A Bride at Last (26 page)

Wife.
Just the thought of the word sent a shiver down his arms. Kate peered up at him with a question in the lift of her eyebrow, but he only shook his head.

Thankfully, they’d have the winter to adjust to each other before the land claimed their full attention.

Jedidiah walked around his counter, wiping his hands on an ink-stained white cloth, taking in every inch of the newcomer. “How do you do?”

Silas stepped forward. “Mr. Langston, this is Miss Dawson. My son’s teacher from Breton.”

“Anthony mentioned you planned on visiting.” Jedidiah’s tone was suspicious. “But I figured you’d wait ’til winter break, being a teacher and all.”

She looked between the two men, likely wondering if such direct questioning worried Silas.

“Yes, she’s early. Come, Anthony.” He’d hoped to have this conversation with Jedidiah later, because right now,
he
didn’t even know why she’d come so quickly. And he definitely wouldn’t discuss the subject in front of Anthony. “Let’s get Miss Dawson’s things to the boardinghouse.”

The door creaked open behind them and a couple from across town came in. Thank God for customers to distract his friend. “See you tomorrow night, Jedidiah.” He’d figured they could play chess after bringing Kate back from seeing the farm, not that he was eager to endure the inevitable interrogation. But
Anthony seemed interested in the game now—or rather bent on beating Lynville, since everyone else could.

Maybe with Anthony along, the men would keep from berating him for shucking the title of disgruntled bachelor. They’d already cleaned up their language in front of the boy, and a gentleman didn’t talk about someone’s soon-to-be momma like they would an old flame. If his marriage turned out, maybe the other men would finally see forgiveness could free them up for better things too.

At least Silas hoped he was headed for better things. If not, these men would rub his nose in his every misstep. He held open the door for Kate and Anthony to exit.

Please tell me if we’re making a mistake, Lord.

But of course God didn’t answer with a voice or a vision.

A peace maybe? Could you give me a peace?

But he’d already asked for that while imagining marrying her—or not—and his guts still turned with indecision.

Anthony held Kate’s hand as they left the post office. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

Silas followed them out into the chilly air but let them walk ahead.

“I’m glad to see you too.” She pulled the boy closer, wrapping her arm around his shoulders and rubbing his arm.

Though she didn’t say she was glad to be here.

Hadn’t she turned down his proposal in Breton? So what made her come without one letter between them? Something must have happened with her job.

He should’ve taken her to the hotel to eat before retrieving Anthony. Then he could’ve asked her what had spurred her to Kansas without the boy’s listening ears.

“I can’t wait to show you my kitten.” Anthony practically skipped beside Kate down the sidewalk, though he’d surely claim he was too old for such behavior. “I got to pick one from
Dr. Stanton’s litter, and I chose the black one with three white socks. Mr. Jonesey said I should name him Socks, but that’s too easy. Maybe you could help me think of something.”

“What’s his personality like?”

“Well, he attacks Mr. Jonesey’s old knotted sock as if it’s a ferocious critter one minute and then falls asleep with it the next.”

And with every step beside Kate, Anthony talked faster.

Silas walked behind them, soaking up the stories his boy told her so freely. They weren’t within sight of the depot yet, and Anthony had already used more words with Kate than he’d bothered to spill since leaving Missouri.

The two of them together, conversing with such ease did his heart good, and yet, he wasn’t a part of it. Would they forever shut him out, or had three decades without bonding with anyone set him up for stilted relationships for the rest of his life?

Chapter 17

Kate primed Silas’s well and pumped water. The handle stuck just as he’d said it would, so she jiggled it. From the dipper, she took a long drink and then leaned against the well’s edge, gazing out over Silas’s land.

During the train ride, she’d tried to erase the picture Silas had painted of his place and envision Lucy’s dismal descriptions.

Either he’d made a lot of improvements since Lucinda left, or her friend had exaggerated the hardships.

Some of both, most likely.

