Beatrice the Bride (Cowboys and Angels Book 1), Page 4

  Beatrice blushed, glancing back over her shoulder. “I certainly hope so. He’s a good man.”

  “He is. You chose well…or God chose well for you, as I tend to think.” Millie quickly hugged Beatrice. “I will see you again soon!”

  After Millie left, Beatrice hurried back to the kitchen. “I’m so excited she came to visit today. It was nice to have someone to talk to.”

  “You can’t talk to me?” he asked, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

  “I can…but I have to be so careful not to use a word that’s longer than one syllable…” It was all she could do not to giggle as she said the words, wondering where this teasing nature had come from. It wasn’t something that had ever reared its head back in Missouri.

  He laughed. “You’re a brat, Mrs. Jameson.”

  She shrugged. “I guess I can be. I can’t remember the last time I had a chance for my playful side to come out. It’s been all work for the last year for sure.”

  “Come to think of it, I haven’t had a chance to be playful either. This place doesn’t lend itself to lightheartedness.”

  “Then it’s our job to make it better. What can we do?”

  He stared at her, aghast. “What do you mean?”

  “Well, if everyone in town is so unhappy, what would fix that? I could bake cookies and pass them out as people walked past our door. What else?”

  He shook his head emphatically. “I’m not against making people happy, but it’s not safe here. Until we know where those two women disappeared to, you’re going to be only out with me. I thought we’d discussed that.”

  “We did, but I really hate the idea of not being able to be independent. Are you sure there’s no other way?” She badly wanted to be free to leave the house during the day while he worked. She couldn’t even do their food shopping without him!

  “I’m sure. I’m sorry, but to keep you safe, I have to keep you inside when I’m working. I would be willing to go out with you before work if you wanted to hand out cookies, though. Would that make you happy?”

  She thought about it for a moment. “It might. What if Millie came and she and I handed out the cookies.”

  He shook his head. “Absolutely not. I’m fine if you want to be her friend, but I don’t want you going out with her without someone there to protect you.”

  She nodded slowly. “All right. I guess you’ll do it with me. Maybe on Monday mornings? Because everyone hates Mondays.”

  Arthur smiled at that. “Do you hate Mondays?”

  “Not at all. I loved them. That’s the day the school week begins. When I was teaching school, I lived for Mondays!”

  “Well, now you can live for Mondays because you get to hand out cookies.”

  Beatrice smiled at him. “Thank you for not telling me my ideas are stupid.”

  “I would never tell you that. Never.”

  “You’re a good husband to me, Arthur. Thank you.”

  “After supper, we can read more of Tom Sawyer. I’ll read to you while you finish your dress.”

  “I would thoroughly enjoy that.” Beatrice grinned. She would love it if he kissed her again, but she didn’t dare say so. Was it polite to flirt with your husband that way? Or was it too forward?

  “Good. That’s what we’ll do, then.” He watched her as she efficiently served their meal. He could see her as a teacher, sitting in the front of a classroom. He suspected that children enjoyed it when she taught them. He knew he would have had a crush on the schoolteacher. There was no doubt in his mind. “Did boys ever have a crush on you when you taught them?”

  Beatrice blushed, looking at him questioningly. “What makes you ask that?”

  “Well, I know if I’d been your student, I’d have been hanging on your every word. I’d probably have carved our initials into my desk as well.”

  She put her hands on her hips, stopping her work for a moment. “You were one of those boys who liked to vandalize the school desks? Shame on you, Arthur!”

  He chuckled. “I never once actually did it, but if you’d been standing in front of me every day, I don’t know that I’d have been able to stop myself.”

  She shook her head at him, moving around him to put their drinks on the table. “It’s time to eat. If you can keep yourself from carving our initials into the kitchen table, you’re free to eat with me.”

  He waited until her hands were empty before grabbing her about the waist and pulling her close to him. “I wanted to kiss you when I came into the kitchen earlier, but you had a friend with you.”

  She grinned at him. “You know we’re allowed to kiss. We are married.” She raised her lips to his, pleased that he wanted to touch her just as much as she wanted to be touched

  “I know.” He leaned down and pressed his lips to hers. “Hello, wife.”

  “Hello.” She was slightly out of breath. Every time he touched her, she was amazed by her reaction to him.

  “I’m starving. Why don’t you let me eat, you crazy woman?”

  She wrinkled her nose at him, but took her place at the table. “I’ll let you eat, but you need to stop grabbing me in the kitchen. This is my work place, you know.”

  He took her hand and brought it to his lips. “I hope I never get so old that I don’t have a desire to grab you in the kitchen.”

  She grinned at him, surprised at how sweet he was being. They’d married for a very specific reason, but both of them seemed to have forgotten it. “Will you pray already?”

  He laughed. “Yes, I’ll pray!”

  She finished the dress while they were sitting together in the parlor that night. For a moment she thought about jumping up and trying it on so she could show him that she didn’t always have dirty, ripped clothing, but she decided to wait. While he was at work the next day, she would take a bath, wash her hair, and put on the new dress. Then she would look good to him.

  After he’d finished reading, he looked over at her. “Did you get the dress done?”

