Montana Untamed (Bear Grass Springs, Book One): Bear Grass Springs, Book One Page 14

  “We are at day two of our marriage. So far, you have succeeded.”

  He laughed at her impertinence and kissed her again.

  Chapter 8

  Three days after they were married, they returned to town. Annabelle sat with perfect posture as the wagon rolled to a stop in front of Cailean’s house. He helped her down and ran a soothing hand over her back. “It will be fine. I promise.”

  “Your sister hates me,” she whispered.

  “But my brothers like you,” he countered with a smile. “Come.” He held out his hand and led her up the steps into the house.

  She exhaled with relief to find it empty. After he showed her the parlor, covered in only a thin layer of dust, they peeked into the kitchen to see the rising bread on the windowsill and the stove banked. “Sorcha must be nearby if she’s baking bread.”

  “She’s probably pestering Al at the livery.” He tugged at Annabelle’s hand and led her upstairs. He pointed to the doors of his siblings’ rooms before entering their room. “This is ours.” Inside, a large window let in the summer light. White wallpaper with fragile blue flowers running through it covered the walls. A bureau sat along the wall by the door while a chest for blankets sat at the foot of the bed. Two chairs faced each other next to the window with a small table between them, a bouquet of wildflowers atop it.

  “This is lovely,” Annabelle breathed.

  Cailean shrugged as he looked around. “The chairs are new. We can remove them if you think the room is too crowded.”

  She shook her head. “No, they’re perfect. I like having a space that is ours.” She moved into the room, her finger tracing over the wood of the hope chest before she sat in one of the chairs. “There is no privacy screen.”

  “I never needed one.” He looked around the cramped room. “If you want one, we’ll have to remove something.”

  She met his worried gaze. “You’ve seen all there is to see. I shouldn’t need one.” She relaxed as he sat on the chair facing her.

  He reached out, his hand clasping hers. “I want you to feel at home, Belle. I want this to be your home. Our home.” He leaned closer, and she canted forward to meet him.

  She squealed as he picked her up and tossed her onto the bed. He levered himself over her, keeping most of his weight off her by propping himself on his elbows. He deepened the kiss, sighing with pleasure as she clasped him to her. She rucked her hands under his tucked-in shirt, tracing her fingers along his muscled back.

  The door opened after a soft knock, and Cailean raised his head to see Sorcha stock-still, her light-blue eyes widened in dismay. “I beg yer pardon!”

  Annabelle giggled, and Cailean smiled as he pushed himself off his wife. “Sorcha! Don’t go.” He leaped off the bed and grabbed his sister’s arm as she spun away and out of the room. He tugged her back inside. “Thank you for making this room so comfortable for Annabelle and me.”

  Sorcha nodded, her gaze downcast, and cheeks reddened. “Forgive me for interrupting.”

  Cailean failed to fully bite back a laugh. “Next time, knock and then wait for an answer.” He chucked her under her chin until she met his gaze. “No need to be embarrassed, Sorch.”

  “Thank you for the flowers. I couldn’t feel more welcome,” Annabelle said as she stood, running a hand over her skirt as she attempted to ease the wrinkles from her dress. “Cailean showed me the main areas of the house. Perhaps we could spend this afternoon together, and you could help me settle in?”

  Sorcha nodded.

  Annabelle smiled at her. “I saw you were baking bread. We could make a surprise treat for your brothers for tonight.” She ran a hand down Cailean’s arm as she slipped past him and followed Sorcha out of their room. They walked downstairs to the kitchen, and Annabelle paused as she glanced around.

  Sorcha walked to the loaves of bread covered in cloth and peered underneath them, her shoulders stooping afterward. Annabelle joined her and smiled.

  “You have them in the windowsill, and a cool breeze blows today. Let’s set them by the stove and see if the warmth encourages the yeast to rise.” They transferred the loaves to a shelf above the stove.

  “I hate the kitchen,” Sorcha blurted out. “No matter how long I spend in it, I will always hate it.”

  Annabelle chuckled. “You should be admired for your honesty.” She looked at the fine embroidery on the cuff of Sorcha’s dress. “I imagine you dislike the kitchen as much as I dislike needlework.”

