The only bright spot—almost—that emerged the following week at the end of October came with Emerson's announcement after examining Wren's ankle one morning was that she no longer had to use the hateful crutches.
"Do I burn them in a fire or—" she began with a scowl directed at the two pieces of padded walking equipment.
"Ya should put 'em in the barn," Eldon chirped beside her, his hands on his hips and thumbs hooked in the belt loops as he rocked on his heels, "'cause yer bound to need 'em again, ain't she, Uncle Em?"
"What the boy lacks in tact, he makes up for in wisdom," Emerson chuckled as he patted Wren on her shoulder before moving the crutches out of reach and walking to the kitchen door. "If you don't need them, someone else here will."
Wren grunted and cautiously stood, then walked from the kitchen table to the stove and back again, relieved when there was only a slight twinge in her ankle.
"This mean you're gonna start sleepin' upstairs again now?"
Wren frowned as she stared at Eldon, "Did Declan tell you to ask that?"
He shook his head. "I don't like ya bein' down here by yerself."
"It's better for me down here," she mumbled, walking back to the stove and cracking the oven door open to check her bread. Then gasping in delight, she threw it wide, snatched a towel and oven mitt, and quickly removed her three perfectly golden brown loaves. "I don't believe it," she whispered in awe.
"You burn the bread again?"
"A miracle has happened," she giggled, choking back tears and trying to ignore the overwhelming and unwelcome desire to hunt down her husband to show him the evidence of her success. "Come and look."
Eldon shuffled over to stand beside her and stared in amazement, "Did Emmaline switch loaves or somethin' when we wasn't lookin'?"
Wren playfully nudged him in the shoulder, then brushed his curls aside and kissed his forehead, "Maybe we should take one of 'em over and ask."
"What if they only look good," he frowned, "but they're all raw inside?"
Wren's smile fell. "Then I guess we better cut one open and find out first, huh?"
With her heart in her throat and her stomach twisted into so many knots she feared she'd be sick all over her freshly washed floors, Wren picked up the bread knife, bit back an elated cry when all three loaves turned out of the pans onto the cutting board without sticking, and held her breath as she cut through the middle of the first one.
"It's uneven," Eldon announced, clearly as unimpressed with her cutting skills as he previously was with her cooking.
But she didn't care because as she turned each half over to inspect and press on the steaming insides, a new rush of tears stung and blurred her vision. "It's perfect."
"We prolly oughta taste it," Eldon murmured, licking his lips, "to be safe."
Wren nodded and cut two slices that were more uneven than her first pass with the knife. "Get the butter—can't have fresh bread without butter," she whispered, her hands shaking.
Eldon hurried and grabbed the butter still on the table from breakfast, then stared as she slathered both slices before offering him the thicker one.
"You first, little man," Wren rasped, her heart racing in dread as he picked it up, brought it to his lips, and took a tentative bite. "Well?"
He swallowed and pursed his lips, then took a bigger bite, chewing with a thoughtful expression on his face before he grinned at her, "Ya done good, Wren."
"Really?"
"Mm-hmm," he mumbled around a mouthful. "Try it yerself."
Trusting her brother wouldn't lead her astray, Wren picked up her piece of bread and took a large bite, then sighed in amazement at its texture and flavor.
"I made this," she mumbled, staring at Eldon in disbelief as she quickly finished the rest of her slice.
He shoved the last of his bread in his mouth, chewed vigorously, and swallowed, then looked at the remaining pieces and stated, "We gotta take it to Emmaline and them, or they won't believe it."
Wren snorted a laugh and wrapped the bread in a dish towel, cradling it in the crook of her arm like a baby as she grabbed her heavy woolen shawl off the hook by the door and threw it around her shoulders just as Declan stomped the snow from his boots on the porch and entered.
Their gazes collided, her heart threatened to burst, her stomach fluttered and dropped in a troubling amount of somersaults, and if not for Eldon, she would have abandoned all intentions of visiting the cabin and escaped to her little room for the remainder of the day instead—taking all three of her perfect loaves of bread with her.
"Where you two going in such a hurry?" Declan murmured, his glorious blue eyes brazenly raking over Wren before looking at Eldon.
"WREN MADE A MIRACLE," Eldon hollered, pointing at the bread on the counter and latching onto Wren's right arm as he all but bowled Declan over and raced out the open door. "YA COMIN' DECLAN? WE GOTTA HURRY."