  She nodded. “I did. I think I’m pleased with it.”

  “As long as it’s not torn, I think you’ll look great.”

  She made a face. “I wouldn’t make a dress torn, silly man.”

  He pulled her across the sofa to him. “I’m considering this time our courting period. I know we were supposed to do that before we got married, but I think we can both use a little sparking.”

  “I think I like that idea a lot.” Beatrice had never been courted. She’d always been the smart girl, and the boys hadn’t been terribly interested in her. Now she was glad, because he was the first man to show her affection. No woman should ever touch a man she wasn’t going to spend her life with.

  “Good!” He lowered his mouth to hers again. This time it lasted a little longer than the first. The press of his lips to hers left her feeling a bit dizzy. “I like kissing you, Beatrice.”

  She smiled. “Good, because I like being kissed.” Her hands rested on his shoulders. “It’s not wrong of me to tell you that, is it?”

  “Of course not. You can tell me anything. We’re married after all.”

  She hadn’t thought of it that way, and wasn’t sure if she was ready to. Some things felt easier to talk to another lady about. She’d see, though. She’d definitely see.

  While Arthur was at work the following day, Beatrice took a long, hot bath before carefully putting on her new dress. She’d made it the same size as usual, but it was a bit big in the waist, which made sense. She’d done a lot of walking to get to Colorado, and not all of it had been easy.

  She patiently brushed her hair dry in front of the stove, making the blond curls shine. Looking at herself in the mirror above the dresser in the bedroom, she carefully twisted her hair atop her head, trying to look her very best. Her sweet husband had only ever seen her at her worst…yet still, he’d married her.

  She was careful not to get her dress dirty as she put the finishing touches on supper, planning to surprise him with her new clothes and a fine meal.

&n
bsp; Arthur walked into the house, sniffing deeply. “My beautiful wife has outdone herself with supper again, I can tell!”

  Beatrice smoothed her skirt and hurried out into the parlor to greet him. “I did my best.”

  “You always do!” He looked her up and down with a smile. “You look particularly beautiful this evening. You’ve always looked lovely, but tonight…I swear it seems like an angel has come down from heaven to greet me.”

  She laughed, moving close to him and raising her lips to his. “You make me almost believe that I really am beautiful.”

  “In my eyes, you’re everything.” His kiss was tender and sweet all at once. “Now feed me, woman!”

  She wrinkled her nose. “It’s my cooking you think is beautiful. Not me.”

  “That’s not true at all! It’s both!”

  Through the weekend, Beatrice had a good time getting to know her husband. She and Arthur went on a picnic Sunday afternoon, and she couldn’t have been happier. Still, the weight of her parents’ deaths rested on her shoulders, and she felt guilty for being happy.

  After their picnic, she saw the woman who had talked to her and told her to get out of the wagon just before it tumbled over the side of the ravine. “I’ll be right back,” she told Arthur, hurrying over to where the woman was standing watching her.

  “Who are you?” she asked, needing to know how this woman had known to save her. She’d been haunted by the memory of her, constantly wondering who had helped her. “How did you know to tell me to get out of the wagon?” Come to think of it, Beatrice hadn’t seen the other woman get out of the wagon to save herself.

  “I’m a friend,” the stranger said softly. “You may call me whatever you like.”

  “I can’t just name you. That would be very strange. Why are you here?” The woman seemed to be following her. Beatrice needed to know who she was.

  “I want you to know that you don’t have to feel guilty about not mourning your parents more. They understand that you have to move on with your life.”

  Beatrice bit her lip. “But I should be spending more time thinking about them. They died, and I got married the same day. How can that be right?”

  The woman put a hand on her arm. “It is right. I led you to Arthur, because I knew that he was the one you needed. The one who could make you happy.”

  “Why didn’t you at least try to save my parents?” That was the question that was really burning a hole in Beatrice’s brain. Why couldn’t all three of them have survived?

  “Because it was their time to go. Not yours.” The woman patted her arm. “The angel of death was there for them. You saw him standing over them in the ravine. There was nothing I could have done to save them when they were meant to go.”

  “Go? Go where?”

  “You know where. Don’t ask me silly questions.”

  “Will I see you again?” Beatrice asked. Somehow, she felt connected to this woman. She didn’t want to be a bother, but she needed to have her in her life—at least for a while.

  “Yes, you’ll see me. I’m assigned to you until we know you’ll be happy.”

  “You’re not sure? I thought you said that Arthur was the one who would make me happy? If you know that, then how do you not know if I’ll be happy?”

  The woman frowned for a moment, as if searching for the right words to explain things. “We know Arthur has the ability to make you happy. You will make choices, though, and those decisions will determine if true happiness is possible for you.”

  “What kinds of choices?”

  “That’s not for me to say. I’m sorry, Beatrice, there are some things that I can’t help you with. You’ll have to figure them out on your own.”

  “How do you know my name?” Beatrice asked, her face confused. “I know I never told you.” The woman became more mysterious with every word she said.

  “You didn’t have to. You’re my assignment.” The woman patted her arm and turned to walk away. “You should go be with Arthur now. He’s a good man, and he’s the right man for you.”

