Chapter Four
They arrived in front of the cabin. After dismounting, Dean led the horses to a barn connected to a fenced pasture and untacked them.
Lydia looked around at what would be her new home. The exterior of the cabin, fashioned from rough-hewn logs, was weathered and aged by exposure to the elements. A blanket of snow covered the meadow surrounding it. When she reached out to touch the metal doorknob, it was cold as ice and clung to her fingers briefly.
“Welcome home,” Dean said, approaching the door. He shoved it open. Its iron hinges creaked as it opened to reveal a spacious interior. The log walls bore the scars of their journey from forest to homestead. Soft light filtered through the windows, casting shadows across the worn wooden floor, dotted with blue and yellow rugs.
In one corner of the cabin, a small kitchen area boasted a cast-iron stove with a blackened surface, bearing testament to meals cooked over open flames. Shelves were lined with jars of preserved fruits and vegetables, which must have been harvested and canned during summer days.
Impressed, Lydia asked, “Did you do all that preserving and canning?”
“No. I bought them from some of the miners’ wives in advance of your arrival. I don’t have much time for the kitchen. My work keeps me busy enough.” He waved his hand toward a crudely built wooden desk covered with paper and pencils.
“Is that where you invented the girder?” Lydia asked.
“Well, yes and no. It’s where I drew it. I came up with it while working the mines.”
Lydia looked at the sleeping alcove occupying another corner, its simple bed adorned with patchwork quilts.
“This is a nice place you have, Dean. It’s small, but it’s like a woman lives here already. You have canned goods, quilts, and rugs. The floor is clean and there’s no dust on the surfaces. Don’t tell me you hired a miner’s wife to come make it so inviting for me?”
Dean smiled, but there was little humor in his eyes. “I can’t take credit for the quilts or rugs. I bought them from the mercantile. But I know how to push a broom around.”
Lydia felt much more exuberant than she was letting on. So far, everything was as well or better than what she’d imagined. Dean was handsomer than she could have dreamed and the cabin was lovely, but why didn’t Dean seem more excited about her being there? She wished she could read his mind.
Her stomach growled again. With Dean’s permission, she lit the fire of the stove and began cooking, using the canned goods at her disposal. She spoke merrily of her adventures traveling as she did, while Dean watched her from the sofa and said little in response.
He was silent throughout the meal as well, but she was so hungry that she was happy to forego conversation in favor of nourishment. Once they finished eating, she washed the dishes while he returned to the sofa and smoked a pipe, filling the room with the scent of tobacco and cloves.
She wiped down the counters, then removed her boots and set them next to his by the door. She joined him on the sofa and leaned back, noticing how weary she was for the first time. Her body ached while at rest in a way it hadn’t while moving.
He drew from his pipe slowly, then said, “Snow’s really coming down now. We made it back just in time.”
She looked out the window at what appeared to be a white sheet. Though it was not yet dark, she couldn’t see anything past the snow.
“We’ll be trapped here if it keeps going at this rate,” he said. “But we have all we need to hole up for days. Plenty of firewood, plenty of food.”
“It’s good we made it home before the worst of the storm. I wanted to eat at the restaurant in town and have our marriage ceremony first, but you made the right decision leaving right away.”
“I’m glad you feel that way. I’m also glad to hear you call it home. Do you feel you can live here comfortably?”
It was the first time he’d asked her a question about her feelings, and she jumped at the chance to share them. “Oh, yes. I’ll be very happy here with you.” She searched his face, which remained unchanged in its serious expression. She had the sudden desire to shake him, to tell him to act happier and more excited about the beginning of their life together!
He set his pipe down on the table beside the sofa and stood. “I should pump water to the horses before it gets dark. I’ll be back shortly.”
She stifled her disappointment, having hoped for more in the way of conversation with him. She told herself there would be plenty of time for that and watched as he walked to the door, sat on a stool beside it, and proceeded to pull up his boots.
As he stood and pivoted to the door, Lydia saw a flash of feathered fringe on his black boots that swayed in the movement.
Recognition hit her immediately. Her jaw dropped and her mouth turned dry. She realized then why his voice had sounded familiar to her, why she felt she’d already met him when she saw him at the station.
All she could hear was the hammering in her heart and blood rushing through her ears. She knew without a doubt that Dean Hunter was the bandit who had stolen her belongings and brought terror to her soul. He was not her protector. He was not the answer to her prayers. He was not her dream come true. He was her worst nightmare, another man who had pretended to be someone he wasn’t, another man who had lied and stolen from her—and now she was stuck with him.