leah closed her eyes. So Teddy had not realized his father slept in the barn rather than in the bed with her.

  “Didja have a fight? I heard voices on the porch, but you weren’t yellin’ or nuthin’.”

  “Not a fight, exactly,” Leah said over a tight throat. “Merely a…misunderstanding.”

  The boy’s eyes widened. “What about?”

  “About…well, about…” What was it about, exactly? About Thad’s blindness when it came to his wheat field? About her fear that she did not matter to him?

  “About grown-up things, Teddy. Things between a husband and wife.”

  “Huh. I knew Pa shouldn’ta married you. You’re smarter than he is.”

  Leah gasped. Unsure whether to laugh or cry, she said nothing, and after a long moment, Teddy’s voice rose again.

  “Hey, Leah? You got any more books like Ivanhoe?”

  She could not answer. Books like Ivanhoe. Oh, if only she did, then she could immerse herself in something more important to her than her day-to-day life with Thad. That must be what sad-eyed Mrs. Sorensen had done over the years—built a separate life for herself.

  Suddenly Leah felt cold all over. Tears blinded her. She bent her head so Teddy would not see, and a wave of clarity washed over her, as if a bucket of ice-cold spring water had been dumped on her brain.

  She slammed her open hand against the wooden churn and the paddle whooshed to a stop. This marriage might not be important to Thad, but it was important to her—more important than anything else.

  She lifted her arm, closed her fingers around the wooden handle and again started to churn. They would need butter for breakfast. But after breakfast, she must decide what to do.

  She had two choices: live the rest of her life like Mrs. Sorensen…or leave.

  But she must do something—anything—to avoid simply giving up.

  Thad lifted his head from the bed he’d made in the straw and sniffed the air. Coffee! What the…He crawled to the edge of the hay-filled loft and looked down.

  The barn door stood wide open, admitting a swath of sunshine that reached to his ladder, and in the middle of it stood Leah, her straight black hair gleaming in the light. In one han
d she gripped a mug of coffee and in the other she balanced a plate of…flapjacks! Lord bless her!

  “Thad?” she called, her voice uncertain.

  “Up here. In the loft.”

  She tipped her head up. “I brought you some breakfast.”

  “Well, thanks, Leah. I’ll come down.” He descended the ladder, and at the bottom, turned to face her.

  She hadn’t moved. Her eyes met his and a fist began to pummel his gut. Jumping jennies, all he had to do was look at her and he wanted to fold her into his arms.

  “Leah—”

  She didn’t let him finish. “I brought coffee, strong like you prefer it.”

  Thad moved toward her. “That’s darn nice of you, Leah.”

  “I am doing what I can,” she said, her voice so soft he could barely hear it. “I am trying to be a good wife.”

  Oh, Lord. She looked small and defenseless, and his heart was doing somersaults. He clenched his teeth so hard his jaw hurt.

  Leah was like no other woman he’d ever known—delicate and resilient at the same time. He prayed it was the resilient side he was seeing now.

  “Thad.” She looked up at him, her face calm but her eyes suspiciously shiny. “Tomorrow I would like you to eat breakfast at the house. With Teddy and me.”

  He wanted to. Wanted to watch her flitting about the kitchen, humming the way she always did. But something dark and heavy inside kept him from agreeing.

  “I…I’ll try, Leah.” He cringed at the lie.

  “I do not believe you,” she said quietly. “I do not believe that you want to be with us. With me.”

  Something in his chest tightened, then started to crack apart. He couldn’t lie to her again.

  “I do want to be with you.”

  She tried to smile. “But no matter what you say, you are not with me. And the way you avoid me…well, it tells me something.”

  “Yeah? What?” He didn’t want to hear this. He wanted to tramp away from her, over the pasture to his wheat field, but he couldn’t leave it—her—like this.