The Unexpected Bride (The Brides Book 1) (19 page)

What was he doing?

He stepped back quickly and set her a good safe distance away from him.

There was nothing like a woman sighing another man’s name to sour a man’s desire—even if it was only in his memory.

He apologized, his roughly spoken words taking the shine out of her expression. Berating himself as a fool, he stalked off toward the path. How could he have forgotten she loved another man? She’d offered him friendship.
Friendship. Friendship. Friendship.
Though she seemed to welcome the thought of him sharing her bed, he couldn’t help feeling it was wrong to love her.

If her heart were free, why, it’d be a different matter. But her heart wasn’t free. Kissing her was wrong. W-R-O-N-G.

Just as certainly, he was sure her friendship wasn’t enough. It seemed like such a poor substitute for what he wanted. He wanted a real marriage. One based on love. Like the one his parents had. Why should he open his heart up, just to have it trampled on? Better to go slowly and wait for signs from her that she welcomed his love, that someday she could return it.

Unfortunately, Becky needed several more shooting lessons this next week. Spending time with her was the last thing he should do after kissing her like that, but it was a husband’s duty to protect his wife.

So he’d let his defenses down today. He wouldn’t weaken again.

Not until the time was right.

***

Becky stood for a moment staring after Isaac’s retreating back. What had just happened? One minute he was kissing her—and she’d found it a surprisingly pleasurable moment given the confused state of her heart—and the next he was pushing her away.

She thought he planned to walk all the way home without her, but then he paused. He glanced over his shoulder at her and just as quickly turned away. He stood there, his straight back sending a silent message. He was waiting for her to follow him, and he wasn’t the least bit happy about it. At least he wasn’t abandoning her to that big grizzly, she thought with a humorless smile.

She snatched up her cape and bonnet, which she’d left in a neat pile under a nearby tree, and followed after Isaac. As if he heard her footfall behind him, he started walking at a steady pace toward the path.

How could he kiss her, all warm and deliciously soft like that, and then shut her out so completely? He’d stirred up feelings of attraction unlike any she’d ever felt before—nothing like the girlish giddiness she’d felt with Jack, but a grown-up-woman kind of feeling that completely shook her.

His actions afterward could only mean one thing: he regretted kissing her. Right?

But at some point, he’d asked if she’d like to go to a dance. She remembered that distinctly. It had been moments before his lips had begun their descent toward hers. He’d said a friend of his from another logging outfit had invited them to a dance.

Didn’t that mean Isaac
wanted
to dance with her?

Could that be right?

It didn’t sound right.

Certainly her heart had thumped more loudly at the prospect of spending time with him, of being in his arms as they spun in time to music. She couldn’t stop going over his words and his kiss. Nothing had seemed amiss in that. Not until he’d pushed back and tramped off like a man on a mission.

She sighed.

The man was un-understandable. She smiled at the awkward turn of phrase. It wasn’t quite “proper,” but it fit.

In spite of his strange actions, she kept feeling a tiny thrill return again and again at the thought of the upcoming dance. Sunday, he’d said. She smiled and skipped a few times to catch up to Isaac’s much longer stride. She hurried along a few paces behind him on the narrow path all the way back to the cabin, admiring the way he walked. Like he owned the place. Like the boss-man he was. Young but competent. She admired the width of his shoulders too. His back looked strong, like he was used to lifting and moving logs or something, which made sense. She knew his arms were strong just from that one quick embrace.

He certainly wasn’t hard to look at.

If you liked that sort of thing.

I do. I actually think I do.

She smiled thoughtfully to herself.

And on Sunday, they were going to a dance. She loved dancing.

SIXTEEN

I
saac kept his promise to himself to keep his distance from Rebecca as best he could. Although he’d taken her shooting a couple more times, and each time she’d improved a little, he was still nervous about the idea of her handling a weapon on her own. The remainder of the week he’d plowed into his work with a vengeance to keep himself occupied.

Being busy hadn’t erased the memory of holding her in his arms or kissing her though. Every night when he fell into bed, he was in tune with the slightest noises coming from the next room. He could almost hear the sound of her brush stroking through her hair—pictured it long and loose around her shoulders like that evening when she’d met him at the door. The clean lemony scent of her soap seemed to permeate through the walls.

He’d toss and turn, trying to bury the pleasure he’d felt holding her in his arms, the sense of being absorbed by her as he’d kissed her. No matter how hard he tried he couldn’t shake the memories. Every morning was the same: she smiled at him, offered him a well-cooked breakfast, and wished him a good day at work.

And what did he do?

Like a sore-headed beast, he grumbled at her, shot her irritated scowls, and made their brief time together intolerable. The evenings weren’t much different. Thank goodness Pop was still bringing by a steady supply of game, for they ate well enough. That was about all that went well. Her constant humming every single day reminded him that she loved Jack. In fact, it seemed to him that she was humming more often. A torture. The lively tune buzzed in his ears even when she wasn’t around. It was a small, stupid thing, he knew, but it kept him from relenting. His heart pestered him with guilty feelings about it. He wasn’t treating her right. Not like a husband should.

Not that he was her husband in the real sense of the word, an issue that didn’t bear thinking on too much.

But a man protected his woman. Loved her.

Not that she’d married him with any intention of offering her love in return.

But she’d become a dutiful bride in every other sense of the word.

His mind warred back and forth. Finally, he couldn’t stand it anymore. He just didn’t
like
himself these days. If he didn’t stop acting like a brute, then he couldn’t live with himself any longer.

He needed to change. And quick. Like yesterday.

