Husband By Arrangement. Angel Moore

let another man provide for his family.”

      She’d hurt his feelings. His pride. “I meant no disrespect.”

      He folded his napkin and slid his chair back. “None taken.” He took his dishes to the cabinet against the side wall of the cabin. He poured the water she had heated on the stove into the basin and slid in his dishes.

      Rena jumped to her feet when she saw his intent. “I’ll do the dishes, Sheriff.” She tried to elbow him from in front of the basin.

      He looked down at her, and she realized how close they were. Standing here, side by side, in their home was too familiar. She backed away and ran her palms down the front of the apron she’d found on a peg near the stove.

      “Please let me do the washing up.” She wasn’t one to beg. It went against her nature. Nor was she one to accept charity. If she didn’t work, she’d feel like his actions toward her were borne of pity.

      “Okay.” Scott dropped the cloth into the sudsy water and stepped back from the cabinet. “Do you think you could call me Scott? If we’re going to make this marriage appear real to the people in town, we’re gonna have to practice being nice to one another.”

      “I’ll try.” She picked up the cloth and wiped the first dish. “There’s an awful lot of new things to adjust to.”

      “We can do it. It’ll take time, but we’ll work it out.” He went to the back door. “I’ll bring in more wood while you do that. Then we can sit in front of the fire and finish our conversation.”

      He was out the door in a swift motion. She could hear him splitting logs while she cleaned the kitchen. It seemed they had one trait in common. They busied themselves with work when they were uncomfortable.

      The circumstances of the day would have them both busy for weeks to come. She was sure of it.

      * * *

      Scott lifted the latch and pushed the door, using one foot to open it wide enough to enter with the double armload of wood. Rena was drying the last plate when he entered the cabin.

      “I’m afraid we’re in for a cold snap. The clouds gathering this evening look like they’re full of rain.” He leaned over the hearth and let the wood fall out of his arms. He added two logs to the fire and stacked the rest.

      “I wish I’d thought to bring my quilts.” She shivered and wrapped her arms around her middle.

      He moved the rocking chair close to the fire. “Sit here and warm up. I’ll find something for you to use tonight. We can go back to your father’s house tomorrow and gather the rest of your things.” He sat on the hearth and picked up a length of wood that he’d been whittling on for days. “Do you mind if I work while we talk?”

      She shook her head. “No. I’ll be bringing my sewing with me. It’ll help to fill the evenings.”

      “Ann and I would sit and work after supper most nights.” He held the wood up to the light of the fire and twisted it one way and another, deciding where to make his next cuts. “I miss her.”

      “You must. Being your only family and all.” Rena set the rocker in motion. The hem of her dress puddled on the rug she’d beaten clean earlier. The toe of her shoe peeked out from beneath the fabric that swayed as she rocked.

      “Martin Fleming is a good man. I knew when he and Ann met that I’d lose her to him.” He cut away a stubborn knot from the wood and tossed it into the fire.

      “They seemed very happy.”

      He agreed with a nod.

      Silence fell in the room. She rocked, and he carved for several minutes. Then he saw her rub her arms again.

      “I’ll be right back.” He put his wood on the hearth and his knife on the mantel. In his room, he opened the wardrobe and lifted the last sweater his mother had knitted for him. Underneath, he found the quilt she’d made when he was a boy. He tugged it out, returned the sweater to its place and closed the wardrobe.

      Back in the main room, he laid the quilt on the hearth, careful to keep it away from sparks and ash. “I’ll warm this, and you can use it tonight.”

      Rena stopped rocking and leaned close to inspect the quilt. “What a lovely pattern. Did Ann make it?”

      “My mother did. Ann has one like it, but hers is pink and green. Our mother made them for us when we were children.” He picked up the knife and wood and returned to his place in front of the fire.

      She reached out a hand and caressed the blue and brown starburst that formed the center of the quilt. “Are you sure you want me to use it? What about you?”

      “I have another.” He didn’t want to talk to her about his mother. The woman who’d given everything she had to care for him and his sister. She’d worked odd jobs, taken in laundry, baked for others and anything else to put food on their table after their father had died.

      His mother was the perfect picture of everything a mother should be. He wasn’t ready to share that with Rena. Not on the night he’d married her to give her child a name.

      They were completely different women. His mother had been quiet and settled. Determined and strong.

      Rena was almost never quiet and certainly not settled. Though he couldn’t deny her bravery at marrying a man she’d always kept at a distance to protect her unborn child.

      He wouldn’t talk about his mother to her. Not now. Maybe not ever.

      Scott put the wood aside and stood to pace behind the settee that separated the kitchen from the main part of the room. “So.” He ran a nervous hand through his hair and stepped in front of her chair. “What do you think we should establish as a sort of ground rules for what’s going on here.”

      She had to crane her neck to see him, so he dropped onto the front edge of the settee and leaned toward her.

      “Do you mean things like how to address one another? How to comport ourselves in public? That sort of thing?”

      “Yes. We’ll have to appear friendly, or people won’t believe the child is ours.”

      Her face turned pink. “Really, Sheriff, I don’t think we have to verbalize every detail.”

      “Scott. You’re going to have to call me by my name.”

      The color began to fade from her cheeks. “Scott.” The word was soft and seemed to come with great effort.

      He answered her in kind. “Rena.” He rubbed his palms down the length of his thighs. He should not be sweating on a cold December night. “I promise to be respectful of you. Neither of us expected to be in this situation.”

      “Thank you.” She avoided his gaze. “I’ll try to be friendly toward you.”

      He chuckled. “You better be careful. If you start being too nice to me, people will start to think you don’t dislike me anymore.”

      She jerked her head up. “Surely getting married will convince them otherwise.” She looked away and made him wonder if she was trying to cover her true feelings. “I never actually disliked you.”

      “Really?” He leaned back. “Then why all those suppers where you didn’t say anything to me? You passed the food and spoke to your father, but it was clear that you were avoiding me.”

      “Standoffish is probably the way I’d describe it. I guess I thought you dismissed me. That you didn’t like me as a person. So I didn’t want to waste my time or efforts by trying to build a friendship with you.” She shrugged one shoulder and stared into the fire. “I never meant to be unkind.”

      “You were never unkind. But you weren’t friendly.”

      “If you feel that way about me, why did you agree to this marriage?” Her eyes were open, honest. She was seeking the truth.

      “I