ROMANCE: BIKER ROMANCE: Valentine Biker (MC Alpha Male Pregnancy Romance) (New Adult Valentine Romance Short Stories) (150 page)

              “I don’t know,” she said, the admission making her heart ache. “I…I have nowhere else to go.”

              Yet again, pity came over the man’s expression as he nodded.

              Christina withheld a sigh. “I would like to work for you. I can do all those things you said, but I may need some teaching on how to care for a garden.”

              He nodded again. “Alright, then. I need to get some supplies and some beef, and then we can head out. If you would like, you can wait by my wagon while I get these things.”

              “Alright,” she said. Anticipation and fear were making her tremble, and the thought of walking around town with a stranger was an exhausting thought in itself. She gave said stranger a tight smile. “Thank you.”

              He motioned her to follow him as he walked away, and she hurried after him.

              “It’s not far,” he said. He tilted his hat downward a little, perhaps wanting to shield his eyes from the blaring sun. “Just down the street, near the barber shop.”

              “Alright.”

              They continued on in silence for a long while after that. Clinging to her bag helped to comfort Christina through the awkwardness of the stranger’s presence, though it didn’t stop the panicked thoughts that raced through her mind. What had she just agreed to?

              It wasn’t until they reached his wagon—worn with age but still looking strong—that Christina realized she still didn’t know her new employer’s name. She didn’t even know where this stranger lived.

              “Get settled,” he said, pointing to the front seat of the carriage. “I shouldn’t take long.”

              “Wait,” she blurted, reaching out for him as he moved away.

              He stopped and furrowed his brow at her.

              “What’s your name?” she asked. “If I may know it.”

              Surprise then amusement brightened his eyes and quirked his lips. “It’s Wyatt Swanson. And if I may know it, what do you call yourself?”

              She blushed, knowing he was teasing her. “Christina. Christina Odell. I…I am from New York.” She had no idea why she said that last part; it had just come out in an uncomfortable bout of anxiety.

              He grabbed the rim of his hat and bowed. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Odell, from New York.” Then, smiling, he turned and walked away.

              Christina bellowed out a breath, relief and calm washing through her. With no one paying her any attention to her anymore, she climbed onto the wagon and settled herself in its front seat. There, she waited and rested with her bag in her lap. The horses hooked up to the wagon had been too busy drinking water from a large, dirty trough to bother with her.

              Though it seemed to grow brighter—the sky losing the majority of its clouds—the thin air was dropping in temperature. By the time Wyatt had returned with packages of meat and tools, Christina could see her breath leave her nostrils in cloudy streams.

              After he had put his purchased goods in the wagon, and after he had moved the large trough to the side, he came up to the front of the wagon and asked, “Are you ready?” He hopped up to the front seat, sat beside her, and took the horses’ reins—all before she had even opened her mouth. Clearly, he did not need her to answer his question.

              “Yes,” she said anyway, wanting to be polite.

              He whipped the reins and urged his animals forward. They snorted and whinnied before doing as their master instructed, and galloped onward.

              The awkward silence between herself and Wyatt had returned once their journey officially started, and she couldn’t help but gnaw at her lower lip. The tumbling of the wagon as it moved was a decent distraction though. She let the abrupt little motions annoy her for a while. She nearly lost grip of her bag a few times, and she was clinging it against her stomach.

              Eventually, her curiosity made her braver than she normally was. She glanced over at Wyatt, whose eyes were glued forward, toward the distant pine trees they were approaching.

              “How long have you lived in this area?” she asked.

              She jumped when he snapped his attention to her. “What?” he said loudly, over the noises of the wagon.

              Christina cleared her throat and repeated herself, louder this time. “How long have you lived here?!”

              Wyatt shrugged and looked forward again.

              More silence followed.

              Christina sighed. The wagon jostled, making her bounce in her wooden seat a bit. She gasped and wrapped her body around her bag. If Wyatt was giving her a strange look, she decided that she didn’t notice it.

Chapter Three

              It took several hours to reach his homestead, and Christina was grateful that it didn’t look anything like Adam Jane’s ranch; she didn’t want to be reminded of that man ever again. No, Wyatt’s blue house was large—two-stories with a grand porch, and with a balcony on the west side of the second story. Compared to the cramp little place she had lived in in New York, Wyatt’s home looked like a palace to Christina. Awed, she beamed at it as they approached.

              “It’s beautiful,” she whispered, grateful that her voice was hidden amongst the loud sounds of the wagon.

              Wyatt drove the wagon past the house and to the stables behind it. Once there, he urged the horses to the stop. They quickly followed his silent direction, though they panted heavily in response.

              “I’ll put the horses away, and then you can help me get everything inside,” he said, stretching his arms.

              Christina nodded, though he hadn’t even looked at her when he spoke. He turned and climbed down the wagon, his wedding ring gleaming in the sunlight for one blinding second.

              Christina’s eyebrows shot up, her nerves calming further. Surely a married man would be less dangerous than a single one. Though she had yet to get any threatening vibe from Wyatt, the fact that he was married was still reassuring to her. If he had a wife to…to be with, he was less likely to try to…be with her. And it would be nice to share a home with another woman. She hadn’t even had that back in New York, having been raised by her drunken single father.

              She listened and watched from the wagon as he guided each horse to its particular stall. She smiled when she heard Wyatt make sweet, clicking noises to each one of his animals.