Pausing for a deep breath of cool mountain air, Isaac swiped his forehead with his sleeve and then plunged his axe into the stump he’d been using as a chopping block for splitting logs.

No. If he couldn’t be decent to the woman—no matter where her devotions lay—then he wasn’t the man he wanted to be. And that wouldn’t do at all. He hauled the skid back to the cabin, stacked the logs next to the lean-to, and finished his other chores as efficiently as possible. The dance was tomorrow, and he had some serious heart changing to do before sun-up.

***

After worship service the next morning, Isaac rode with Rebecca on the long trek to Dally’s camp and found the festivities already in action. He looked around with interest at the handful of women in the group and the children that were bounding about. There looked to be about a dozen children, give or take, ranging in age from babes in arms to the half-grown variety. It was hard to tell exactly how many there were of them, because they were darting back and forth. Spotting Dally, he led Rebecca over to introduce her to his old friend, who was much the same stocky young man he’d known before, except his sandy hair was now thinning a little on top and he had a few laugh lines around his eyes.

“Isaac!” His friend gave him a back-thumping bear hug. “Welcome to my little corner of the world.”

“Scarcely little. This is quite an operation you’ve got here, Dally.” Isaac looked around at the neat rows of cabins and large cookhouse, complete with a front stoop and white rocking chairs. The smell of a wood fire and meat grilling drifted on the air. “You’ve done all this in seven years?”

“Who would have thought two green fallers like us would end up owning their own operations someday? Boggles the mind, don’t it?”

Isaac chuckled and turned to Rebecca, “Dally, this is my wife, Rebecca. Rebecca, this is Dally, an old friend.”

“Not so old, not so old. Only have a few years on you, friend. Don’t forget. A pleasure, young lady. I understand you just recently got hitched up with this here ruffian?”

Rebecca shook Dally’s hand. “Thank you for the invitation, Mr. Dally. Yes, Isaac and I were recently wed.”

“No ‘Mister.’ Just Dally. Short for a name I don’t care to reveal.” He winked at her.

Dally placed an arm around a sturdy, capable-looking brunette who joined him at his side. “This is my wife, Catherine, and these are my children. Come on over here, young’uns,” he called. A bevy of children of all sizes gathered around him, and he placed a hand on each of their shoulders in turn. “This here is William, and Emily and Mary Alice—twins, though they don’t look nothin’ alike. This is Patrick, Henry, and the littlest one here is Bess.” He hoisted a cherub-faced toddler onto his shoulder and beamed at his guests with fatherly pride.

“Six?” Isaac asked incredulously, even as he smiled politely in greeting at Catherine and their brood of children.

“And one on the way.” Dally bent to give his wife a peck on the cheek. He waggled his eyebrows playfully at her, and she swatted him on the arm. Her cheeks colored up prettily, bringing a youthful glow to her face.

“Get on now, Dally,” Catherine said, but her tone was light, affectionate. Seeing the contented little smile she gave Dally, Isaac decided he liked her. She was obviously a sensible, flexible sort of woman, suited to this kind of life.

Dally continued, “You never met Catherine, of course, because she brought the older children up from Sacramento after I got this place under way.”

Isaac remembered Dally talking about his wife and “young’uns,” but he’d never thought Dally would bring them here. Even though Pop’s wish for grandchildren had spurred him into marriage, somewhere in the back of his mind he’d never been able to imagine having a family survive, let alone prosper, in the midst of a logging operation. Too dangerous. But looking at Dally surrounded by his family, Isaac saw a man who was proving him wrong.

Suddenly wishing he and Rebecca had news of their own to share, he swallowed hard. He cast a glance at Rebecca and found her watching Dally’s family with a wistful expression, a sort of yearning look that made him wish they had the kind of relationship where he could give her a quick peck on the cheek, like Dally and his wife. But they didn’t.

“Well, there’s no shortage of food.” Dally waved his children off to continue playing. “Zed’s got a fine pig roasting on the spit. And we’ve got an apple pie contest later. Catherine will win again this year, of course. She makes the best pie.”

Isaac’s stomach grumbled at the mention of food. He thought he’d caught a whiff of cinnamon on the air, something sweet and buttery. That explained it. “Apple pie,” he said. “Always reminds me of Mama. She made an apple pie fit for angels.”

Catherine laughed. “I wouldn’t call my pie ‘fit for angels,’ but it’s just fine for us regular folks. The secret’s in my canned apples,” she said in a mock whisper. “Now, make yourselves at home. Today’s all about having a good time.”

***

After the feast and wonderful samples of pie, Becky found herself alone with Dally’s wife, Catherine. They stood together in the clearing between the cabins, where several long tables and benches had been set up. Looking around and finding no sign of their menfolk nearby, Becky leaned closer and asked in a quiet voice, “So you’re expecting another?”

Catherine beamed at the question and rubbed a hand over her still-flat stomach. “Number seven.” She grinned, her eyes shining. “We hadn’t planned on seven, but we’re happy.”

Taking a second glance around, Becky noticed Isaac approaching. She turned back to Catherine and said quickly, “I want so much to have children of my own.” The longing had merely grown since she’d married Isaac. She’d hoped they had an understanding building between them, but over the past week, he again seemed intent on pushing her away. And then there was today. He seemed completely different. Like a new man altogether. He’d gone so far as to hold her hand once on the trip over, when they’d stopped for water. He’d reached down to help her up after she scooped up a drink, and he’d held onto her hand until they retrieved the horses.

She was starting to think the man didn’t know his own mind. She certainly didn’t. He was a mystery. She just wished she knew where they stood.