  Sorcha watched her with confusion. “But everyone does needlework!”

  “Yes, and every woman is supposed to cook.” She shrugged. “Just because we are supposed to do it doesn’t mean we have to like it. In fact, I’d rather barter with you—my mending of Cailean’s shirts and buttons for cooking dinner.”

  Sorcha’s light-blue eyes widened with delight. “Are ye serious?”

  “Terribly so. I dread every minute of needlework. I stick myself, bleed all over the cloth, and then barely sew the button on tight enough to prevent it from falling off. It’s a travesty I’m allowed near a needle.” She smiled as Sorcha laughed. “I might need you to go to the store or the butcher’s for me as I’ll be busy most days at the bakery until four.”

  Sorcha sighed with happiness. “That shouldna be a problem.”

  Annabelle moved around the kitchen and examined the rather rudimentary cooking implements. She paused and pushed a strand of hair behind her ear before facing Sorcha. “I never meant to trap your brother into marriage.” She blushed. “I know you don’t have any great regard for me or for my sister, but I’m not the type of woman who would plot to embrace a man and be caught by the town’s largest gossip.”

  Sorcha bit her lip. “I’m sorry.”

  Annabelle’s expression remained guarded. “For what?”

  “I’ve been horrible to ye. Said mean things about ye.” She paused. “I had no right.”

  She nodded as Sorcha dipped her head as though in shame. “We all do and say things we aren’t proud of, Sorcha. And I know I wasn’t who you hoped for in a sister, who you wanted for your brother.” Her gentle smile seemed to soothe Sorcha.

  “I’m sorry for the mean things I’ve said about yer sister.”

  Annabelle paled. “Thank you for saying so. But I know you aren’t the first, and you won’t be the last.” She cleared her throat. “She has chosen a difficult path, but I refuse to abandon her.” She met Sorcha’s startled gaze. “Just as I would think none of your brothers would abandon you or you they.” She saw understanding and respect glint in Sorcha’s gaze. “Come. Let’s have a cup of tea while we determine what you have on hand that I can use to concoct as a surprise for tonight.”

  The following morning, Annabelle poked her head into the back door of the café’s kitchen. She sniffed appreciatively and smiled at Irene. “I have today’s bread.” She held up a basket.

  Irene smiled and picked up a cloth to wipe her hands. “What are you doing back so soon?” she asked as she accepted the basket. “My patrons will be mighty glad to not have to eat my feeble attempts at rolls. They each weigh as much as a brick compared to yours.”

  Harold walked in and shook his head at the sight of Annabelle in their kitchen. “Thought that husband of yours could keep you occupied for longer than a few days.” He chortled as Annabelle flushed crimson. “You’ll have to adjust to some teasing in town. Folks still can’t believe you corralled the eldest MacKinnon. Nor that he looked so darned happy at his wedding.”

  “The dance you shared at your wedding feast has been the most discussed event the past few days in the café,” Irene said with a shake of her head. “Seems folks can’t believe the man chose to wed the baker.”

  Annabelle sighed and sat on her customary perch by the kitchen table. “You mean, they can’t reconcile themselves with the fact he married a woman whose sister works at the Boudoir.”

  Harold nodded. “That too. Although there were plenty of grumbles by the men in here. Many thought they should have challe
nged Cailean for that dance with you at the Founders’ Celebration, and then they would have had a chance to marry you instead of him.”

  Irene shot her a knowing glance. “If any of them had sense, they’d have seen the attraction between the two of you from the day you arrived.” She frowned as Annabelle bent her head and studied her hands. “Are you all right, Miss Annabelle?”

  “Of course. I just wish the townsfolk would let us be so we could find our way without their meddling.” She frowned as Harold snorted. “I know that will never happen.”

  Harold sobered. “As long as he treats you well, Miss Annabelle”—he relaxed when she smiled and nodded—“then that’s as it should be. Although I don’t know why you continue to work at the bakery.”

