Page 30 of Mail-Order Bride Runaway
A bolt of protest filled his chest. “How are you responsible for the way Mr. Hartman acts? Seems to me that’s his responsibility. His choice. Reminds me of something my pa used to say a lot. ‘A man owns his actions.’ He’d never let us blame someone else for what happened. In the same way, we shouldn’t assume guilt for what another does.” He congratulated himself when her hand grew soft and relaxed beneath his.
“You’re right. But silly me, I thought all men out west were noble. I won’t believe it so readily again.” Then, as if she’d realized that she might be painting him with the same brush as she did Mr. Hartman, she smiled. “I thought they’d all be like you.”
“In what way?” He retained her hand and held her gaze.
She met his look boldly. “Noble, like I said. Kind. Helpful.”
The color in her cheeks brightened and she lowered her eyes and made a tiny attempt to pull her hand from his but when he kept his grip, she readily enough stopped trying. Or so he told himself. Another thought followed immediately on the heels of that. Why did it matter so much to him?
For two reasons, he told himself. First, she was legally his wife—a Shannon now—and his family was close and caring. The name alone promised protection. Secondly, he’d rescued her not once but twice. He meant to see that she got home safely after all that. It was like the time he pulled a young calf from a mud hole. By the time he got the animal from the bog, both he and the little critter were about done in. He’d flopped on the grass to catch his breath but only for a moment. Then he was on his feet, wiping muck off the calf, rubbing it to get it warm. Over and over, he’d muttered that he hadn’t gone to all that work only for the thing to die at his feet. He grinned, thinking Della might not care to be compared to a mud-covered, bawling calf.
She checked their back trail, released a gust of air, and sat back on the seat. “Are you embarrassed, or maybe offended that I offered my opinion about you?”
Hearing the uncertainty in her voice he realized with regret that he had not responded to her comment. At least not aloud.
“Not at all. I wish Pa could hear what you said.”
“I’m glad my father can’t see me right now.” Her words were almost lost in the wind.
“Why?” Surely the man would realize that becoming a Shannon was something to be desired.
“I told you he was a preacher. He did not care for people using God’s institutions for their own gain.”
Andy considered her words. “You’re referring to our marriage?”
She nodded, her eyes clouded with misery.
“Did your father not make allowances for emergencies? Situations that are fraught with danger?” He didn’t wait for her to answer as he thought of a scripture—something she wouldn’t argue with. “Remember how David ate the shewbread that was forbidden to him, and Jesus didn’t condemn him for it? I think God wouldn’t condemn us for doing what we did in this situation.”
“You believe that? You’re not saying it just to make me feel better?”
He felt the hunger and longing in her words clear down to his toes. Despite the courage she’d shown in coming west, in fleeing from Mr. Hartman, and in so many other things, she revealed a deep need. One he wished he could satisfy.
“I don’t say things without meaning them.” This was a fact drilled into him by both his parents. Except he’d just promised before God…
That was different.
Della’s eyes held his, searching deep, seeking out any untruth in his words. He knew the instant she believed him. The blue in her eyes brightened as if a sun had dawned behind them. And she smiled.
“My father would like you.” Wild roses bloomed in her cheeks, and she turned away.
He sat up straighter feeling more than a little pleased with himself.
For the space of five minutes, they were silent. The road rolled on ahead of them. Dust billowed up from the wheels but was, thankfully, driven in their wake by the hot wind. The smell of smoke lingered in his nostrils, but a study of the horizon assured him there were no fires that he could see. The odor was from the recent blaze down the railway tracks.
“So, you have twin brothers? Can you tell them apart?”
He chuckled. “Luke and Matthew. They aren’t the least alike in looks or personality. Luke sees the humor in everything but Matt’s more serious. But don’t do anything to offend either one or you’ll be dealing with both of them.”
“It sounds like you’ve had experience. Tell me about it.”
He hooted derisively. “I’ve had lots of what you’d call learning opportunities.” He saw the comment forming in her mind. “It’s not that I’m a slow learner exactly. Sometimes it’s a good way of diverting attention off something else.”
Her crooked grin made his own smile widen. “Am I to guess there was often something you wanted to divert attention from?”
The shrug he gave likely informed her she was at least partially correct in her assumption. “Like the time Riley didn’t close a gate good enough and the horses got out. It was a big job getting them corralled again. I knew it was his fault but when the twins began to complain about him, I got to feeling sorry for Riley and suggested maybe Luke had been the one. I said I’d seen him over there before the horses ran out. Luke said I was dead wrong. I had seen him, but I knew it wasn’t him. All the same, I let him think it might have been. Matt immediately jumped to his defense. Said he knew it couldn’t be Luke. The two of them marched away, their arms across each others’ shoulders.”
“That sounds nice. I always wondered what it would be like to have a brother or sister. By the way, who is Riley?”
