Free Jodi Thomas by The Texans Wager Page A

even churning butter.
    By the time Carter entered with a load of wood for the stove, she had a simple meal on the table. He looked surprised, but took his chair when she pointed to one. They ate in silence on mismatched china and a tablecloth worn thin from washing.
    Bright sunlight shown through long thin windows over the kitchen area, and for the first time Bailee saw the room clearly. It was really far more livable than she’d thought last night. The furnishings were finely carved, not rough homemade. A spinning wheel stood in one corner, a rocker by the fire. A few pieces of china were faced out in a hutch, and an empty pie safe stood on the other side of the wood bin. Polished bookshelves framed the rock of the fireplace with copies of Emerson, Hawthorne, Dickens, Tennyson sliced in between catalogs for farming and gardening.
    The books looked old, well cared for, and many times read.
    A few things in the room seemed odd at second glance. A rifle stood in one corner, almost unseen in the shadows, with a box of bullets next to it. A thin bookshelf almost as tall as Carter stood near the door, but was empty except for an apple sitting on one shelf as though it were some prized heirloom.
    “I have a few boxes in my wagon in town. Dishes and things I’ve made.” She didn’t add that they were things she had to pack in an hour’s time while her father bought her a wagon and team. “Maybe the next time you’re there, you could pick them up for me. I’d like to have them.”
    She raised her gaze and wasn’t surprised to find him staring at her. The blue of his eyes hadn’t changed. She thought she saw an intelligence in their depths and wondered if he loved these books or if they were just decorations in his house like the music boxes no one wound and the china washstand that looked as if it had never been used.
    Suddenly nervous, she stood and took her plate to the wash pan. “I made a list of a few things I could use from the store.” As she set a scrap of paper on the corner of the table, it suddenly occurred to her that she had no idea if this man she married had a dime to his name. What if he used all his money to pay her fine?
    Bailee tried to be practical. “Since we’re married, I guess the oxen, if they’re still alive, belong to you, and the wagon as well. You can sell them if you wish, but I’d really like to keep my boxes.”
    She fought back tears. They were stupid oxen, she’d swore at them many times on the trail, but they were hers. If he sold them he’d whittle her belongings down to a few crates. And if he refused to bring the boxes, she’d be left with broken mismatched dishes. Her father had only let her pack a few things that she’d made or had belonged to her mother. She’d stuffed them into crates so fast she doubted much of the china was still whole, but he’d wanted her out of his house before dawn.
    Carter stood and collected his plate and cup. He brushed her arm slightly as he sat them in the sink. Without a word he downed his hat and rain slicker.
    Bailee wasn’t sure what she was supposed to do. The married couple who lived across the street from her father always seemed to be laughing. There was nothing funny about the silent man she followed out the door.
    As he stepped off the porch, Bailee caught his arm. “I’ll have lunch ready at noon.”
    He nodded without raising his eyes from where her fingers rested on his sleeve.
    Bailee did what she’d seen the young wife across the street do a hundred times. “Have a good day, husband.” She leaned close and kissed him on the cheek.
    Carter stepped away suddenly and almost ran for the barn. The three mangy dogs she’d caught a glimpse of the night before hurried after him.
    Bailee smiled at her own boldness, feeling suddenly better than she had in weeks. If he didn’t like her actions, he was going to have to tell her. They might never have long talks by the fire, but somehow they’d settle in together. He might just