The Bartered Bride (The Brides Book 3) (28 page)

“Annie?” he repeated, returning his attention to the safer planes of her face, perhaps fearing he’d rushed her...or overstepped.

She didn’t want him to feel that way. She wanted to stay. She wanted it all. Marriage, love, family. All. He’d made no declarations of love. Not that she’d expressed any such emotion to him. But they were
married
. If they were to raise Mae together—become a real family—surely this was the most natural of consequences?

It sounded rational. There was nothing rational about it.

He started to pull away, his action telling her she’d hesitated too long. Any moment now, he’d help her inside, and she’d return to Mae’s room to sleep the night.

She’d sleep in Mae’s narrow bed with the sheet pulled up to her chin.

Who was she fooling? She’d never sleep, not a wink.

Yes
, she signed and tapped his arm once.

“Yes?”

She repeated the action.

* * *

After, Jem lay in the bed.

In the darkness, the portrait of Lorelei stared at him from his bedside table. He couldn’t look at it.

He stared up at the ceiling instead, the top of the sheet clenched in one fist, pressed against his stomach. It was a horrible thing knowing you’d done something wrong.

I just slept with a woman I barely know. And now I’m thinking about Lorelei.

He missed her. He missed his wife.

He’d known Lorelei, everything about her. There’d been no walls, no surprises, no mysteries between them. They’d lived together. Loved. They’d loved a lot, fully and completely. There’d been no shame in the bedroom. What they’d had was right—golden, perfect. Well, not always. But there were times when it approached perfect, when he knew there was nothing else he should’ve been doing besides loving his wife.

Annie...he barely knew her. They were married and there was no law against them touching one another like they had. Well, like he had, mostly. The Bible wouldn’t have even argued with it. And yet it felt wrong.

It felt even more wrong because now he knew she’d never been with a man. He’d been her first. He should’ve known. Would’ve gone about it different.

Should’ve waited.

“I’m sorry,” he said. He had to be man enough to say something. To let her know. “I should’ve known...”

* * *

Annie felt Jem’s awkward stillness beside her in his bed. She felt the silence stretch out after his words.

He was
sorry
.

She pondered that in the dark. He’d long since put the lantern out.

He hadn’t been sorry out on the roof. He hadn’t been sorry when he was kissing her. But moments ago, in his arms, there had been a change that came over him. After the intimacies shared. Some unspoken awareness had passed over him.

Had she done something wrong?

As the minutes continued to tick by, she turned his words over in her mind.
Sorry.

He’d fallen silent, but she sensed he wasn’t asleep. His breathing was too shallow.

She didn’t know what to do. Should she get up? Should she wash? No one had ever told her about this part. Her foster mother had taught her a lot, shared all sorts of things, but not this exactly. She told Annie the bare facts of men and women and babies, of course—probably only because she thought she must—but no more than the x, the y, and z.

Not this. Not all of it.

Annie almost giggled to think of Mrs. Ruskin and her pink cheeks that evening long ago. It had been their most hurried, most hushed, most painfully awkward conversation, up in Annie’s room. It was also the one Annie had pondered the most. Nothing had prepared her though for tonight. How you could be so close to someone: the startling warmth of being held, the shivery wonderment, the strangeness of it all. How she’d felt like someone else entirely—a grown woman. How she’d barely minded being uncovered in the presence of a man. Well, she’d minded, but she’d also marveled at how incredible it was to not be completely mortified. It had seemed a sort of small miracle: her doing anything like
that
with any man. Incredible.

Jem’s words had trailed off long ago. The silence between them had grown thick with what he hadn’t said:
I love you, Annie.

She smiled softly to herself—a secret smile in the darkness. He couldn’t see her. He couldn’t read her face, couldn’t know what she was thinking. And she was glad. Because
she
knew things. Even if she had the words, she could never say them aloud. How could she?

You don’t know it yet, but someday you’ll love me.

You don’t know it yet, but we were meant to be together forever.

We’re going to be a family.

It was meant to be—from the first moment she saw him next to the church tent with Daniel and that awful, mean-eyed man, Major Creed. She hadn’t known it then herself. Or even yesterday. Jem hadn’t known it either, clearly. But heaven had. She believed it. And someday—she hoped soon—Jem would know it too.

She wondered when she’d started loving him. Was it when he’d told Creed to “drop the leash”? Was it when he’d shared his water with her on the train? Or when he’d been so angry with Ben for giving her those scandalous boys’ clothes?

Or when he’d stood outside on the front porch with her and asked her to pick a birthday? When he’d pressed past her lack of words and her odd, ineffectual hand signals and kept talking? Kept trying to understand her.

Was it tonight at the dance, or after? In his arms, right here?

Annie let every memory wash over her.

Whenever it was, she was in love. She loved her husband, Jem Wheeler. Whether he wanted her to love him or not. Whether he was ready or not. It was too late. She
loved
him.