"Didn't know I was invited," he called with a chuckle, following at a more sedate pace.
"Slow down, Eldon," Wren gasped, pulling her arm free of his grasp as her boots started sliding in the snow, and visions of her stuck using the horrid crutches for several more weeks flashed through her mind.
"Careful," Declan muttered, settling his hands around her waist and pulling her tight to his chest to help her regain her footing.
Wren stiffened, fighting back tears as she scowled at him over her left shoulder and hissed, "Don't—"
"WREN," Eldon shouted from the cabin door, kicking the snow off his boots, "COME ON."
Muttering unintelligibly under his breath, he dropped his hands as though he'd been burned and took a hasty step backward, then Declan turned and walked away, and it took every ounce of Wren's self-control to pretend she didn't care where he went.
However, when she reached the cabin door, she felt someone watching her—knew in her gut it was Declan—and told herself to go inside. She stood there for several heart-pounding moments, determined to resist. But in the end, she was weak, and Declan's pull was strong, and when she couldn't bear it a second longer, she risked a glance over her shoulder—only to see him disappear into the barn.
Over the following weeks, November made its dramatic presence known with several more hefty inches of snow, blanketing the landscape in a thick knee-deep canopy of white.
Temperatures dropped below freezing with high winds and continuous heavy snowfall for several brutal days, threatening the livestock and keeping the ranch hands on high alert as they did what they could to prevent the weaker animals from dying. But despite their best efforts, several calves and heifers perished before the cold spell finally broke.
From sunrise to sunset, Declan did his level best to stay out of Wren's way, all the while trying to figure out how the hell he was going to fix the mess he'd made of his marriage.
To say his plan of keeping her at a distance had worked would be an understatement. It had succeeded so spectacularly well he'd driven Wren away and made her believe he didn't want her, which was so far from the truth he might as well have declared himself the emperor of some distant star in the cosmos while he was at it.
Family meals were an agony, so he skipped the ones he could and shoveled his food in his mouth as quickly as possible during the ones he couldn't, then retreated to the barn, avoiding his bedroom and Wren's lingering presence until the last possible moment at night.
Sleeping was an ordeal all its own—though he barely wanted to roll out of bed in the morning—despite only laying there all evening drifting off in sporadic naps, dreaming of her.
Some nights, when missing her got too strong, he would sneak down to her little closet room with his pillow and quilt tucked under his arm and fall asleep outside her locked door, waking before she arose in the morning.
His days were torturous, full of long, miserable cold hours in the saddle, tending the herd, or working around the ranch, anything he could do to keep his mind occupied from thinking of her—even if only for a few moments of the day.
"Remember how this time last year we were cleaning up after that tornado?" Wolstan grumbled from behind, jolting Declan out of his thoughts. "I think I'd rather face another one of them than deal with all this."
Declan glanced at his brother over his shoulder, then returned his scattered attention to shoveling more than two feet of snow over the porch railings, even as more wet fluff continued to fall around him. "Snow's not so bad."
"Speak for yourself."
Declan snorted. "I am... and I say it isn't so bad... I think it's even pretty how it covers the trees, especially when it's smooth and fresh."
Wolstan sighed and cupped his hands around his mouth, blowing on them for warmth before shoving them in his pockets and shivering, "But does it have to be so damn frigid? Why can't it be pretty without feeling like someone's glued my nostrils shut when I breathe in, or certain parts of my anatomy will snap off?"
Declan chuckled.
"I need Mama to knit me a pair of new mittens—"
"I don't think she'll make them for your nethers, Wooly—she'd have to take measurements... bound to get awkward and embarrassing for the both of you."
Wolstan threw back his head laughing, then doubled over and wheezingly giggled, "I'll have Mae do it then to safeguard our posterity."
A smile tugged at Declan's mouth but didn't fully form as he teased with a wink, "Warmest wishes, and may she choose a color to your liking, little brother."
Wolstan clutched his ribs in a renewed fit of contagious merriment, laughing so hard he sagged against the railing for support until it finally passed several moments later, and he straightened to his full height wiping at his face.
Declan would have joined in—wanted to—felt the bubbles of laughter burble to life within the pit of his stomach and work their way up inside. But the moment they'd reached his throat and transformed into the beginnings of a chuckle, tears stung his eyes and wrapped around the desire to laugh, and he knew if he let the sound out, it would emerge as the heartsore sob that it was.
