The chores inside the barn were nearly finished when Matt stepped in out of the cold. Silas and Orin looked his way as he shut the barn door, both of them wearing identical grins.

  “Go ahead and say what you want, then be done with it.”

  Silas laughed. “I thought you went to town to tell whoever it was that showed up to marry you that there had been a mistake.”

  “I did.”

  “And?”

  “And—“ Matt removed his hat, scratched his head and put the hat back on. “And it didn’t work that way.”

  “Is she as pretty as she looked from a distance?”

  Pretty was too mild a word to describe her. “She’s very pretty.”

  “You got lucky,” Orin said. “My cousin over in Bixby got a mail-order bride and she was missing most of her teeth and had one eye that wandered a bit.” He closed the gate on the horse stall he’d been in and swung the rope over the rail so it’d stay shut. “She’s a good cook though, so according to my cousin, that makes up for her poor looks.”

  Silas grinned. “Were the others as pretty as your wife is?”

  Matt nodded. “Yes. They were all handsome women. All friends, from what Pru said when she told me about sending away for a bride. I think we all got lucky.”

  “More so come nightfall.”

  Silas and Orin both laughed, teased him until he felt heat scorch his face, and finally had mercy on him and wished him a good night before leaving.

  In the silence of the barn, their teasing hit him hard. He might be married to Julia but until they consummated the marriage, it was just words on a piece of paper. Was she expecting him to come to her bed tonight? Or did she expect him to give her privacy until they knew each other better? It wasn’t as if he could ask. He’d not embarrass her or himself by being so bold but—what was he supposed to do?

  He sighed and scrubbed a hand over his face. The desire to scream at Pru again for this mess burned hot in his gut, especially when he thought of the position she’d left him in. Things with Julia were awkward enough but what was he supposed to tell Cora?

  They’d been friends for years and often talked about never marrying but something had always rung untrue about her words. He knew she’d been lying about not wanting a husband when she told him she’d accept a wedding proposal from him. Her words were said in a teasing manner and he’d done the only thing he could to not embarrass her—he said he would. He’d foolishly told her that if she hadn’t married by her twenty-fifth birthday, that he’d marry her and every time he saw her, she reminded him her birthday was coming very soon. He’d had less than six months to make good on that promise—a promise Pru had nearly come unhinged about every time she saw Cora. He knew without a doubt Pru ordered a bride just so he’d not have to marry her and that plan had put him in an awkward position.

  If he’d told Julia he couldn’t marry her because of Cora, she would have been stranded here with nothing but the clothes stored in her trunks. Had Julia not been a beauty, he would have still felt duty-bound to marry her only because Pru had promised he would.

  Not marrying Cora did nothing other than hurt her feelings. She still had a home to live in. She still had her family to take care of her and despite what he’d told Pru, there were men in town that would take a wife if one were available. Cora had just never given anyone the chance to court her—no one but him, that is.

  He sat down on one of the hay bales, took off his hat, and ran his fingers through his hair. Seemed as if life was always kicking him in the teeth and today was no exception. One catastrophe after another had plagued him for years, and with Christmas just a few weeks away, the nightmares were returning.

  The memories of that day came back in a flash and he closed his eyes to force them away. He scrubbed a hand over his face when the screams echoed in his head again and he paced across the barn, trying to push the memories back where they belonged but the sound of Prudence screaming wasn’t something so easily forgotten. He still heard it in his dreams, saw the horror on her face as her new husband disappeared and he knew, just like him, she hated this time of year as much as he did.

  Maybe that’s why she sent for Julia. So she’d have someone to distract her from the fact her life had been destroyed and she’d yet to put it back together completely. Well, that and she disliked Cora more than anyone else on earth and would never accept her as part of their family. She might have wanted a new sister but, as always, Prudence made sure it was someone she chose. He just wished she would have told him about it before Julia had been sent money to travel west. Or before Cora had teased him about making wedding plans because he had no doubt she was planning a wedding and he had no idea how to tell her he already had a wife.

