Chapter Three #2
He crossed to where she sat, eyeing the skirt of her dress. He didn’t see any snags, nothing to indicate where her dress was caught.
“If you didn’t go climbing about like a monkey, these things wouldn’t happen.” He leaned around her, trying to see if anything was snagged from behind.
“If you weren’t three times as tall as I am,” she tossed back, “I wouldn’t need to climb up the walls in order to look you in the eye.”
He set his hands on the rail on either side of her. “Is that why you sat up here, so you’d be as tall I am?”
It had done the trick, actually. They were more or less the same height now.
They were eye to eye, something that hadn’t happened since they’d met.
Her eyes weren’t simply blue. He saw flecks of green and golden brown.
He discovered something else standing there so close to her.
He’d been right when talking with Sam earlier that day; Mirabelle was pretty.
“Will you help me get down?” she asked. “I hadn’t planned to spend the rest of forever perched here like a bird.”
Pull your thoughts together. No time for pointless wonderings.
“I’d guess you’re sitting on whatever it is that’s caught hold of your dress,” he said. “If you lean one direction or the other, I’ll see if I can spot it.”
A little of the color drained from her face. “If I lean too far, I might fall,” she said, her voice quieter than it had been. Was she afraid? She, who had scaled up there without hesitation, who had agilely climbed down from the wagon the evening before, was afraid of falling?
“Lean that direction.” He motioned with his right thumb. He curled his arm around her waist, so she’d have something holding her there.
She leaned against his arm, but only just.
“I can’t see anything unless you lean further,” he told her.
“I’ll fall,” she little more than whispered.
She really was afraid. That surprised him. Greatly.
“I won’t let you fall,” he promised.
He held her gaze for a drawn-out moment. She was clearly trying to decide if she could trust him. Quinn knew he had shortcomings, faults like anyone else, but no one had ever found him undeserving of their trust. Not ever.
“Lean further,” he repeated.
Whether she found him trustworthy in that moment or simply gave in to the inevitable, he didn’t know.
But she leaned as he instructed, putting her weight on his arm.
He was struck again by just how small she was.
His arm wrapped easily all the way around her.
He could probably carry her around in one hand, perhaps in a pocket.
He used his free hand to carefully move the flowing fabric of her skirt, searching for the snag. He found it: a long, nasty-looking splinter shoved clear through her skirt. She was fortunate it hadn’t pierced all the way through to her leg.
“Just give me a minute,” he said. “I’ll have you free.”
“You found it, then?” Her voice had regained some of its fortitude.
“A splintered bit of wood,” he said.
“Please be careful not to tear the dress—it’s the only one I have.”
That stopped his efforts and brought his gaze back to her face. “You only have one dress?” He himself had four new pairs of trousers and a half-dozen shirts, even a couple jackets to choose from. A second thought occurred to him. “What do you wear on wash day?”
“I do the wash in my underclothes.”
His eyes pulled wide, and he felt heat rise immediately to his face. He’d inherited enough ginger coloring from his Irish parents to flush when he was embarrassed. He hated it.
Mirabelle laughed, the sound bouncing off the walls of the barn. “Don’t fret, Quinn. I’ll not scandalize the neighbors. I have a wrapper I found in a rag pile that I wear on wash days. It’s absolutely hideous, but it lets me get my dress clean.”
She wears something she found in a rag pile? Just how desperate was her situation before coming here?
“So am I destined to sit here for the rest of forever, or do you think you can unsnag me?” Mirabelle looked down at her stuck dress but hadn’t let go of his arm.
He carefully inched the fabric back over the splinter. He had her free in a moment’s time. “It left a little hole,” he said.
One hand still clutching his arm, she held up the side of her dress for closer inspection.
“Well, a hole’s easily mended if it’s seen to right away.
I’ll sew it up tonight after I’ve changed into my nightdress.
” She shrugged and gave him an amusedly resigned smile.
“Will you help me down? If I try, I’ll probably snag somewhere else, and I’ll walk away with a dress no better than a slice of Swiss cheese. ”
Helping her to the ground took no effort whatsoever. He set his hands on either side of her waist and lifted her up from the railing and down to the ground. She couldn’t have weighed much more than a sparrow.
A tiny, tiny thing.
“What does that look mean?” She eyed him with uncertainty.
He shook his head. He might not have known much about women, but he felt certain telling her he was pondering how shockingly little she was would be a mistake. He broke off the splinter she’d caught herself on, telling himself to add sanding the wood to his list of jobs.
That brought to mind the list of chores he had for her. He reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out the folded paper he’d jotted her jobs down on. “Here are the things that need seeing to before winter arrives.”
He held the list out to her. She eyed it a moment before taking the paper with obvious hesitation. She unfolded it. Her eyes darted back and forth as she read. She looked up at him briefly before flipping if over and reading the rest.
“This is a long list,” she said, turning it over again.
“There’s a lot of work to be done.”
He wasn’t asking so much of her out of spite or orneriness. Life in Wyoming required preparation against the long, bitter winters. He’d done the work by himself for years but never managed to get to it all. Part of the reason he’d sent for a wife was to help him with these things.
“Some of these I’ve never done before.” She looked at him over the paper. “Sealing up drafts around the windows? I don’t know how to do that. I probably can’t even reach all of the windows.”
“I’ll show you how. And you can use the ladder if you need it.”
Mirabelle swallowed audibly. “I don’t care for heights.”
He’d sorted out that much during her battle with the splinter.
“I’ll see to the drafts if need be, but you’ll have to sort out the rest. I simply haven’t time enough, but it has to be done.
Life here is unforgiving. That’s why I needed a wife.
I’ll do my work and you do yours. That arrangement will mean we’ll survive the coming winter. ”
She looked over the list again. “Is there a preferred order in which these ought to be finished?”
“The heavier snows will keep us from town,” he said. “So start with inventorying the food and supplies.”
“I’ll begin today.” Mirabelle nodded firmly.
With that, she walked out of the barn, taking the empty plate with her.
I’ll begin today. She wasn’t going to complain or insist on doing things her way without regard to his thoughts on the matter.
He’d debated for years whether or not to send for a wife.
They’d employed a good number of maids over the past years, but none stayed long.
An unwed woman in the wilds of Wyoming was generally snatched up in a matter of weeks, months at the most.
He needed someone who wasn’t simply going to turn around and leave, but he didn’t want the complications usually associated with courtship and marriage.
This was going to work. This was going to work just fine.