Dragon of the Prairie (Exiled Dragons Book 13) Page 2

  “Yes. I think we should,” she replied.

  She followed him from room to room so that she was familiar with the place. Each was just as dire as the last, but she said nothing. He, too, was quiet, other than providing any necessary information such as the locations of items she might need in each room. She felt a growing sense of despair already. Her room in New York had been small, but it had been clean and well-furnished by its owner. She had been able to afford new comforts here and there. There had also been pretty cushions made from fine fabric she could ill afford, but was able to piece together from scraps left over from customers’ garments. Of course, they had been too bulky for the trip and she had gifted them to Shelley before her departure.

  When the tour was done, they went downstairs to the kitchen. Margaret noted that it was also sparse, but unlike the other rooms, it was much cleaner. Either Angus actually cooked or some other woman had been doing so for him. She found that she felt a tiny bit of jealousy at the thought and considered how misplaced that feeling was when she barely knew this man. He told her to sit at the table while he sat a nearby kettle onto the wood burning stove. Within moments, it was whistling with steam so that he could pour them two cups of hot tea.

  “This place must be horrible to you,” he said, looking her in the eye and speaking softly.

  “I am just not accustomed to being on a working farm,” she replied.

  “I know. You said as much in your letters. I have to be honest that I was concerned you might run away when you saw this place. You still might. Ordinarily, I would have selected a bride that was familiar with a farm and built for one,” he said.

  It had not escaped Margaret’s notice that he had gazed over her form several times since her arrival, but not in a lecherous way. He had said nothing, but his expression said he was displeased. Most men were more than happy if she were to show them any amount of attention, as they found her to have both a pleasant figure and a pleasant face. Angus McCord didn’t seem to share that affinity for her body, a slender figure eight that she was usually proud to have, but not currently.

  “Why didn’t you?” she asked.

  “I don’t know. Your letters. There was just something about you that drew me in. I think that you and I will be a good match for marriage. I can teach you about farming and you can teach me about some of the finer things in life. Hardly a fair trade, I know.” He smiled.

  “This house is horribly dirty and rundown,” she said.

  She immediately regretted it upon seeing his expression fall. He had been smiling at her amicably and now, his eyes were cast downward at the floor. She had made him feel bad and that, made her feel horrible.

  “I know. I’ve had the farm to myself for a while. Crops went bad and I had to let my farm hands go, so I’ve had it all to myself this year. I couldn’t get everything done alone and I couldn’t afford to pay anyone to help me,” he said.

  “So, you thought you would get a mail order bride to do the work for free?” she said, being forthright with her thoughts, despite her momentary empathy.

  “No. Well, yes. I did think that. I thought that we could help each other. You said you wanted to come out west to live and I needed someone to help take care of this place. It seemed like a fair trade,” he admitted.

  Margaret considered this for a moment. Perhaps he didn’t realize the full extent of the favor he was doing her with this arrangement, but it was still an agreement she had made with him for mutual benefit. The alternative was to try to make it on her own, a single woman in a man’s land. There were women who were capable of such a thing, but she wasn’t sure she possessed the skills that were needed for such. He seemed nice enough and he was honest, much more honest that she was with him. She sighed deeply before speaking again, “I can understand that. It is just so much work, it seems.”

  “You don’t have to get anything done overnight. We can work on the house as we are able. I don’t expect you to do everything. Also, with you helping me in the fields, it will cut the work down for me there and we can work on the house together. I expect us to get this place back in shape together, as man and wife,” he told her earnestly.

  “Okay, Angus. We will see what we can do then,” she replied.

  The chores still seemed unsurmountable, but it was just something she would have to tackle with a resolve to get it done. If this was going to work, it was definitely something that would take the dedication of both of them. She made a decision that she would do her best to make this more than merely bearable. Who knew, perhaps she might find that she liked it here someday.

  “That is all I am asking. Would you like some dinner?” he asked. “I made some ham and biscuits earlier.”

  “You cooked them?” Margaret asked with a smile. She had never known a man to cook.

  “Yes. I have had to fend for myself out here. Most of the time I just grab some vegetables and jerky, but I decided that you might be hungry when you got here, so I cooked a little bit,” he said bashfully.

  “You are a man after my own heart, Angus McCord,” Margaret said.

  “I think you might just be the one to take it,” he replied.

  They sat looking at one another for a moment. Angus finally broke the spell between them by getting up to retrieve the food and bringing it to the table. She watched as he unwrapped it from the towel in which he had it stored and set it between them.

  “Those are the most perfect biscuits I’ve ever seen!” she exclaimed.

  “Just wait until you taste them,” he said.

  “It’s funny. Until I came here, I had never seen biscuits like these. You know, in London, our biscuits are different – more like hard cookies than these.”

  “Same here. I had never seen them, much less made them on my own.”

  “I didn’t realize when we were writing that you weren’t American,” she admitted. “You never mentioned that you weren’t from here.”

  “I am American. Well, at least I am now. I came here from the Mourne Mountains in Ireland.”

  “How does an Irishman end up on a farm in America?”

  “Same way a London socialite ends up on one, I suppose. I left Ireland to make a new life for myself.”

