Reluctant Montana Husband Page 3

  The brothers raised their glasses in agreement to toast that sentiment. “Care to tell us why you married her and not your Norwegian bride?” Cailean asked, with raised brows, unable to conceal his curiosity.

  “My intended wanted to remain in New York City. So, Mrs. Ericson”—Nathanial leveled them all with a severe look, so they wouldn’t disrespect her—“traveled here instead.”

  Alistair shared a quick look with Cailean and then Bears. “But you didn’t have to marry her. She’s no’ the woman ye expected to marry.”

  Nathanial merely smiled. “She might not be the woman I expected, but I know we will have a wonderful future.”

  “Aye,” Cailean said, following Nathanial’s gaze, which was tracking his bride’s movement. “I think you will.”

  Alistair snickered. “Ye gave the preacher somethin’ else to focus on for the next few weeks, rather than our family.”

  Bears rolled his eyes. “You know that man will always find a reason to create mischief for us.”

  Nathanial listened to his friends chatter about the most recent sermons from the pastor and his warnings about overeducating womenfolk, all the while watching his wife interact with the MacKinnon women.

  Looking at the self-assured, successful women of that family, he hoped his wife took after them. With a silent sigh, he acknowledged his inner terror at having married a complete stranger.

  He only hoped he hadn’t made the worst decision of his life today.

  Nathanial opened the door to his house, motioning for Beatrice to enter. “I hope you feel at home here.” He watched as she entered and stared around, wide-eyed.

  He glanced at his simple two-story log cabin, wondering what she thought. It was rustic but comfortable, with the kitchen to the left of the door and the long living area to the right, including the stone fireplace in the middle of a wall. When she remained quiet, he sighed. “I know it’s not anything grand.”

  She spun to stare at him, wonder and shock in her gaze. “It’s huge. I thought your home would be a tiny one-room cabin, not this beautiful home.” Her fingers traced over a handmade quilt with blue-and-red checkered squares. “This will be my home?”

  Studying her for a long moment, he nodded. “Ja, this is home.” He tilted his head to one side and frowned. “Where did you live before?”

  “Tenements,” she murmured, before blushing. “Small rooms.” She spun around, her arms opened wide. “Nothing as big and beautiful as this!” Biting her lip, she quelled her enthusiasm and held her hands against her chest, as she ducked her head.

  “Why do you do that?” Nathanial asked, reaching forward to swipe at a loose strand of her hair. When she flinched, his hand jerked away ever-so-slightly. At her uncertain stare, he murmured in a soft, reassuring tone, “Hide.”

  Flushing, she turned away from him. “I don’t know what you mean.” Beatrice walked into the kitchen, her fingers tracing over the smooth wood countertops. “I don’t have any idea how to use that.” She pointed at the large modern stove that gleamed against the kitchen wall. It had racks that folded down so clothes could dry on them in the winter, and, near it, a sink with a hand pump stood. An icebox was nearby, as was a simply hewn hutch, filled with dishes.

  “I think you do,” he murmured, unwilling to let go of the topic he wanted to focus on and would not be distracted by her focus on the large stove. “I want a real marriage, Beatrice.” He waited for her to take a deep breath and to brave meeting his sincere gaze. She found his blue eyes were lit with honesty and kindness.

  “I want to know you. To talk with you. To share ideas and honest conversations. Evenings are long here in winter.”

  She broke her gaze away, focusing again on the kitchen, as her fingers tapped on the smooth countertop. “I fear you will find me disappointing. I have few interesting ideas.”

  He smiled and shook his head. “Somehow I think you’re hiding again.”

  When she merely shrugged, he sighed and changed the topic, as he waved his hand around. “This is now your home,” he said, feeling like an inane idiot. “Upstairs, you’ll have your own bedroom.” He shared an intense look with her. “For as long as you want it, ja?”

  She swallowed and nodded. “Thank you.” Flushing, she moved to the living area and the two chairs, her hand stroking over a finely sewn quilt. “This is beautiful.”

