CHAPTER 2 — LITTLE MISS PERFECT

A loud crashing sound was enough to drag Lily out of a weary sleep. Jolting upright with her hand pressed to her forehead to ease the headache that was rapidly coming on as a result, her blurry vision scanned the dark room.

“Papa?” a gentle voice drifted to her.

The voice was so distant she was almost certain she was imagining it. Tears stung her eyes, making it difficult to see as she rubbed her head and leaned back slightly.

The faint sound of someone sniffling reached her, and before she could fully understand what was happening, something was suddenly thrown at her, forcing a surprised yelp from her lips. It buried its head in her chest and wrapped its arms around her. It took a second of stunned silence for the memory of the previous day to bombard her mind as her vision adjusted to the dark room.

She glanced down at the small form in her arms: Millie. “Bad dream?” she whispered lovingly against the child’s dark brown hair as she ran her hand down her back.

Millie nodded, burying her face further into Lily’s chest. “Where’s papa?” came Millie’s muffled voice.

Lily glanced around, unsurprised by Raymond’s absence. If he thought that by avoiding her, he wouldn’t have to deal with her anger, he needed to think again.

“I’m not sure.” Instinctively, her arms curled around the child, pulling her close until her hair was tickling the tip of her nose. “Seems your papa’s avoiding me now. Would you like to sleep here with me?”

Millie nodded. “The monster’s afraid of grownups.”

“Oh?” Lily giggled, leaning back against her pillow and drawing Millie close. When Millie didn’t respond, she knew the child had fallen asleep. “Goodnight, little angel,” she whispered, planting a kiss on Millie’s head. “Tomorrow, your papa and I are going to have a lot to talk about, and I doubt it's going to end well.”

***

Pots and pans...

A soft groan escaped Raymond’s lips as the clanging of pots pulled him out of his slumber. He stretched his legs forward as his eyelids parted, welcoming the blurry sight of the living room. The second his vision cleared enough to see beyond the scantily furnished room, his gaze rested on a woman reaching up with both of her hands for the cabinets in the kitchen.

“Nothing!” she hissed, turning around and slamming the pan on the table. “This is useless!” She placed a hand on her forehead, visibly frustrated and most likely ignorant of the man who sat across the room from her, watching. “First, I journeyed for several weeks, then I found myself stuck in a home with a man and six children, and now,” she laughed with sarcasm, “now I’m to die of hunger!”

His gaze ran down the length of her for the umpteenth time in two days, the memory of the evening before sending a rush of heat through his skin. He could not forget what it had been like to see her without her clothes, even if the dress she had on now was quite lovely on her. The pink fabric complimented her fair skin and blond hair, its intricate flowery design speaking to her high taste in fashion. Her hands were devoid of the white gloves she had worn yesterday, and while he wasn’t close enough to see them properly, he could tell they were unaccustomed to hard work. They were feminine and didn’t seem to bear any bruises. She was beautiful, extremely beautiful.

He sighed wearily. What was he to do with a woman who looked like she belonged in a castle? It was bad enough he had deceived her into coming here; how was he going to keep her satisfied long enough for his children to outgrow their need for her? He had nothing to offer—nothing but a failing farm and six hungry children. They were lacking food, money, clothes, and hygiene. He had put out an ad for a wife because he hoped to put her to work around the house and on the farm. But the thought of putting ‘Little Miss Perfect’ to work made him feel like a monster. She seemed like a trophy, one that was to be put on display, never to be touched or used, only to be admired.

He rose to his feet, gaining her attention. She frowned.

“Good morning, Miss Austin,” he called, running his hands down his face and hoping he didn’t look as tired as he actually felt. If he did, he would look like he had been run over by a wagon.

Miss Austin placed both fists on her hips, the frown on her face deepening. “Doesn’t seem like much good is left in this morning, Mr. McAllister. On top of our need to have a serious conversation, you seem to have run out of food items.”

Raymond nodded. “I will check the barn for some eggs.” He turned to exit the front door, praying earnestly that his only hen had been gracious enough to lay an egg or two.

“And sugar, flour, bacon, coffee, milk…”

He froze in his tracks, her words filling him with anxiety; he didn’t have the money. Her list for breakfast seemed like a list for Christmas, and he didn’t think he could afford that much, even for the holidays.

“And some soap. I ran out of soap last night, and I would really like to wash the children’s hair. I fear they might have some lice living in there somewhere. I also cannot stand the sight of these floors and your windows!” She sighed loudly. “What sort of house doesn’t have glass for its window panes? And have you considered repainting these walls? I feel as though this house is about to cave in on me.”

“That’s a large breakfast.” His throat suddenly felt dry.

“Perhaps. But the children seem to be awfully in need of a good diet. Yourself included, Mr. McAllister. While I’m raging something furious about your decision to lie to me about your children’s existence, I do not hate you enough to want you dead. Neither you nor those lovely children. Millie’s having nightmares, and I’m convinced it has everything to do with the child’s need for a balanced diet. Also, there might not be another coach going to New York for a few more weeks, and I’m not mentally prepared for that journey just yet.”

Raymond turned around to find her scanning the room.

“You also have terrible taste, so I'll assume you need my help to give this room a burst of color. Perhaps we could buy some bright curtains and a rug? That would be wonderful…” She raised her gaze to his, a smile playing at the corners of her mouth.

Raymond felt dazed at her requests. There were so many; they made him realize what a failure he had been. He was neither capable of meeting the needs of his children nor the wants of his new...bride. Perhaps he needed to be honest about his financial state. She needed to know the truth about their need to manage the little resources they had. He could afford neither bacon, nor coffee, nor flour, nor sugar. He only had eggs from a hen that would most likely produce nothing in a long while, a bunch of wild weeds that would make for a wonderful tea, a farm in desperate need of revival, and six hungry children to feed.

He had opened his mouth to speak—to say those exact words—when the brightness in her eyes dimmed and the smile on her lips died. Her eyes suddenly filled with understanding, and her countenance fell.

“I didn’t…” She sighed, clasping her trembling hands before her. He could tell, just by looking at her, that she felt pity for him. “I have a few dollars…”

Heat immediately climbed up Raymond’s neck and to his cheeks, embarrassment and rage setting his entire face on fire.

“Perhaps we could cut down on the list and only purchase what you think is important. I’m sure the children would enjoy a breakfast, and it's been a while since I ate anything healthy—”

Raymond’s fingers balled into a fist as he listened to her offer to pay to feed his children.

“I will see about your list, Miss Austin,” he snapped, cutting her off, as humiliation and shame simultaneously ran down his spine. “I do not need your money. I am perfectly capable of providing for my own children.”

He didn’t wait for her response, pride forcing his feet forward and into the chilly morning.

He would see to her request without a means of paying for it.