Stephen’s Bride by Callie Hutton Page B

stuck his foot into the opening. If she pushed hard enough she might break his foot, but even with the hatred she felt for the man, she couldn’t bring herself to cause him harm.
    “Ma’am, with all due respect, we have reason to believe Mr. McCoy has been absent from home for weeks now.” Mr. Traynor looked down his bespectacled nose at her.
    Had they been watching the house? This was all very strange. First the insistence on a marriage between her and Rupert, then the bank’s threat to take her farm, the missing receipts, them watching her house. What was going on?
    She raised her chin and adopted her haughtiest demeanor. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, but I will remind you that this farm is in my name, so there is no need to hunt down my husband.”
    “Pardon me, Calliope, Mr. Traynor and I are just concerned that you don’t understand that your farm is about to be taken from you.” Rupert assumed a very unlike-him helpful expression. “I’m here with Mr. Traynor to once again offer to purchase your farm with enough money to cover the unpaid mortgage and leave you a little something in order to re-settle.”
    Once again her hackles were raised by his insistence on taking her farm. “I have no intention of letting anyone take my farm from me. You seem to forget that my payments are up-to-date.”
    Mr. Traynor coughed and looked at Rupert. “Ah, yes. So you claim. Have you found the receipt, Mrs. McCoy?”
    She fumbled for a moment to gather her thoughts. “I’m afraid with all I have to do there hasn’t been time to look for it.”
    Nothing would feel better at this point than to slap the smirk off Rupert’s face. If she had any doubts before, she knew now he had something to do with the missing receipts. “Since I have so much to do, I must insist you leave so I can tend to my chores.”
    A flash of something—anger?—flickered across Rupert’s face and was quickly gone to be replaced with his ‘I’m-only-looking-out-for-you’ expression. “Have it your way, Calliope. This could very well be my last offer to help you out. Once the bank takes your farm, you won’t get anything.”
    “I’ll remember that.” She looked pointedly at his foot, which he removed and she closed the door.
    She covered her face with her hands and leaned against the door.
    What am I going to do?
    Later that night she dragged herself back into the house covered with sweat and dirt from the heat and wind. Bertha was once again gone, and with the way her aged mother was feeling, she might not return at all. Faced with the chore of heating water by herself for a bath and fixing something for supper, she opted instead to sit on the sofa and stare into nothingness.
    She crossed her arms over the arm of the sofa and lay her head down. Within minutes tears dripped from her eyes until she was sobbing for all the things wrong in her life. She’d driven her husband away, was about to lose the farm, had no one to turn to, and she was so tired it would be an effort to even haul herself from the parlor to make her way to her bedroom and collapse fully clothed on the bed.
     
    Apparently she’d cried herself to sleep because she awoke to total darkness, having no idea what time it was or how long she’d slept. Her head ached and her muscles were sore. She raised her head and sniffed the air. Fear gripped her stomach as she realized she smelled smoke.
    Had Rupert decided to burn the house down to get his way?
    Still fuzzy from sleep, she quietly stood and realized someone had covered her with the woolen blanket she kept on the rocking chair. Confused, she glanced toward the kitchen where light from the oil lamp drew her. Tip-toeing across the room, she reached the doorway and sucked in a breath.
    Stephen stood in her kitchen, his back to her as he stirred something on the stove. She shook her head to clear it, sure she was imagining things. She was chilly, thinking she should have brought the blanket with her. How she