              Sometime later, Wyatt returned to the wagon and motioned for Christina to get down. She did, albeit clumsily, and stumbled after him when he walked to the back of the wagon.

              “What did you buy?” she asked.

              “Beef, mostly,” he grunted, climbing into the wagon. “Some chickens, a new hammer, some paper and a pen—” The list went on and on.

              Christina smiled politely as her mind drifted off. Whenever he past her a box or a bag from his crouched position in the wagon, she would quickly reach in and take it from him. This had been easy enough until she was carrying three boxes and one bag.

              “You alright?” Wyatt asked. With several boxes in his own arms, he jumped from the wagon and landed on wobbling feet. “Not too much for you?” he gritted out.

              “No,” she lied, glancing him up and down. Though the boxes hid most of his torso and face, she managed to see his sweat on his brow. “Are you alright? Did you hurt yourself?”

              “I’m fine,” he said, a hint of groan coating his words. “Let’s just get to the house.”

              Wyatt kicked down his own door, which apparently had been unlocked, and led the way to his kitchen. There, he dropped the boxes on his large table, and then she did the same. Blood rushed through her aching arms, full of relief. She took a few deep breaths and allowed herself to relax as she glanced around.

              As expected, the home was as lovely on the inside as it was on the outside. The framework was decorative, and the floorboards were dark and sturdy. But, while there was some furniture about—like the large kitchen table—the place seemed rather bare. Maybe it was because it was so spacious, but there didn’t seem to be enough…things inside of it. There weren’t even any curtains on the windows, nor any pictures on the walls.

              “I have one too many bedrooms in this old place,” Wyatt said, huffing by the table. “You can look around and pick one room for yourself while I put this meat in the cellar. They should all have at least one mattress in them, and if it doesn’t, then it ain’t a bedroom.” He pointed toward the staircase, right beside the edge of the kitchen. “Make yourself at home. When I’m done, I’ll show you how to maintain the land.”

              “What about your wife?” Christina asked. “Is she here? I don’t want to start…”

              Wyatt blanched, his eyes wide and his lips pressed tightly together. His facial muscles twitched, as if he was trying not to cry—or to shout.

              Christina tensed, her torso feeling as if it was shriveling up on herself. She knew that she had crossed a line of some sort, but what exactly, she couldn’t even guess.

              “I’m alone,” Wyatt said. Angrily, he grabbed a couple of the boxes and heaved them up. “Just find your bedroom and wait for me.” He turned and walked into a different room—a smaller one that looked like a large closet.

              Shocked, Christina walked up the staircase. With each step she took, she gained more of an understanding of what just occurred.

              Only widowers wore wedding rings for women no longer around.

              The realization made Christina ache. She swore to herself to never make a mistake like that again. Wyatt, her savior, deserved better from her.

              On the second story, she picked the smallest room with a bed in it to claim as her own. There, she sat on top of the covers and twiddled her thumbs. She had placed her bag on the floor, and it now rested beside her feet.

              When Wyatt found her, he seemed considerably calmer than when she had seen him last. He even smiled at her.

              “Good choice,” he said, glancing around the room. Then he backed away and tilted his head to the side. “You ready to garden?”

              “Yes,” she said, standing up.

              The garden was larger than she had thought it would be. It was located on the east side of the house, and it was surrounded by part of the house itself, as well as a tall, wobbly fence. About half of the plants looked like they were dead or dying, and there were various rusty gardening tools lying about in the dirt.

              “I haven’t spent a lot of time on it,” Wyatt said, scratching the back of his neck and wincing with embarrassment. “It’s…a big place to take care of.”

              “It is,” she said sincerely. Without her bag to hold on to, she clutched her hands together and willed herself to be relaxed. “What are you growing out here?”

              “Potatoes, cabbages, and radishes. It’s not an easy thing to do in the mountains, especially during the winter.”

              She only hummed in agreement.

              He opened his mouth, but when he turned to her, he stumbled over his words for a few seconds. Then he shook his head. “Excuse me. I just…are you comfortable here? If you’re not, I will take you back to town. That’s never a problem.”

              Christina’s heart fluttered. “Thank you. I am comfortable, just timid. You have been wonderfully kind when others have not. I will always be appreciative of that, Mr. Swanson.”

              “You can call me ‘Wyatt,’” he said, smiling wider. Then he motioned toward the garden. “And there’s no need for appreciation. I can use all the help I can get.” He leaned down and picked up one of the rusted tools. “Let’s get started before anything else rots.”

              A startled chuckle burst out of her mouth, and she quickly covered it as she crouched beside him. She tried to ignore the way he smirked at her in response, but it still managed to make her blush.

Chapter Four

              The next couple of weeks, she and Wyatt developed a routine. She would attend to the garden in the mornings and afternoons, cook their meals throughout the day, and clean the house in the evening. Wyatt would tend to the stables and other outdoor work—like cleaning the gutters and getting the firewood. They shared their meals, sometimes in comfortable silence. It was nice; it was the home she always imagined having when she was a little girl.

              That evening, after she and Wyatt had washed and dried the dishes, she went upstairs to catch up on the dusting. In one of the guest bedrooms, she wiped a moist cloth over the framework around the windows and on the bottom of the walls. It made the air smell like wet dust, but the framework gleamed against her lantern’s light.

              Satisfied, Christina took her lantern and her washcloth and headed for the room’s closet. When she got there, she set her items down and opened the door.