Once Upon a Mail Order Bride - Linda Broday Page 0,32
say she forgave him and understood far more than he thought.
“I wish you could holler and give me the tongue-lashing I deserve. Maybe one day.” Sadness in his amber eyes broke her heart. “Let’s get you into the house. I’ll light the lamps and check the shadows before I unsaddle the horses.”
As they walked toward the back door, Ridge put an arm around her as though it was the most normal thing in the world. But it was too soon to think that way.
Ridge’s voice was raspy when he spoke again. “I meant to tell you…I have an account at the mercantile. Get whatever you want and charge it. I pay the bill at the end of each month.”
She nodded and went in the house. While he lit the lamps in the kitchen, she grabbed her paper and scribbled, “Do we have money?”
He laughed. “I make a good living selling land. I’m not rich, but I do okay.”
“You don’t rob, like some outlaws?” She cringed at the way that had shot out onto paper. Too bold and nosy. But she was supposed to be sharing his life, wasn’t she?
“No. I’ve done a lot of things, but I don’t steal.”
Miss Kitty and Squeakers strolled imperiously into the kitchen. Addie picked up the furry baby while the mama swished against Ridge’s pant leg.
“What are you wanted for?” She kicked herself for not looking closer at the wanted poster when she’d had the chance…or maybe she hadn’t really wanted to know.
The lines of Ridge’s face hardened, and his voice turned cold. “I’ll be back in a bit.”
The door closed behind him, and she was left standing in silence, cursing her curiosity. Ridge had a right to hold back, just as she did at this point in their relationship. It was too soon to probe each other’s deep, festering wounds. Once they got on solid ground, there’d be time enough for that.
Her gaze caught on the cobbler that Rebel Lassiter had brought that morning, sitting untouched on the table. She hadn’t even told Ridge about it. Getting a kitchen towel from a drawer, she covered it, then moved to the parlor to wait for his return.
As with the habit of writing down her thoughts and the comfort that brought, she missed her knitting. The repetitive motion had always helped pass the time and soothed a ragged spirit. Tomorrow she’d go to the mercantile for yarn and needles and look for fabric to make herself a riding skirt. She’d need one if she intended to ride her buckskin, which she did. She couldn’t wait to get back on her horse. Riding with the wind in her face was the freedom she’d imagined.
Ridge was supposed to help her with a name. Fine. She’d think of one herself. For the next hour, she mulled over every name she’d ever heard, but none seemed right. She rose and paced the length of the parlor then back at least a dozen times.
The same as she’d done with every dilemma, she sat with paper and pencil, making a list of the ones that had come to mind.
One name drew her. King. She circled it and tapped the pencil. Yes!
King said everything about the horse and how truly thankful she was.
Excited, she went to the kitchen to look out the window for Ridge, but the pitch-black night failed to yield his tall figure. Dejected, she went back to the parlor and sat with Miss Kitty and Squeakers.
Reading didn’t interest her without Ridge’s voice saying the words. She took out her paper and pencil instead and wrote a short letter to her friend Zelda Law, the midwife who’d fled New Zion that horrible night with the newborn. As prearranged, Zelda would need to know how to find her in order to bring the child. The arrangement was never supposed to be anything but temporary. Though Addie longed to ask about the boy, she refrained from mentioning him, worried that the letter might fall into the wrong hands.
Finally, she rose and turned out all but one lamp as she retreated to her safe space.
While she braided her hair into one long rope down her back, Addie thought about her life and everything that had led her to Hope’s Crossing. She missed her sisters, Thea, Tola, and Remy. She preferred those nicknames to the long, cumbersome given names her parents had bestowed. No doubt their father had thoroughly poisoned their minds against her—something he did best. Maybe one day she might try to see