Montana Groom of Convenience Read online

  “My mother’s things.” And baby things Mother had saved, always hoping for a baby boy who survived. But Carly was the only baby to live past a few weeks and grow to adulthood. She was aware of four baby boys who did not live that long. Their little graves were on the hillside and her mother lay next to them.

  “Where’s your ma?”

  “She died when I was fourteen.”

  “Oh.” Jill pushed her way through the boxes and other items until she reached the trunk. She examined the latches and tried to release them.

  “Jill,” Sawyer spoke with a hefty degree of warning. “You don’t have permission to touch that.”

  “Can’t I look?” Jill asked.

  Carly had crossed the room and pressed on the latches to stop the curious child. “I prefer you didn’t.”

  “Fine.” Jill stomped away, crushing an old hat of Father’s beneath her feet.

  Sawyer grabbed it and punched it back to shape as best he could. “I apologize.”

  Carly nodded. She wasn’t about to excuse the child but neither could she blame Sawyer. “Help me move the trunk to my room.” Not only would it clear out room for Sawyer, it would be safer where she could keep an eye on it.

  She grabbed the handle on one side, he grabbed the other and they carried the trunk across the kitchen to her bedroom. She put it down outside the door. “Wait here a minute.” Jill would have followed her but Carly closed the door and leaned against it. She’d carelessly tossed a few items of clothing on the chair and floor and bent to pick them up and shove them into the wardrobe. She pushed the bed against the wall to make room for a cot for Jill. A little sister! She grinned. How many times had she hoped for a little brother or sister only to have her hopes dashed when the newborns didn’t live? Seems she was about to have her dreams fulfilled this way. It ought to be fun.

  Someone kicked at the door. Sawyer spoke Jill’s name in a warning tone.

  Carly faced the door. It might not be as much fun as she’d imagined. Oh, what was she thinking? The child was only eight. Soon enough she’d be chasing butterflies and playing with imaginary friends.

  She opened the door. Sawyer had a firm grip on Jill’s shoulder and the little girl wore a mutinous expression. Carly wasn’t sure what to do…or even if she could do anything. Seems the child was Sawyer’s responsibility. Though Carly meant to do everything she could to help Jill feel secure. Everything, she added with a bit of foresight, that Jill would allow her to do.

  “Are you ready?” Sawyer asked.

  Carly nodded and grabbed her end of the trunk. They carried it into the room and parked it at the end of her bed. She dusted her hands off. “Now let’s get the other room ready.”

  They tromped back across the room, Father watching them with a great deal of interest.

  Sawyer stopped inside the storeroom. “Where do you plan to put all this stuff?”

  Carly raised her voice. “I figure a bonfire out back will take care of most of it.”

  “Dinnae burn me treasures,” Father roared, making Carly chuckle.

  “I knew he’d do that,” she whispered, then spoke louder so she would be heard in the other room. “Father, it’s just junk.”

  He thumped his crutch on the floor.

  She rushed to the door. “Sit down. I’ll not burn it.” She released a heavy sigh. “Can we put some of it in your room?”

  “Aye, that’s a fine idea.” He sank back, his mouth set in a hard line at the pain of moving.

  With Sawyer’s help and Jill’s watchful supervision, several crates were stacked in the corner of Father’s bedroom.

  Carly didn’t give Father’s crowded quarters much thought. He insisted on keeping all this stuff so she reasoned he must enjoy having it crowding every corner.

  They returned to the storeroom. It still held far too much.

  She and Sawyer stood side by side in the little cleared area. “There’s a cot under that pile of—” she lowered her voice to a whisper “—rags. I’ll have to move them, though I itch to get rid of them.”

  Sawyer glanced over his shoulder. “Your father likes to keep stuff?” It was as much statement as question.

  “Aye,” Carly said, imitating her father. “Lassie, you never know when ye might have a need for this very item.”

  Jill covered her mouth in an attempt to stifle her giggle.