So he held it back, took a deep, ragged breath, and returned to clearing the porch of snow, all so Wren wouldn't slip when going about her chores or from the house to the cabin.
Leaning his backside against the railing, Wolstan asked, "Want some help?"
Declan sniffled, blaming the cold instead of his emotions running too close to the surface, and shook his head, "I'm almost done."
"Want me to start throwing down the gravel?"
"You're awful determined—"
"You've been out here shoveling for the past eight hours."
Declan snorted a laugh and planted the shovel to turn and meet his brother's gaze, "Who's exaggerating now?"
"You do it all the time," Wolstan said with a defiant lift of his brow as he crossed his arms over his chest, "thought I'd give it a try."
Scowling, Declan shook his head and finished shoveling. "It's been three hours—maybe four—"
"Point is, it's cold enough to freeze certain body parts solid, and I'm offering to help you finish up so we can go inside where it's warm—"
"I'm not going in the house," Declan growled, tossing the last shovel of snow with more force than necessary. He then planted it in the snow drift outside the railing, picked up the gravel bag, and began spreading it like seed. "Not till I have to."
"Why not?"
Declan ignored him and clenched his jaw tight.
"You can't stay outside forever."
"Wasn't planning on it," he growled, tossing out a handful of gravel. "I've got chores to do in the barn."
"How?"
"How what?"
"How could you still have chores when you've been up since before dawn?"
Declan flicked an irritated glance at Wolstan, tempted to throw his next handful at him for calling him on his bluff but scattered it across the last several inches of the porch instead before retrieving his shovel and stomping to the barn, hoping his brother wouldn't follow.
However, Wolstan was like a nasty toothache and marched after him, "What the hell is going on with you, Declan?"
"I don't know what you're talking about," he grumbled, tapping the shovel on the ground to release it of snow before hanging it on the wall, then set the gravel bag atop a crate for easy access.
Latching onto Declan's left shoulder, Wolstan spun him around to meet his concerned gaze, "I can tell something's wrong, so don't try denying it. Talk to me."
"I've messed it all up, Wooly. Wren doesn't want me," he brokenly whispered, the words all but clawing their way from the loneliest, darkest part of his soul, leaping from his tongue in defiance of his attempts to keep his mouth clamped firmly shut against them. "Not in her bed, the house... not anywhere she is."
Wolstan's eyes softened with compassion, and his tone gentled, "What happened?"
Declan wiped at the tears trickling down his cheeks as he sniffled and sighed, then leaned against the wall and lifted his shoulders in a helpless shrug, "I was trying to minimize the hurt."
Wolstan frowned. "What d'you mean?"
"When we first got married, I thought if I kept away from her—where I could—or limited the frequency of the touching, kissing... intimacy... it'd somehow lessen the eventual pain I felt at her passing."
"First off," Wolstan blinked several times and stared at him as though he'd suddenly sprouted several deformed heads. "You're telling me you're not a virgin?"
Declan picked up a nearby curry brush and chucked it at him, "Get out of here. Why am I even talking to you?"
Wolstan caught the brush and chuckled, then set it on a shelf and heaved a sigh as he planted his hands on his hips and asked, "Is she sick?"
Declan shook his head. "Not that I'm aware of."
"Why are you worrying about her passing then?"
"How can I not? You don't think about what it's gonna be like if something were to happen to Mae?"
"Of course I do," Wolstan grumbled, "anyone who loves somebody is bound to have thoughts and fears like that. 'Specially now that she's carrying. But you can't dwell on it; you'll drive yourself mad."
Several moments passed before Wolstan folded his arms across his chest, braced his feet wide, and frowned, "Did it work?"
"Made everything worse."
Wolstan grunted, then paused before asking, "Why did you want it to?"
"Remember those first few terrible months after Daddy died, and Mama didn't leave her bedroom?" Declan whispered. "We'd lie awake some nights listening to her weeping, crying out for him till Uncle Em arrived with Daddy's remains and soothed her some."
Wolstan's throat convulsed on a swallow, and he nodded.
Declan removed his hat and raked his fingers through his hair, fiddling with the brim as he quietly admitted, "That was the moment for me... when I decided I'd rather be alone than suffer heartbreak like Mama by loving someone. For all the good it did me."
Wolstan studied him, hesitating before quietly asking, "So you admit you're in love with Wren?"