She curled happily onto her side, dug into her pillow, and waited for sleep to come. How it would ever come, she couldn’t imagine, because it seemed like her heart would never stop racing. How would she ever face him now...face him in the morning? Surely he would see her love all over her face. Would she care if he did? Or would he even notice?

THIRTY-SEVEN

W
hen Annie came down the next morning, a little later than usual, Jem and Mae were already seated at the table eating breakfast. There was a stack of empty plates still dripping in the drying rack over the washbasin, a sign that Ray, Ben, and the ranch hands had eaten earlier. Ray stood at the counter, chopping peeled potatoes and dumping them into an enormous pot. He stopped humming and looked up at her as she walked in.

Annie returned his “Good morning” with a shy smile. Jem jerked his head up at the sound of Ray’s voice, his eyes meeting hers as if by accident. He quickly nodded, mumbled something incomprehensible, and bent over his food.

Mae paused in the process of slipping the puppy a slice of bacon and stared at her. Perhaps she was trying to decide if Annie would tell Jem on her or not. Annie lifted a finger to her lips, keeping silent. A little girl like her couldn’t fully understand that Annie was incapable of speaking, that she couldn’t tell Jem. Not easily, anyway. But in that moment, Mae’s eyes twinkled with delight, and she slid yet another bit of bacon off her plate and let it drop to the floor.

“Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing,” Jem growled at her, not bothering to look up. His voice sounded merely a bit gruff to Annie, not angry.

Mae jumped and giggled. Sugar stretched up on her hind legs, resting her front paws on the edge of Mae’s chair and looking up adorably. Irresistible scamp.

“You’re going to spoil that pup,” Ray warned.

Jem shrugged and peeked at Mae from under his brows. She giggled again and innocently scooped some oatmeal into her mouth. The warm, sweet smell of maple syrup and cinnamon teased Annie’s nose. There was bacon and scrambled eggs in the air too. Her stomach grumbled. She’d felt so strange when she woke up this morning and bathed herself quickly at the washstand, just in case Jem might wander in. He hadn’t, but as she’d washed and dressed, she’d marveled at the changes in herself. It had seemed like she was a different person. A foreigner. But now, here in the kitchen, she felt almost normal again. And definitely hungry. She wanted two servings of everything.

She served herself at the big iron cook stove and then hesitated, wondering where she should sit. Jem was at the head of the table, as was proper, and Mae sat to his left, with the puppy at her feet. The chair where she usually sat, on the far side of Mae, seemed a safe, if cowardly spot. On Jem’s right seemed fitting as his wife, but that felt almost brazen.

Annie sipped in a breath for courage.

As she approached Jem’s chair—hesitating a little too long, truth be told—he whispered, “You’re not...feeling poorly?” He kept his head down, eyes fixed on his plate of food. Perhaps he forgot she couldn’t answer and that made her love him even more. It thrilled her that he’d asked her so secret-like, for her ears and none other. Just between the two of them. Ray had evidently noticed though. His back seemed a bit stiff, and he had this air of awareness about him, the look of someone listening but trying to appear not to. He didn’t say anything, however. He kept chopping his potatoes and scooping them into the big stew pot for later.

Annie lifted her chin, feeling suddenly like a queen.

She perched on the seat around the corner from Jem and waited for him to acknowledge her. And waited. When he still didn’t look over, she gently laid two fingers on the back of his hand. The touch startled him, for he looked up at her quickly, then down at her fingers against his skin, and over at Ray, who was still studiously ignoring them.

Jem’s gaze finally settled on her two fingers.

“No?” he asked under his breath, apparently forgetting what exactly he’d asked her. From the little line between his brows, he was trying to work out if he’d asked her if she was well or if she was feeling poorly. He sorted it out finally, somehow, because she saw him relax, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. He even turned his hand over, taking hers in a light grasp. Then, quick as that, he let go and went back to shoveling eggs into his mouth, a little happier looking to Annie’s eyes, which was a relief to her. He’d likely been miserable all night. Worrying about her physical welfare. Or perhaps wondering if his lovemaking might’ve offended her feminine sensibilities. Poor man. Her lips twitched.

“What?” he asked suspiciously, pausing with his fork midair.

Ray glanced up but immediately went back to his chopping. Annie could have sworn she saw a twinkle in the older man’s eyes. Mae was watching them too, her lips pursed into an irritated little pout.

Annie shook her head at Jem’s question, pasted an innocent expression on her face, and tucked into her eggs. Food had never tasted so delicious.

Before the day’s end though, she had to face the truth that her life with Jem had taken a troubling turn.

* * *

Over the next couple of days, Jem spent long days working on the ranch and nights after dinner too. Tonight when he returned from his nightly check on the horses, he took a bath off the kitchen and then afterwards hesitated outside Annie’s door. He knew he had to sit down and really talk to her eventually. Would she expect him to apologize again for what had happened that night? He dreaded that conversation.

There was no light coming from underneath her door. Had she already gone to bed? It was late. She might’ve.