  “Sorcha made that for me.” He watched, as she flinched at the mention of another woman’s name and jerked her hand away from the quilt. “She’s married to a friend and lives on a nearby ranch. She’s a MacKinnon by birth, but she’s a Tompkins now.”

  “Oh,” Beatrice whispered, frowning, as though trying to piece together all the people she’d met today.

  “We’ll visit her family at the ranch before winter, so you can meet everyone who lives there, ja?” He waited for her to respond, and, when she remained quiet, he frowned. He moved to the fireplace to start a fire and to give himself something to do. “You’ll have friends here, Beatrice. I hope you began to feel at ease with the women you met today.”

  “They’re so friendly,” she whispered, her voice awed and confused. “I don’t understand why they’d welcome a complete stranger.”

  He smiled. “That’s their way. They’ll be kind to you, until you give them a reason not to be. They’ll trust you, once they know you better.”

  “And you?” she whispered, biting her lip, looking as though she wanted to call back her rash words. When he looked at her inquisitively, she blurted out, “What about you? What’s your way?”

  He paused, studying her standing so bravely in his living room. Although this wouldn’t be the wedding night he’d imagined, looking at her, he was filled with hope that their marriage would be successful. “I’m like them but not quite as friendly. My sister, Leena, was always the friendliest of us.”

  When Beatrice grimaced, he smiled gently. “Leena will welcome you, Beatrice. Give her a few days to overcome the shock that her and my mother’s plan went awry and that her old school friend, Ingrid, didn’t arrive.”

  “They were friends?” she whispered. “I hadn’t realized.”

  “Distant friends but ja. They saw each other at school and at gatherings.” He shrugged. “Leena will rejoice in having a sister-in-law living nearby.” He saw the skepticism in Beatrice’s gaze but knew only time would prove how generous and welcoming his sister was.

  “Time will tell,” Beatrice murmured, moving to the fire to warm herself.

  He watched her for a long moment, wishing he had the right to demand she reveal her true reason for traveling to Montana to marry a stranger. He only hoped she’d open up and share with him soon.

  Chapter 3

  Beatrice woke the next morning, feeling rested. She rolled over with an appreciative groan, thankful to be off the train and that nothing moved on her. Sleeping while sitting up had been a challenge, and, after her nerves from the previous day had worn off, she had been exhausted. However, she knew she should rise and attempt to learn more about what was expected of her.

  When she had embraced Annabelle MacKinnon, before leaving their party at the café, Annabelle had whispered that she’d packed enough food in the basket to last them a few days. Beatrice hoped that was correct, as she had no idea how she would prepare their meals.

  After slipping from bed, she rose and washed, thankful water was in the ewer for her. After pulling on one of the three dresses she’d brought with her, she poked her head out her bedroom door, listening for any sign of Nathanial.

  All she heard was the quiet ticking of a clock, and she made her silent way downstairs to the kitchen. She trailed a hand over the large stove, terrified of having to use it, before looking around the empty space. Without Nathanial here, it seemed empty and lonely.

  Poking her head out the front door, she gasped to find him sitting on the front porch, rocking in a large chair. “Oh, you surprised me.”

  He grinned at her, his hair darker at his nape from a recent bath. “You slept well?” At her nod and deepening blush, he rose, holding out his hand. “Come. Let’s have breakfast.”

  She slipped her hand into his, feeling foolish to hold his hand just to reenter the house, but his presence beside her somehow soothed her. She took a deep breath, and her roiling nerves calmed. Once inside, she stood, uncertain what to do.

  He stared at her a long moment. “You really don’t cook?”

  She shook her head, any calmness replaced with a mounting anxiety.

  He smiled softly. “You’ll learn.” He moved to the stove and made rattling and clanging noises. “Sit, kjaere,” he murmured.

  She frowned at the foreign word but did as she was bid. Marveling at his ability to make a quick delicious breakfast for them, she was determined that she could soon do the same. The stove would not continue to terrify her.

