The Unexpected Wife. Mary Burton

felt as insignificant and unwanted as she had in her uncle’s house. “Mr. Barrington, perhaps we need a moment to talk alone.”

      Mr. Barrington speared her with a hard look. “Look, Miss…”

      “Smyth,” she supplied.

      He rubbed the back of his neck, clearly tired and very frustrated. “We have nothing to discuss.”

      Abby blinked at Mr. Barrington. “I beg to differ. There is a great deal to discuss, considering I just uprooted my life to be here.”

      He was clearly a man who relished control. He worked his jaw and tipped his head back to stare at the ceiling as if he were trying to keep his temper in check. “When will Holden be back, Mrs. Clements?” He fired the question like a bullet.

      Mrs. Clements tucked her hands in the deep pockets of her apron. “He said he’d be gone at least a week.”

      “If he’s smart he’ll stay away a hell of a lot longer. It’ll take longer than a week for my anger to cool on this one,” he said. “Damn his scrawny hide.”

      Abby pinched the bridge of her nose. At this moment, she was sorely tempted to take the last three dollars she had and buy a stage ticket to anywhere. The unknown was far more appealing than Mr. Barrington at the moment. But like it or not, she was stuck. “Mr. Barrington, you and I really do need to discuss this matter.”

      He swung his gaze to her. “Lady, you were brought here under false pretenses and for that I’m truly sorry. But I’m not marrying you.”

      Pride had her lifting her chin a notch. “Nor was I expecting you to.”

      “Good.” He stared at her with bone-jarring intensity. Never had a man looked at her so intently. A soft shiver danced down her spine.

      “Matthias…Abby,” Mrs. Clements said sweetly. “I think you’re both being a bit hasty. Miss Abby is right. You need time alone to get to know each other.”

      He rubbed the back of his neck with his hand. “Time is the one thing I don’t have, Mrs. Clements. I got two boys to raise and a ranch to run. I don’t have time to be a nursemaid, let alone court a city woman.”

      Abby clenched her fists. “I am not helpless, Mr. Barrington.”

      He let his gaze roam the length of her body. “Lady, you don’t know the first thing about life out here.”

      “I’ve learned many skills in my life. Montana is no different than many of the other challenges I’ve faced.”

      He lifted a gaze. “That so?”

      “Absolutely,” she said all bravado as she stepped toward him. Inches away, the energy from his body radiated.

      “So you know all there is to know about working back-breaking hours, milking cows, planting gardens, churning butter and chopping wood.”

      In truth, she didn’t know a lot about those things. “I know about hard work.”

      “That doesn’t cut it. And I don’t have the time to teach you.” He swung his dark gaze to Mrs. Clements, dismissing Abby completely. “Put Miss Smyth up and when Holden arrives she can catch the next stage home. I’ve got a ranch to tend.”

      Abby grabbed his arm. The muscles tightened like steel. “You can’t dismiss me like this. I’ve come too far to turn back now.” He was her only real connection to this land—the man she’d thought she’d marry. And Uncle Stewart would never take her back a second time, nor would she ask him.

      For a moment she imagined his eyes softened before a wall of ice descended over them. “I’d help you if I could, lady. But I can’t.”

      The boys’ voices had grown silent. She imagined they were on the other side of the curtain listening to every word. She wondered how much of this they understood.

      Mrs. Clements started to stack the can of peaches in a neat triangle. “Like it or not, Matthias,” she said, “you need a wife.”

      “I had a wife,” he bit back.

      “You loved Elise, but she’s dead and gone,” the older woman said softly. She jabbed her thumb toward the curtain behind her. Their laughter had stopped. “But those boys of yours need a mother. And you need a helpmate.”

      “We’re surviving.”

      “Not for long. You’re running out of choices,” Mrs. Clements said.

      Sadness rose in Abby. This scene was nothing like what she’d pictured. If she had a lick of sense, she’d follow her first inclination.

      But she didn’t.

      Abby was through hiding in the kitchens and watching life pass her by. “Excuse me for saying this, Mr. Barrington, but you and the boys don’t look like you’re doing so well.”

      Anger flashed in his eyes. “How the hell would you know?” he roared.

      Quinn and Tommy appeared at the curtain then. Their freshly scrubbed faces tight with worry, their gazes darted between their father and Abby. They were holding the rag balls she’d made for them last night. She’d never imagined a handful of rags could be so entertaining.

      “Pa?” Quinn said. He ran to his father with his younger brother on his heels.

      “It’s all right, son,” Mr. Barrington said. He stabbed his fingers through his hair. It was clear he hated seeing the worry in their young eyes. “What’s that you’ve got in your hand?”

      “Ball,” Tommy said.

      Quinn held his up proudly. “Miss Abby made it.”

      He brushed a lock of clean hair off Tommy’s face. “Who cleaned you up?”

      “Miss Abby.”

      Mr. Barrington’s gaze locked on her for an instant. Dark blue eyes reflected a mixture of gratitude, anger and frustration.

      Abby looked past Mr. Barrington to Mrs. Clements. “Would you do us a small favor and take the boys outside? The boys can toss their new balls, while Mr. Barrington and I talk.”

      Mrs. Clements hustled around the side of her counter. “That’s an excellent idea. You two just need time alone.” She took Tommy from Mr. Barrington and grasped Quinn’s little hand. “Come on boys, let’s play a game of toss with those fancy new toys of yours.”

      Tommy started to whimper and reached out to his father. “No.”

      Mrs. Clements kept moving toward the door. “I’ve a new horse you two boys haven’t seen yet.”

      Tommy stopped whimpering immediately. “Horse.”

      “That’s right,” she said as she opened the door. “I bought him off an Indian. He’s got white and brown spots.”

      The door closed behind them. Abby could still hear Mrs. Clements’s cheery voice but it quickly faded until nothing remained but an uncomfortable silence.

      Abby shifted her gaze from the door to Mr. Barrington. Dark circles smudged under his eyes and three or four days’ growth of beard covered his square jaw.

      “I thank you for what you’ve done for my boys, but I don’t want a wife.”

      She was used to not being wanted. But she understood her value. “But you need one.”

      He shoved out a deep breath. “I’ll make it without one.”

      “Pride is a wonderful thing, Mr. Barrington, but there is a time and place for it. Believe me, mine has taken a sore beating today. This is not how I pictured our first meeting.”

      Frowning, he shoved his fingers through his hair. “I’m sorry for that, Miss Smyth. If I’d known what Mrs. Clements and the others were up to, I’d have stopped it instantly. But that doesn’t change anything.”

      She