  A wife he was now supposed to go inside and bed.

  He groaned and braced his hands on the top of the horse stall. Maybe he should sleep out here. Surely freezing to death would be less painful than fumbling through his wedding night. He’d not bedded a woman in more years than he wanted to think about. Julia was undoubtedly untouched—or he assumed she was—so crawling into her bed would be embarrassing for the both of them so … did he just do it and get it over with or wait until he was sure she was ready?

  Julia brushed through her hair one last time and stared into the small mirror she’d sat on the dresser top. Her reflection in the glass showed her face paler than it should have been and she knew it was nothing more than nerves making her appear so pallid.

  She pushed her hair behind one ear. Should she braid it or leave it down? “Leave it down,” she whispered. “It might distract him from the fact you’re practically naked.” A glance down at her gown caused her heart to skip a beat. Would it make her appear too wanton to wear such a garment? The material was so thin she knew it would take very little for him to realize she had nothing on underneath it. The flowers she’d embroidered around the neck were small and not enough to hold anyone’s attention for long, especially not a man who was ready to bed his wife.

  Groaning she laid a hand to her stomach when it seemed to do a small flip. She was working herself into a good tizzy standing there. She turned to the bed. Should she wait for him there, underneath the blankets? Or just—stand here so he could see all of her once he came into the room? No. Having to look him in the eye, knowing he could see her through the gown, would be too embarrassing.

  She hurried to the bed and pulled the blankets back, crawled in and laid down. She fixed the gown, pulling it down her legs then thought better of it. Should she pull it to her waist? She cringed, closed her eyes and sighed. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

  Julia strained to hear anything other than the wind rattling the windowpanes. Not a sound could be heard, which meant either her new husband was a very light walker or he hadn’t come inside yet. It was full dark, well past time to turn in for the night. Maybe he was waiting for her to get settled, then he’d come in.

  Leaning over, she extinguished the lamp and laid back down, listing to the wind whistle past the house. Regardless of whether she was ready or not, come morning, she’d be Matthew Bailey’s wife in every sense of the word.

  Chapter Three

  She woke up alone. The blankets beside her were untouched, still tucked in as they had been the night before and something in Julia’s chest clenched tight.

  Matthew hadn’t come to her and she was still as virginal as she had been when she’d crawled into bed the night before. She wasn’t sure how to feel about that. Should she be happy she’d been spared the embarrassment she was sure to have come with the act or disappointed her new husband hadn’t wanted her? A better question would be, if he didn’t want her, then why did he marry her? Why did he send away for a bride to begin with?

  The answers never came so she eventually rose and dressed, braided her hair and pinned it up, then looked out the window. The sun was barely cresting the mountains but it was light enough outside to see it was still snowing. Nothing stirred, but the windows in the small building she’d seen the day before, and assumed was the bunkhouse Matthew had told her about, were lit.

  She ventured downstairs, peeking into the empty rooms as she went. She wasn’t sure where Matthew had slept. She didn’t see him and a part of her was glad for it. She wasn’t sure what she’d say to him once she did. Facing him would be awkward now, more so than if he’d come to bed the night before.

  The kitchen stove was cold when she entered the room. She spent long minutes filling it with wood, then lighting it, waiting for it to start burning hot before inspecting the larder. There was a basket of eggs on one of the shelves, along with milk, the cream still sitting on top. There was salted ham and so many bags of flour she’d be able to bake enough biscuits to feed the entire town of Angel Creek.

  Jars of canned vegetables and fruit preserves filled the space. Seeing them, she realized her job as wife would be much harder than she thought. She didn’t know the first thing about preserving food for the winter. The most gardening she’d done was planting a flower or two. She had no idea how to grow food in quantities enough to feed someone all winter long.

