The Barefoot Bride Page 7

  Only now that he thought of it, in her last letter to him, nearly every sentence had been written to reflect her relationship to her late husband: “James thought.” “James believed.” “James said.” He had to admit that didn't sound like a woman who had permanently laid her first husband to rest.

  But she would. He wasn't asking her to love him; he didn't expect to love her. His late wife held his heart in a grip that was as strong as it had been the day she died. No one could ever touch him that way again. Of that he was very sure. The stone wall around his heart was firmly in place.

  But that didn't mean he couldn't want another woman. He very much wanted the woman he had made his wife. She might have memories of James Gallagher, but he would be the man sleeping in her bed tonight.

  The tug on his pants leg surprised him. When he looked down, he met a miniature pair of brown eyes like Molly's. “Hello, Nes-sie,” he said. “Is there something I can do for you?”

  “Are you going to be my new da?” the little girl asked.

  Seth cleared his throat to give himself time to think. “I suppose so,” he said at last.

  “Will you pick me up?”

  When she reached up, he grasped her at the waist and lifted her into the air. A burble of surprised laughter escaped her lips. Seth marveled at how light and fragile a four-year-old could be.

  And felt a small crack in the stone around his heart as he settled her in his arms so they were eye to eye.

  “Whit doesn't like you,” Nessie promptly announced.

  “He doesn't?”

  “No. He didn't want you to marry Mama.”

  “Oh?”

  “So he helped Patch find Mama's boots.”

  “Why would he do that?”

  “So Patch could throw them in the river, of course.”

  “Of course,” Seth said. His eyes sought out his daughter, and he found her sulking in a corner of the parlor. “Why would Patch want to do a thing like that?” he asked, afraid he already knew the answer.

  “Patch said no lady would ever go barefoot to her own wedding.”

  Seth thought about that for a second and asked, “Are you saying that your mother is barefoot?”

  “Well, of course she is,” Nessie replied as though he were a particularly slow student, to whom things had to be explained twice. “Patch threw her boots into the river.”

  “Of course,” Seth repeated in a slightly stunned voice. He searched for Molly and perused the hem of her skirt. He hadn't really thought much before about the fact that it dragged on the floor. Then Molly took a step, and he distinctly saw several toes beneath the violet fabric.

  As he watched, Ethan returned to the room with a small brown-paper-wrapped package, which he handed to Molly with a grin.

  Shoes, Seth realized.

  A series of feelings assaulted Seth, leaving him shaken. First, there was embarrassment that his daughter would do such an awful thing, in defiance of all propriety. Second, there was disappointment that Molly would go to Ethan for help instead of coming to him. Third, there was certainty that he had chosen the right woman for his wife. Raising Patch to be a lady was going to be a considerable challenge. It appeared that Molly Gallagher would be equal to the task.

  When Patch saw her father pick up Nessie Gallagher, she felt sick to her stomach. Nessie had attached herself like a leech, and her pa seemed more than willing to hold the little intruder. Patch couldn't remember the last time her father had held her in his arms like that. Not that she wanted him to, mind you. Or would let him if he tried. But he was her father. And she didn't intend to share him!

  Patch glanced over to where Molly Gallagher Kendrick stood barefoot drinking punch and laughing with Ethan. For the first time, Patch admitted a grudging respect for the formidable adversary who was now her stepmother. Molly Gallagher Kendrick had gumption all right. But that didn't mean Patch had to like her—or obey her.

  “I thought you said Mother wouldn't come to the wedding barefoot,” Whit muttered into Patch's ear.

  Patch turned wrathful eyes on him. “A real lady wouldn't have come.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “Figure it out for yourself!”

  “You take that back,” Whit hissed.

  “Make me!”

  Patch was spoiling for a fight, and it appeared Whit was willing to give her one. She was two years older and wiser, but he was a good three inches taller. As far as she was concerned, that made them about evenly matched. Only, when she put up her fists, Whit just laughed.

  “I can't fight a girl/’ he protested.

  Her knuckles rapped him in the nose and rocked his head backward.

