what did it matter to others if the arrangement suited them?
And it did. If he had any doubts, he wasn’t about to admit it. Not even to himself. Especially not to himself. He had given his word and would fulfill his vows to the best of his ability and within the boundaries they had agreed upon.
They reached the yard and turned toward the barn. She swung off her horse, less hampered by her skirts than most women he’d seen. And he’d seen a few who rode astride. Didn’t have much of an opinion about it except to think riding sidesaddle looked mighty uncomfortable.
He drew to a halt next to her horse but before he could reach back to let Jill down, she slid off, holding to his leg until her feet hit the ground. She put a distance between herself and Sawyer. Perhaps Carly, too, and stood with her arms crossed and a look of pure challenge on her face.
Carly began to lead her horse to the barn, then turned to Sawyer. “There’s room for your horse and feed and—” She broke off as she saw Jill. She gave the girl a moment’s study, then brought her gaze back to Sawyer, silently asking for an explanation.
He shrugged and led his horse after her. Not until they entered the barn and were far enough away that Jill couldn’t hear did he answer. “Too many changes. She’s getting so she resents them.”
“Then it’s up to us to make sure she knows this is permanent.”
“It will take time for her to believe it.”
She pointed him toward a stall and indicated where to get the feed and find a currycomb. She led her horse into the adjoining stall. As she brushed the horse, she murmured to it.
He tipped his head trying to catch her words but he only made out a few.
“Good boy...changes...surprise...”
He grinned. That about summarized it. Changes and good surprises. At least he hoped they would be good. Only time would tell but he meant to do what he could to ensure things went well. He glanced back to where Jill still stood. Her hands were now at her sides and she looked about, taking in their new surroundings.
Carly put away the grooming tools and straightened. The cowboy hat she’d worn while riding home hung down her back. She smoothed her tousled hair back. He decided he liked the straw color of it. She glanced at her skirts, gave them a shake and then looked at Sawyer.
“You ready to meet my father?”
The thing he’d been ignoring could no longer be ignored. “Ready as I’ll ever be.” He removed his own hat and smoothed his hair. “If I’d known I was getting married, I would have gotten a haircut and a new shirt.”
She eyed him long enough that he ached to turn from her. He didn’t. It was far more important to let her see that he was unaffected by her sharp study.
“Too late for that.” Her words were flat as if it didn’t matter one way or the other to her.
He glanced at his boots. Wouldn’t hurt to clean them up a mite but already Carly headed for the door and, seeing how Jill resumed her former stance, he hurried after her, knowing Jill wouldn’t move if he didn’t.
Jill looked from one adult to the other. Her eyes darted away.
Sawyer guessed at her intention and before she could run, he caught her hand. She tried to jerk away but he had a good hold and they followed Carly toward the house.
He studied it carefully as if it might reveal what sort of life was lived within its walls. A low, log structure. The roof sloped down to cover an open veranda. Matching windows stood on either side of the door. An attached woodshed with its own door. They reached the veranda and climbed the steps.
“It’s small,” Carly said. “But I think it will be adequate.”
For all of us, he added for her. “It looks warm and dry. That’s what matters the most.” Jill dragged her feet so that he was forced to haul her along. He would tell her everything would be okay but she had no reason to believe him given he didn’t have any basis for such an opinion.
Carly straightened her shoulders, making him realize this was equally awkward for her.
She turned the knob and pushed the door open, stepped inside and beckoned them to follow.
Jill skidding at his heels, Sawyer entered a kitchen. He barely had time to register his surroundings before his gaze came to a man sitting at the table, his right leg stretched out, immobile in a splint.
Sawyer’s gaze darted from the leg to the man’s face. Full white whiskers, snapping brown eyes, a full head of white hair. A big man. How did he sire a woman as small as Carly?
“Dinnae stand with the door open. Come in and show your face.”
At the man’s robust voice, Jill stopped tugging at Sawyer’s hand and pressed to his back.
“Ack, now, no need for the lassie to be afeared of me. I dinnae bite.”
Carly snorted. “But you growl a lot. Father, this is Sawyer Gallagher and his sister, Jill.”
“Aye. Yer husband I presume.” He struggled to his feet and held out a ham-sized hand to shake with Sawyer.
“Pleased to make your acquaintance,” Sawyer managed as his hand was swallowed up.
“Well, now that remains to be seen. Aye?”
Aye, indeed, Sawyer thought as Mr. Morrison leaned over to look at Jill.
“There, there, little lassie. You and I will soon enough be friends.” With a groan, the man sank back to his chair and faced Carly. “And you, Carly Morrison—no, wait. It’s now Carly Gallagher—I suppose yer well pleased with yerself that you found a husband so quickly. Could be you’ve jumped from the frying pan into the fire.” He laughed heartily.
“Sorry about your accident,” Sawyer said, taking in the strain about the man’s eyes despite his laughter. “What happened?”
“Ack. What can I say? A foolish old man trying to be a hero.”
Sawyer looked at Carly for explanation. “He tried to stop a runaway wagon and slipped on a patch of ice. The wagon ran over his leg.”
“Aye and it would not have happened if some fool had not blasted his gun beside the horses.” He eased himself to a more comfortable position, then leaned forward. “Now let’s have a look at the wee lassie.”
Sawyer peeled Jill off the back of his legs and pulled her forward. “Say hello to Mr. Morrison.”
She didn’t respond. Her jaw jutted out and he knew she wouldn’t.
He couldn’t force her to. Instead of trying, he glanced about the house. A big kitchen with the table in the middle of the room, the stove and cupboards to one side. A wide doorway opened to the living room. From where he stood, he saw a couple of comfortable looking armchairs, one with a table beside it and a scattering of newspapers and books. A footstool to one side of the chair. He wondered if that’s where Mr. Morrison spent some of his day.
Across
