The Unexpected Bride (The Brides Book 1) (20 page)

Catherine placed a gentle hand over Becky’s, perhaps seeing the worry in her face. “God will bless you with a babe when the time is right. I’m sure of it.” She smiled and patted Becky’s hand. As Isaac passed them, she gave her a mischievous wink and said, “He’s given you a good start with such a strapping young man.”

Becky realized she’d been watching her husband a little too closely, and Catherine had caught the direction of her gaze. She felt an embarrassed flush burning her cheeks. Although Catherine naturally assumed theirs was a normal marriage, Becky knew better. Not that she would say so. She found herself wondering if her dream of having a family of her own would ever come true.

Little Bess toddled over then, her dress soaked through. “Mama, spilla wawa.” Her little lips trembled, and she began to cry in earnest.

Her mother gathered her in her arms. “Come now, Bessie-sweet. Let’s get you in some dry clothes.” She stood and gave Becky an apologetic smile. “A little too much excitement for this little one, I expect. She needs a change and a quick cuddle, and then she’ll be right as rain. You go on and enjoy the festivities. But while we’ve got the chance, promise me you’ll come back and let me know when you have some news of your own to celebrate.” Catherine arched an eyebrow and grinned.

Becky nodded. If her face had been hot before, it was positively flaming now.

After her new friend left to change little Bess’s dress and put her down for a nap, Becky turned her attention to her husband, marveling at the sudden changes in him. He’d been warmer to her today than he’d been recently, maybe in all the time she’d known him. Today he seemed, well, almost like a suitor. Not quite, but almost. His unexplained about-faces baffled her, not that she was complaining about this particular change. She was reminded of her first meetings with him in the Pearsons’ parlor: their awkward conversations, that heart-stopping moment when he’d taken her hand in his. Somehow, he’d changed from that cordial young gentleman into something of a grump over this past week, ever since their first shooting lesson and his wonderful, confusing kiss. It had taken all her strength to stay positive, but the effort drained her.

Today’s Isaac was a welcome change.

She followed him at a distance and watched as he approached a group of children playing an unusual game of tag. The children chased each other around in a dirt-packed circle, tickling each other mercilessly with the tips of their branches. One small carrot-topped boy, dodging an attack by an older girl, tripped into Isaac’s leg. Spinning around, the boy accidently whacked Isaac in the stomach. Looking way up the entire muscled length of Isaac’s body into his face, the boy’s eyes grew round with awe. With a gulp visible at a distance, he muttered an apology and fled to hide behind the older girl’s skirts.

The older girl swallowed too, but stood her ground.

“He didn’t mean nothin’ by it, mister.” She placed a hand behind her, holding the boy’s shoulder bracingly.

“Is that right?” Isaac grasped his stomach in exaggerated pain. Then dropping his arms to his sides, he seemed to grow larger as his shoulders broadened, his stance widened. “Mary Alice, isn’t it?”

The girl nodded, but didn’t relax her protective stance a bit.

“Well, where I come from, an offense like that deserves retribution.” He bent to pick up a willowy pine branch of his own and brandished it with a flourish.

Seeing Isaac’s teasing grin, the girl broke into a relieved, girlish laugh.

“Oh, mister, you don’t know what you’ve brung on yourself.” She turned to the other children who had circled up behind her, listening to their interchange with wide, curious eyes. “Who’s with me?” she asked them.

A roar greeted her words. Looking at them, Becky decided they were gathering courage from each other with each coordinated attack. She watched Isaac with interest. He cavorted about like an eight-year-old boy, yelping at every strike, exacting revenge with answering—though obviously restrained—swats of his pine-needle-tipped stick.

Seeing Isaac laugh and play with the children, Becky grew very still. All the other loggers and their wives who were standing around melted into the forest perimeter. There was only Isaac and the children. He seemed so totally different here. Young and carefree.

Her brows lifted slightly.

And then she wasn’t sure what came over her—some spark of mischief maybe. Picking up a branch—a variety with long, pliable needles—she gave chase along with the children. Catching sight of her, Isaac backed away. His smile widened. His eyes twinkled with mirth.