  He yelped in surprise as blood spurted down his face. “Hey! Stop that!”

  Patch walloped him in the stomach with a fist, bending him over double.

  Whit forgot chivalry and fell on Patch like a tomcat in an alley fight. Only, when he swung, she stepped out of his path and his fist floated through thin air. He sagged as she belted him again in the stomach. He grabbed for her and used his greater weight to force her down. He heard her cry out in pain when her head hit the wooden floor.

  Abruptly, the two combatants were yanked apart. Ethan held Whit by the shoulders, while Seth pulled Patch to her feet. Reverend Adams and his wife stood staring in disapproval. Molly was stuck holding Nessie, who'd been thrust into her arms by Seth as he ran to stop the fight.

  “Oh, Whit! How could you?” Molly cried.

  “What's going on here?” Seth demanded in a harsh voice.

  “See, Pa!” Patch said. “I warned you he'd be trouble.”

  “She started it!” Whit shouted.

  “I did not. I was minding my own business—”

  “Liar!” Whit said.

  “I am not! I—” Patch suddenly crumpled. If Seth hadn't been holding onto her, she would have fallen.

  He lifted her limp body into his arms, thinking that she was pretending. But she couldn't be faking the total lack of response he now felt in her body. “She's unconscious,” he said with astonishment. “What did you do to her?” he demanded of Whit.

  “I didn't do anything,” Whit said in a tremulous voice. “She hit her head when she fell.”

  “A concussion?” Ethan speculated.

  Molly saw that Seth was rattled. He hadn't moved, and he hadn't taken his eyes off Patch's motionless, pale face. He was acting more like a parent than a doctor. Molly found that the most encouraging sign she'd yet seen that he would make a good father for her children.

  “Seth,” she said in a calming voice, “take Patch over to the settee and lay her down.” Once she got him started in the right direction, he was fine.

  Molly turned to the preacher and asked, “Reverend Adams, could you and your wife please have the hotel manager arrange for me to get a bowl of cool water and a cloth?”

  As the preacher and his wife left the room, she turned to Whit and said, “Go sit down on that chair beside the settee. Tilt your head back and pinch your nose until it stops bleeding. Ethan”—Molly tucked a stray wisp of hair behind her ear while she thought what else needed done—”can you find Seth's medical bag?”

  “It's in the buggy. I'll go get it,” he volunteered.

  “What about me?” Nessie asked. “What can I do?”

  “You can give me a hug,” Molly said. Nessie was more than willing to comply. Molly found the feel of Nessie's tiny arms around her neck a comfort. She could imagine the horror Seth must be experiencing as he watched over his unconscious daughter.

  “Nessie, it would be a big help now if you would go and stand by Whit and make sure he keeps his head tilted back. Could you do that for me?”

  “All right,” Nessie said as Molly set her down.

  Within moments, the hotel parlor was bustling with people. The manager appeared with the items Molly had requested, and Ethan delivered Seth's medical bag. Once Seth saw the bag, he seemed to wake from his shocked stupor. He checked Patch's eyes and realized that althou
gh she might have a slight concussion, it wasn't serious. Ethan knelt beside the settee, his hand gently brushing Patch's tousled hair away from her forehead in concern.

  Meanwhile, Molly put the damp cloth to work cleaning the worst of the blood off Whit's face and fingers.

  Seth waved some hartshorn under his daughter's nose, and the ammonia smell brought her coughing and sputtering to life. Patch's first words, once she was fully conscious, were “I want to go home, Pa.”

  “That sounds like a good idea,” Ethan said to Seth. “Unless you get started soon, it's going to be dark before you get there. I'll ride ahead and make sure there's a fire in the stove and some hot coffee waiting for you,” he offered.

  Molly met Seth's eyes across the room, and she nodded her agreement.

  “I appreciate your offer, Ethan,” Seth said. “We'll be leaving as soon as I can get the Gallaghers’ trunks loaded on the buggy.”

  “I'll give you a hand,” Ethan said.