  She blew out a breath and made a mental note to ask about it later and pulled everything she needed from the shelves. There was an old flour sack on a nail hammered into the wall by the larder door. Grabbing it, she wrapped it around her waist then started on her first meal as a new wife. By the time everything was cooking, she was covered in flour, sweating like a mule, and secretly hoping Matthew didn’t come out from wherever it was he’d slept to catch her in such disarray.

  She peeked out the window toward the barn. There was still no movement on the other side of the frosted panes. The snow wasn’t falling as hard now but a thick blanket of it covered every surface she saw.

  Julia grabbed plates and cups and was turning to the table when she saw someone exit the barn. She panicked the moment she saw them coming toward the house. She dropped the plates and cups and tried to dust the flour from her clothes, then pushed the stray curls dangling by her face out of her eyes and wiped the sweat from her brow.

  Peeking back out the window, she saw the man turn and head in the opposite direction and she sighed in relief. She had no idea if it was Matthew or not but she wasn’t ready for him to come inside. She’d planned this first meal in her head so many times now and she wanted everything to be perfect. Her looking so unkempt from cooking one simple meal wasn’t how she wanted him to see her.

  Picking the plates and cups back up, she set the small table by the window and was laying utensils out beside each plate when she got the first whiff of burnt bread. She gasped and ran to the stove.

  Opening the door, she choked on the black smoke boiling out and grabbed a towel to pull the pan of biscuits out—then cringed. “No, not today!”

  They were ruined.

  Her shoulders sagged as she stared at them, tears burning the back of her eyes. You’re going to make a horrible wife, Julia. You should have never agreed to this and just stayed in Charleston.

  She sat down heavily in one of the kitchen chairs, staring at the biscuits for long moments before dusting off her apron, misery making her chest hurt. “Your new husband wasn’t interested in bedding you and once he finds out you can barely cook, he’ll be hauling you back to the stagecoach station.” She groaned and covered her face with both hands. “You should have never come.”

  “They look just right to me.”

  Julia screamed and jumped out of the chair at the voice, turning to see an old man standing by the cabinet. He was nearly as tall as she was with hair of pure white and a beard and mustache to match. He grinned and said, “Didn’t mean to startle you,” before inhaling deeply, then laying a finger to his nose. “My smeller isn’t what it used to be. Tell me, is there onion in those fried potatoes?”

  Julia stared at him for long moments as her racing heart slowly returned to a normal pace and finally nodded her head. “Yes.”

  “Thought so.” The old man grinned and walked to the stove, leaning over it to look into the other pots. “Them’s some good looking vittles ya got cooking. Matt’s not eaten so fine a meal since he told Pru to stop coming by to mother him. ”

  Julia wasn’t so sure about that. She glanced around the room. The old man was alone as far as she could tell. How he’d come inside without her hearing him was a mystery, though. She finally lowered her hand and took a calming breath.

  He eyed her, squinting a bit. “You going to be all right?”

  “Yes.” Julia smiled to try to ease her discomfort. “I didn’t hear you come in so you gave me quite a fright.”

  “I suppose I would have. Apologies.”

  Julia waved away the last of the smoke and stared at the biscuits. The old man did as well. “Just cut away the worst of the black bits and they’ll be fine. Matt likes them well done.”

  “These are a bit more than well done.”

  “Nothing wrong with a crispy biscuit. Matt prefers them that way.”

  Julia wasn’t sure she believed that, especially when she saw the look in the old man’s eyes. There was a bit of mirth dancing in his blue irises and she wasn’t sure if he was laughing at her or her disbelief that her new husband would prefer a burnt biscuit. Whatever the reason, and despite the fright he’d given her, Julia felt oddly at ease with this stranger.

  She scraped the bottoms and cut the burnt places off the biscuits as he said and placed them on a plate, brushing off the black crumbs best she could, then stared at them, unhappily. They looked awful. “Are you sure he likes them like this?”

  “Positive.”