“Don’t think you can catch me, young lady.” The uneven chuckle in his voice was infectious, and she found herself giggling uncontrollably, sounding like a much younger version of herself.

She darted toward him, her branch extended like a sword, ready to swat him if he got close enough. Several of the children linked arms and formed a wall behind Isaac, bringing him up short. He halted, gasping for air and laughing. He was cornered.

“You’re trapped.” She mocked as she stalked him. Waving her branch menacingly, she skirted his long-armed grasp. With a quick switch of her wrist, she tickled his side with the tip of the long branch.

He laughed a great, full laugh, which shook his tall frame. Still laughing, he snatched the branch from her and held it aloft above his head, far out of her reach.

Becky’s breath hitched in her throat.

There was something about his laugh. It did something to her... Her heart squeezed, and then lightened like a soap bubble floating on the air. She found herself simply smiling at him, bemused.

She couldn’t help thinking what an honorable, good man he was.

And he was
her
husband.

Was it possible what she was feeling was the beginning of love?

She made a fist over her stomach and held it there, overcome with the strangeness of it all. After having her heart stuck in a useless place for so long, she wasn’t sure if she could love. She’d worried about it many nights, lying awake, wondering if she was still capable of it. And now—more than anything—she wanted quite desperately to be able to love Isaac. She wanted it so badly it hurt, deep down.

Scarcely aware of what was going on around her, she registered that the children’s mothers were herding them into a circle around a massive tree stump, one about as big around as a good–sized cabin.

Isaac’s friend, Dally, called out, “Come on you two. It’s time to heel-and-toe.”

Isaac looked at Becky as if waiting for her reaction. With a boyish grin, he jerked his head toward the dance area. “Would you care to dance?”

“They’re dancing on top of a tree stump?” She smiled, delighted.

“Makes a perfect dance floor, I guess.” He led her over to the base and helped her climb a series of makeshift steps up to the top of the smooth, flat circle.

“We’re going to dance
on a tree stump
.” She glanced around in wonder as the other couples formed three sides of a square. She and Isaac made up the forth side.

Two fiddlers struck up a rousing medley, and an old wizened-looking man in a gray beard perched on a platform raised above the rest of the stump. He looked oddly like a bird with his round, prominent Adam’s apple and spindly legs, encased in slim-fitting denims. A tall gangly-legged bird. A gray-and-blue rooster maybe, Becky thought, tickled by her own fanciful imagination.

The caller greeted the dancers with a singsong chant, “Bow to yer partners!” Then he started calling out his commands, dizzying in their speed and incomprehensible in their meaning at times, like an auctioneer making his spiel.

Becky hadn’t ever participated in this particular dance. Little tiny butterflies fluttered in her stomach. What if she took a wrong step? What if she missed her footing and fell right off the edge? It was a good full-length drop to the ground. Then she noticed Isaac was also listening intently to the caller, his brow furrowed in concentration. She scowled at him playfully, and he grinned the same boyish grin that was beginning to turn her insides into mush.

She also decided, looking at him, that she rather liked his dark hair.

His warm, wide palm covered her hand, his fingers gripping hers firmly. It may have been more fanciful thinking, but she imagined it was his way of telling her he wasn’t going to let her fall off the side no matter what. They parted and spun, sashaying in a circle along with the other dancers.

“Swing her round!”

Isaac met her as they crossed each other’s paths, traveling in opposite directions. He linked arms with her and spun her around. Their eyes met. Becky caught her breath. She’d heard somewhere—church perhaps?—that the eyes were a window to the soul, and she felt very much like she’d glimpsed into Isaac’s soul. She liked what she saw: an honorable man. A strong man. A man who worked hard, but wasn’t afraid to laugh. A man who wouldn’t desert her in times of trouble. And, obviously, a man who’d constantly keep her on her toes.

It was a quick impression, a flash of understanding and no more, for she had to dance, turn the right way...grab his hand.

“Promenade!”

Isaac embraced her loosely then, his arm circling her back, one hand grasping her waist, the other holding her hand. They circled the floor, following the other dancers and laughing helplessly whenever they turned the wrong way. His touch made her heart pound. Each too-brief embrace sent a light bubbly sensation through her heart.

Maybe, just maybe, she could come to love Isaac Jessup.