He was still toweling his damp hair as he entered his room. He slowed when he spotted a pair of cowboy boots in his line of sight on the big rag rug his bed sat on. He looked up to find Ben standing there—waiting for him, by the looks of things—his face mutinous.

“What are you doing in here?” Jem asked, slowing as he crossed the room. He slung the towel about his shoulders, then changed his mind and slung it over the back of his chair to dry.

“You don’t just throw people away.”

“What?”

“You don’t just throw people away when you’re done with them.”

“I don’t know what—” Jem swallowed his words as his brother-in-law reached for the back of his waistband. Jem held his hands out in a peaceful gesture, not really believing Ben had a gun—or that he’d use it on Jem if he did—but just on instinct.

Ben didn’t seem to notice, his attention on the thick paper in his hands. A photograph. A photograph, not a gun. He held it up, and Jem could see it was Lorelei. Lorelei the day they got married.

His breath caught in his chest.

“Where’d you get that?” he demanded.

“You gave it away. Lorelei’s gone and you just”—Ben gestured helplessly with the photograph, his throat working silently—“you just go on without her.”

“I didn’t give it away—or throw it away. I didn’t throw
her
away. I didn’t throw anything away. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You took up with that—with that girl, and she don’t even speak.” Ben gestured again, this time to the study door. Maybe Annie was writing, but what would Ben know about that? Jem listened for the sound of typewriter keys tapping. There was nothing.

“Annie? Annie gave you that?” Jem demanded, indignant now. She’d taken it? He hadn’t even noticed it was gone. He glanced toward his bedside table as he yanked open the door to the office. Annie practically fell through onto the rug, catching him by surprise. In the same moment, he saw Lorelei’s picture next to the bed in its silver frame. Right where he’d set it. It wasn’t missing. What—?

Had she been leaning against the door—eavesdropping on them?

“See? That’s where she hid,” Ben said. “I told her I was coming to tell you, and she ran after me. When we heard you coming, she slipped in there. Look. In
Lorelei’s
study. Like she belonged there.”

Annie curled up nearly into a ball, sitting on her heels with her knees tucked way up to her cheek. And she started breathing strange—a harsh sound, like someone who’s lost a loved one, someone in the deepest grief.

Why?

More importantly than that, what was wrong with her?

She sucked in ragged breath after ragged breath and blew them out. Not a sob, not a cry, just the emptiest sound he’d ever heard. It sounded like pain. She kept rocking herself like a child.

“Something’s wrong with her,” Jem said, drawing toward her cautiously, not wanting to make any sudden moves. “Grab a blanket.”

“What?” Ben stared down at Annie as if frozen himself.

“Get it—get it now!”

Ben grabbed the blanket from the end of the bed and tossed it to him.

Jem wrapped it around Annie’s shoulders. He rubbed her upper arms and back, trying to warm her, though it wasn’t a particularly cold night. The room was actually a bit stuffy, the air thick, but the way she was acting... It was like she’d been pulled out of a frozen lake. It was all he could think to do.

“What is it? Why’s she breathing like that?” Ben asked, hovering anxiously, making Jem nervous with the shadow he was casting over them.

“I don’t know,” he said.

“Is she sick?”

“No,” Jem said, shaking his head. “It doesn’t sound like a disease of the lungs, not like any I’ve heard of anyway.” It sounded more...primitive. Something more going on in her heart and mind, not so much her body. He didn’t say that to Ben though. Annie would hear too, and he didn’t want to upset her any more than she already was.

He looked up at a sound at the door. Little Mae stood in the open doorway, a tiny angel in her white nightgown, her thumb stuck in her mouth—a habit she’d grown out of, or so he’d thought. Her gaze was fixed on Annie, her eyes wide as saucers.

“Go on back to your room, darling,” he told her, trying to gentle his voice. Even so, it came out urgent. He didn’t want his baby girl seeing this, whatever this was. Annie wasn’t right. There was something terribly wrong.

“I’ll take her back,” Ben offered. He nodded toward Mae, seeming eager to escape and leave him alone with Annie.

Jem nodded. “Go on to bed, Mae. Uncle Ben’s going to take you to your room. All right?”

“It’s Annie.” She removed her thumb to point. “She’s crying?”

“Yes, it’s Annie. She’s going to be fine. I promise. You go on to bed, and I’ll take care of Annie. All right?”

Mae hesitated then nodded. Sugar poked her head around the edge of the door, muzzle first, butting Mae in the back of the knees. As if things weren’t crazy enough in here with Ben, then Annie, and now Mae and the dog.

“You too, Sugar Pie,” Ben said in an overly cheerful tone. He scooped Mae up in the crook of his arm and ushered the dog along with him, using a moderated nudge or two with his shin and the toe of his boot to get the dog to move. The whole scene might have been comical if Annie weren’t still breathing in that same shallow, empty way.

As soon as Ben closed the door behind him, Jem bent his head close to Annie’s.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, even though he knew she couldn’t answer. “What’s wrong, Annie?”