“What is it, Abigail, for heaven’s sake—”

“I have something I’d like to tell you both. I’ll be leaving. I’ve decided to get married again.”

CHAPTER THREE

IT WOULD HAVE MADE more sense to fly. A thousand miles on a Greyhound bus? Nearly five months pregnant...?

But she’d wanted to see the country. She’d wanted to see the geography change over the course of the two-day trip, from the farming country where she’d been born and raised, through the badlands, into North Dakota, more farming country, mixed forest, wide shallow rivers that fed into the Missouri and the Mississippi and the Great Lakes and then the long, lonely miles to Rugby, North Dakota, which they went through at night. Abby could barely make out the marker in the center of town, but she knew the words on the brass plate: Rugby, N.D., Geographical Center of North America.

From there it was north to the border crossing into Canada at Portal, Manitoba, through the Turtle Mountain country, past Melitta and Brandon and into the gray, windy city of Winnipeg, still leafless in mid-April, its broad streets dusty and littered with grime and debris left behind when the snow melted.

There, in the busy downtown station, she transferred to a Greyhound heading west after a delay of a few hours. She spent the time walking up and down the unfamiliar streets. She sent postcards home to her family, buying the stamps in a drugstore, and bought a paperback novel to read in case she got bored on the long trip west.

Regina. Calgary. Vancouver. The bus was bound for the Pacific Coast. They passed through town after town with unfamiliar names. But except for the occasional rest stop and lunch break, during which Abby got out to stretch her legs, coat drawn close against the chill of the wind, Abby kept her nose pressed to the glass. The paperback novel remained in her bag.

There were so many miles between her old home and her new home. When she allowed herself to think about the life she was entering, she felt her hands grow clammy and her heart pound. Marrying a man she barely knew! She had to be crazy. A man she’d only slept with, and just two nights at that. A man, truth to tell, she wasn’t sure she could even pick out of a crowd. At the same time, she was thrilled to her bones. She’d never done anything so impulsive. Not even marrying Frank six months after they’d met.

Jesse had been surprised when she’d called, the evening after she’d spoken to her parents. He’d looked forward to her call, he’d said, and his voice quickly became reassuring. She could tell he hadn’t really looked forward to it. But he’d seemed pleased, perhaps even relieved, when she told him she’d decided to take him up on his offer, after all, if he was still willing. She gave him no reasons; he didn’t ask for any.

Her mind was made up. After the conversation with her parents, there was no going back. She’d made it clear that she was pleased about her sudden pregnancy and that she was happy to be marrying the father of her baby. She made it sound almost as though that had been her plan all along. When they protested, saying Frank had only been dead two years, Abby had hesitated, struck deeply by the ongoing sadness she carried with her since her young husband’s death. It was true; she missed Frank horribly. She’d never slept with another man, just him and Jesse Winslow.

But she lied; she told her parents it was time for her to move on. That Frank was dead, and there was no bringing him back. That time healed all wounds of the heart—wasn’t that what they’d told her?—and hers had healed, too. That she wasn’t getting any younger and her hopes of marrying again and having children were slight at best if she stayed in Wicoigon. Now, with this chance pregnancy, her decision had more or less been made for her.

She’d handed in her notice to the school board, sold many of the possessions she’d stored at her sister’s place, including most of the baby clothes she’d bought for her first baby, which broke her heart. She kept a few tiny sleepers and one special blanket, wanting, somehow, to maintain a connection between her babies, no matter how tenuous. Thank heavens the doctor had thought there was only one baby on the way, after all, at her last visit. He’d told her to see a doctor, though, and have an ultrasound as soon as she got to Canada. Until she had the ultrasound, she wouldn’t know for sure.

Then she’d cleaned out her savings accounts and bought her bus ticket. One way.

She’d turned down Jesse’s offer to send plane fare. She was a full partner going into this marriage, not some little bit of a thing who needed rescuing from illegitimate pregnancy. She’d meant it when she’d said she was prepared to raise their child alone. That she’d only contacted him because she thought he had a right to know, as any man would.

She still had that option, she supposed, if it didn’t work out with Jesse. She had her teacher training. She had some savings. No matter how she tried to replay matters in her head now that she’d left her home behind, she knew she’d burned most of her bridges in Wicoigon when she’d blurted out to her parents that, like the Stovik girl, she, too, was single and expecting. Worse, in the eyes of the town—she was a pregnant widow. And she hadn’t hidden the fact that the man who’d fathered her child was a man she barely knew, a fellow exhibitor she’d met at the Carlisle Stock Show. Abby hadn’t regretted telling them; they’d know soon enough, anyway, and it wasn’t fair leaving her sister with the burden of the entire story.

Her parents had been horrified. She sensed their relief when she said she’d be moving to Canada, thousands of miles away. That had hurt, really hurt. Abby knew it would be a long time before she could go home again.

HER BUS CAME IN to the Calgary depot at seven o’clock. He knew, not because Jesse had told him, but because he’d called to find out himself. The hour and a half from seven to half past eight was the longest Noah had ever sat through. If her bus was on time, if they hadn’t stopped anywhere, they should be driving up to the ranch any minute now.

He didn’t know why he felt the way he did about Jesse’s marriage to this unknown American from South Dakota. He couldn’t stop thinking about it. It wasn’t that he was worried, or checking up on his brother, exactly, when he’d called the bus station. Jesse had appeared at his door just before he’d left for Calgary, all freshly showered and shaved, wearing a new shirt.

“Wish me luck,” he’d said. He looked like a man in love. Almost.

Noah didn’t fool himself that Jesse was in love. Jesse was an impulsive, warmhearted, generous man, and no doubt he’d be in love soon enough. Noah cherished no romantic notions about women himself. One was quite a lot like another, as far as he was concerned. If a woman was healthy and clean and moderately pretty, had a sense of humor... well, if you had to, you could probably talk yourself into calling it love.

If Jesse could only bend his mind around being tied down and a family man. That was the key. Maybe that was the part Noah was having such a hard time with—it just wasn’t like his brother to embrace responsibility quite so enthusiastically.

Of course, he hadn’t met this Abby Steen. Maybe she was the type any man would welcome, pregnant or not. Maybe she was an incredibly sexy, energetic, passionate, unrestrained woman any man would be happy to have in his bed, any time.

Plus, he thought idly, a good cook.

Noah reflected. Did he know anyone like that? Nope. He sighed, and cracked the top on his can of beer, his second. He was sitting on the darkened veranda and just about to go in because the mosquitoes had finally found him when he saw the lights of Jesse’s pickup coming slowly down the long grade that led to the ranch. He glanced at his watch. Nearly nine. His collie dog jumped up and barked twice, as she always did when she heard Jesse’s truck. Jesse’s stray howled in the distance. This was the wild dog his brother had found a year before at the side of the highway, injured, and had befriended and half-tamed. No one else on the ranch could get near it. Champ, Jesse called the animal, although he and Carl never called it anything but Jesse’s stray.