Page 37 of The Gunslinger’s Bride (Montana Mavericks: Historicals #1)
But forever was a risk she wasn’t willing to bet on. She had a son to think about now, besides herself, and she hadn’t done a very wise job of making choices for him so far. As usual, when Brock was around, she lost her perspective. Everett came to mind, and she ended the kiss to eat her breakfast.
Once she’d finished, Brock gathered her warm outer clothing, helped her with her boots and carried the hot bricks out to the waiting buggy.
A solitary black mare had been harnessed to the rig, and she stepped out at a brisk pace at Brock’s prompting.
“Where are we going?” Abby asked.
Brock glanced at her lovely face, her curious, yet troubled green eyes, and gave her a smile. “Not far. You’ll see.”
She rode beside him, snuggled into the blanket he’d wrapped around her, and from time to time pointed out a bird or a small animal. Once they saw an old bull elk watching them from a stand of bare cottonwoods.
Brock guided the rig to the settler’s cabin and stopped in the clearing. Animal tracks led back and forth in the snow, and a squirrel chattered at them from a nearby limb.
“This is my land,” he told her, watching her face for a reaction.
She glanced around and back at him. “Yours?”
He nodded. “The sections I inherited from my father. I’ve mapped them out and made plans for spring.”
“What kind of plans?”
“A house. New barns and corrals.” He jumped down and came around for her. “Not much to see yet, I guess.” He glanced at the scenery he’d been so enamored with since deciding on this place. “Want to walk some?”
She let him help her down, her boots immediately becoming engulfed in the deep snow, her dress hem dragging.
“I picked this spot for the water and the windbreaks. The house will face south…over here. With a big wide porch for sitting in the summer.”
She surveyed his land, her nose red from the cold, but she said nothing.
What had he wanted her to say? He’d wanted to show her this.
Show her he was staying. Convince her. Maybe she wouldn’t believe him until the house was built and the ranch was in operation…
after it was too late and she’d married Matthews.
She was just stubborn enough to continue with her plans, even though he’d proved to her that she wanted him.
“Be a good place to raise a family, wouldn’t it?” he asked, surveying the mountains.
“It would,” she agreed. “What is this place?” she asked, gesturing at the cabin.
“It’s been here for years. Probably before Kincaids owned the land. I plan to use it while the house is being built.”
He watched her exhale white clouds into the air, and realized that bringing her here didn’t prove anything, least of all his dependability. He would have to earn her trust. “Abby?”
She turned luminous green eyes on him.
She’d changed since last night; she held herself less rigidly, hadn’t said a heated word yet.
She was somehow softer, more vulnerable, and he remembered her agonized tears.
He’d never felt so close to anyone in his life—and it wasn’t just the sex.
It was the intimacy of sharing what had been held so tightly inside, recognizing how he’d hurt her, and admitting his regret.
Could she forgive him? He didn’t know how to ask.
She was waiting for him to say something. Instead he shook his head and looked away, feeling inadequate, angry at himself.
A brisk wind tugged at his hat and he secured it.
“Well, I’m sure it’s a nice place for a house,” she said at last.
He studied the mountains, the bare trees and the snow-laden ground before turning back. He didn’t know what he’d accomplished by bringing her here; it had just seemed crucial to do so.
The horse neighed and shook her head, jingling the harnesses. She reared up suddenly, bucking the buggy precariously. Brock darted forward to calm her, but she shied away from him and continued her nervous prancing. He grabbed her halter and pulled her head down, placing his hand over her nose.
He scanned the nearby shrubs and spotted the source of her agitation. A lean gray wolf surveyed them from a distance of twenty feet. Holding the horse with his left hand, Brock drew the .45 from his right hip. “Abby, move slowly and come around behind me. Don’t get too close to the horse.”
She spotted the wolf and alarm crossed her features. She did as he asked, but instead of avoiding the horse, she stepped to the other side and took hold of the halter, soothing the more with soft words.
“Stay between her and the wolf, so she can’t see it, and keep your hand over her nose.”
“Are you going to shoot it?” she asked, using the same calm tone he had.
“Not if I don’t have to. Maybe it’ll move on.”
“What if it has a pack nearby? Maybe we should unharness the mare and let her run.”
He didn’t spare her a glance. “Then what will we do?”
“Then you can go get her when it’s clear.”
The horse reared up and it took both of them to keep her from overturning the buggy.
“Or maybe we should just get in the buggy and leave,” Abby suggested.
“Not as spooked as she is,” he replied. “She’d spill us out in no time.”
“Well, then, what do you suggest?” she asked.
“That you have a little patience and shut up,” he told her.
Chastened, Abby kept silent and watched the wolf. By and by, two more joined it, both smaller, one obviously nursing pups.
Brock cursed under his breath. The click of his trigger being thumbed back was loud. The hair on her neck rose and Abby held her breath in trepidation.