Chapter Seven
The rooster crowed as the first light of dawn crept through the windows. Seth yawned as he sat up in bed, feather pillows soaked in sweat. It had been a long night of tossing and turning, and he was beyond tired as he wiped the crust from the corner of his eyes.
He wasn’t sure why it was, but he had barely gotten any sleep since Annabelle had moved in. Mornings came early on the ranch, and when he didn’t get sleep, they were even harder.
Groaning, he swung his legs over the side of his bed and stood.
The ache in his back was throbbing stubbornly.
He bent back, doing his best to stretch out the kinks, and then began rummaging for his clothes.
The old wood floors groaned beneath his feet as he pulled on his boots and shrugged into a flannel shirt.
He also wasn’t used to being completely dressed first thing in the morning, but he had to be now. A woman was living with him, after all. And he didn’t want to admit it, but not only did he want to be dressed, he wanted to be dressed decently, with his hair brushed.
It didn’t make sense. He had work to do, but still, he didn’t want to look terrible in front of a woman. Especially one as beautiful as Annabelle—no matter how much she frustrated him.
He went downstairs and made a pot of coffee. When it was done, he went out onto the porch, steaming cup of coffee in hand, and stared out the horizon like he did every morning, reveling at the painting God had given him. This morning, it was hues of orange and gold. He smiled.
The crisp air hit his face with the faint smell of hay and soil being carried with it.
“That’s it…” he mumbled. The barn was waiting.
He finished his coffee and headed over. “Mornin’, girls,” said he called to the cows as he grabbed the metal bucket between the first and second stall. “Let’s get y’all taken care of.”
He set to work milking. There was a rhythm to it, and he’d found it every morning for years… until today. There wasn’t much room for rhythm when something else was occupying most of his thoughts.
Annabelle.
She sure was pretty. Too bad she’s a pain in the rear.
She’d been argumentative from the first day she’d arrived.
She didn’t seem to be agreeable at all, and she didn’t trust anyone.
Why? She rode horses like a man, she didn’t like to cooperate, and she didn’t act like a lady whatsoever.
She was the most inconvenient woman anyone could have possibly paired for him.
Not that he wanted a woman at all.
He shook his head, trying to stay on task. The chickens clucked impatiently, ready to eat, and he chuckled, knowing that they weren’t the only ones ready to eat. “Alright, alright…”
He finished the milk, still chuckling, thankful for the reminder. There was still water to haul, troughs to fill, and fences to inspect. There were plenty of chores left to keep him busy and keep his mind off her.
***
By the time he finished that morning’s chores, he was covered in sweat and his stomach rumbled with pure hunger.
Wiping his brow with the back of his hand, he headed for the house.
The prospect of a warm breakfast that only a woman could make carried him easily through the creaking door, but the sight that greeted him brought him up short.
Annabelle was standing at the kitchen sink . She glanced sharply over her shoulder as he walked in, and he saw that she had a furrowed brow.
She had tied her hair back with a strip of cloth, a cloth that looked very similar to a shirt he owned.
Loose strands of hair fell into her face as she scrubbed furiously at another shirt of his.
A pile of laundry sat in a wooden washtub at her feet, so full of water that it was dripping over the sides.
She didn’t look much like housewife material to Seth.
“You’re gonna wear a hole clean through it if you keep that up,” he remarked tiredly, leaning in the doorway.
He was trying to keep his tone light, attempting a gentle correction—an olive branch effort, so she would feel a bit more comfortable.
But when she snapped her head up and tossed her gaze over her shoulder, her eyes were narrowed into slits.
“I know what I’m doing,” she snapped tightly, turning back to her work.
Seth crossed his arms, a little taken aback and a lot irritated.
All she seemed to want to do was laundry and cleaning.
She hadn’t touched a crumb of food to prepare or helped with any of the ranch work—not that he really expected her to, but laundry was one of the least of his worries. He wasn’t a messy man like other men.
He tried again. “I’m not sayin’ you don’t.
But if you use too much lye soap, it’ll stiffen up the fabric.
You might want to cut it with a little more water and take a break from washin’ the clothes.
Other chores need to be done.” Annabelle froze, hands still submerged in the soapy water.
