Page 34 of The Gunslinger’s Bride (Montana Mavericks: Historicals #1)

Ruth turned from the stove and spotted Jonathon first. “Zeke will be pleased to see you! He’s been asking me all afternoon to put together a puzzle with him, and I’ve been baking.”

She peeled a checkered cloth back from a golden-crusted pie. “Do you like apple?”

“I love apple pie!” Jonathon assured her, shrugging out of his coat.

“Abby!” Ruth dropped the cloth into place and wiped her hands on her apron. “What a nice surprise! Have you come for supper, I hope?”

“Abby came for a change of scenery,” Brock told her with good humor in his voice. “She’s here in time for supper, too.” He took her coat and Jonathon’s and hung them up.

A metal clang echoed through the room, and Abby glanced around to spot baby Barton sitting before a cupboard, a sea of enamel pans surrounding him.

“It keeps him out of mischief for a short while,” Ruth explained.

“Entertaining Jonathon safely in the store was a challenge at that age,” Abby remarked. “Jed built a gate at both ends of a counter, so I could corral him.”

Ruth smiled.

Abby realized suddenly that Brock had grown unnaturally still at her mention of Jed, but when she glanced at him, his stoic expression revealed nothing.

“Where’s Zeke?” Jonathon asked, saying his name correctly.

“Probably working on that puzzle in the other room,” Ruth replied. “Go look for him.”

Jonathon sprinted from the kitchen.

“Can I help with anything?” Abby asked.

“How are you at peeling potatoes?”

“My specialty,” she replied, and accepted a knife.

“I’ll give the men a hand with chores,” Brock said, and left.

Abby needn’t have worried about Ruth’s reaction to her arrival; the woman was friendly and accepting as always, chatting with her about this thing and that as they finished putting a meal together.

The enormous kitchen and the long table were adequate to seat all of them when Brock, Caleb and John arrived. The boys joined them, and Ruth plopped Barton in his wooden chair.

Caleb and Brock wore their guns to the dinner table, John displayed an enormous knife in a leather sheath on his thigh, and Ruth didn’t blink an eye.

Her obvious acceptance of their weapons eased Abby’s discomfort.

She had begun to realize that her fear of guns had come from her brother’s careless use of them.

He had constantly fired off shots at anything that moved or angered him.

The casual chitchat and friendly banter around the table were a welcome change to Abby, and she knew why Jonathon enjoyed his visits to the ranch so well. While she and her son were happy together, this family atmosphere warmed a person’s heart clear through.

“Did I smell an apple pie?” Caleb asked, touching his wife’s waist as she removed his empty plate.

“You did,” she replied, flashing him a smile.

Abby observed their underlying exchange, and the obvious love in their eyes was almost painful to watch.

She had a most embarrassing thought cross her mind, wondering about their intimacy, and whether or not Caleb made Ruth lose her head when he looked at her like that, touched her, made love to her.

She observed Brock, who glanced away from his brother and sister-in-law at the same time, and their gazes collided.

Caleb was stable and responsible, but somehow Abby didn’t think those had been the deciding factors in Ruth’s decision to marry him.

Heat rose in Abby’s cheeks, as if Brock knew what she was thinking.

She tore her gaze from his and stood to help Ruth.

After dinner, Ruth shooed her into the other room with the men and boys, where Caleb and John promptly set up a checkerboard, and Caleb puffed on a fragrant pipe.

Jonathon and Zeke created a ranch from a set of blocks and miniature horses, and Abby entertained Bart, so he didn’t destroy their play world. Brock played with the boys, his long form stretched out in front of the hearth.

When Ruth came to take Bart to bed, Abby gave him up reluctantly, then watched the boys. Brock retired from the make-believe ranch to sit with Abby, and the boys moved back to their puzzle.

Some time later, Caleb knocked the tobacco from his pipe into the fire. “Think I’ll join my wife,” he said, and wished them a good night.

John helped the boys place a few puzzle pieces, and then excused himself to head upstairs.

Jonathon’s yawns had grown in frequency, and finally, he came to lay his head on Abby’s lap. She stroked his silky hair and watched his eyelids grow heavy. Abby looked up to find Brock’s deep blue gaze tender.

“Can Jonathon come sleep in my room?” Zeke asked.

Brock questioned Abby with a raised brow.

She nodded. It was too late and too cold to carry him home now.

“Come with us,” Brock told her, so she followed, surprised to learn that Brock adeptly observed their preparations for bed and made sure they cleaned their teeth.

Ruth came to check on the ritual, giving both boys a hug and leaving Brock to tuck them into matching narrow beds.

“Read us a story, Uncle Brock,” Zeke begged.

Brock took a book from a shelf and flipped through until he found something he liked.

The story, of a boy on an adventure into a forest after a lost colt, took on life when read with his melodious deep voice.

This was a side of the man Abby had never seen, and while she sat across the room and listened, her gaze moved from one boy’s sleepy face to the next, to Brock’s marvelous mouth as he formed the words, then to the guns he wore.

Only at Abby’s home did he remove them—an act of respect for her wishes. Here, they were a part of him, like his voice or his smile. No one seemed to mind, and she realized that the presence of his revolvers no longer bothered her as it once had.

The children slept long before the story ended, and Abby experienced a pang of disappointment when Brock closed the book. He extinguished the lamp and led Abby from the room and down the stairs.

He showed her to the sofa and seated himself a respectable two feet away. “Thanks for letting him stay.”

“It was best for him. He was too tired to ride home.”

“I would have hitched a team and a wagon.”

That sounded like a lot of work, and she still had to go home herself.

“I want you to stay tonight, too,” he told her, his voice gruff, but somehow vulnerable.

Abby’s heart dipped at the request that she couldn’t admit she’d wanted to hear.