  “You didn’t enjoy living in Ireland?”

  “It’s a long story. One I might tell you someday, but I think that perhaps we should just leave both of our stories in the dust where they’ve come to dwell for now. Don’t you?”

  “Yes. I suppose that might be best.”

  The conversation moved on to less personal details and things between them immediately settled into comfortable conversation as they ate. Margaret found Angus to be very intelligent and light-hearted, though there was a distinct air of being put upon about him. There was something that told her Angus wasn’t really keen on this farm, either, but was determined to make it work. It made her want to help him accomplish that rather than worrying about the work that was to be done.

  “These biscuits are delicious, Angus. I am not sure I can do you justice as a cook if everything you make is this good,” Margaret told him as she finished not one, but two of them. She hadn’t eaten most of the day and was starving, so they really were divine.

  “I’ll give you my recipe,” he said with a smile as he stood. “I’ll clean up here. You can get up to your room and settle in. Tomorrow is a big day for us.”

  “Thank you, Angus. I will see you in the morning then,” she told him before excusing herself from the table.

  “Oh, Margaret?” he called to her as she was halfway up the steps.

  “Yes, Angus?” she replied, finding that she was already feeling little flutters of butterflies in her stomach for her soon-to-be husband despite how little she knew of him.

  “Don’t ever tell anyone I like to cook. I’ll be ruined.” He laughed.

  “It will be our secret,” Margaret replied before turning around to resume her climb up the stairs. She felt a pang of guilt at the mention of secrets. She had a huge one, but she wasn�
�t ready to tell him just yet. Soon, she promised herself, soon.

  Chapter Two

  The following morning started off with a bang, literally. Margaret awoke to shots being fired well before the sun had even risen outside. She jumped up and ran downstairs to see what was happening. The front door stood open and she could hear Angus outside muttering loudly to himself.

  “Angus?” she called from the door, looking around to see if there appeared to be any danger.

  “I’m sorry, Margaret. Coyotes,” he replied.

  “Coyotes? What were they doing?” she asked struggling to see what lay at his feet in the near darkness.

  “They chased a dog up here. I found them fighting on the porch when I came down this morning,” he said.

  “Is it dead?” she asked, always having had a soft side for animals.

  “No, not yet. I was just about to shoot it when you came out,” he replied.

  “Shoot it? Don’t you dare, Angus!” she shrieked, suddenly out the door and crouched down beside him to look at the dog. It was hurt badly, but nothing looked like something that couldn’t be healed with some time. It wasn’t really even a dog, more like an overgrown puppy that couldn’t have been more than six months old.

  “It’s hurting, Margaret and I don’t have time to tend to it,” he told her.

  “I’ll tend to it,” she replied, stroking its muzzle to soothe it’s whimpering.

  “You don’t have time to tend to it, either,” he said, sounding a little cross with the idea of her wasting time on a gimpy dog.

  “I’ll make time, Angus. Please? Give him a chance,” she replied, looking up into his handsome face. Angus studied her own for a moment. He seemed to notice, for the first time, that she was in her nightclothes and shifted his gaze.

  “Okay, Margaret, but he can’t be any trouble. We have enough on our hands here,” he replied.

  “Thank you, Angus!” she said excitedly, forgetting herself and leaping forward to hug him. It was then that she remembered she was in her nightclothes and stepped back, turning her attention back to the dog. “What shall we name him?”

  “I’ll let you choose. He’s your dog now,” he said, shaking his head and reaching down to lift the dog up in his arms. “We’ll put him in the house until morning or they may come back to finish him off. There are some old blankets in that empty room across from yours. Run grab one and we’ll make him a bed in the front room.”

  Margaret hurried to find one and brought it in, watching as Angus lay the dog on it. He really was chewed up pretty badly. She went to the kitchen and fetched some water and looked around for some sort of old cloth, but couldn’t find one. Returning to the dog, she found Angus kneeling by him, stroking his muzzle and it made her smile.

  “Angus, I need an old cloth of some sort to clean his wounds,” she told him.

  “Are you wearing a pair of my long johns?” he asked unexpectedly, taking note of how they stuck out from the arms and legs of her gown, she supposed. She blushed.

  “Yes, it was a bit chilly last night and I borrowed them from your wardrobe. I hope you don’t mind,” she said.

  “No, of course not. They are a bit big for you and still look much better than they do on me,” he replied.

  Now, both of them blushed with embarrassment and then laughed a little. She watched as Angus pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to her. Dipping it into the bowl of water she had brought, she began cleaning the dog’s wounds.

  “I’ll start getting us some breakfast together and find something for him to eat. He looks like he hasn’t had anything in a while and will need his strength,” Angus told her, leaving for the kitchen.

  Margaret heard him adding wood to the stove to get it going and then banging around dishes. After quite a bit of work cleaning the puppy, she discovered that he seemed to only have a couple of gashes that were of any consequence. Most were very shallow and the two that weren’t would heal well enough in time. She ripped the white hem at the bottom of her night dress and made two strips to wrap around the worst of his injuries. By the time Angus returned with some scraps he had found for the poor thing, it was wagging its tail and looking less fragile already.