  Once the two men had left the room, a pall descended. Molly had no intention of stirring up dust that had barely settled. She took advantage of the peace and quiet to rinse her muddy feet in what was left of the bowl of water.

  Mrs. Adams stared bemused for a moment before asking, “My dear, is there some reason you came barefoot to your own wedding?”

  Molly wasn't about to tell her the truth, so she made up a tale. “Oh, it's an old Irish custom, Mrs. Adams.”

  “It is?”

  “We always start our marriages the way we intend to go on.”

  “I don't understand,” the preacher's wife said.

  Molly leaned over and gestured Mrs. Adams closer so she could whisper in her ear, “Barefoot and pregnant.”

  Mrs. Adams gasped and drew back from Molly as though she were contagious.

  “Of course, I'm not in the family way,” Molly explained, finding it hard to keep a straight face. “But with Seth being such a virile man, I'm sure it won't be long before I am.”

  Flustered beyond words, Mrs. Adams excused herself and left the room.

  Molly looked up at Him and asked for forgiveness. Then she used the peace and quiet to open the package Ethan had given her. She smiled with delight when she discovered that besides shoes—a delicate pair of kid boots with patent leather tops—he had also purchased white stockings. And he hadn't lied. Both shoes and stockings were a perfect fit.

  Ethan Hawk was obviously a man who knew a lot about women. He had made her feel perfectly at ease from the first moment she had met him. She wasn't a tenth so comfortable with the man she had just married. Whenever she got near Seth, she felt a strange tension, a feeling of expectation, of excitation, that she couldn't explain. Molly hoped that as she and Seth got to know each other, these inexplicable feelings of agitation would ease.

  Molly ushered the three children outside, where Seth and Ethan were just finishing.

  “There's plenty of room for everyone in the buggy,” Seth said. “You might have to sit close.”

  Patch scowled at Whit, and he frowned back.

  Seth didn't miss the exchange and said, “I don't want to see any more fighting between the two of you. If you've got differences, find a way to settle them peaceably, or I'll settle them for you. Do you both understand me?”

  “Yes, Pa,” Patch muttered.

  “You're not my father,” Whit said. “And I don't have to do what you say!”

  Rather than say anything, Seth simply walked away to make sure the buggy was hitched up properly. Seth knew he couldn't win that kind of argument. So he refused to engage in it. He fiddled with the harness until he was ready once again to face his new fam-

  iiy.

  But he found it hard to believe the situation in which he now found himself.

  When Seth had first imagined the drive home from Fort Benton with his mail-order bride, he had thought it might be an awkward trip. After all, he'd be sitting in the front seat with his new wife, and his daughter would end up being a twelve-year-old chaperone in the buggy's back seat. As it turned out, the drive was every bit as awkward as he had expected, but for a very different reason.

  In order to ensure peace on the trip, he put Patch beside him in the front seat. Whit, Nes-sie, and his new bride sat in back. At first Seth tried to carry on a conversation with Molly, but he was forced to turn around to hear her reply or let her talk to the back of his head. Neither alternative was comfortable, so he soon fell silent.

  Every time Seth turned to check on them, Molly gave him what she hoped was a bright smile but knew must look more like a grimace. So many feelings were struggling for dominance within her that she only felt anxious and wished the trip were over. The grassy prairies were endless, and the mountains seemed very far in the distance.

  Molly thought she heard Seth sigh with relief when a peak-roofed log cabin came into sight. A thin stream of white smoke drifted from a stone chimney at one end of the house.

  “We're almost home,” Seth announced. “It won't be long now.”

  The time went more quickly when they could see their destination, and very soon Seth was helping Molly down in front of her new home. As his letter had promised, it was nestled in a copse of cottonwood along a creek. There was also a pond not far from the house.

  “I know it isn't much,” Seth found himself saying.

  “It's fine,” Molly replied as she took the three steps up onto a shaded front porch that ran the length of the cabin in front.

  Seth opened the door, but before she could walk through it, he scooped her up into his arms.

