Adventure For A Bride: A clean historical mail order bride romance (Montana Passion Book 3) (9 page)

“This isn’t an adventure, Miss Carter. This is a mistake,” he answered in a sad, empty voice.

“You might think so now, and I wouldn’t blame you for it one bit. But let’s give it time. I’m here in the most beautiful place I’ve ever seen, surrounded by children who are adoring and wonderful. I’m willing to see how it works out. We’ll give it a month. If the train comes round again and you don’t want me to stay on, I’ll pack my things and head back to where I came from. That’s all I’m asking for… one month.”

Wyatt looked off in the distance, unsure of how to answer. He knew he had to say something to this untoward woman who’d showed up out of nowhere and upended his misery.

“Well, it’s settled for now. I’ll return to my duties, and leave you to return to yours.” Millie patted Wyatt’s arm supportively and walked around him, intent on beginning the long walk back to the cabin. She had the children to check up on, and needed to see if the horse had returned to the barn. If the horse had come up in the yard, the poor children must be terrified to see it without its rider. She picked up the pace, but fought with herself all the way back to the house.

What are you doing, Millie Carter? You didn’t come out here to be someone’s unpaid help! You left a loving family and a paying job back in Boston, and for what? To sit around and wait for a lunatic to decide to keep you? Have you lost your worth? Your pride?

Mille shrugged off the negative thoughts that weighed more and more heavily on her with each step toward the tiny house she’d have to call home for the foreseeable future. It wasn’t what she wanted, not by a long shot, and it wasn’t what she’d prepared herself for as she planned this arrangement all those weeks ago. But the fact of the matter was it became the arrangement she was offered, no matter how she felt about it. And now she’d have to make do or refuse.

“I’m afeared for Miss Carter,” Moira admitted as Pryor tucked the blankets around her before handing her the baby. She kissed the top of Bridget’s head and nestled the baby against her arm while Pryor beamed at both of them.

“Oh, are you now? I’m more afraid for Wyatt, if you want the honest truth!” he answered with a laugh. Moira wasn’t to be dissuaded with humor, though.

“I’m serious, Pry. She’s working herself into a tizzy, and for what? For Mr. Flynn to dismiss her at the end of her labors? What if those two can naw work through their differences?” she asked, looking up in dismay.

“Dearest, they’ll have to. It’s as simple as that. They have no choice but to come to an understanding. Besides, I can’t picture Wyatt not doing all that he can for those little ones. He loves them more than anything, and was the proudest papa ever who breathed when they were born.”

“I find that hard to believe!” Moira answered with a laugh. “No one in the territory was prouder than you over our Matthew and Bridget! You stopped people coming off the train to tell them you’d had another child born!”

“That is just an ugly rumor you heard, and no one can prove it,” he replied with a haughty look. Moira had to laugh.

“Only because the poor souls got right back on the train and high-tailed it out of New Hope, just to get away from the mad man and his babes!”

“You don’t know that. Perhaps that one man was already planning to continue west, and had simply gotten off at the wrong station.” Pryor laughed good-naturedly before sliding into the bed beside Moira. He looked over her to the floor where Matthew slept in a trundle bed pulled out for this purpose. A winter storm has passed through, bringing another round of frigid air, frozen rain, and unbearably bitter air with it, and he kept his family close together for warmth on nights like this.

“I just hope they all come to their senses,” Moira said mournfully. She closed her eyes in a quick prayer for the Flynns’ health and happiness, then slid her body back against the length of Pryor’s tall frame for warmth. She’d just closed her eyes when his voice broke the silence.

“They’ll have to. Their lives depend on it.”

“What do you mean?” Moira cried in a whisper, her eyes flying open as she craned her neck to look back at her husband.

“They can’t keep going this way,” Pryor answered with a defeated sigh. “If Flynn doesn’t snap out of it, he’s as good as dead. Miss Carter will head back east to her people, but he’s got nowhere to go and those children of his don’t have a single soul in the territory to look after them. He’s a ghost of a man walking the earth, and I don’t know how else to make him alive again.”

“That’s because you can naw, my husband,” Moira said, her Irish ways coming through clear as bell in her heartache. “He has to decide for himself that life is worth living, that his farm and his family are worth fighting for. If he will naw, then there’s naught to be done for him. We’ll take in his children, of course, should something happen to him, but I can only pray that ‘twill naw come to that.”