  “Listen, Margaret. I know you want to keep the dog, but you will have to keep a close eye on him. We have no way of knowing if those coyotes had rabies. If he heals up okay, fine and good, but if he starts showing any kind of aggression, he’ll have to be put down,” he told her quietly.

  “I understand, Angus,” she replied, taking note of the blood on his shirt where he had brought the animal in. “Take off that shirt and I’ll get the blood out of it before it sets.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said with a smile.

  Margaret waited while he removed his shirt, making sure she didn’t gawk at him in a state of partial undress. He certainly wouldn’t want to marry her if she seemed like some sort of jezebel. Of course, he might not want to marry her if he knew about the men that might come looking for her. It was something she hoped would just go away with her being so far from home. She took the shirt from him and retrieved a basin to put it in, filling it with cold water in which to soak. As she spread the shirt out in the water, she noted a ripped spot on one of the sleeves.

  “Angus, let me see your arm,” she said, suddenly alarmed.

  “It’s okay, Margaret. Just a scratch,” he replied, obviously realizing she had spotted the tear in his shirt.

  “I’d like to see, just the same,” she replied, walking toward him.

  Angus held his arm out toward her, revealing a large gash on the back of his forearm. It was still caked with dried blood and looked pretty bad. She retrieved an old cloth from a stack he had nearby, wet it in the sink and began cleaning it. It was a pretty long gash, but not too deep and it had already stopped bleeding. She looked up at him with genuine concern.

  “A coyote did this?” she asked.

  “Yes,” he replied, glancing down at her.

  “With a claw or his teeth?” she asked.

  “I’m not sure. Everything happened so fast. I heard the noise and ran out to try to get rid of them. I thought they would run when they saw me, but one of them came at me. I tried to get the gun down to shoot him, but wasn’t quick enough. He did that before I got a shot off. I gave up on trying to aim and just pulled the trigger. It scared them away,” he told her, a hint of worry creeping into his voice.

  “Looks like the dog isn’t the only one I need to watch,” she said.

  “I guess not,” he agreed.

  “We will just hope for the best then. Let me go finish the breakfast you started and you can get a fresh shirt,” she said.

  “Perhaps you should get dressed first,” he said, looking a little embarrassed.

  “Oh. Yes. I’m… of course,” she stammered, realizing how inappropriate it was for her to be running around in her night clothes when they weren’t yet wed. “I’ll bring you a shirt downstairs when I come back.”

  She could feel him watching her as she climbed the stairs. Angus McCord might be a bit rough around the edges and it might be a harder life here than she might have expected, but she still had the feeling it would be a good life and that she could find happiness here. That is, as long as any unhappiness didn’t find its way to her. The nagging thought that she should tell Angus about the men remained, but things were already going so well between them, she didn’t want to upset the apple cart.

  She quickly tossed on one of her plain dresses, foregoing the bustle, as there was no need for that here, then grabbed a clean cotton shirt for him and headed back downstairs. As an afterthought, she turned back and tore another section from her gown and took it downstairs.

  “What are you doing?’ he asked, looking over at her as she interrupted his setting out plates of food on the table by putting her hand on his arm.

  “I’m putting at least a makeshift bandage on this. If we are going out to work in the fields, I don’t want you getting an infection,” she replied, tyin
g the strip of white cotton around the open wound on his arm.

  “If I get rabies, it will be of little difference.” He smiled.

  “I would prefer if you don’t get rabies, please. I can’t have you making me a widow so soon,” she replied as she finished the bandage.

  Angus studied her. Then, it was if he realized it and forced himself to retreat, becoming more pragmatic. Margaret suspected that the last thing he had expected was to develop any affection toward her so quickly. Perhaps, like Margaret, he had thought they would merely coexist, working toward a common goal of surviving life here on this farm. Instead, there did seem to be at least a bit of chemistry between them that couldn’t be denied.

  “Sit down and let’s eat. We have a lot to do,” he replied.

  “This looks delicious,” she said, taking a seat in front of a plate of fresh eggs, a slice of bacon and a crust of warmed bread. A jar of what appeared to be apple jam sat on the table between them.

  “Enjoy it while you can. If things don’t pick up around here soon, I’m afraid we’ll be living off biscuits and the homemade jam I have stockpiled in the cellar for a lot longer than either of us would enjoy.”

  “I think I could,” she replied.

  “You say that now, but you’ll be singing a different tune after months of nothing but that.”

  “I guess we better finish our food and get to work then,” she told him.

  They settled into their breakfast, finishing it quickly before getting the dishes cleared away and dressing for their early morning wedding. It would be no frills, just a simple ceremony and then back to the farm to toil in the fields. No doubt that it was a far cry from what she had imagined for her wedding day, but it seemed that a lot of her old dreams would have to be forgotten now.

  Chapter Three

  Margaret was nervous as they stood in front of the minister at Angus’s small church a little later that morning. Angus looked like he might be, too. The two of them joined hands at the minister’s urging and repeated their vows. The entire ceremony took less than ten minutes until they were announced man and wife.