  Irene threw her towel at her husband. “She enjoys it. And, if he has any sense, he’ll be thankful for the extra income. Besides, the townsfolk wouldn’t know what to do without her delicious treats.”

  Annabelle rose. “I must return to the bakery. I have to open soon, and I don’t want the bread in the oven to burn. I’ll see you later this afternoon!” She smiled as she slipped out the door.

  Annabelle carried a basket laden with bread, cookies, and sweet rolls. She smiled to those she passed as she made her way to the back door of the Boudoir while Leticia worked the storefront at the bakery. It was early afternoon, and the cases were nearly sold out as customers had lined up after her absence. However, the women at the Boudoir preferred to breakfast after noon, so Annabelle had begun to deliver their basket of goods after the morning rush and when the baking was done for the day. The back door opened with alacrity at her approach, and she smiled at the Madam.

  “You have some nerve depriving your customers of your services for four days,” she snapped as Annabelle moved past her into the kitchen. Dilapidated cupboards with chipped white paint clung to the walls, while rickety benches sat along a battered oak trestle table.

  Annabelle set the basket on the table and smiled again at the Madam. “You knew I was to be away for my wedding day and the few days of my honeymoon. Although I’m pleased my customers appreciate my pastries and breads.” She met the Madam’s stare evenly.

  The Madam looked her up and down, her eyes squinting as though seeing hidden aspects of Annabelle. “Seems that man knows his way around a woman from the look of pleasure in your eyes.”

  “I’d thank you to refrain from speaking about my husband in such a manner.” She stiffened at the Madam’s cackling laughter, her hands gripped in the folds of her skirt.

  “What else should we do except gossip about men and their inabilities?” She failed in her attempt to hide her envy. “Few have the prowess they believe.”

  Annabelle blushed and glared at the Madam.

  “If you have difficulties with your husband, you would still be welcomed here. I wouldn’t earn as great a price the first time a man bid on you and won the right to you, but it would still be quite a profitable evening.”

  “You shouldn’t speak to my sister in such a way,” Fidelia said from the doorway. She wore a casual day dress that covered her bosom and legs. She wore no makeup, and her hair was loosely tied back with a light green ribbon. “She is a married woman with a profession and deserves your respect.”

  The Madam spun on Fidelia and glared at her. “I am a woman with a profession, and I imagine I do quite a bit better than your sister.” She took a deep breath, her natural blush overpowering her already rouged cheeks. “I believe she understands I meant no disrespect and only suggested the need for options.”

  The Madam moved toward the basket, but Annabelle grabbed the handle and tugged it next to her on the table. She shook her head. “As you are such a successful businesswoman, I’d prefer payment on delivery from now on, rather than weekly as we had negotiated last month. Supplies are becoming increasingly expensive.”

  The Madam glared at Annabelle before she nodded and stormed from the room.

  Fidelia heaved out a sigh as she eased into the kitchen area. “You’re smart to get payment now. She’s being hounded about unpaid liquor bills.” Fidelia grabbed a sweet bun and bit into it. “Heaven.”

  Annabelle smiled at her sister’s whispered word. “Can you walk with me a few moments? I know you aren’t on duty again until the evening.” She clamped her mouth shut as the Madam stormed in, her glare intensifying when she saw Fidelia already eating a bun.

  As Annabelle accepted the money, she said, “I want to ensure you understand that I expect payment with each delivery every day, except for Sundays when the bakery is closed.”

  “My girls work seven days a week. I fail to understand why you need a day off.” The Madam glared at her.

  Annabelle shrugged. “I run a different business, and I take one day a week for myself and my family.” She tucked the money into a pocket of her apron. She tilted her head toward the door, and her sister blinked her agreement.

  When they were outside, away from the Boudoir and walking in the opposite direction of town and her bakery, Annabelle took a deep breath of the pine forest air. “How are you, Dee?” The childhood nickname slipped out.

  “No different than how I was before you married.” She glared at a man who walked past them, staring at the two sisters with a lascivious glint in his eyes. “The Madam will be angry that I failed to encourage him.”