She kissed Pryor, pressed her lips to tiny Bridget’s head, then blew a kiss to her son, Matthew, where he slept soundly, completely unaware of the pain that the real world could dish out to grown-ups. The wind howled outside the cabin, which only served to make Moira aware yet again that her husband had provided for his family in a secure home with sound walls, and that somewhere out there on the territory, three motherless children were tucked in their beds, probably having cried themselves to sleep once again.

*****

Millie slipped out from under her quilts, careful not to let the scant heat of the bed escape more than she had to, and took a hesitant step across the ice cold floor. She only had to lean forward to reach the fireplace, and she was glad of its proximity to her bed, even if it was only because Wyatt had built no more of a home than he’d had to. She grabbed another piece of wood about as big around as her arm and pitched it onto the low fire, blowing on it to bank the flames and try to squeeze another flicker of warmth out of it.

She threw herself back under the covers and shivered so hard, her teeth nearly rattled. Winters in Boston had been brutally cold, too, but at least there she’d always had the heat from the business below them and the love of her family in their two small rooms to keep her from ever really feeling its grasp. Here, under the giant, lonely open sky of Montana, it felt as though there was nothing to even keep her pinned to the ground, to keep her from floating off into the blue sky, let alone to keep the heat of her body close to her on a night such as this.

Millie didn’t know which was worse at the moment—the feeling that she was all alone and isolated in this great territory, or the feelings of pity that radiated off of everyone who’d come to call. So far, she’d had that first visit from Moira and her children, a visit from Kieran and Gretchen O’Conner, and, of course, the recent visit from Nathaniel Russell and his wife, Katya. Mrs. Russell had even come back the following day and brought her mother and two sisters to meet the newcomer, which was odd because Katya spoke a fair amount of heavily accented English but her family members spoke almost none. It had been delightful to hear the foreign sounds rolling off their tongues, but all too soon, Millie had realized they were speaking mournfully of her and her current plight as an outsider to Mr. Flynn.

While the neighbors—such as they were, given the great distances between their farms—were only being hospitable, Millie couldn’t help but notice the looks of pity on their faces. It made her feel somehow at fault, that if she’d only been a better woman, Mr. Flynn would have welcomed her with open arms instead of shunning her and leaving her to rot in this cabin.

Get a hold of yourself, Millie
, she thought angrily.
You’re letting the storm and the cold get to you! Mr. Flynn is no different than he has been since you stepped off the coach, except perhaps somewhat more aware of you.

And it was true. She’d caught him looking out the front door to make sure she wasn’t outside before he stepped out, which was an odd improvement, in some ways. Before their talk in the fields, he wouldn’t have cared if she was outside, seeing as how he would have simply ignored her. The fact that he bothered to see if she was around meant that he at least wanted to avoid confrontation.

“My, you’ve turned into a sad Sally,” she told herself aloud, scolding herself for being so morose. “You’re never gonna make it out here if you can’t learn how to take this chilly, dreary weather in stride.”

No sooner had she spoken than a pounding on the door made her jump. She managed to stifle a cry, but still looked at the door fearfully as though the slab of wood actually held the answer.

“Who is it?” she called out, realizing how meaningless her words were in both this remote location and this storm. She was surprised to hear an answer called over the roar of the wind off the mountains.

“It’s me… Mr. Flynn,” the man’s voice replied. “I’ve come… I mean… it’s cold outside.”

Well of course it’s cold! It’s snowing!
she thought bitterly before realizing there had to be a method to his madness. Millie climbed out of bed and reached for an afghan to throw around herself, slipping her feet into her fur-lined shoes before opening the door a crack.

“Yes, Mr. Flynn?” she asked cautiously, trying to keep her teeth from chattering. He looked away sheepishly, his features haunting in the light of the lantern he carried.

“We were… I was… wondering if you’re warm enough, and thought I should invite you inside. If you’ll come, that is,” he answered, the tips of his nose and ears already bright red from just the few minutes he’d been exposed to the frigid air while walking from his cabin to hers.

“Why, thank you, Mr. Flynn. It’s very thoughtful of you to check on me. I daresay it’s not that warm out here, and I’m down to my last few logs,” she answered, gesturing to the small woodpile beside her fireplace. “Let me grab my wraps and I’ll be along shortly. There’s no need to wait on me in this cold, head on back to the house and I’ll follow soon enough.”

“I’m afraid you can’t, Miss Flynn. You’ll never find the house in this snowstorm. There have been tales of grown men getting blown off course and wandering for a mile before they froze to death. I’ve tied a rope, see?” he said, holding up the end of a long cord.

