More Than Gold Read online

  “No.”

  “Honesty. We don’t like cheating and stealing and lying and sneaking around. We like to know where we stand.”

  He’d given that a good five seconds of thought before replying, “In that case, I’d honestly like a cookie. May I have one?”

  She hadn’t let him keep the cookie, but the lesson had somehow stuck.

  He would be honest with Grace, let her know where she stood. Maybe he’d get lucky and it would reassure her enough to change her mind about consummating the marriage tonight. Couldn’t hurt to try.

  When he returned to the house, Grace was sitting in his bed, her legs under the bedcovers, a book held up in front of her.

  He stood still, his eyes drifting over her. Truth was, she was every bit as covered up as she had been when she was wearing her daytime clothes, and yet it was somehow different. Swallowing, he turned away to close the door after Brutus had padded inside. His plan to be honest with her wouldn’t work if he stood there ogling her like the uncouth brute she thought him.

  He sincerely hoped she’d be ready soon if she was going to insist on wearing the not at all revealing nightgown and robe though. There was lace, and a hint of ruffles. The robe was light blue. And the nightgown was pink. Pink.

  “Do the chickens sleep in the coop?”

  He glanced back at her. She’d lowered her book to her lap, revealing more of the pink frilly nightgown. Was that a ribbon?

  “Uh, yeah, they do. Foxes sometimes come round here. They’d love to get at my chickens.”

  “Do foxes attack horses and goats?”

  “Not the horses, although what with them being predators and all, Fred and Jed get nervous if they’re around. A big enough one might go for Goat, though they’d be taking their lives in their hands if they did. She’ll charge anything if she feels threatened. Or thinks she can get away with it. But there are wolves and coyotes and bears that would take a goat and maybe even a horse. Have to be careful of those.”

  He was facing away from her as he spoke, removing his jacket and hat to hang on the coat stand by the door. So it was only when he turned round that he saw her staring at him with eyes like saucers.

  “B-bears and wolves?” She looked at the window as if expecting one to burst in at any moment.

  He rushed to reassure her. “I don’t see them very often and they hardly ever go after people. You’re safe here. It ain’t nothing to worry about.”

  She looked far from reassured, continuing to stare at the window. If a wolf howled in the distance at that moment, as they did on occasion, she’d probably hit the roof. Or maybe she’d run into his arms. He’d be fine with that.

  He spotted the skillet she’d used to keep him at bay earlier, on a shelf above the cupboard. Grace was a woman who would defend herself, if she felt threatened. If he was going to make her feel more secure, maybe he needed to help her do that.

  “You know how to use a gun?”

  She moved her eyes back to him and shook her head. “My father owns a revolver, but he keeps it locked in a box in his bedroom. I don’t think he’s used it since he bought it.”

  “Well, tomorrow I’ll teach you how to shoot. That way, when I’m not around, you can defend yourself.”

  She chewed at her lip. They were enticing, her lips. Full and plump and perfect for kissing.

  “I wouldn’t want to hurt anything.”

  His gaze snapped back to her eyes. What were they talking about? Teaching her to shoot. Oh yes.

  “Mostly, with bears and other animals, you’ll just need to fire over their heads and they’ll run. The noise scares them.”

  She smiled slightly. “It would probably scare me too.”

  “You’ll be all right, once I’ve taught you to handle a gun.” He looked down at the floor, scuffing his boot on the wood. Honesty wasn’t something that came naturally to him. “Look, I reckon this all must be hard for you and I don’t blame you for being nervous and all. But I just want you to know that you’re safe with me. I won’t do anything to hurt you. I mean, yes, we are gonna be intimate, although not right now if you’re not ready, but I promise I’ll be gentle. It might hurt a bit to begin with, but that’s natural.” This wasn’t the direction he’d meant to take with his little speech, but he was being honest and women liked honesty. “I mean, it won’t be unpleasant. You might even like it. So... so you don’t have to be scared. I just wanted you to know that.”

