A Bride in the Bargain Part 13

"Mr. Denton?" she whispered.

He didn't answer.

She felt her way to his chair, almost tripping over his legs.

"Mr. Denton?" She touched his arm.

Still no response.

She shook his shoulder. "Mr. Denton?" She shook a little harder. "Joe. Wake up."

His breath cut off. He lifted his head. "Huh? What?"

"Where's my room?"

"Anna?" His voice was drowsy with sleep.

"Yes."

He tucked his feet under him. "You all finished?"

"That's right, but I don't know where my room is."

Yawning, he stood. "Take whichever one you want, I guess."

"Here? In the house?"

"Of course."

She blinked. "Well, that's very generous. Thank you."

"My pleasure." He waved his hand. "After you."

She glanced at the back door. "Aren't you going to leave first?"

"Leave?"

"Well, yes. You just said I could have a room upstairs."

"You can."

She sighed. "If I'm upstairs, then you can't stay here, too. It wouldn't be proper."

"I live here."

"I know, but what would people think?"

"They won't think anything."

Surely he didn't believe she was that gullible. She wished she could see him better. "Mr. Denton, I'm afraid I must insist. The two of us cannot stay in the same house. It simply isn't done."

"It's done all the time."

"Not with me, it's not."

"Where is it exactly that you expect me to sleep?"

She shrugged. "With your men, I suppose."

"I can't. I'm the boss. It would make them uncomfortable."

"Well, it would make me uncomfortable if you stayed here. What about the barn? You do have a barn, don't you?"

He said nothing for a long minute. "You expect me to sleep in the barn when I have a perfectly good bed upstairs?"

She sighed. "No. No, of course not. I'll sleep in the barn."

"You will not."

"I don't mind."

"I do."

"Then we have a problem, sir."

Her eyes had adjusted enough to see him run a hand through his hair. "Fine. I'll sleep in the barn. But I'm not moving out of my own house. I'm still eating here, leaving all my clothes here, and was.h.i.+ng up here."

She started to object but stopped herself. It was late. He was tired. And he was big.

"Thank you."

He didn't say "you're welcome." Just stood there.

"Go ahead," he said. "I'll leave after you go upstairs."

She hesitated. "You promise?"

"I do."

After a tense moment, she made her way toward the stairs, but misjudged and ran into the wall. "Umph."

"Here." He walked up behind her, fumbled around for her arm, then ran his fingers down until he had her hand in his. "Follow me."

Goose b.u.mps jumped to the surface of her skin. He moved to the stairs with her in tow. She swallowed her protest, concentrating instead on keeping the dragging tablecloth in place.

Even his hands are big, she thought. And coa.r.s.e to the touch. But they were gentle as he led her up the steps and to the room across from the one he ordinarily occupied.

Leaving her, he crossed her threshold and lit a lantern. He might be big. He might be handsome. No, gorgeous. But he didn't preen or sashay about like Hoke. It was as if he wasn't even aware of his appeal.

And he had complete control of his faculties. She'd refused his proposal, eaten ahead of him, gone through his personal belongings, and kicked him out of his own home. Yet he'd done no more than scowl and sputter. No, he was nothing like Hoke.

"Here you go. This will do for tonight. If you'd rather have one of the other rooms, you can switch tomorrow."

She didn't need to look at the other rooms. She'd already seen them when she was exploring earlier. This one was by far the nicest-other than his, of course. "This will be fine."

"Here are your things." He patted her carpetbag, making it clack, then set it next to the lantern. He must have grabbed it off the peg before they left the kitchen.

"Thank you."

"What's inside it making that noise?"

"Seash.e.l.ls."

"Seash.e.l.ls?"

"I collect them."

He glanced at the bag, then stepped around her and into the hall. "Don't worry about cooking breakfast in the morning. You just get some rest. We'll lay out your duties later."

"Thank you."

He ran his gaze over her hair, the s.h.i.+rt she'd absconded with, and the table linen shrouding her.

"Well," she said. "Good night."

"Good night."

He didn't move.

"See you tomorrow, then." She took a step back and quietly shut the door.

It was several more seconds before she heard him go down the stairs and out the door.

CHAPTER ELEVEN.