***

As Isaac danced, he took pleasure in the feel of Rebecca’s slender back under his palm. Seeing Dally and his wife together earlier had stirred up all sorts of new feelings in him, feelings he couldn’t shake. Maybe a woman could survive in this wild territory. Sneaking a peek at Catherine tending her brood, Isaac was still amazed to see a woman flourishing in the mountains, with children no less. Lots of them.

But then Catherine seemed the sturdy sort—had probably been brought up out West along with a peck of brothers and sisters. Born to frontier life.

He glanced down at the top of Rebecca’s head as she whirled away from him. She twirled back, loose strands of her hair curling around her face, and looked up at him with a delighted smile. Everything about her spoke of grace and refinement. Of tea and crumpets and white gloves. Yet she seemed happy enough today dancing with him atop a tree stump in the middle of nowhere.

All in all, it was almost a perfect day. Well, the best they’d spent in each other’s company at any rate. No sooner had the thought passed through his head than the sky turned black. Clouds rolled across the sky, and the heavens opened up with a crack of thunder. Great soaking drops sent the dancers scurrying for cover in whatever building was closest.

“Isaac! Over here!” Dally called, beckoning them to follow. He ran off with his family across the clearing.

Isaac grabbed Rebecca’s hand and chased after Dally, as he and his little clan scrambled in through the front door of one of the larger log cabins. Isaac followed after them, hanging onto Rebecca, his other hand covering her head from the beating rain. As best he could anyway. It had sure come on hard and quick. She ducked her head and ran alongside him. He liked the way she leaned into him, using his body for shelter. As he and Rebecca entered the simple structure, the cluster of wet children parted for them like the Red Sea.

Mary Alice, who Isaac recognized as the one who’d challenged him in the game, stared at him with unabashed curiosity.

“Mama, this night ain’t fit for travel.” The girl declared with an impish smile. Her twin sister nudged her, and they dissolved in a fit of giggles.

“Looks like you two will be staying the night,” Catherine and Dally said in unison. They broke into laughter as their words tumbled over one another.

“That won’t be necessary.” Isaac couldn’t stay the night here. With Rebecca.

“Nonsense, my friend. Look.” Dally held the door wide open. A waterfall gushed from the roof overhang onto the ground in a stream of blinding gray.

Looking at the door, Isaac noticed Rebecca’s attention seemed oddly fixed above the doorframe, where two rifles were mounted, one man-sized and one smaller— a ladies’ rifle decorated with flowers, by the look of it. Must be Catherine’s, he thought, wondering at Rebecca’s interest in it. He didn’t have too much time to think about it though, because a draft blew a sheet of rain indoors, soaking the floor.

“Dally! Close it,” Catherine urged as she tugged a sopping dress off the littlest girl, who was drenched and sniffling. “That wind is blowing something fierce. It’s getting dark fast, and we may as well get the children in bed. They’ve had a full day.”

Dally closed the door and sent Isaac a look that said,
What did I tell you?

“You’re staying,” he said firmly, the way any good boss does, expecting to be listened to. It was much the way Isaac would have spoken to one of his senior men.

“Okay, okay. We’re staying.” Isaac felt rather than heard Rebecca’s swift intake of breath. He squeezed her hand in a light grip, trying to reassure her with that one small touch. “Thank you,” he said to Dally and Catherine.

“Nothing for it but to make the best of it,” Dally said. “We haven’t much room to spare, as you can see, but our place is always open to friends.” He led them to a small curtained-off alcove in the corner, the floor of which was built into a nest of sorts, with a lumpy-looking mattress and a crumpled wool blanket. “This is our oldest son’s bed. He’s spending the night with the Garretts’ oldest son anyway, so you may as well have his bed. It’ll be close, but that should serve you lovebirds just fine for a night, shouldn’t it?” Dally winked at Isaac and gave him a private little grin.

Isaac stared at the narrow bed and swallowed.

“This’ll be just fine, Dally,” he heard himself assuring his friend. Even so, sweat dampened his palms and beaded on his upper lip. Sleep here?
With Rebecca?
What if she kissed him again and called him
Jack, darling
in her sleep?

He didn’t think he could bear another night like that.