Kit McBride Gets a Wife (The McBrides of Montana, #1)

by Amy Barry

When she got to the forge, Kit wasn’t pleased to see her. Junebug blamed his perpetual grumpiness on his place of work. It was hot in there, especially in August. And this August had been a baking one. Dry as a cow run out of milk. The forge was hotter and nastier than ever. Kit was stripped to the waist, his hair soaked through with sweat, his thick, dark eyebrows drawn together irritably. “What do you want?” He was hammering a new stove, for the new cookhouse. From the violence in his blows, Junebug guessed he wasn’t happy about it. The muscles in his arms bulged and flexed, and the clang of hammer on iron just about split Junebug’s head in two.

Maybe Kit didn’t know about womanly wiles. After all, he’d lived in the mountains his whole life, just as Junebug had. Maybe he didn’t know women laughed like falling water and that their shoulders had magic qualities.

WANTED Wife for a blacksmith. Do not expect doting, nor compliments. Must be willing to put up with judgment, nagging and unreasonable expectations. Mustn’t mind snoring, cussing or a filthy morning temper. Comes with a wealth of land. Is not too old and not too ugly, has all his own teeth. Added benefit of knowing myriad big words. Lady must have charms and know how to use them. Ability to complain in written form and bake pie essential.

Kit felt his mood easing as he headed downhill. It was cold out in the bud of morning, and fall was flushing the leaves with color. As the sun speared over the mountains, the turning leaves glowed like embers: the maples rosy at the tips, the aspens liquid yellow, the larches shimmering into vibrant lime.

flibbertigibbet

What did four men know of raising a girl? Nothing! This stunt proved it.

Upstream, she could see a log cabin, nestled in a curve of pines. It wasn’t big but it sure was sweet. It had a modest front porch large enough for a single chair, a pane-glass window next to the front door and a loft above, with a window staring straight down the stream to the trading post. Between the cabin and the trading post was a small hut, down closer to the water; blue smoke curled from a stovepipe poking through the roof. And then there was a large barn, surrounded by fenced paddocks, and a squat timber building with wide-open double doors and a fat black iron chimney. Maddy guessed that must be the smithy. Everything was splashed with golden sunshine the color of cider. Faintly, Maddy heard the sound of Merle barking happily as he chased muskrats or rabbits through the tall grass. She watched Kit McBride pull the metal milk pail from the frosty creek and lower the dipper into the milk. “You have a beautiful home,” she told him as he returned with a cup brimful of milk. He smiled. Oh, what a smile could do. His whole countenance changed, like a lamp had been turned on. His dark eyes shone, and his teeth were white as starched sheets in his black beard.

“Wait,” Maddy said sharply, when Junebug made to leave. “Don’t you dare leave me here like this alone. Anyone could walk in.” “I could put a sign up: ‘Don’t walk in’?” Junebug suggested. Lord, the girl was naive. “Sometimes people walk in even when you tell them not to,” Maddy told her. She needed some schooling in the ways of men. Men who weren’t brothers. “Huh.” Junebug was clearly pondering that. “I could give you a gun?”

“What’s going on?” Roy demanded. “What do you mean, what’s going on? He’s taking her to the campfire.” “But why are they looking at each other like that? Like they been hit on the head or something.” “You going to get those deer steaks or not? Stop yapping and start butchering or I’m uninviting you.” “You cain’t uninvite people once you’ve invited them. It ain’t civil.” “Well, neither is gossiping about people being hit over the head.” “Who’s gossiping! I only asked what was going on!” “None of your business, that’s what’s going on.”

How could you feel a smile in your toes? He didn’t know, but somehow you could. He should have worn his nice shirt, he thought witlessly. He’d decided against it because of Morgan’s teasing, but now he wished he’d ignored Morgan and dressed up. Look at her in her pretty dress, and here he was in his threadbare old shirt. Morgan would probably wear his good shirt, and then Kit would be competing with dimples and good clothes. Goddamn Morgan.

“I made you a teapot,”