And why had Silas’s friend kept sending him telegrams over the disaster Mr. Hicks had made of the place? Nothing much looked amiss. There was a large pretty yard—or it would be when spring brought back the green. The well sat between the barn and the small whitewashed cabin, which contained a bedroom, a combination sitting room and kitchen, and a loft. Several other small buildings dotted the property, likely root cellars and sheds.

She turned to watch Silas pick the rocks and dirt from the last of his borrowed horse’s hooves. A borrowed wagon and
a borrowed nag. Maybe that was why the men were worried about the farm. How much of the stuff she saw was on loan?

If only she’d seen that something in Silas’s eyes when she got off the train yesterday. But after she’d detrained and told him he had to measure up, he’d turned aloof.

Sighing, she shook her head. Could she blame him for going quiet? He didn’t need her to underline his faults when she had plenty herself. “Just ask the school board.”

Silas stopped. “What’d you say?”

She hadn’t realized she’d said that aloud.
Oh well, might as well get the conversation started.
“The school board.” She shrugged. “They fired me.”

“Because of me?”

“Yes, seems plenty of people saw us . . . at the train station.”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m really sorry about kissing you like that. I take full responsibility.”

But her brazen response hadn’t been his fault at all. What if . . . what if he regretted everything? She wrapped her arms around her middle. “Are you sorry I lost my job or that you kissed me?”

He pulled at his collar. “I regret kissing you without thinking about how it’d affect you—your reputation, I mean.”

“But what about the kiss itself?” She forced herself to look up at him.

“I, uh . . .” His gaze landed on her mouth, then darted out over his pastures, his Adam’s apple working harder than necessary. Was he enamored with her even a little bit? He’d certainly been skittish and stiff since she’d arrived—but she hadn’t been particularly warm either, nearly implying he’d lied to her about his property the moment she opened her mouth.

He blew out a breath and looked back at her. “I’m not sure I’d do it again, but it’s not that I didn’t enjoy it.”

They stood staring at each other for a moment. Then he pointed toward the well. “I need to wash my hands.”

She moved out of his way, but not far enough away she couldn’t smell the cologne and leather and musk of the man. She needed to forget fear, forget reason, and just . . . stop overthinking. Maybe if she stopped being so standoffish, he’d start acting the way he had back in Breton.

But to do that, one of their mouths ought to start moving. . . . Talking, at least. “What’s that heap of rocks for?” She pointed to the haphazard pile sitting a body length away from the cabin.

“I collect them as I plow. Almost enough to make a summer kitchen, I think.”

Surely no bachelor thought a summer kitchen necessary. Had he been collecting all this time in hopes Lucinda would return?

“What’s that back there?” A wooden fence surrounded three towering piles of hay beside an earthen lump overtaken by weeds.

“The soddy I started out in.”

Ah, the dirt hovel Lucinda had complained about. And no wonder. It certainly looked small for two people.

“You want to look at it?”

She nodded. Maybe moving would work the kinks from their awkward conversation. “What kind of wire is that around the garden?” Dead plants drooped in weary lines behind the house.

“Torn ribbon wire. Keeps the cattle and horses from eating my vegetables, though it doesn’t keep chickens out. I wanted to get more wire for the cattle since they’re easier to contain that way, but I won’t be able to afford it for a while now.”

“Eggs, beef, and vegetables.” Was there anything the man was missing from being self-sufficient? “Have you a dairy cow?”

He pointed to a rust-colored lump in the nearest pasture. “Milky’s over there.”

“Milky?”

He shrugged. “She’s not well named at the moment considering she’s dry now.”

“I suppose you have a cat named Cat?” She couldn’t help but laugh at her joke.

“Well yeah. He’s the gray shadow over there under the wheelbarrow.”

She snorted, then put her hands on her hips. “Don’t tell me the dog’s name is Dog.”

“I’m not that bad. He’s Yellow Eyes.”

Was he being humorous, or did he really think Yellow Eyes required more imagination than Dog? No wonder he’d suggested naming the kitten Socks. “Remind me not to let you name the—”
Children
.

She sped up, hoping he’d not notice the terrible blushing she’d been cursed with lately. Precisely how had she so quickly gotten from worrying about whether or not she should marry him to naming children?