  Liking the child’s sense of humor, Carly grinned at Sawyer.

  His blue-green eyes shifted to more blue than green as he met her gaze. He seemed a bit startled at her grin and blinked. His mouth twitched and for a moment, she thought he would smile. But he looked away without doing so. Like he said, he didn’t allow himself to have feelings.

  What a sad way to live. She could understand why he wouldn’t want Jill to end up the same.

  “I suppose we need to find that cot,” he said.

  She returned to studying the room. “It’ll be more comfortable than sleeping on the floor.” They stood in silent contemplation for two seconds. She couldn’t think of him as her husband but at least if he slept here, she could accept him as a hired man. “Besides, I’ve been wanting to clear out this space. Father planned this to be a hallway to more rooms. But he never needed them, to his great disappointment.”

  “No brothers or sisters?”

  “None that lived.” She was so used to thinking that way that she didn’t consider how her words would affect Jill.

  Jill had been poking through the piles of old newspapers. Her hands grew still. Carly thought she heard the child suck in air. “You got dead brothers and sisters?” Jill asked.

  “Four brothers. Maybe I’ll show you their graves someday.”

  “Sawyer gots a dead brother, too.” She tipped her head. “Does that mean I have a dead brother?”

  Carly waited for Sawyer to answer. But his face had turned to granite and he stared at the wall.

  “I suppose it does,” she answered in his stead.

  “Huh. His name was Johnny.” Jill spoke with a degree of authority as if she thought Sawyer might have forgotten.

  Carly wasn’t sure how to respond, so said words that might mean anything. “I see.”

  Sawyer had still not moved.

  “Let’s take some of these things out to the woodshed.” She gathered up a bundle of old clothes and stepped past Sawyer, making her way to the small building at the side of the house. She didn’t bother looking to see what he did. The man had agreed to marry her. That was all she expected of him. But she was mildly pleased when he followed, his arms holding the rest of the clothing.

  He traipsed on her heels into the shed. She looked about. “If I put shelves along the top of the wall, I can store all this stuff on them.” She lowered her armload to the nearby bench.

  Sawyer did the same.

  She headed for the door, intent on getting to the barn. Her skirts tangled around her ankles. The first thing she would do was trade these cumbersome skirts for her customary trousers. She’d only worn a dress to town because of some vague hope she would find a man willing to wed her.

  A smile tugged at her mouth. It hadn’t been so much hope that she’d find a man as desperation. Truth be told, she would have married almost anyone to save the ranch. Even if she’d had to drag him from the gutter. She shuddered as a couple of men came to mind. Thankfully, she had found a man in Miss Daisy’s Eatery rather than the gutter.

  Sawyer followed on her heels. “I’ll help you.”

  “I can do it. But got something to attend to first.” She hurried to her room and closed the door firmly after her. The pesky buttons on the bodice of her dress took forever to undo but she’d learned the folly of hurrying. It took even more time to sew buttons back on. She slipped the dress and petticoats off and donned her baggy shirt and fitted trousers, stuck her feet into her pair of well-worn cowboy boots and returned to the main room.

  Jill sat on a chair opposite Father, giving him solemn study. She turned as Carly left her room. Carly knew she tried to hide any
expression—having learned it from an expert—but her eyes rounded. Her mouth gaped and then she blinked and turned deadpan.

  Carly didn’t care what Sawyer thought of her attire and yet she looked his direction. Would he see the warning in her eyes to keep his opinion to himself?

  “Lassie.” Father sighed heavily. “Is it too much to hope ye’d be content to be the woman of the house?”

  Carly snorted, her attention still directed toward Sawyer. Would he be as disapproving as Father? He might as well learn right now that she didn’t intend to be the sort of woman Father meant.

  *

  Sawyer’s gaze ran down the length of the woman he’d married. Brown trousers with worn creases informed him she made a habit of dressing like this. He tried to decide what he thought about it and realized he didn’t have an opinion. Why should he? Who she was and what she did had little importance to him. He’d agreed to do the ranch work in return for a home for Jill. He expected nothing more, nothing less, from either of them.