  There, that wasn’t so bad.

  He raised his gaze to gauge her reaction to his reassurances. She was staring at him, her eyes wide. She didn’t look particularly reassured. Was there such a thing as being too honest? Should he say something else?

  “Anyway, um, that’s the honest truth. So you’re all right now, aren’t you?”

  She continued to stare wordlessly at him.

  He rubbed the back of his neck. “Okay then. Well...” He nodded, pleased he’d cleared the air between them. “You can carry on with your book, if you like.”

  He spat the gob of tobacco in his cheek into the spittoon by the stove, took a drink from the cup of water he’d left on the table earlier, then walked over to the bed. Sitting on the end, he began to pull off one boot.

  “What are you doing?”

  He looked back at her. Her eyes were still round.

  “I’m getting ready for bed.” Which he’d have thought was obvious.

  “And where are you going to sleep?”

  “In the bed.” Which was even more obvious. Where else would he sleep?

  “With me?”

  This was possibly the most bewildering conversation he’d ever had. “Unless you plan on sleeping elsewhere.”

  He didn’t think it was possible for her eyes to get any larger, but she proved him wrong.

  Throwing her book aside, she grasped the cover and jerked it up to her chin. “You said you didn’t expect us to do that!”

  “I don’t, not right now, if you don’t want to.” He couldn’t deny he was hoping she’d change her mind once he got in beside her. “But I’ve got to sleep.”

  She clutched the covers in front of her like a shield. “Not here you don’t.”

  There was that look again. She was afraid of him.

  “Grace, I just told you, you have nothing to fear from me. But this is the only place I’ve got to sleep.”

  “We’d be in bed together! What if you can’t control yourself? Men are like that. They have... urges. You might get urges!”

  He sighed. “Yes, I have urges, but any man who claims he can’t control himself with a woman is lying. And he ain’t much of a man either.”

  She didn’t believe him. He could tell she didn’t believe him. Mostly by her expression, which wavered between terrified and resolute.

  “We can’t share a bed, and that’s final.”

  So much for Mrs. Jones’ idea that God would bring him the perfect wife. The perfect wife would be welcoming him with open arms. Right now, he wasn’t sure how things with Grace could get any worse.

  He huffed out a frustrated breath, lifting his hands to either side. “Then where am I supposed to sleep?”

  “I don’t know, but not in here.”

  “Not in the bed?”

  “Not in the room!”

  “But there aren’t any other rooms!”

  “There are two barns.”

  Apparently, things could indeed get worse.

  He gaped at her. She couldn’t be serious. “You want me to sleep in the barn? Instead of in my own house?”

  She pressed her lips together, gripping the cover so tight her knuckles were paling, and nodded.

  “I... but... we...”

  He looked around the room for inspiration. Finding none, he slumped forward, leaning his elbows onto his knees. Sending for a mail order bride had seemed like such a good idea. Pay for a train ticket and he got a woman to cook, clean, and warm his bed. It had seemed like a good deal, at the time. Back before either of the women had arrived.

 
Was it like this for every man with a new bride?

  “Fine, I’ll sleep in the barn rather than in my own bed.” He jerked his boot back on, not bothering to try to hide his annoyance. “But you’d better get over this ridiculous notion that I need to woo my own wife real soon.”

  She flinched back when he stomped around the bed, but he was too angry to care. Grabbing the pillow from what should have been his side, he gave her a glare that would leave her in no doubt as to how he felt about the situation, spun away, and stomped to the chest at the end of the bed. He took out a couple of blankets, grabbed the lamp that sat on the table, stomped to the door, and grasped the handle.

  It was there that his conscience, such as it was, finally caught up with him.

  Sighing, he looked back at her. “Have a good night. If you need anything, you know where to find me.”

  Without waiting for an answer, he opened the door and called Brutus. He lifted his head from where he was sprawled in front of the cooling stove reluctantly. Gabriel knew just how he felt.

  “Come on, boy.”

