Unconventional Series Collection Read online

  Brant nodded politely to the woman as she turned to leave. He glanced at the large trunk beside Miz Vaughn. "Ah, my buckboard is next door. I'll be right back to load your belongings."

  "Thank you, Mr. Samson."

  Brant walked to his wagon, berating himself for his stupid idea of advertising for a bride. He should have just waited until someone suitable settled in Two Rivers. Yeah, right. Like eligible women ever come to Two Rivers.

  Untying his horses, he jumped into the driver's seat and urged them forward. He groaned; Abigail Mary Vaughn looked like what she was—an old maid schoolmarm. Her hair, pulled back under a narrow brimmed straw hat whose crown was encircled with ribbons and bird feathers, had a severe bun peeking out the back that emphasized her strong features of a long nose, long face, and high cheekbones. When she'd compressed her lips, she'd looked like a teacher about to scold a wayward child. He pulled the buckboard next to the trunk and wished he'd never responded to her letter.

  "Hey, Brant," Toothless Charlie called from his usual place on the hotel railing.

  "Yeah, Charlie?"

  "You want me to help you lift that trunk?"

  "Naw, I think I got it." He set the valise in the back of his wagon and then reached to load the trunk. What'd she pack—bricks? He hoisted the damn thing next to the valise and then turned to help her onto the plank seat. She gave him her schoolmarm look as he reached to encircle her waist. She wasn't petite like Molly. The top of her head reached his chin and he could feel curves in spite of the jacket and blouse and corset and skirt and petticoats and whatever else she was wearing. Glancing at Miz Vaughn's blushing profile, he circled the wagon and scolded himself. Great, a middle-aged, virginal school teacher. What were you thinking?

  Chapter 3: Eight Eyes

  Abigail scanned the rolling countryside and angled her parasol to protect her complexion against the blazing sun. The wagon hit a rut and her shoulder bumped the cowboy's. Never, in her wildest imaginings, had she envisioned such a tall, handsome, and virile man. Surely, he had to be disappointed by her appearance. She realized he was talking and turned to give him her full attention, feeling the impact of his beautiful eyes all the way to her toes.

  "My place is about four miles south of town. I raise Longhorns and grow as much of my own food as I can. I have some chickens and a milk cow and I trade with local ranchers for salt pork and other goods. I know you're a city gal, but have you ever had ranch experience?"

  "Um, no." Abigail thought she heard him sigh.

  "I hope I explained well enough in my letters how difficult this life can be."

  "Yes, you did, perfectly."

  "So tell me again why you would choose this life when you seem to have had an easier one in Philadelphia?"

  His question caught her off guard. With her customary frankness, she said, "Honestly, Mr. Samson, I was sick of my life in the city and saw endless years of monotony ahead of me."

  He didn't respond to her answer, but instead, said, "I think we should be on a first name basis, don't you?"

  "Yes, you're right."

  "Okay, back to your reason for coming here. Believe me; this life can become quite monotonous, too."

  "Are you bored to tears, Mr. Samson? I mean, Brant."

  "No, Abby, I don't have time to be bored."

  "Precisely." His nickname for her sounded good coming from his deep-timbered voice.

  "Do you mind if I call you Abby?" He turned to look at her. "Abigail seems so…formal."

  "I've never been called Abby, always Abigail, but its fine with me if that's what you prefer."

  "Your parents never gave you a nickname?"

  "No, I was an only child born to older parents who were academically inclined and very proper." And without the slightest idea of how to play with a child or have fun. She wanted to change the subject. "So, tell me about your children."

  Brant made a clicking noise and shifted the reins in his gloved hands. The horses followed his command and moved to the center of the dusty road. "As I tried to describe in my letters, my eldest son, Luke, is a bookworm. It's how he copes with his mother's death. He can be quite sullen and temperamental and downright rude at times."

  Abigail heard his frustration and nodded her sympathy. He gave her a little smile and when her shoulder bumped his again, she quickly scooted over.

  He gave her a questioning look and continued, "Jenny is ten and shouldering far too much responsibility for a child. She cares for her baby brother while Luke and I work the ranch. She never complains and has a gentle disposition like her mother."

  Fascinated by his hands, Abigail watched them maneuver the horse's reins again.