  “How can you be so sure?” Beatrice called after her. No one could guarantee that someone was right for someone else. Only God himself had those answers.

  The woman smiled and raised a hand in a wave before disappearing behind a tree. She was gone. Beatrice rushed after her, needing just a few more questions answered, but the woman was gone. Completely and utterly gone. Could she have just disappeared the way she’d seemed to appear in the wagon? Who was she? Why was Beatrice her assignment?

  Beatrice sighed. She wouldn’t be getting her answers that day. She saw that Arthur was standing up beside their picnic blanket, seeming to look for her. She rushed back toward him, determined to say nothing about the woman she’d been speaking to. Could she be losing her mind after all?

  Chapter Four

  When Beatrice got back to Arthur, he frowned at her. “What were you doing over there for so long?”

  She didn’t ask if he’d seen anyone she was talking to, because she really didn’t want to know. She was very afraid the woman was a figment of her imagination, and she didn’t want proof of that fact.

  “I was thinking. Talking.”

  “To yourself?”

  She nodded, biting back a flippant answer. “We should probably get home.”

  “I saw some strawberries over there,” he said, waving off in a random direction. “I would sure love to have some.”

  She smiled. “Like in a muffin? Or a pie?”

  “Either would be acceptable. I just love my sweets.”

  “I don’t know how you survived as a bachelor for so many years,” she said with a grin, walking toward the berries. “We don’t have anything to really put them in except the picnic basket.”

  “That’s fine. Use the picnic basket, and you can just wash them when we get home.”

  She sighed. “You’re going to be a full-time job just to feed, aren’t you?” She was teasing, because she loved the idea of feeding him. She liked the way his face lit up when she fed him something new or something he hadn’t had for a while. So…everything.

  “I might be. I’ll try not to be too needy, but it’s been so long since someone has made delicious meals and desserts for me.”

  “Are you trying to manipulate me?” Beatrice asked, her eyes narrowed in suspicion.

  “Is it working?” Arthur gave her his best innocent grin, and she laughed.

  “I’m sure it will. Why do I want to make you happy so badly? You’re so much work!”

  He caught her to him, kissing her softly. “Because you know that I want to make you happy just as badly?”

  “That might be it!” Never before had she met someone who could make her laugh so easily. Or tug at her heartstrings. Or make her sad. He had a lot of power over her, and she wasn’t sure if she liked it. Not that she had a choice in the matter.

  After the basket was full of berries, he drove them both home in his buggy. It was a newer model buggy, and she loved it. She didn’t feel the ruts in the road nearly as badly as she had in her father’s wagon. “Do you want me to make muffins for the men in the morning? Or cookies?”

  He thought about it for a moment. “I guess it wouldn’t be Christian for me to say I want all the berries for myself, now would it?”

  She laughed softly. “Probably not, but if you said it, I’d honor it.” She loved the way he was so honest about his feelings.

  “I’ll share. Make muffins.”

  “Do you have any idea how many we’ll need?”

  He shrugged. “Are you asking me how many men walk past our door on an average morning?” How was he supposed to have any idea of the number?

  “I guess that’s what I’m asking. Do you have any idea?”

  “None at all. Probably somewhere between twenty and a hundred.”

  “Between twenty and a hundred? That’s not even a guess. That’s a ridiculously wide number.” She shook her head at him, wishing he’d be a bit more specific.

 
“I guess you’ll just have to prepare for a hundred, and if there are muffins left, I’ll eat them.”

  She groaned. “I think I’ve created a monster.”

  “You sure have. Does it make you happy to know it?” He stopped the buggy by pulling on the leads, then jumped down to go around and help her to the ground. “Hurry into the house while I unhitch the horses and take the buggy to Otto and Bob in the livery. I don’t like the idea of leaving you alone out here for even that long.”

  Beatrice didn’t question him. She hurried toward the house, the picnic basket over one arm. She wanted to get started right away on the muffins. She loved the idea that she would be starting to do good for her neighbors in the morning. It was something she’d soon be able to tell Millie about.

  By the time Arthur joined her in the kitchen, she’d mixed up the batter and was carefully ladling it into muffin tins. The chunks of strawberry added color to the batter, making it pretty.

  Arthur frowned at her. “I’m going to get some of the muffins, right? I did help pick the strawberries!”

  “Yes, you’ll get some of the muffins.” She picked up a teaspoon and put a bit of the batter onto it. “Here, try this!”

  He opened his mouth as she pushed the spoon toward his mouth, taking the bite she offered. “That’s good. You don’t even have to bake it as far as I’m concerned.”

  “I’m going to bake them. Can you imagine me giving out cups of batter?”

  He shrugged. “It would work for me!”

  She laughed, shaking her head. “You’re awfully easy to please.”

  “I think you’ll find that’s a good thing as we get older.”

  It occurred to her then that circumstance had made this man the one she’d grow old with. She belonged to him for the rest of her life, whether she liked it or not. She watched him as he sat sprawled in a kitchen chair, completely at home with her. “I wonder what you’ll look like as an old man.”

  He shrugged. “Probably a lot like I look now, but with gray hair and a grizzled beard that comes down to my waist.”