  She exhaled a breath and nodded her head. “I’ll take your word for it, then. Thank you.” She turned back to the stove, gave the milk gravy a stir and slid it back from the heat, then glanced over to where the old man was standing. He was gone.

  “What in the world…” Julia looked around the kitchen, then at the door. “Hello?” She walked into the main room and heard a door open and close behind her. Walking back into the kitchen, she found her new husband washing up by the sink.

  “Morning.”

  “Good morning.” Julia brushed a hand over the front of her dress.

  Matthew dried his hands and looked to the stove. “Smells good.”

  Julia willed her racing pulse to slow and walked back to the stove. “I wasn’t sure what you liked.”

  “I’ll eat most anything.”

  Julia glanced at the biscuits. I’m counting on it.

  She grabbed the folded bits of cloth she’d found to handle the hot pots and reached for the pan-fried potatoes as she heard the legs of one of the chairs scrape across the floor. She set the pot on the table and Matthew said nothing as she laid the rest of the food out, never moving until she’d taken her seat.

  “All my favorites,” he said before grabbing a spoon and started dishing food onto his plate.

  The tension in her shoulders eased as he started eating, more so when he grabbed two of the nearly burnt biscuits, tore them into small pieces and covered them with the milk gravy she’d made. He didn’t hesitate in picking them up so, apparently, the old man had been right. Her new husband didn’t mind burnt biscuits.

  Maybe Bess had been too critical when she said she was a terrible cook. It didn’t seem as if Matthew shared her opinion and come end of the day, as long as her new husband liked her cooking, that’s all that mattered.

  She was a horrible cook. Matthew swallowed the food in his mouth and washed it down with the most bitter coffee he’d ever tasted and tried not to grimace.

  He could see Julia out of the corner of his eye. She was watching him, so he picked up another of the nearly burnt biscuits and drowned it in lumpy gravy and took another bite. It was edible, at least, but just barely.

  She finally lowered her head and started eating. There was flour in her hair and a dark smudge of something on her cheek—burnt bread remnants if he had to guess—and despite all that, she was still the prettiest thing he’d seen in ages. He’d get used to her horrible cooking given time. He just hoped he survived until he did.

  They ate in silence for several minutes, the only sounds to be heard were that of the wind and the scrape of forks on the plates. He choked down another gulp of coffee and looked over at her. “Did you sleep well?”

  “Yes. Thank you.”

  He sure hadn’t. The spare room off the kitchen had the most uncomfortable bed in the whole house but he hadn’t wanted to wake her by climbing the stairs and sleeping in the spare room. Truth be known, he knew if he’d climbed those steps, he’d be tempted to open her door and invite himself inside and he didn’t need to be told how bad an idea that would be. He and Julia may be married but they knew nothing about each other and he was sure, him inviting himself to her bed, wouldn’t be the best way to start a marriage.

  The silence continued and he’d nearly cleared his plate when the back door opened. He turned to see Prudence grinning at him and he rolled his eyes. “How did you get over here?

  “Old man Nichols let me borrow his sleigh. I don’t care what people say about him, the man is a saint in my book.”

  “Pete just—let you take it, by yourself?”

  She scowled and shut the door. “I’m not incapable of guiding a few horses through the snow.”

  “No, but I’ve never known him to let anyone else use that sleigh.”

  She shrugged a shoulder and removed her coat and hat, hanging them on one of the pegs nailed into the wall. “Well, he let me. And if he were thirty years younger, I’d be tempted to marry him.”

  Prudence grabbed a plate and cup from the shelf and set them on the table before pulling out a chair and sitting down. She filled her plate with the remaining scrambled eggs and fried potatoes, then grabbed one of the biscuits. She gave it a hard look before cutting the bottom off and laying it in her plate. She picked up the pot of gravy, spooning it onto her plate as she said, “That old stove can be tricky. The left side heats up hotter than the right for some reason so shove your pan all the way over or you’ll end up with burnt bread every time.”