dusky-blue light of dawn crept down the hallway where Quinn paused outside what used to be his bedroom. He tapped on the door and listened for any sounds of his wife stirring. Hearing none, he tapped a little harder. Still nothing. With a frown, Quinn eased the door open and immediately wished he hadn’t. Something just didn’t seem decent about being in a lady’s bedroom while she was sleeping. Yet, he couldn’t take his eyes off her as he rounded the corner of the bed and knelt beside it.
She was cuddled under the covers with her hand resting beside her cheek on a hunter-green linen pillowcase. The color complemented the roses in her cheeks and lips. Her rich brown waves tumbled over her shoulder. Quinn felt his brow furrow in confusion. How on earth had he convinced this beautiful creature to marry him?
He’d be a lot more comfortable with this situation if she were a little more plain, slightly dumb or just flat-out boring. She wasn’t, though. He’d never been more aware of that than when he’d found himself alone with her for an entire evening. He wasn’t completely dense. He knew that his banjo playing had bordered on excessive. He’d felt the annoyance rolling off his bride in waves. He just hadn’t known what to do about it. He was afraid to talk for fear that she’d realized she’d been bamboozled into marrying a man so much dumber than her. He was afraid to look at her because that made him forget he didn’t deserve her. Touching her was completely out of the question.
He’d lain awake for hours with his thoughts spinning in circles inside his head. They mostly revolved around the fact that he barely knew the woman he’d just given his last name. He knew plenty about her, but he didn’t know her personally. He could count on one hand the number of times they’d spoken to each other and most of those conversations had occurred within the past week. That should make for an interesting married life, especially since he had little idea about what one was supposed to be like. His mother had died when he was Trent’s age and his father hadn’t remarried, which meant Quinn had never seen a marriage modeled in his own home. Townsfolk in Peppin seemed pretty fascinated by making matches and marrying people off, yet no one ever said anything about how to build a good marriage after the match was made.
He wasn’t sure how long he’d been kneeling beside the bed thinking and watching Helen sleep before her sooty lashes began to flutter. He suddenly realized how close he was to her and tried to move away, but he was too late. Her eyes opened, locked on his and widened. Gasping, she bolted upright in bed and scrambled away from him. “Were you watching me sleep?”
Quinn figured his best tactic was evasion. “I was just about to awaken you. We’ve got chores to do.”
“Chores?”
He nodded. “I need you to milk the cow, feed the chickens and gather the eggs. We’ll have to hurry to get everything done, dress, pick up the children and still be on time for church.”
She blinked. “Milk the chickens?”
She must be one of those folks who was slow to wake up. He didn’t even try to hide his grin, though he quickly rubbed it away. “I’d like to see you try that.”
“Try what?” She corralled her hair so that it pooled over one shoulder.
“Milking the chickens.”
The teasing in his voice must have gotten through her sleep-fogged state, for a dangerous glint of humor warmed her brown eyes. “I bet you would. Repeat the list for me again.”
He braced his elbows on the edge of the bed and ticked off each chore on his fingers. “Milk the cow. Feed the chickens. Gather the eggs. The milk pail and egg basket will be on the worktable in the barn with the bin of chicken feed beside it. All of that will be on your left side as soon as you walk in. You can’t miss it.”
She nodded. “Right.”
“No, left.” He pointed to his left, which he realized too late would be her right.
She tugged his hand down with a laugh. “No. I meant, ‘right,’ as in ‘I understand.’”
“Oh, right.” He glanced at her hand still covering his and wondered how the deal he made with God applied when she was the one reaching out. Yes, sir. He and God had some things they needed to hash out. Until then, he’d better not chance it. He disengaged his hand from hers as he stood. “Better get moving. The animals don’t like to wait.”
* * *
The man had no shame. It was obvious that he’d been watching her sleep for some time, yet he didn’t even have the grace to look the slightest bit embarrassed at being caught. Then, as if she hadn’t been disoriented enough by awakening in an unfamiliar place, he’d knocked further off balance with his teasing before delivering the final blow to her sensibilities. Chores.
She should have known that living on a farm would mean that she’d have farm chores. She’d just gotten so wrapped up in the idea of being a mother and having her impossible dream come true it hadn’t crossed her mind. That and the fact that chores had never really been something she’d ever had to consider before. Growing up, she’d been responsible for keeping her room tidy. However, the maids had taken care of any real cleaning. And there had been no animals to care for.
Her move to Bradley’s Boardinghouse hadn’t necessitated any real change on her part since the Bradley family handled most of the mundane responsibilities for their boarders. Of course, she’d been in charge of keeping the schoolhouse in order. That had consisted of encouraging the children to clean up after themselves, giving the floor a good sweep and cleaning the chalkboard. There was nothing too strenuous or demanding about that.
Still, how hard could it be to take care of a few basic farm chores? She was an intelligent woman, after all. Surely she’d catch on to her responsibilities quickly. She tied her hair back with a ribbon, put on a light coat and buttoned up her boots. There would be time to dress later. The important thing was to heed Quinn’s admonishment to hurry.
The sound of Quinn splitting wood behind the house rang through the brisk autumn air as she stepped outside. She gave a little shiver and gathered her coat closer before setting off across the open field toward the barn. Her right hip reminded her of last night’s unfortunate tumble out of bed by protesting each step she took with that leg. It didn’t help that she continually had to jerk the heels of her kid-leather boots out of the thick grass. By the time she arrived at the door of the large red barn, the hem of her nightgown was wet with dew and clinging uncomfortably to her bare legs. Next time, the animals would have to wait for her to dress more warmly.
The smell of the barn stopped her in her tracks. It was a mixture of sweet hay, musk from the animals and the sharp, acrid scent of dung. She rubbed her cold nose. It wasn’t so bad. Surely she’d get used to it in a few moments. Since she was already in the barn, it made sense to milk the cow first, so she grabbed the milking pan. Two horses neighed as she passed their stalls. She couldn’t tell whether it was a welcome or a warning. Finally, she found the right animal.
Whoa. She’d seen cows from a distance before, but she’d never gotten this close to one. She hadn’t realized they were quite so...large. The animal swung its head toward her and stared. Not threatening exactly—just slightly intimidating. Helen bent her knees to get a look at the teats attached to the bulgy sack on its stomach. In theory, that’s where the milk came from. She knew that. She just wasn’t entirely sure what was required to procure the milk from that into the bucket. Oh, well. What had she told her students? Learning begins with the decision to try.
She unhooked the gate, closed it behind her and did exactly that. She tried...and tried...and tried to milk that blasted cow. It wasn’t