  Brutus hauled his huge bulk from the floor, glanced at Grace as if somehow knowing the interruption to his snooze was her fault, and followed Gabriel out the door.

  He trudged across the yard with Brutus in tow, muttering under his breath. “That’s my bed she’s getting all comfortable in. Mine! I mean, I don’t mind, what with that being why I brought her here, but I was supposed to be in it with her! Why am I the one being sent to the barn to sleep while she gets to be all comfy and warm?” He reached the barn, yanked open the door, and trudged inside. “Not my fault she’s gotten herself all agitated over men’s urges.”

  He hung the lamp on a hook beside the door and looked around. He was familiar with every nook and cranny, of course, but the boxes and barrels and tools and shelves transformed into something completely different when he was considering it as a bedroom.

  “How in the world am I supposed to get comfortable in here?”

  He placed the blankets and pillow on top of a barrel and lit a second lamp. If he was forced to make his bed in there, he was at least going to see what he was sleeping with.

  He took a fork from the corner, held it in one hand with the lamp in the other, and glanced back at Brutus who was sitting just inside the door.

  “Anything runs out, I expect you to get it.”

  Brutus yawned.

  Gabriel sighed and began the task of prodding into all the murky corners of the barn. His dog was hopeless at chasing anything, much less catching it. He could run, he just didn’t often see the need.

  A sizeable brown rat erupted from the gloom and dashed for the door. Gabriel leaped backwards with a startled cry. Brutus stood, just in time to watch the rat speed past him and into the yard. He took a couple of steps to follow, apparently decided it wasn’t worth the effort, and turned back to Gabriel, tail wagging.

  “Great, Brutus,” he muttered, “that was a real help. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

  Glad no one had been there to see his embarrassing reaction to the rat, he went back to clearing the rest of the barn. Five minutes later, two more rats had been evicted, and not caught by Brutus, and Gabriel was at least vaguely hopeful he wouldn’t be awakened during the night by a rodent chewing on his fingers.

  He’d had an idea while prodding around the recesses of the barn to make a mattress from straw, and he grabbed an armful of empty burlap sacks and headed outside. He intended to go straight to the other barn where Fred, Jed and Goat were sleeping, determinedly ignoring the house which, up until a few minutes ago, had been his. But despite his best efforts, his attention still went there.

  He’d been short with Grace when he left, he could see that now. Not that she didn’t deserve it. He’d be happily tucked up in bed right now if it wasn’t for her. But still, he had snapped at her.

  Not sure what he intended to do, he crept up the steps to the porch and peered through the window closest to the bed. The curtains were drawn, but there was a gap at the side he could see through.

  He drew in a sharp breath when he peeked inside.

  Grace was still on the bed, but she was no longer reading. Her knees drawn up to her chest and arms wrapped around them, she was crying.

  It was her own fault, he told himself. She’d thrown him out of his house. He could be in there right now, comforting her, but she didn’t want him. Instead she was crying, alone. She had only herself to blame.

  So why did he feel so guilty?

  The long sigh he let out fogged the window pane. Much as he wanted to hold on to his righteous anger, it seemed determined to fade at the sight of his sobbing wife. Had he made her cry? Even though he couldn’t for the life of him think what he’d done, it was possible.

  He watched her for half a minute until he couldn’t bear the sight any longer and slumped back against the wall of the house, rubbing one hand down his face. He could still hear her muffled sobs and the sound tore at his chest. What was he supposed to do now?

  He looked at the door away to his left. He could go in there and try to comfort her somehow, although all his attempts thus far to make her feel better about being his wife had been unmitigated failures. He simply didn’t know what to say to convince her she was safe with him. And chances were, if he did go in there now he’d only make things worse, maybe even embarrass her that he’d caught her crying. Then there was the whole spying on her through the window, which would give her even more reason to not trust him.

  All things considered, going in there would be a bad idea.

  Sighing, he gently pressed his palm to the window and peeked inside again. She was still huddled into herself, but he couldn’t hear her sobs anymore.

