The Unlikely Wife. Debra Ullrick

it beating?

       Her attention slid up to his eyes. Heat barreled up her neck and her cheeks felt hotter than the red coals in the cook stove over yonder. Just when had Michael stopped praying and caught her stealing her fill of him?

       She looked at their hands, jerked hers from his and all but shoved the plate of food in front of him. “You—you’d best start eatin’ before—before it gets cold.”

       Eating was the last thing Michael thought about doing right now. When he’d reached for Selina’s hand, the instant he’d made the connection, warmth spread up his arm and slipped into his heart. He had no idea what that was all about nor did he want to know. Confused over what had just happened, he struggled to pull himself together so he could pray.

       When he opened his eyes and saw Selina studying his arms and chest, saw the longing on her face, something stirred inside him. That foreign feeling made him vastly uncomfortable.

       He rammed his fingers through his hair, but they snagged on some tangles. What had he been thinking coming to the breakfast table without combing his hair first? Even when he lived alone, he groomed himself before sitting down to eat. This whole situation had him so upset and confused he was no longer thinking or acting rationally.

       To get his mind off the situation, he looked at the paltry plate of food she had placed on the table. Selina said she hadn’t eaten yet. If they shared what little food was there, that amount wouldn’t hold him long at all. He normally required twice as much as that just to make it until lunchtime.

       He didn’t understand why, when he had a cellar full of food, she had made so little. His gaze snagged on the numerous patches scattered on her sleeves. Obviously, Selina had come from poverty. Could that be why she had made so little breakfast? Because that was all she had been able to fix back home?

       If that was the case, he didn’t know what to do or how to handle the situation with delicacy. How could he let her know that it was okay to fix plenty here without hurting her feelings or acting like some rich boy throwing his wealth around?

       Michael sighed inwardly. He silently prayed and asked God for wisdom concerning this situation. No answer came immediately, so in the meantime, he made do. He piled half of the eggs, three small biscuits and two pieces of bacon on his plate, then he moved the plate in front of her.

       “Somethin’ wrong with my cookin’?” She glanced at the center plate and then at his.

       “I don’t know. I haven’t tried anything yet. But everything looks and smells real good. Why do you ask?”

       “’Cause you only took half of what I fixed.”

       “Didn’t you tell me you hadn’t eaten yet?”

       “Yeah. So?”

       “Well, that’s why I only took half.”

       Her forehead wrinkled, and her brown eyes narrowed.

       Michael had no idea why she appeared so confused. Women. Who could figure out what they were thinking? No man, that’s for sure.

       He picked up his fork, scooped up a mound of eggs and shoved them into his mouth. Flavor, unlike any he had ever tasted before, burst through his mouth. “Umm. These are delicious, Selina. What did you do to them?” He spoke around the eggs, then gathered up another rounded forkful.

       She smiled. “Fried them in butter and bacon fat. And added the tops of those things I found down yonder.” She pointed to the cellar. “They looked like the ramps back home, so I took a chance.”

       “What’s a ramp?”

       “An onion or a leek,” she said as she added one piece of bacon, one biscuit and a small spoonful of the scrambled eggs onto her plate. “Come springtime, you can find them all over the Appalachian Mountains.”

       “I see. I’m sure it’s beautiful there.”

       “Sure is.” Her face brightened. The woman was definitely easy on the eyes.

       “Do you miss home?”

       Selina shrugged. “Don’t know. Can’t rightly say. I ain’t been gone long enough to tell.” With only a few bites, Selina finished her meager portion, hoping Michael had gotten enough.

       “Have some more.” Michael pushed the rest of the servings toward her.

       “Thank you kindly, but I’m done,” she said even though her stomach was pinched with hunger pain and wasn’t near full enough. Then again, it never had been before. Now should be no different.

       His eyes, soft and questioning, held hers as strong as a foot stuck in a mud hole. “Are you sure?”

       Selina had made the decision, and she wasn’t backing out now. “Yeah. I’m sure.”

       Michael’s attention stayed on her face a spell before he heaped the rest of the food onto his plate and devoured it within minutes. He looked over at the stove with something akin to longing in his eyes before he averted his attention onto his coffee cup.

       “Somethin’ wrong?”

       “Well, I was just wondering something. Before I took the rest of the food you said I only took half of what you’d made. Does that include biscuits, too?”

       “Yeah. I wasn’t sure how many to make. I wanted to stretch the food so we’d have plenty to eat. I’m sorry iffen I didn’t make enough.” She looked down at her hands, fiddling with the patch on her pants leg. She’d wanted to be such a good wife, and already she felt the pain of his disappointment.

       Michael’s finger rested under her chin, tugging it upward. “Selina, look at me.” With the gentlest touch, he raised her head, forcing her to look at him, even though she wanted to look everywhere but at him for fear he would see the love she had for him in her eyes.

       “I’m a big eater. I want you to know that we have more than enough food. So you can make plenty all the time. And…”

       She watched him swallow and draw a breath.

       “I want you to eat more, too. What you ate this morning wouldn’t keep a baby chick alive.”

       She pulled her eyes away from his intense stare. It hurt to be so close to him, to feel he might care and yet know he didn’t.

       His finger dropped from her chin and rested in front her.

       She wanted to snatch back his hand and cradle it against her cheek.

       To hold it.

       To feel its strength.

       To enjoy the small pleasures a married woman like her ma had enjoyed.

       But that would likely never happen, except in her dreams. And dream she would. No one could steal them from her. So when her head hit the pillow tonight, she’d dream of holding his hand.

       Of him wrapping his arms about her and kissing her.

       But until then, he was waiting for her answer. “Don’t rightly know iffen I’d be able to. Food was mighty scarce back home. Always made sure my brothers and Pa had enough to eat first. Then I ate what was left. Which was never much. So, I’m used to not eatin’ much. Even with you sayin’ we have plenty, I still can’t help but be scared that iffen I do eat too much more we might not have enough come winter time.”

       His eyes trailed over her face, her arms and her body. Well, what he could see of it with her sitting in a chair. Still, his studying her like that made her uncomfortable.

       His attention ended on her eyes, and if she weren’t mistaken, pity filled his. And she didn’t like it. Not one little bit. She didn’t want him feeling sorry for her and she’d let him know that. But before she had a chance to tell him so, he hitched his chair back and headed to the pantry.

       When he came back he had a copper container with him, sat the thing down in front of her and raised the lid. He reached inside the jar and pulled