  "Now, Ty, he's my baby and just starting to talk pretty good. He keeps the family laughing." He adjusted the brim of his hat. "God knows, we need a good laugh now and again."

  They traveled on in silence. Abigail had so many emotions coursing through her she wasn't able to focus on any one of them: anxiety, excitement, intimidation, and female awareness of the handsome man beside her, an emotion she wasn't familiar with. The thought of becoming a man's wife in the biblical sense wasn't something she'd wanted to dwell on. She'd relegated the ramifications of that to the back of her mind, believing she could endure the outcome as it played out. However, she hadn't expected such a robust man on the receiving end of her letters.

  Brant turned off the road and onto a narrow drive. "Around that bend of trees is home."

  Abigail's heart hammered.

  When the horses clomped around the turn, her breath caught. His home appeared crude, small, and…homey. It was like a drawing in the books she'd purchased about frontier lands. The wide front porch with railings had a couple of rockers on it. Standing behind the railing, four pairs of eyes watched their approach. Abigail couldn't help but smile. The children she'd only imagined now stood before her and beside them sat a large mixed breed, brown dog with wiry fur. Luke squinted, Jenny smiled, Ty lifted a finger and pointed, and the dog barked.

  * * *

  Brant glanced from his children to Abby as he reined his horses to a halt in front of the porch. He did a double take. Abby's smile had transformed her face from plain to lovely. Certain his eyes were playing tricks on him, he blinked, but her smile revealed beautiful white teeth, and when she bit her bottom lip, he quickly looked away. Damn!

  He jumped off the buckboard and came around to lift her down. Shyly meeting his gaze she looked past him to his children. Holding her elbow, he guided her to the porch.

  "Luke, Jenny, Ty, I want you to meet Miz Abigail Mary Vaughn."

  "Welcome and howdy, ma'am," said Jenny.

  "I'm so happy to meet you, Jenny. You're beautiful and just as sweet as I imagined."

  Jenny grinned. "Thank you, Miz Vaughn."

  The dog darted to Brant and he squatted and rubbed behind his ears. He looked up at Abby. "And this is Wally. He wandered into our place a few years back and never left."

  Abby reached to pet the dog. "It's nice to meet you, too, Wally."

  Ty interrupted them. "Mama?" He stretched his hands toward Abby, and Brant watched her shocked expression quickly become replaced by joy. She looked at him and asked, "May I hold him?"

  Brant felt a lump choke his throat and sudden resentment strike his heart like a cobra that it wasn't Molly holding their baby. He nodded and Jenny stepped off the porch and handed Ty to Abby. Ty, always trusting, hugged her neck. Abby hesitated a moment and then laid her cheek against his blond curls.

  Brant looked at Luke. "Please welcome Miz Vaughn to our home, son."

  Luke gave his father a mutant look but Brant didn't waiver in his stare. Finally, the boy said in a resentful tone, "Welcome, Miz Vaughn."

  "Thank you, Luke. I appreciate that this is difficult for you," she replied softly.

  Ty stretched his arms toward Brant, "Papa."

  Abby shifted the baby and handed him over. Her eyes, the color of freshly brewed coffee, met Brant's gaze when he lifted Ty from her arms. For a second he
couldn't think what to say. "Uh, why don't we go inside where it's not so hot? Jenny can pour tea for everyone." He handed Ty back to his daughter. "Luke, help me unload Miz Vaughn's trunk and then take the buckboard to the barn and unhitch Sugar and Smoky."

  With a defiant look, Luke grabbed one end of the trunk.

  Chapter 4: Cookies

  Abigail stepped onto the wide porch and entered the cabin when Brant motioned her forward. Jenny followed and then Brant and Luke carried her trunk inside. Pausing near a long table, she waited for her eyes to adjust to the dim light and then scanned the modest interior.

  "Please sit down, Miz Vaughn," said Jenny.

  "Since your father is calling me Abby, I'd be pleased if you would, too."