  “Please don’t cry, Grace,” he whispered.

  He stood there for a few seconds then turned and headed for the barn, the lingering feeling that he was guilty of something annoying him no end.

  ~ ~ ~

  Grace pulled her handkerchief from her sleeve and blew her nose, grateful she’d finally stopped crying.

  She felt as if those tears had been building since she’d left her father at the train station in New York. Right until the moment she stepped onto the train, she’d waited for him to ask her to stay. If he had, she would have. But he didn’t.

  She wasn’t even sure if he’d been sad she was leaving. She’d always been closer to her mother than her father, but she’d never doubted he loved her until that day at the train station a week ago when he said goodbye to his only daughter, his only child, and didn’t even once ask her to stay.

  Then there was the long, uncomfortable, noisy, exhausting journey during which she’d barely had a moment when there weren’t others around her.

  And now here she was with a man she didn’t know, scared and alone. And the moment Gabriel had left, she’d burst into tears.

  “Why am I here, Lord?” she whispered, dabbing at her burning eyes. “Is this really where I’m supposed to be? Is Gabriel really the man You wanted me to marry?” She sighed and looked at the door. “I thought he’d be more... more... I don’t know. I just wanted him to care about how I feel. I want someone to care how I feel.” She sniffed as pain bloomed in her chest and the tears threatened to resume. “Am I being foolish to want love? Is shelter and provision all I can expect from marriage? I wish Mama hadn’t gone to be with You. She wouldn’t have cared that I hadn’t married by now. She would have understood.”

  When tears began to roll down her cheeks again, she clamped her handkerchief over her eyes, squeezing them shut and shaking her head. Crying all night wouldn’t help her at all. She was here now, so she’d just have to make the best of it. She could do that.

  She retreated into making a mental list, her usual method for calming herself when her emotions threatened to drown her.

  This one was titled, ‘Good Things About Being in California and Married to Gabriel.’

  1) Felicia wasn’t there to make snide remarks about Grace’s attire or size
or lack of male attention. That alone might have been worth crossing the country for.

  2) The scenery, with the mountains behind and the valley stretched out in front, was stunning.

  3) She liked animals so she was looking forward to getting to know Brutus and the horses and Goat and the chickens.

  4) The town seemed nice. Maybe she’d make some friends.

  5) The house was small and lacking in basic amenities, but it had a certain cozy charm.

  6) Felicia wasn’t there. Being an extra good reason, it deserved two spots in the list.

  7) Maybe she’d get to taste Mrs. Goodwin’s remarkable cooking again.

  8) Gabriel...

  She wasn’t yet sure if he belonged on the list of good reasons about being there.

  He was decidedly rough, and he had no idea how to treat a lady. He seemed to lack any sensitivity whatsoever and the chewing tobacco was downright disgusting. That definitely needed to go. His manners were, well, missing. And the way he ogled her bordered on rudeness, even if, as her husband, it could be argued that he had the right. His beard and hair needed trimming and his clothing didn’t even come close to being within screaming distance of stylish. He’d exaggerated his ‘successful’ claim grossly, if the house was anything to go by.

  All in all, she couldn’t think of one thing to commend him to her good things list.

  And yet, there was something about him, although what it was she couldn’t put her finger on. Maybe, with work, some of his worst qualities could be reformed.

  She wiped at her eyes and swallowed the rest of her tears. She wouldn’t give up yet. She’d only just arrived. She was tired and emotionally exhausted.

  Things would get better. They had to.

  She picked up her Bible and opened it. God’s word was always a comfort, and she needed the comfort only God could give her more than ever.

  With a deep sigh, she settled back into the pillows and began to read.

  It was then that she heard the sound of scratching.

  ~ ~ ~

  Gabriel lay back on the blanket and stared at the ceiling. After a while, he sat up, pounded at one of the straw-stuffed sacks beneath him until it was a less uncomfortable shape, and lay down again.