By the time she reached the soddy’s entrance, she’d breathed in enough cool autumn air that the only color that should be left in her cheeks was from exertion. She pinched the building’s sagging wall made of long, thick dirt bricks and rubbed the soil between her fingertips. “How long did you live here?”

“I built the cabin seven years ago, so . . . nearly five years.”

And it wasn’t surprising Lucinda had complained about living in this thing. Kate ducked under the low doorway into the darkness. Only one deep, east-facing window covered by an oilskin curtain let in any light beyond what came through the doorway. White plaster crumbles littered the floor and speckled the sparse farming equipment stored inside. She tried to imag
ine a stove, table, bed, chairs, wardrobe, chest, and washstand stuffed inside instead of plows and rakes.

She’d never felt the meaning of the word
cramped
more keenly than now.

“I’ve let it fall into disrepair. Been too focused on the crops and livestock.” He reached up to the ceiling, where roots dangled through a hole. He pushed against a rotten wood beam to keep from hitting it with his head as he took another step inside. “I know it looks awful. Wasn’t much to live in, but it’s warmer than the cabin in the winter and cooler in the summer. Though both houses have their flaws. Bugs and snakes plagued this one.” He shuddered, then rolled his shoulders as if to shake off the shiver. “The cabin though, well, I’ve had coons holing up under the porch, and once a skunk—”

“Are you trying to make your place sound bad?”

He wiggled the rotten section of the stud until he pulled it from the ceiling. Soil rained down on him. “Figured you needed to know what you might have to deal with.” He swiped the dirt from his hair.

“You’ve got a nice place, Silas. I can’t imagine the dedication needed to build this by yourself.”

He blinked at her. “I’m always behind on everything, and I’ll be even more so this coming season since Peter Hicks ruined quite a bit of what I’d built up. I’ve lost crops, animals, and equipment.”

“I’m sorry about your setback. I hope the trust you had in God back in Breton will help you get through this winter.”

“He did honor that trust, didn’t He?” His voice was soft, contemplative. “So He could certainly do it again. . . .”

“You should be proud of your place—not trying to make me think poorly of it just because things need improvement or repair.”

“I shouldn’t?” He took a step closer.

She’d thought the place was cramped before, but his nearness created a panicky feeling of another kind.

She licked her lips. “Why are you making your homestead sound worse than it is? Are you trying to talk me out of marrying you?”

Since her eyes hadn’t quite adjusted to the dim room, she couldn’t tell what the dark look on Silas’s face signified, but the air around them suddenly felt serious—if air could be filled with emotion.

“Are you saying yes, then?”

She swallowed and her lungs quit working. What
was
she saying? Nothing she’d seen in Kansas proved he’d lied about who he was or what he had, and she hadn’t money or opportunity to do much else but marry.

But more importantly, she loved Anthony and trusted Silas.

How could she have expected a declaration of love when she’d disembarked in Kansas? Of course he couldn’t say he loved her; what sane person declared such a thing after only a few weeks?

She’d seen what kind of person he was in the middle of a crisis—and she thought all the better of him for it. There was respect, admiration, and an attraction to build on.

Her heartbeat ratcheted up in anticipation of voicing her reply. Once she answered, she couldn’t unsay it. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. “I’m saying, yes.”

“Good. That’s good.” He nodded, as if trying to convince himself getting married was indeed good.

His gaze lowered to her mouth.

Or at least she thought he was looking at her mouth in the dim light.

With all the quickness of a summer storm, she wanted him to kiss her again—something she’d feared he’d do without any warning at the Salt Flatts depot, but now . . . She stepped
forward, placed a hand on his chest, and tilted her head back. Tiptoeing, she left only a breath’s distance between her lips and his.

And she waited.

His shaky hand came up to her jaw, tipping it back ever so slightly, then his mouth landed on hers as light as a whisper.

She had no job to lose now.

Sliding her arms around his neck, she pressed her lips harder against his until he crushed her to him like he had before. His hands came up to entwine themselves into her hair and his thumbs swept the errant tresses back from both her temples. She held on tighter and kissed back—until he broke away.