  When he set before her a plate of scramble eggs and fried bread, she smiled her thanks. “I’ll learn. I promise.”

  “Leena will teach you,” Nathanial said, with an offhand shrug. “She’s an excellent baker, and, if we’re lucky, she’ll teach you some of the Norwegian treats I love.”

  Beatrice forced a weak smile, as she contemplated working with his taciturn sister. For now, Beatrice hoped she’d learn how to use the beast of a stove without setting the house on fire. Then she’d consider learning how to make delicacies from his homeland. He chatted about the sawmill, the people they’d met the day before, and, before she knew it, their breakfast was over.

  After a gentle kiss to her forehead, he departed for the sawmill. Glancing at the clock, Beatrice noted that it was already ten, and she knew he must have loitered, so as to have their first breakfast together. After washing the dishes, she firmed her shoulders and forced herself to leave the refuge of the cab
in.

  On the front steps, she took a deep breath of the fresh pine-scented air, listening for the sounds of the sawmill. She thought she would hear the shrill sounds of a saw cutting wood. However, all she heard were two male voices, chatting. She wondered how often the mill was busy and if it was profitable enough for two families.

  Pushing away concerns about the sawmill, she focused on what faced her now. Praying for whatever bravery she had to not fail her, Beatrice forced her legs into motion and walked down the front steps and across the road to her sister-in-law’s house.

  Knocking on the door, she clutched her hands in front of her and pasted on a smile, hoping she’d be more welcomed today. She prayed that Leena would prove as friendly as everyone said she was and that yesterday’s glacial welcome was an aberration.

  When the door flew open, Beatrice smiled at the woman who was blond and blue-eyed, like Nathanial, but at least a foot shorter. Rather than his warmth and openness, this woman scowled at Beatrice and stood guard in front of her open door.

  With a sinking heart, Beatrice feared yesterday wasn’t a mistake. “Hello,” Beatrice said, wishing her voice didn’t tremble with nerves. “I wanted to properly introduce myself. I am—”

  “Oh, I know who you are. You’re the woman who tricked my brother into marrying you. You’re the one who ruined his life.”

  Beatrice gasped and took a step back. “I … That’s unfair.” She finally sputtered out, “You don’t know anything about me or …”

  “I know you came where you were not invited. Ingrid was wanted. The money had been sent for Ingrid. Ingrid would have been a perfect wife for my brother.” The irate woman stomped her foot, as she glowered at Beatrice. “I’m Leena, Nathanial’s sister, but I am not your friend. And I certainly don’t want you as part of my family.”

  “I see,” Beatrice breathed, her hope of forging some sort of relationship with her sister-in-law fading away. She winced, as she realized Leena wouldn’t teach her how to use that awful stove. “I’m sorry to bother you.” She moved to return to her house, wanting to escape this horrible woman.

  “I’ll be bothered until the day you leave.”

  “Leave?” Beatrice asked, turning to stare at her. “I don’t plan on leaving. I’m married, Leena. You’ll have to accept that.” She paused, as she met her sister-in-law’s steely glare. “And me.”

  She spun on her heel and marched away, glad that she was able to shock and dismay Leena in some way. The MacKinnon women had assured her that Leena was a loving, kind woman and that Beatrice just had to give Leena time. However, Beatrice doubted she’d ever be friends with her sister-in-law or that she’d ever forget how unwelcoming Leena had been, not when Beatrice desperately needed Leena’s help and friendship.

  Marching back up her steps, she stormed inside, determined to find something to do, although she refused to sit on the front porch. She had no desire to see Leena or to have the woman spying on her out her front window.

  Swiping at her cheeks as a few tears escaped, Beatrice scolded herself for dreaming of having a real family. She never had, so why should she have thought things would be different here? She sat for a moment with a thud, trying to bury the dream of having a sister, a female confidante who she could giggle with and could share in the burdens that only women understood.

  For some reason, being denied that kinship, a kinship she’d never known, provoked a soul-deep pain. Staring at the stove, Beatrice knew she was in trouble. Not only was her relationship with her sister-in-law in shambles but her inability to cook for Nathanial would never improve.