Joe glanced at the angle of the sun. It'd be quitting time soon. He swung his ax a little faster. Red matched his pace.

Legs straddled and bodies hunched, they moved in harmony, their double-bitted blades striking deep. First Joe's, then Red's. They needed to fell the tree before hitting the sundown trail.

The crew had been unusually solemn all day, trying to gauge Joe's mood. Only Red had braved any direct questions.

"So? D'you get her?"

"Yes."

Two hours and three trees later, Red swiped a bandana across his freckled forehead. "You married, then?"

"No."

And that was the end of the talking. n.o.body dared to say any more, knowing that Joe's land, his operation, and their livelihoods depended on his securing a wife. And if he hadn't done that, then he was sure to be short-fused.

The sun slanted lower. Their shadows lengthened. The ringing thuds of their axes quickened even more. Chips of wood flew from the deepening notch.

Joe wondered if Anna really would be able to cook for his men. There were only fourteen, but they had awfully big appet.i.tes.

He let his shoulders do the work, his arms acting as an extension of the ax handle. She'd be hard-pressed to manage it if she tried to get too fancy. Meat and beans would do for now.

Besides, beans to a logger were like oats to a horse. But they needed to have a decent flavor. He'd had many a logger walk off the job because the grub was no good.

The upper part of the notch they were cutting finally met up with the level cut they'd sawed earlier.

"She's notched," he said, sinking his ax into a neighboring tree. "Let's saw some timber."

Sc.r.a.ping a lock of orange hair off his face, Red moved to the side opposite the notch and bent his large frame over. In unison, the two men picked up their respective ends of a ten-foot crosscut saw. With a feathery touch acquired from years of working together, they played it to and fro, its teeth instantly biting into the bark. Crouching lower, they lengthened their strokes, each pulling the saw in turn, but never pus.h.i.+ng.

Morning had arrived just a few short hours after Joe had retired last night. It was still dark and Anna was still abed. He'd left her a note, telling her to expect them for the evening meal. He hadn't told her what to cook. Hadn't told her to make the coffee strong. Hadn't told her the boys were partial to pies.

The saw snagged as it hit a pitch-pocket. Joe paused while Red grabbed a kerosene bottle and sloshed some on the blade; then they started up again.

He needed to tell the boys about Mrs. Wrenne, and he needed to do it before supper. No need to mention her age or her need for a dentist, though. They'd find that out soon enough.

The saw jerked and stuck again, but this time it wasn't the pitch. The weight of the tree was leaning on it. Leaving the trapped saw where it was, Joe grabbed an iron wedge and tapped it into the slot with a sledgehammer. Three blows later, the saw was free.

Leaving the wedge where it was, he and Red took up the crosscut once more. Joe concentrated on the task at hand. It wouldn't be long now.

Sweat dripped into his eyes. A spurt of sawdust flew onto his knees with each pull of the blade. A few minutes later a telltale crackle sounded a warning.

"Timber-r-r-r!" he shouted, leaping behind the shelter of a nearby spruce, then looking over to make sure Red had done the same.

It wasn't a large sawing tree, only a hundred feet aloft and thirty inches through the trunk. But it was big enough to kill if a fellow got in its way.

The trunk popped as the fibers between the notch and the saw-kerf split, each pop a tiny explosion. And then she was falling. Right between an old snag and a young sapling. Right where they'd aimed.

One of the branches struck a dead stub that jutted out from the snag. The stub erupted into a hundred rotten pieces. One chunk flew back, hurtling through the air and cras.h.i.+ng to the ground with the force of a blacksmith's anvil. It landed right where Joe'd been standing during the sawing.

He and Red locked gazes. A huge grin split Joe's face; then he threw back his head and released a battle cry as loud and fierce as any warrior's. By jingo, but he loved his job.

He wanted to jog ahead. Wanted to warn her they were coming. Wanted to ask her if she needed any help. But Joe kept his pace leisurely and stayed with the men, acting as if he hadn't a care in the world.

The closer they came to the house, the quieter the fellows grew, until all fell silent. The giant lean-to attached to the back of the house came into view. Under it, his thirty-foot table had been set and stood in readiness. Smells similar to those that used to come from his mother's kitchen wafted on the breeze, overlaid with the sweet scent of warm bread.