“The boys okay?” Frank said.
The woman smiled. “I gave them each a piece of candy. They’re quite content.” The woman looked past him and the boys to Abigail. “Miss Smyth?”
“Yes,” Abby said hopefully.
“Welcome! We have been waiting for you.” She hurried forward and took Abby by the arm. “You must be exhausted. I’ve got cookies and tea for you and the boys. Holden, Frank, you want to join us?”
Holden raised up his hand. “I’ll pass for the moment. I’ve got to get the horses changed and get the stage unpacked and repacked. If I’m lucky, I can leave at first light.”
Frank’s eyes brightened. “Make sure you load my luggage.”
Surprised, Abby shifted her gaze to the old man. “You’re leaving town?”
“Time I got back east. I only came out here to care for the boys when my daughter became ill. Now that’s she’s passed there’s no need for me to stay.”
The boy’s didn’t have a mother. And their father didn’t have a wife. Of course his marital status was none of her business but that didn’t stop the ripple of emotion that tingled through her body.
With an effort she forced her mind back to what really mattered. “Who’s going to take care of the boys?” It was none of her business, of course, but Abby wanted to know they’d be cared for.
Mrs. Clements glared at Holden and Frank. “You didn’t tell her?”
Holden shoved his hands into his pockets. “I figured it was best the news came from another woman.”
“Is something wrong?” Abby said.
Mrs. Clements was the first to recover. “I just thought that these men would have seen to the introductions while you were out on the road.”
“There were no introductions,” Abby said.
“On the road, the man you met?” Mrs. Clements asked.
“Yes.”
Mrs. Clements glanced at the other men, her jaw jutting forward. Men. Without fanfare or nonsense, she said, “He is Matthias Barrington. He is your fiancé.”
Abby’s mind reeled. “He is my fiancé? He didn’t say a word to me, and I’m quite sure that I mentioned I was here to meet my intended.”
Mrs. Clements’s smile was quick and too bright. “Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that, dear. He just had a lot on his mind. Everything will be fine as soon as he gets to town.”
It was just past nine the next morning when Matthias pulled his wagon to a stop in front of the Clements’s Mercantile. The night chill still clung to the air, and Matthias’s back and arms were stiff from sleeping on the ground.
He’d hoped to make town by last night, but the repairs, like most everything else lately, had taken much longer than he’d imagined. By the time he’d finished, the sun was setting on a moonless night. And unless he wanted to risk another broken wheel, his only choice was to bunk down. He knew Mrs. Clements and Frank would look after the boys, so there were no worries there.
Now, as he set the hand brake he realized just how weary he was. He would have traded his soul for a hot bath and eight solid hours of sleep but he had to talk with Frank. Somehow he had to find a way to get his father-in-law to stay another few months.
As he hopped down, he was struck that things weren’t as they should be. The wind blew as it always did, but Mr. Clements and Danny weren’t sitting out front of the saloon, as they were most mornings. And there was no sign of Holden’s coach.
Matthias’s gut clenched. Something was wrong. The boys.
He strode straight to Mrs. Clements’s store. A blast of warm air and the smell of bacon and biscuits greeted him as he stepped into the store. Children’s laughter drifted out from behind the army blanket that separated the shop from Mrs. Clements’s living space. The tightness around his heart eased. The boys were fine and for the first time in a good while, they sounded happy.
Suddenly, the memory of his late wife sliced through the fatigue and worry. Elise’s laugh had been clear and bright, like church bells. No matter how many worries he had, his mood had always lightened when she laughed.
Matthias shoved aside the thoughts that only made his days feel longer.
He pulled off his hat and started down the center aisle cut between rows of barrels filled with flour, sugar and dried beans. In front of him, a plywood counter was piled high with cans of peaches, a jug of white lightning, tin cups and a scale for measuring sugar and spices. From low-lying rafters hung buckets, baskets and three lanterns.
“Mrs. Clements?” Matthias called out.
The storekeeper emerged from the curtained door behind the counter, her blue calico dress and a white apron hugging her full hips. Her hair was piled high on her head in a loose topknot. “Ah, you finally made it. Frank was a little worried when you didn’t arrive by nightfall. I told him not to worry. Chores always take twice as long as we ever imagine plus you’re as tough as a mountain goat.”
“Where is everyone?”
“Mr. Clements was called out of town three days ago—delivery to Ephraim Collier’s ranch. And Mr. Stokes went with him so he could have a look at Collier’s stock.”
“Who is Stokes?”
“That greenhorn on the stage. Turns out he’s with the railroad, looking for ranchers to supply him with beef and horses.”
Matthias flexed his fingers, tight with tension. “Of all times to break a wagon wheel.”
Mrs. Clements’s eyes brightened as if she could read his mind. “Don’t worry, he’ll be back in early July. I told him your horse flesh was the finest in the valley.”
If he were going to show the man his stock, he’d have to spend the next month rounding them up. More work. And still not enough time.
“Thank you.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “Where’s Frank?”
Her eyes dimmed a fraction. “Why, Frank left with Holden at first light on the stage. He’s on his way to Salt Lake.”
Shock and bitter disappointment tightened his throat. “I’d wanted to speak to him before he left.”
The anger in his voice had her smile fading a fraction. “He said you two had talked a good bit already.”
His fingers bit into the rim of his hat. They’d talked but to his way of thinking, they’d not come to a satisfactory conclusion. “Damnation.”
“I’m sorry,” she said quietly.
Matthias shoved out a sigh, tamping down the anger coiling in his gut. Frank was gone and there was no sense worrying about what couldn’t be fixed. Time to cut his losses. “I’ve a list of supplies,” he said, his tone as matter-of-fact as he could manage.