Slowly, she turned to face him, her jaw set, fair complexion growing crimson.
“Why don’t you just go back outside where you belong and let me handle this?
” she growled. “I’ve been doing laundry since I was a kid. I don’t need your advice.”
Seth scowled. “I was just tryin’ to help,” he seethed through gritted teeth. “And now I’m getting’ a little tired of your attitude.”
“Help?” she repeated, her voice becoming loud and shrill. “You think I’m not trying hard enough? You think I don’t know how to take care of a house?”
Seth narrowed his eyes at her. Is she losing her mind? “That’s not what I meant! It’s just… things are different here at the ranch. And laundry ain’t the only thing that needs to get done. Do you need me to show you how to fry up an egg?”
“Different,” Annabelle scoffed suddenly, shaking her head.
“Everything here is different. The house, the ranch, the… the animals, sure, that’s different than being in any city or town.
But the way you talk to me is the biggest difference compared to anything I have ever been through.
” Her voice cracked on the last word, and she turned away, gripping the edge of the sink.
“What in tarnation is that supposed to mean?” Seth demanded, glaring at her defensively. “I’ve done nothing but accommodate you since you got here, and now you’re upset about how I talk to you? I’m hungry, woman, and you’ve not helped me at all! What kind of thanks is that?”
“Thanks?” Annabelle rounded on him with a yell, venom dripping from her voice. “Thank you for what, exactly?”
“For making you a wife when you shouldn’t be one!” Seth bit back, his hunger finally winning over. He was getting angrier than a hornet whose nest had just been stomped on.
In fact, that was exactly how he felt. Like his home had been invaded by the enemy.
Annabelle eyed him angrily, but it gave him pause, just for a moment.
There was something almost haunted about her look.
Part of him wanted to say something—to reassure her, to make things right—but the words caught in his throat, because the other part of him wanted to stomp and yell and tell her to go on back to town.
But they were married now. He had to suck it up.
How in the world did I ever let Henry convince me to do this?
And the worst part was that no matter how mad he was, he still couldn’t quite bring himself to cut her out.
Not completely… not yet. He was angry, yes, and annoyed—but he was curious about her.
Why did she want a husband in the first place if she was as unagreeable as s this? And why in the world was she this unagreeable in the first place?
Gritting his teeth firmly, he nodded. There was no breakfast or lunch in that kitchen for him, so instead of staying and continuing to yell at her, he turned on his heel, muttering under his breath. Nothing coherent, but enough so that he hoped Annabelle could sense just how mad he was.
He slammed the front door shut behind him as he made his way, fuming, across the old porch and down the steps into the yard. The sun was higher now, getting closer to midmorning, and his stomach still gurgled with hunger from no breakfast.
He made his way back to the barn, boots crunching against the dirt, and picked up a pitchfork. “Women…” he growled as he began mucking out stalls, hoping the physical labor would be a welcome distraction from the knot in his chest and fire in the pit of his stomach.
This wasn’t how he’d imagined things. When he’d married Annabelle, he’d hoped they’d find some common ground together, and maybe—like Jack and Henry with their wives—they would just fall into place.
Part of him knew better, but he’d had some hope that if he was actually committing to a marriage, even despite his better judgement, that they would at least be a little better together than they were.
But every day seemed harder than the last. He wasn’t used to someone else in his space, and what good was she if she couldn’t even fry up an egg or make a cup of coffee?
Maybe she had an easy life back home. Seth thrust the pitchfork into the straw, frustrated. Maybe he’d been too harsh. Maybe he should’ve let her figure things out on her own instead of stepping in. But then, wasn’t it his job to teach her? To show her how things worked out here?
The horses shifted in their stalls, as if they sensed his agitation.
They probably did. Suzanna and Skip certainly could.
Those two horses were kindred spirits, and they knew him well.
Seth paused as he leaned on top of the pitchfork and took a deep breath.
The smell of hay and manure grounded him, reminded him of the life he’d chosen.
Ranch life.
The life he’d brought a new wife into.
Part of him felt guilty. When Annabelle had decided to be a mail-order bride, did she intend to live on a ranch? Or had she wanted to be a city girl? What if she hadn’t chosen this life?