Montana Groom Of Convenience. Linda Ford

had been poking through the piles of old newspapers. Her hands grew still. Carly thought she heard the child suck in air. “You got dead brothers and sisters?” Jill asked.

      “Four brothers. Maybe I’ll show you their graves someday.”

      “Sawyer gots a dead brother, too.” She tipped her head. “Does that mean I have a dead brother?”

      Carly waited for Sawyer to answer. But his face had turned to granite and he stared at the wall.

      “I suppose it does,” she answered in his stead.

      “Huh. His name was Johnny.” Jill spoke with a degree of authority as if she thought Sawyer might have forgotten.

      Carly wasn’t sure how to respond, so said words that might mean anything. “I see.”

      Sawyer had still not moved.

      “Let’s take some of these things out to the woodshed.” She gathered up a bundle of old clothes and stepped past Sawyer, making her way to the small building at the side of the house. She didn’t bother looking to see what he did. The man had agreed to marry her. That was all she expected of him. But she was mildly pleased when he followed, his arms holding the rest of the clothing.

      He traipsed on her heels into the shed. She looked about. “If I put shelves along the top of the wall, I can store all this stuff on them.” She lowered her armload to the nearby bench.

      Sawyer did the same.

      She headed for the door, intent on getting to the barn. Her skirts tangled around her ankles. The first thing she would do was trade these cumbersome skirts for her customary trousers. She’d only worn a dress to town because of some vague hope she would find a man willing to wed her.

      A smile tugged at her mouth. It hadn’t been so much hope that she’d find a man as desperation. Truth be told, she would have married almost anyone to save the ranch. Even if she’d had to drag him from the gutter. She shuddered as a couple of men came to mind. Thankfully, she had found a man in Miss Daisy’s Eatery rather than the gutter.

      Sawyer followed on her heels. “I’ll help you.”

      “I can do it. But got something to attend to first.” She hurried to her room and closed the door firmly after her. The pesky buttons on the bodice of her dress took forever to undo but she’d learned the folly of hurrying. It took even more time to sew buttons back on. She slipped the dress and petticoats off and donned her baggy shirt and fitted trousers, stuck her feet into her pair of well-worn cowboy boots and returned to the main room.

      Jill sat on a chair opposite Father, giving him solemn study. She turned as Carly left her room. Carly knew she tried to hide any expression—having learned it from an expert—but her eyes rounded. Her mouth gaped and then she blinked and turned deadpan.

      Carly didn’t care what Sawyer thought of her attire and yet she looked his direction. Would he see the warning in her eyes to keep his opinion to himself?

      “Lassie.” Father sighed heavily. “Is it too much to hope ye’d be content to be the woman of the house?”

      Carly snorted, her attention still directed toward Sawyer. Would he be as disapproving as Father? He might as well learn right now that she didn’t intend to be the sort of woman Father meant.

      * * *

      Sawyer’s gaze ran down the length of the woman he’d married. Brown trousers with worn creases informed him she made a habit of dressing like this. He tried to decide what he thought about it and realized he didn’t have an opinion. Why should he? Who she was and what she did had little importance to him. He’d agreed to do the ranch work in return for a home for Jill. He expected nothing more, nothing less, from either of them.

      Jill looked at him. Something about her expression sent tension up his spine. What was his little sister scheming now?

      “I’m going to make shelves.” Carly marched past him, the challenge in her voice unmistakable.

      He saw no point in telling her she had no need to feel threatened and followed her to the barn.