  Jill looked at him. Something about her expression sent tension up his spine. What was his little sister scheming now?

  “I’m going to make shelves.” Carly marched past him, the challenge in her voice unmistakable.

  He saw no point in telling her she had no need to feel threatened and followed her to the barn.

  She grabbed a board, a handful of nails and a hammer. The long board teetered in her grasp and he caught it.

  “I’ll take this.”

  She hesitated, then nodded. “Fine.”

  He had long ago learned to hide his feelings, to deny them until now he hardly even had any feelings he could identify but Carly did not have the same skill. Her annoyance was as evident as the golden sun in the blue sky. He couldn’t imagine why she was upset.

  “Did I do something to offend you?”

  Halfway out the door, she stopped, slowly came about to face him. Her brown eyes narrowed as she studied him. He got the feeling she wanted something from him, but he had no idea what it might be so he stood motionless and waited.

  “I hope I’ve made myself clear that I don’t need a man.”

  “Seems your father has a differing opinion.”

  “My father is a stubborn Scotsman.”

  “I believe you’ve said that before. No need to remind me.”

  Her shoulders sank and her expression cleared. “Guess I should apologize for getting upset. It’s just that—” She didn’t finish. “I need to get this shelf made.”

  He followed her across the yard. Just what? he wanted to ask. But if she wanted to tell him, she would. Until then, he was content to simply follow her back to the shed.

  Jill stepped from the woodshed as they approached. She wore too-big trousers, rolled up at the ankles and a baggy shirt. A length of rope held her pants in place. She crossed her arms and scowled at Sawyer.

  “Where’d you get the clothes?”

  “Found ’em.”

  “Were they lost?”

  “She said they were rags.” Jill tipped her head toward Carly but did not look at her.

  Nor did Sawyer as he tried to think if she would be offended that Jill had helped herself to some items.

  Carly chuckled and he jerked his head round to look at her.

  “You’re welcome to the clothes. They’re too small for me. Of course, you might need your brother’s permission to dress like that.” The challenge in Carly’s eyes sent a twitch down Sawyer’s spine. He had hopes of Jill learning to be a lady, like her mother had been.

  Jill crossed her arms and scowled at them. “I don’t need nobody’s permission.” She gave Sawyer a hard look. “She wears pants.”

  “They’re a lot more comfortable and safer even when I’m working around the ranch.”

  “I like ’em.” Jill’s tone dared Sawyer to try to stop her.

  He considered his options. How Carly dressed was none of his business. She clearly didn’t heed her father’s opinion, so why would she heed his? Not that he cared if she wore trousers. A grin bubbled below the surface. Truth was, she looked fine in them. But Jill was a different matter. Her parents would not approve. Shouldn’t he teach her the same things they would have if they lived?

  “What’d you do with your dress?”

  “Threw it out.”

  “Jill, we can’t afford to replace clothes.”

  Carly edged past the girl into the woodshed. “The dress is right here.” She held up a bundle with fabric that he recognized. “It needs a good scrubbing.” After a second of letting him stare at it, she tossed it into the pile on the bench. “I’ll get that shelf made.” She reached for the board but he shook his head and carried it in, passing Jill who continued to give him loads of defiance.

  We’ll settle this later, he promised himself. In private.

  He lifted the board to where he thought she would want it. “Is here okay?”

  “It’s fine.” She grabbed shorter pieces and made shelf brackets, nailing them into place.

  He could have driven in the spikes in half the time but wasn’t about to offer to trade places with her. Even he—blind as he was to emotions—understood she didn’t care for offers of help. Perhaps she had had to fight her father so long to gain her independence that resisting help had become part and parcel of her.

  Neither of them talked as they worked. He was used to working in silence, preferred it to useless chatter. But something bothered him and he had to get it off his chest. “Jill’s mother was a lady.”