“I see. I had no idea. Well, never mind, I don’t need the wraps for this short walk, I suppose…” Millie looked wistfully at her pile of clothes taken off only a few hours before, but she didn’t want to keep Wyatt waiting on the porch while she dressed. She took a hesitant step outside, and immediately regretted it when the cold temperature hit her lungs. She shook her head, and stepped back into the tiny cabin.

“I’m sorry, but I must get dressed. I’ll die before we reach your front door, I’m afraid!” She looked lost for a moment, realizing that she could ask him to wait on the porch while she dressed, but that she’d never make it on her own. “Please, Mr. Flynn, won’t you come inside?”

Wyatt looked as though she’d asked him to strip naked and dance in the yard. The scandalized expression he wore told her exactly what he thought of her and her suggestion.

“Oh, for the love of Pete, Mr. Flynn! You’ve seen a woman in her dressing gown before, and I’m sure it wasn’t so cold that night! Just get in here and face the wall while I dress, and we’ll be fine!” She grabbed the front of his jacket and pulled him inside just as a gust of wind blew her fire to ash, plunging them into near darkness broken only by his lantern. She shut the door after securing his rope in the hinge so it wouldn’t get lost in the swirling snow.

Wyatt looked around uncomfortably, but Millie misread his reasons. Where she thought it had to do with seeing the woman who was supposed to become his wife in her nightclothes and a blanket, he was actually chastising himself for leaving her to languish in this shack for the past few weeks. Her homey touches were evident in the jar of living grasses on the windowsill, the flowers not yet ready to pick, and in the few pieces of lace she’d arranged on a couple of the surfaces. Otherwise, there was no avoiding the truth: his future wife was living in a shabby smokehouse, and it was all his fault.

“Mr. Flynn? If you’ll turn around, please?” she said directly. Wyatt blushed slightly, having already forgotten why he was there. He quickly turned around, then put his gloved hands in front of his eyes for good measure. Behind him, he heard the sounds of Millie’s preparations, and he was distinctly uncomfortable, even if this had been his idea. He knew it was wrong to expect her to have been dressed and ready at this time of night, but having to stand by while this strange woman put on her clothes was disconcerting, to say the least. The fact that he couldn’t find fault with her for it was all the more aggravating.

“All right, Mr. Flynn, I’m dressed and decent. Let’s go,” she said patiently. Wyatt turned around slowly and peeked at her over his shoulder, as though he half expected her to be tricking him into seeing her undressed. “Mr. Flynn! Do you actually believe I would let myself catch my death of cold just to trap you into seeing me in a compromised state? You must really think I am desperate to be married!”

“No, no, I was just making sure. I didn’t want to surprise you,” he argued, but he knew on some level she was right about him. He’d not been sure this wasn’t all a trap, even though he was the one who bothered to come out here in the first place.

“Well, let’s go. We still have to make it to the house somehow, and the children may be frightened if they awake and you’re not there.” She pulled the blanket tighter under her chin and linked her arm through his, which made him as uncomfortable as any other gesture since she’d first shown up. She looked at his face and saw him looking at her hand. “You cannot be serious! This upsets you, too? Fine, I’ll just try to follow you through the blinding snow and hope that I manage to keep up with you!”

“No, it’s not that… it’s just… no, you’re right. Please, Miss Carter, give me your hand,” he begged in the kindest tone Millie had heard him use yet. Wyatt held out his open palm to her and took the hand that she hesitantly placed there, preparing herself for another outburst. Instead, he threaded her hand through the crook of his bent elbow, and even patted it for good measure. Together, they stepped out of the shack and into the swirling, blinding chunks of frozen snow. She shuddered, unaccustomed as she was to the sensation.

The walk to the cabin would have taken a matter of seconds under ordinary circumstances, but the frozen landscape made the walk take more than several minutes. Almost ten long, cold minutes had passed, in fact, before they finally managed to put their hands in front of their faces and feel the solid wall of Wyatt’s cabin, despite his firm grip on the rope and his constant pull for it to be taut. Together, they felt along the length of the cabin wall until they reached the porch rail, where Wyatt climbed up first and held out his hand to help Millie up the frozen steps.

She accepted his help gratefully, but was long past feeling anything like hope that he’d come around to being kind. She knew it meant only that it was the proper thing to do, and that he’d have offered the same hand to any stranger standing in the snow.

They stamped the snow off their feet as best they could without waking the children, but also without lingering too long in the cold. One after the other, they slipped inside the cabin without opening the door too wide and letting the heat inside filter out. The sudden sensation of warmth on Millie’s exposed face and hands practically burned, and she gratefully raced to the fireplace to stand closer to the heat. Wyatt joined her, his own clothes wet and cold from making the trip twice.