  "Okay…Miz Abby," Jenny said shyly. She set Ty on the floor and watched him run to climb on a wooden rocking horse near the hearth, and then she walked to open-faced shelving above wooden countertops and grabbed some mismatched glasses, setting them on the table. While she poured tea from a battered metal pitcher, Abigail surveyed the cabin in more detail. Her gut instinct told her that the faded curtains hanging above a deep sink with a hand pump had been lovingly sewn by Jenny's mother. She twisted her hands in her lap, feeling pain for this family who had lost someone so precious to them. How could she even begin to replace their loss? Inadequacy loomed like a rain cloud threatening to drench her in misgivings.

  Brant and Luke returned from delivering her trunk into another room and Luke slammed out the front door. Brant stared sadly after him before turning and patting his daughter on her head of honey colored hair. "Jenny baked up cookies for your arrival." He reached for a plate on the table and held it out to Abigail. To show her appreciation, she smiled and selected the largest odd shaped mound.

  "Thank you, Jenny. That was very considerate." She nibbled on a corner. It was so hard she had to use an eye tooth to break off a piece. "Hmm, very tasty," she tried to sound convincing.

  Jenny's face lit with an ear-to-ear grin.

  Brant grabbed two cookies and walked to the door, tossing one to Wally, and finishing his own in two bites.

  Abigail sipped her tea and did her best to chew the stone hard cookie. Ty ran to the table and pointed at the plate. His father grinned and handed him a treat. Abigail wondered how the baby would chew it and relaxed when he just sucked on it.

  She glanced toward the doorway her trunk had disappeared into. Peering from beneath her lashes, she felt her face flame when she saw Brant watching her. She thought she saw a tiny quirk at the corner of his mouth.

  "We put your trunk in our extra room. Jenny and Ty sleep in the room next to yours and Luke sleeps in the loft. My room is on the opposite side of the cabin."

  Abigail crunched another bite of her cookie, nodded, and studied a spot on the threadbare tablecloth. Glancing sheepishly up, she asked, "May I go to my room now. I'd like to freshen up."

  Brant looked embarrassed. "I don't know where my mind's been. I'm really sorry. I should have let you do that first thing. Jenny, pump some water in a pitcher for Miz Abby and bring it to her room with a cloth. Come on, Abby, let's get you settled in." Ty ran back to the table and Brant scooped him up.

  Relieved that she didn't have to finish the cookie, she tucked it in her pocket to give to Wally later and followed Brant across the cabin. He held the bedroom door open and when Ty reached his arms toward her, he said, "Not now, son; Miz Abby can hold you later."

  Abigail entered the room looking forward to a few minutes solitude to process her emotions. Jenny followed and set a pitcher of water in a basin on a small table centered under the only window.

  Brant said, "You rest as long as you need to." After he closed the door, she could hear the muffled timbre of his voice speaking to his children.

  For a second, she couldn't move, the alteration in her lifestyle having stunned her. The glamour of traveling west and changing her whole life had no doubt blinded her to the reality of living there. Glancing around the room, she didn't know whether to laugh or cry. It was tiny and rustic. Other than the small table, the furniture consisted of a narrow lumpy bed bumped up against the far corner and an old four-drawer chest with a matching vanity and stool. A kerosene lamp topped the chest. On the timbered wall above the bed, two pictures of pretty dresses ripped from a catalogue had been tacked up for ornamentation.

  Walking to the vanity, Abigail gazed at her reflection in the wavy mirror and then fingered the lovely petals of wildflowers in a mason jar. Suddenly, that simple thoughtfulness, made the crudeness of the room insignificant.

  Inhaling a shaky breath, she removed her traveling jacket and straw hat and poured water into the bowl. Squeezing out the threadbare cloth, she wiped her face and neck before stretching out on the bed and lifting her forearm over her eyes, fighting the need to sleep. Eventually, she lost the battle and drifted into dreams of a rebellious teenager, a sweet girl, a needy baby, and a rancher with eyes bluer than a summer sky.

  A tapping sound confused Abigail. "What? Yes? Come in," she groggily croaked. The door to her room cracked open and Brant peeked around it.

  "Uh, ma'am, Jenny has supper on the table. We figured you was plum tuckered out, but you still need to eat."

  Awareness flooded her and she jumped to a sitting position in the middle of the bed. The sun had almost set and cast the room in shadow.

  "Goodness, I guess I fell asleep." She reached to pat her hair and almost groaned aloud. It had escaped her bun and hung in natural waves down her shoulders and past her breasts. "I'll be right out."