  She let the hammer hang from her hand and jerked back to give him a hard look. “So was my mother. What are you trying to say?”

  One thing about Carly, he didn’t have to try to guess at her feelings. “Don’t get all offended.”

  “Offended? Me?” She swung the hammer in a circle. “Why would you think that?”

  Not liking the narrow confines of the shed and the swinging hammer, he eased toward the door. “Do you need more things brought out for the shelf?”

  She tossed the hammer to the corner. The one nearest where he stood, though perhaps that had been unintentional. He couldn’t say.

  “I don’t know.” She didn’t move and something warned him he should not either. Not until she finished with her anger. “Are you by any means, referring to her wearing trousers?”

  He was getting good at understanding her thinly veiled warnings and answered cautiously. “There’s people who would consider it inappropriate.”

  She closed the distance between them until they were toe to toe. “Sawyer Gallagher, let’s get a few things straight.”

  He gave her his best steely-eyed look.

  “I long ago decided my comfort and safety were far more important than what people thought.”

  He continued his expressionless stare.

  “I suppose you’re entitled to your opinion but best you keep it to yourself.” She half turned away. “How you deal with Jill is your problem.”

  He allowed one eyebrow to flick. “Dealing with Jill has been a problem.”

  Carly nodded. “I gathered that. So why bother her about something that truly doesn’t matter?” She swiped a hand at her trousers. “Does anyone really think wearing these makes me less of a woman, less moral?”

  He let his gaze go up and down her length as if looking for clues and then shook his head. “I don’t suppose it does.”

  Carly’s cheeks stained pink. “Well, then. That’s settled.” She pushed past him and went to the house. “Best I get a bed made up for you.”

  He followed at a safe distance, not knowing if she was given to words or actions when she was upset, and she was clearly upset.

  Jill trailed along after them, her eyes wide and if he wasn’t mistaken, full of interest. Having her care about something should please him but it didn’t. Not if her only interest was in seeing others in conflict.

  They single-filed into the room where he was to sleep. A cot with a bare mattress stood on one side of the room. Piles of old newspapers nested a
gainst one wall.

  “What’s a person to do with old papers?” she asked. “Father?” She raised her voice. “Can we burn the papers?”

  “Ack. No. I haven’t finished reading them.”

  “Nor will you ever.” She stared at the piles.

  “Shove them under the bed.” He waited for her response.

  “Good idea.” Seems her good humor had returned and she grabbed an armload and stuffed it under the cot.

  He did the same.

  She hurried to get another load. So did he. He stuffed from one end, she from the other until their piles jammed against each other with a thud that made her laugh. “There won’t even be room for dust bunnies in there.”

  Jill watched every move as Sawyer swept the room and Carly made the bed and spread a crazy quilt on top. “My mother and I made this one winter. Mother had been expecting another baby and hoped if she took it easy, this baby would live so she’d spent much of her day sitting with her feet up.”

  Carly patted the quilt once, then stood back to look around. “You need a cupboard of some sort.”

  “Surprised there wasn’t one or several in this room.”

  She studied him a moment, decided he was joshing and laughed. It sent a jolt of pleasure through his heart to know she’d appreciated his little attempt at humor.

  “Father keeps all the cupboards in his room so he can guard his stuff.”

  Sawyer nodded. He’d noticed how jam-packed the man’s room was. “He likes to keep things.”

  She grinned at him, her eyes sparkling with humor. “I guess that’s pretty evident.”

  Deep inside Sawyer, something responded. He couldn’t say what it was. Couldn’t name it. Could only think it was frightening and alluring at the same time.

  She turned to again study the room. “There are some apple crates in the loft you can use for a cupboard. And you can pretty the room up any way you like.”

  “Pretty it up?” He could hardly choke the words out.

  “Yeah. You know with pictures and things.”

  “Oh. That.” He hadn’t stayed in one place long enough in the past few years to even have a wall to put things on. Last real room he’d had was with Pa and Judith and it had never felt quite right.