  “The Madam is a nasty woman.” Annabelle shuddered. “I wouldn’t sell her any goods except it would deprive you of them.” She met her sister’s stare. “I’d sell out most days without bringing her a basket of goods. And probably make a little more than I do from selling to her.”

  “Don’t do me any favors.”

  Annabelle stiffened at the harsh tone of her sister’s voice. “Dee, can’t you see I want us to be sisters again? I dream of a time when you’re free of this profession. When you come to dinner at my home, and I go to yours.”

  Her sister stared at her with indulgent condescension. “I am what I am, Anna. A whore.” She chortled as Annabelle bristled at the word. “Get used to it. I have.”

  Annabelle gripped her sister’s arm as she turned to march away. “I refuse to believe that. I know you. I know who you were. You wanted more from life than this.”

  Fidelia’s gaze filled with anguish, regret, and then loathing. “This is life, Anna. Grow up. This is what comes of daring to dream too big. Just as Father said.”

  “I’m sorry,” Annabelle whispered. “I’m sorry I didn’t support you all those years ago. I should have given you the money I had saved.”

  “Nothing you could have given me could have prevented what happened. Except your support. If I’d known I had a place to return to … that I would have been welcomed by you …” She bit her lip and shook her head before she freed her arm, marching back to return to the Boudoir.

  Cailean buried his nose in his wife’s nape, her hair spilling over his face as he inhaled her scent. One arm was slung over her belly, and he tugged her back tighter against his chest. He mumbled his pleasure as he emerged from a restful slumber. “I love Sundays,” he whispered, his voice gravelly from sleep. He kissed her skin and sighed as he fought tumbling back into sleep.

  He felt her relax in his arms at his touch and kissed her nape again. “What’s the matter, Belle? You’ve been upset since yesterday, but, by the time I came to bed last night, you were asleep.”

  She shivered in his arms, and he pushed himself up on his elbow, easing her backward so he could see her face. He frowned when he saw tears coursing down her cheeks. “Have I upset you?” He traced away her tears with soft swipes of his fingers.

  “No.” She pushed him so he lay on his back and rested her head on his shoulder, her erratic breaths calming as he stroked a hand down her back. “I didn’t want to ruin our morning together. We only have the one morning a week where I wake up in your arms.”

  He chuckled. “You wake every morning in my arms. I’m the one dead to the world when you sneak out to start baking your breads.” He played with her h
air as he waited for her to speak.

  “I had another run-in with my sister yesterday.” She rubbed her face against his chest before twisting to prop herself on an elbow to meet his curious gaze. “First I saw the Madam, and she was as insulting as ever.”

  Cailean’s gaze darkened, but he held his tongue.

  She smiled as she traced fingers over his pursed lips. “Thank you for not demanding I cease bringing my baked goods to the Boudoir.” Her smile lit her eyes, and he grinned at her as he cupped her cheek.

  “I promise that I’ll try not to be an overbearing husband, Belle. There will be times when I will speak out. Especially when I feel a need to protect you.” His gaze softened as she leaned into his touch. “I imagine you bring goods to the Boudoir solely for your sister?”

  Annabelle nodded. “And she defended me again yesterday against the vile things the Madam said. The Madam seems to derive great pleasure in taunting me with having to work someday at the Boudoir.”

  She shivered in disgust as Cailean nodded his head in encouragement for her to share her concerns. He spoke gently. “You know you’ll never work there. You’re one of us now, Belle. If something were to happen to me, my brothers would care for you.” He frowned as she flushed. “Why do her words affect you so?”

  Annabelle spoke, her words emerging haltingly. “Before, when she’d taunt me, I was affronted on principle. I didn’t truly know what she meant.” She turned her head into his palm as she scrubbed away an errant tear. “Now, now after you …” She looked into his eyes shining with dedication and warmth. “Now I can’t imagine how Fidelia allows any man she doesn’t care for to touch her like this.”

  “She’s done what she must to survive, Belle.”

  She nodded. “I’m proud of her ability to survive. She had no one. But there won’t be a day of my life that I’m not ashamed I didn’t do something to aid her.” She closed her eyes. “That she didn’t feel she could ask her own sister for help after Aaron died.”