  "Yes, ma'am." Brant closed the door.

  * * *

  On the opposite side of the door, Brant laid his forehead against it. Good golly, the low light was playing tricks with his eyes. When Abby had jumped up and a mane of glorious mahogany hair covered her, she'd looked like an exotic creature of myths, and his body had reacted. Since Molly's death, he had only enjoyed the carnal side of his nature a couple of times, and that was when he'd traveled to the city on business. His loneliness had driven him to the saloon for whiskey and companionship. The gal had been older and they'd talked for a long time before doing the deed. On his next trip, he'd looked her up again and done a repeat of before. After that, he'd made up his mind to find a wife. Now, seeing Abby without her ramrod stiffness, he'd had a crazy inclination to ride out and find the preacher just so he could enjoy the body of a woman. Inhaling slowly, he lifted his head and turned when Ty let out a wail.

  "He's tired, Pa. You want me to feed him and put him to bed?" asked Jenny.

  "Ah, sure, that sounds like a good idea."

  "You okay, Pa?"

  "Yep. I'm fine." He glanced up at the loft. "Luke! It's supper time!"

  Brant heard shuffling, but his son didn't answer.

  "Answer me, Luke!"

  "I'm comin', Pa."

  Brant lifted Ty into the highchair he'd built with his own hands and Jenny set a small bowl of stew in front of him. "It's hot son. Let your sister help you."

  Ty nodded. "Otay, Papa."

  Jenny sat beside Ty and blew on a spoonful of stew before lifting it to the baby's mouth.

  Brant heard Abby's door open and looked up. She had combed her hair back into its severe bun and become the epitome of an old maid again.

  Luke climbed down the loft ladder and plopped on one of the benches that ran the length of the table.

  "Luke, bless the food," he said softly.

  Luke gave his father a grim look, but obeyed, saying a simple prayer of thanksgiving.

  Brant looked at Abby. "Pass me your bowl, Abby, and I'll fill it with stew. Jenny, put a cornbread on her plate."

  The meal progressed in stilted conversation and Ty got increasingly cranky. Finally, Brant said, "He's ready for bed, Jenny."

  "Okay, Pa, I'll take him and then come back and clean the dishes."

  Abby interjected, "Please, let me help. What would you like me to do?"

  Jenny looked from her Pa to Abby. "You want to help me put Ty to bed and
tell him a story?"

  "Yes, very much so, and then I'll help clean the dishes."

  Brant nodded his approval. "Luke and I are going to check the animals and finish a few chores. Come on, son."

  Luke opened his mouth to say something, but seemed to think better of it when he got a stern look from his father.

  * * *

  Abigail followed Jenny as she carried Ty to the bedroom they shared. Upon entering, her heart jumped into her throat. The little girl had done her best to decorate a room as small as Abigail's own, and just as in her room, pages from a catalogue had been torn out and tacked on the wall beside the bed. Mostly, they were pictures of dolls or pretty dresses. An old trunk sat at the foot of the same type of narrow bed and she knew instinctively that the quilt covering the bed had been lovingly sewn by Jenny's mother. Jenny pulled the quilt back and laid Ty down, kissing his cheek. "You want Miz Abby to tell you a story?"

  He nodded sleepily. "Yeth."

  Jenny stepped back. "You go ahead and sit beside him, Miz Abby. I'm gonna wet a cloth to wipe his face."

  Positioning herself next to the baby, Abigail reached and caressed his silky hair. She'd often made up stories for her students and a particularly favorite one was about a prince rescuing a maiden from the Land of Mysterious Places.

  She waited for Jenny to return before reciting the fairytale. Ty twisted away from his sister when she tried to wash his face and hands, and Abigail reached for the cloth, pretending it was the prince's royal cape. Jenny sat at the foot of the bed and listened enraptured by the story. Even though Ty fell immediately to sleep, Abigail continued the tale. About a third of the way through, she smiled, "That's enough for tonight. We want to save some for tomorrow and the next night."

  "I love that story! I just know the prince is going to fall in love with the girl and make her his princess!"

  Abigail smiled, "You'll find out soon enough. Now, let's go clean those dishes."

  Jenny looked toward her door. "Hi, Pa. Miz Abby tells great stories."