  “Every bride should be carried over the threshold,” he whispered to her.

  Molly lowered her eyes, moved by his gesture. Then he set her down, and it was a good thing she was feeling in charity with him. Because what she saw was enough to make any woman turn tail and run the other way.

  The house was split in half. A log wall to the left had two doors built into it that were closed. The righthand side of the house, the one onto which the front door opened, was all one room. It apparently served as parlor, dining room, office, and kitchen combined.

  In the center of the room stood a scarred maple table and four mismatched chairs. The sideboard on the righthand wall was filled with an odd assortment of half-empty medicine bottles. A rolltop desk had been shoved half-open to reveal a clutter of papers and medical books. It was situated on the front wall and looked out a window that provided a vista of the mountains.

  Along the back wall was a sink with an indoor pump—a real luxury, Seth assured her. There was also a new four-hole stove he'd had shipped up from St. Louis when he'd found out she was coming. To the right of the stove was a window with a view of the cot-tonwoods that lined the creek. To the left of the sink was a back door leading to what she could see through the window was another shaded porch.

  There was no decoration in the room, nothing on the walls, nothing to ameliorate the bleakness of the place and label it a home. The crackling fire Ethan had lit in the stone fireplace was the only spot of cheer in the room.

  “Pa and I neatened up the house for you,” Patch said.

  “I can see that.” Dirty dishes were stacked neatly in the sink. A heap of dirty clothes were layered neatly over a dining-room chair. A pile of dirt had been swept into the corner of the wooden-planked floor and hidden neatly behind the broom. “You did a fine job of neatening things up,” she said with a perfectly straight face.

  “We sure don't need you,” Patch pointed out belligerently.

  “But two hands make the load lighter, don't you agree?” Molly asked.

  As she focused on the two closed doors on the opposite side of the room, it dawned on Molly that the house had only two bedrooms. Where were they all going to sleep? As Seth opened the door to what he described as “his” bedroom, the same thought seemed to occur to him.

  As he stepped to the other door he said, “This is Patch's room.” He looked at the three children who stood huddled before him, then back at the room. Daylight was fadi
ng fast. A decision had to be made. So he said, “Nessie can share with Patch.”

  “Durned if she will!” Patch retorted. She ran to stand protectively in her doorway. “I don't want that baby in here breaking my things, Pa.”

  “Look, Patch—” Seth cajoled.

  “What about Whit?” Molly asked, trying to keep her growing apprehension out of her voice. “Where is he supposed to sleep?”

  Seth was silent a moment. “I guess he can sleep in the barn until—”

  “The barn!” Whit and Molly shouted together.

  “Just until I get another room built.”

  “Absolutely not!” Molly said. “My son sleeps in the house.”

  “Where?” Seth asked pointedly, his eyes going first to one bedroom door, then to the next.

  Molly folded her arms across her chest. “You and Whit can share one room. “Patch, Nessie, and I will share the other.”

  “The hell you will!” Seth retorted.

  “That's telling her, Pa!” Patch chimed in.

  Seth marched over to stand in front of Molly. “You're my wife. You'll sleep with me.”

  “And Whit will sleep where?” Molly asked.

  “He can go stay with Ethan,” Seth suggested, trying to rein his temper.

  “And where, exactly, is that?”

  Patch piped up, “Ethan has a cabin just beyond the trees. It's about a five-minute walk from here.”

  Molly met Seth's gaze and said flatly, “No. That's too far away. My son stays in the same house with me.”

  Seth shook his head in disgust. “Hellfire.”

  Molly put her hands on Nessie's ears. “Remember you are in the presence of children of tender years,” she admonished.

  “Hellfire and damnation!” he roared, at the end of his patience.

  “That's telling her, Pa!” Patch chortled with glee.

  Molly opened her mouth to give Seth a piece of her mind and let out a scream instead. Something furry had just rubbed against her leg! She jumped straight up in the air and threw her arms around Seth's neck. “There's something”—she gasped—”something's in here! Let me go! I have to save Nes-sie. Run, Whit!”