know, like honey instead of a stick.”
Matt nodded. “Thanks, son. I’ll keep that in mind.”
Izzy looked around the bedroom, which was as filthy as the rest of the cabin. Some of Matthew’s clothes hung on pegs along one wall. A couple of shirts. Some pants. The rest had been dropped on the floor. A parka made of some kind of animal fur. Boots, one near the door, the other clear across the room. As though he’d tossed them, or more than likely kicked them, in a fit of temper.
There was a dust-covered dresser, with drawers that had fancy knobs. Above the dresser was an oval mirror, cracked down the middle. She turned away, not wanting to look at herself.
She thought about tidying up the room, but the truth was, she was exhausted. And she still had to wash her clothes in preparation for the difficult journey ahead, since these were the only clothes she owned.
She pulled a very small, very sharp knife from its sheath beneath her sash and hid it under her pillow. Then she sat down tentatively on the edge of the bed. The mattress was rough and scratchy. And lumpy. She wasn’t surprised. It suited this place. With slow, tired movements she untied her new shoes and set them carefully aside. At once her feet began to throb and she had to wiggle her toes for long minutes before she could stand. Then she stripped off her gown and petticoats and peeled off her heavy cotton stockings. Finally she slipped out of her chemise and stood shivering until she was able to pull on her night shift.
Carrying all her clothes to the other room, she dropped them into the basin and filled it with hot water. Quickly, efficiently, she scrubbed her clothes, then draped them over the rough kitchen chairs to dry. That done, she added another log to the fire and made her way to the bedroom.
The bed looked sturdy enough, having been carved from rough logs. And at least, she thought, the chickens hadn’t invaded this space.
She blew out the lantern, then climbed into bed.
She wished she’d been able to do more work before giving up, but the truth was, she was utterly exhausted. And she was facing a long, arduous journey in the morning.
Hugging the blanket to her chin, she huddled into a little ball and fell asleep.
Matt let himself into the still, silent cabin, then breathed deeply. It smelled different. It smelled…clean. Surprised, he stared around. Though it was by no means spotless, it was cleaner than he’d seen it in a year. Much of the rubble had been swept up, and the rest lay in piles along one wall. The indignities left by the chickens had been cleaned up, as well.
By the light of the fire, the filmy, feminine clothes draped over the chairs looked like ghostly specters, mocking him. He walked closer and touched a hand to the delicate chemise. It was as soft as a cobweb and he found himself remembering things better left forgotten.
With a thoughtful frown he walked to the fireplace and, reaching into his pocket, withdrew an envelope and tossed it into the fire. He watched as the blaze licked along the paper, curling it, then bursting it into flame. In an instant the envelope, and the letter inside, had burned to ash.
Odd, he thought. He ought to feel something. Instead, he felt nothing. No pain. No sorrow at his loss. Nothing. Only a sort of numbness where the ache had been for so long.
He struck a match and lifted it to the lantern’s wick. Holding the lantern aloft, he walked into the bedroom.
He felt a momentary shock when he saw the woman lying in his bed. It jolted his already overcharged system to see the spill of plain brown hair curling softly on the pillow. The blanket had slipped, revealing a creamy neck and shoulder and, beneath the modest neckline of a nightgown, the darkened cleft between her breasts.
He walked closer, lifting the lantern for a better look.
That’s when she sat up with a cry of alarm.
“Who…? What…? Sweet salvation. What are you doing here?”
The blanket dipped lower, showing an expanse of flesh that had him sweating.
“Sorry. I didn’t want to…I came here to…” He stopped, swallowed, then tried again. “Seeing as how my children do need a ma, and a woman could be a help around here, I thought I’d give you a choice.”
“Choice?” She was more awake now, though still confused. Behind her, her hand went automatically to the knife beneath her pillow, closed around it. “I don’t understand. Aren’t you going to take me to Sutton’s Station in the morning?”
“Yes. Of course.” He nodded for emphasis. He was handling this badly. But he was determined to bluff his way through, now that he’d started. “But what we do there will be up to you. You can take what little money I have saved, and see how far it will get you. Or—” he swallowed and forced himself to finish before he lost his nerve “—we can find a minister and have a proper wedding, so you can live here as my wife.”
“Your…” She couldn’t bring herself to say the word. Maybe she was still asleep and dreaming.
No. It wasn’t a dream. It was real. Matthew Prescott was standing here, leaving the choice to her. She could go back to the life she’d always known, or risk it all for a life with this harsh, unyielding man.
“I won’t push for your answer now.” He abruptly lowered the lantern and turned on his heel. He had to get out of here. Now. While he still had some of his senses. The sight of those soft female curves had his heart racing and his temples throbbing. “Sleep on it. You can tell me what you’d like in the morning.” At the door he paused, his look dark and unfathomable. “I’ll understand if you can’t find it in your heart to stay.”
“Matthew…”
“Good night.” He strode quickly from the room.
She heard the door shut, heard the crunch of his footsteps receding as he made his way to the barn.
She released her hold on the knife and lay in the darkness, wondering what to make of their conversation. Had he really had a change of heart? Or was there something else going on here? Something she ought to be wary of?
She hugged the blanket to her chin, grateful for the brief sleep she’d had before he had intruded. It would probably be all the sleep she would get the rest of the night.
The sky was still awash with stars, but Izzy knew there was no point in staying in bed. She had replayed in her mind every detail of her arrival in this strange place. She had repeated every cutting word, every stinging remark that had been uttered by Matthew Prescott. What could she possibly hope to gain by marrying him and staying here? From all she had witnessed, most men didn’t improve with age. If anything, they got worse. Could she possibly embrace the harshness of the life that loomed before her?
Still, the plight of his children tugged at her. It was obvious that they needed help. Aaron had said it all. The hogs lived better than they did. She’d seen that for herself.
And there was one other thing. She couldn’t think of a better option. She could marry Matthew Prescott or return to the life she’d left behind. And she would rather die than go back.
She only hoped that, in time, death wouldn’t prove to have been the wiser choice.
She wrapped herself in the blanket and made her way to the other room in search of her clothes. Instead of the still, silent cabin, she found a blazing fire and Matthew, seated at the table, drinking coffee.
She came to an abrupt halt. “I thought…you’d still be sleeping.”
“Long day ahead.” No sense telling her he’d been up all night, fretting. “Thought I’d get an early start.”
“Yes. I…thought the same.”