Page 65 of Smoke River Bride

Leah stared at Her husband. If she lived ten thousand years, she would never plumb the mysteries of this man. Her mind whirled with questions.

“Why Verena?”

“She’s an old friend, Leah. She may be outspoken, but Hattie always liked her.”

Hattie! An unwelcome heat flooded Leah’s cheeks. She hated to admit it, but she was jealous! Jealous not only of Hattie, but of Verena Forester. Blindingly, stupidly jealous. Suddenly ashamed, Leah felt her face flame. With an effort she kept her eyes on the mare’s thick mane.

“There’s nothing to be upset about, Leah. Verena didn’t know anything about providing a safe haven for Uncle Charlie. Then I took Charlie to the jail.”

“The jail?”

“Now, don’t get all riled up. The marshal let Charlie sleep there on a cot so he could keep an eye on him.”

Leah bit her lip. That would be just like Thad—do something unexpected and think she would understand.

Another question nagged at her. If Verena had been interested in Thad, why did he not marry her? Was it because of Teddy’s dislike? Verena would have made a fine housekeeper. Why had he sent for Leah?

She wanted reassurance from Thad that he wanted her, not Verena. Now as never before she hungered for some indication that Thad cared for her, despite his preoccupation with other things.

If Thad did not care…

But she couldn’t think about that now. Instead she pressed her lips together and resolved to keep silent.

For the moment, at least.

Chapter Twenty-One

Tuesday dawned with a sky so blue it reminded Leah of her mother’s treasured lapis lazuli necklace, a wedding gift from Father. By breakfast time, the heat in the small house felt as if a prairie fire smoldered under the plank floor.

Teddy poked listlessly at his oatmeal and Thad ate nothing at all, just sat staring out the window, nursing his mug of coffee. Leah tried to eat, but her stomach roiled with such jitters she gave it up after a single spoonful.

Today the townspeople would decide about Uncle Charlie’s bakery.

A muscle in Thad’s jaw was jumping rhythmically and she wrenched her gaze away. He was obviously troubled. For days now he had slept in the barn.

Suddenly he jerked to his feet and, without a word, strode out the front door. Leah stared after him with a sinking feeling in her stomach. Why could he not tell her what was bothering him?

Hurriedly, she washed the cups and bowls and put them on the shelf, but this morning instead of stacking the china neatly as she usually did, she shoved the pieces in any which way. Her life, she reflected, felt as disordered as her dishes.

What was happening to their marriage?

She shook the thought away, but the question stuck in her brain like a blob of pitch. She stood watching Thad out the window, striding across the pasture with his hands jammed in his pockets.

Then, with a resolute shake of her head, she brushed aside her fear, gathered up her hat and headed for the barn to saddle the mare. It was Tuesday.

Voting day.

Despite the stifling heat, Smoke River’s main street was bustling with activity. Leah tied up her mare at the hitching rail and joined the crowd of townspeople jostling each other outside the mercantile door. Thad would ride in later to vote; he and Teddy had stayed at the ranch to dribble what water they could on the sun-seared wheat stalks. But that would not be much, she thought with a stab of unease. Because of the drought, their well was going dry.

Everything was dry! Thad’s interest in her was shriveling up like the mudflat in the pasture where the pond used to be. Things could not get any worse.

But she knew they could. What if Uncle Charlie lost his bakery business? Where would he go? What if Thad never returned to her bed? What if the feeling of oneness they had once begun to share had died?

A sharp-edged pain lanced her chest and she caught her breath. What would she do then?

She took her place at the end of the long line of townspeople waiting to cast their ballots. Instantly the loud conversation around her dwindled to an awkward silence. Leah winced. They must have been talking about Uncle Charlie.

Or her.

The line edged forward a step. Behind her she heard Darla Weatherby’s high, thin voice. “I think it’s purely shameful, having a Chinaman living in Smoke River. Right out in plain sight, too. Mama and I are voting no.”

“Me, too,” said another voice—Lucy Nichols, Leah gathered from the tone. “My mama’s having palpitations whenever the word Chinese comes up.”

A claw dug into Leah’s spine. She kept her face averted.

At that moment a scowling man stomped out of the mercantile and barreled into her.

“S’cuse me, Miz MacAllister.” He jerked his head toward the mercantile as he brushed past. “Got a bad smell in there. That damned marshal’s pokin’ his nose into everything.”

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