  What would she do?

  Nathanial met Karl’s amused stare, as he entered the small office they shared at the sawmill. “Don’t start,” he muttered.

  “I thought you’d be sensible and take a few days off for your honeymoon,” Karl teased, then sobered when his friend sighed. “Or perhaps you’ll take them later?”

  Nathanial groaned and sat. “Later. When we’re more comfortable with each other.” He wanted to tell Karl about the agreement he’d signed with Warren, but Nathanial knew Karl would tell Leena, and his sister would only become angrier. He didn’t want Leena to dislike his wife any more than she already did.

  “Don’t worry about your sister,” Karl said, as he set aside the invoice he had been reviewing.

  “I want her to be friends with my wife.” Nathanial rubbed at his head, sending his blond hair standing on end, until he patted at it. “I want …”

  “Ja, I know what you want. Leena had ideas about what she wanted. She wanted to feel like she had a little bit of Norway here, out of town, isolated from her friends. She thought she’d have that with you marrying a woman from Norway. A woman who’d been her distant friend back home. And she enjoyed planning and plotting with her mother, even though they’re so far apart.” Karl shrugged. “Now she has to give up that dream.”

  Nathanial sat in contemplative silence. “I’m sorry to wreck her dream,” he finally mumbled.

  “Why? It was her dream about your life.” Karl raised and lowered his hands in frustration. “You need to determine what you want for your life, not let Leena and your mother decide what’s best for you.”

  Nathanial sat in stunned silence, as his friend’s words ricocheted in his mind.

  “You’ve always been the dutiful son, Nathanial. Doing what you believed your parents wanted. Taking care of Leena. Ensuring she was well. Sending money home to your family.” He paused, before beaming at his friend. “What if this is the first thing you’ve ever done for yourself that you wanted?”

  “Are you calling my marriage to Beatrice a rebellion?” Nathanial asked his best friend.

  “No, but I am saying that you did what you desired, rather than what your sister or mother or someone else in your family asked you to do. Finally this was done for you.”

  Nathanial closed his eyes and let Karl’s words sink in.

  “Ignore Leena’s anger. She’ll overcome it. Focus on your bride. Make her happy, and you’ll find more joy than you knew possible.”

  Grinning, Nathanial met his friend’s wise gaze. “Thank you.”

  “The best thing you did for us was support us but also give us space, when we were first married and having trouble. You let us figure out our own path as a husband and wife, although I knew you would always support Leena.” Karl shrugged. “I want to do the same for you. I’ll help calm Leena. Find your joy in your wife.”

  That evening Nathanial entered the house to find a cold supper of leftover food from the previous night set out. He frowned but said nothing, as he moved to the sink to wash his hands. “Beatrice?” he called out. Walking around the house, he failed to see her and poked his head out the back door, pausing, as she sat on a rickety willow chair and sang to herself.

  Her ebony hair was loosened from its braid, with tendrils framing her face, and she closed her eyes during parts of her song, as she sang in a low sweet voice. Her cheeks were flushed, her shoulders slightly rounded, and he’d never seen her so relaxed. He was riveted by her beauty and radiance and wished he could always see her like this.

  “Bee,” he whispered, murmuring his nickname for her, and she froze, the next words stuck in her throat, as her eyelids flew open, and she gaped at him, like a naughty child.

  “Oh, I didn’t know you’d be home so soon.” She rose, tripping on a leg of her chair, and he lunged forward, grabbing her before she toppled off the back of the small porch.

  “Bee,” he gasped, tugging her to him, as he hugged her close for a second, his hands stroking her back to calm her shaking. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

  “Supper’s ready.” She grimaced. “At least, what we’re having tonight.”

  “Bee,” he said in a soft voice, holding her in a gentle embrace. “I … You sing.”

  She flushed with embarrassment and ducked her head. “Like a frog. I’ve been told that often enough. I won’t inflict it on you again.” She pressed past him, freeing herself from his hold.