"I do," Declan raggedly whispered, nodding, "but it's more than being in love, Wooly. She's the other half of my soul, and when she's gone, I may as well die too 'cause there won't be any sense in carrying on without her."
"You need to tell her—"
"I can't—"
"You can. There's nothing stopping you but you."
Declan snapped his mouth shut and shook his head, straightening from the wall. "What would I say?"
"Tell her what you just told me... about Mama and Daddy, that you're scared of losing her—tell her everything. But you have to talk to her. And then quit focusing so much on the future, or you'll miss everything that makes right now worth living."
"I don't know if I—"
"Look where your plan got you," Wolstan interrupted. "You're already living your nightmare... and it's obvious your life isn't any better by keeping this to yourself."
Nodding, Declan heaved a weary sigh and settled his hat atop his head.
"You will actually lose her if you don't," Wolstan softly warned, settling a gentle hand on Declan's left shoulder. "Revealing the truth might be scary, but it's better than the two of you spending the rest of your lives in misery, believing you're not wanted when it's obvious to the rest of us you're in love with each other."
That evening, Wren lay shivering in her narrow bed, more than a little tempted to sneak upstairs and crawl beside Declan to steal some of his warmth for the night.
Heaven knew he produced enough to spare. But to do so would be as good as waving a white flag of surrender in their battle of wills, and she was determined that he be the one to have that honor along with offering a reasonable explanation for his behavior, not her.
She lay there for several uncomfortable hours, gritting her chattering teeth and rubbing her arms beneath her layers of quilts, trying to think warm thoughts as she curled herself into a tight ball, certain she'd never been so cold in all her life as she was right then.
Finally, when she could take it no longer, and fearing if she didn't do something, she'd lose fingers and toes to frostbite, Wren shoved her worthless covers aside, clutched her pillow to her bosom, and crept from her room to the staircase.
However, talking about sneaking up to her husband's bed and doing it were surprisingly two separate things, Wren realized as she stood with her right foot poised on the bottom step, her hand gripping the banister.
Her heart pounded a wild beat, her stomach churned, and her mind raced with all sorts of possible excuses for why she would be wandering upstairs in the middle of the night—should she need one.
But the longer she stood paralyzed with indecision, worry, and, if she were honest, fear that Declan would either have the door bolted against her or would get up and find another bed to sleep in—leaving her in the same situation she was in before, only in a larger bed—the colder she became.
Gulping down a fortifying breath, Wren slowly ascended the stairs to her and Declan's bedroom, clamped her bottom lip between her teeth as she tested the knob, smiled when it proved unlocked, and pushed it open amidst the gentlest of squeals.
She hesitated, listening for his steady, low snoring, then tiptoed to the opposite side of the bed, slowly peeled the covers back, and eased her weight onto the mattress as she crawled up behind him.
He shifted, and his breathing changed. Wren froze, clutching the covers to her throat, deciding right then if he rolled over and discovered her presence next to him, she'd blurt out she'd been sleepwalking.
After several minutes passed and Declan's snores resumed, Wren let out a soundless sigh and eased her grip on the covers, holding her breath as she turned away from him and scooted her back as close as possible to his as she dared.
His body heat seeped through her nightgown, sinking deep into her skin and soothing aches she hadn't known were there, and without thinking, she lowered her cold feet in search of more delicious warmth and choked back a blissful sigh when they found his calves.
"Son of a—" Declan gasped, recoiling under the covers as though she'd doused him with ice water and sat up to stare at her in shock, taking what little warmth she'd obtained with him. "Wren?"
She lay there petrified and shivering, unsure if she should feign sleep and use her excuse of sleepwalking, get up without a word and return to her frigid little room, or light a fire in the front parlor and throw herself in—at least then she'd be warm and out of misery.
Instead, she shocked herself by remaining where she was, declaring, "I'm freezin'."
He walked into the hall and returned a moment later with two more quilts, spread them over her, then climbed in beside her and perched on his left elbow to look at her, the covers drawn to his waist, his throat convulsing on a swallow before he whispered, "D'you want the back or front of me?"
'Both,' Her heart cried as she stared at him, 'I want all of you.'
At her continued silence, he clarified with a frown, "The front has hands that are likely to wander, the back doesn't, but it also isn't gonna do as good a job at getting or keeping you warm."
"Front," Wren quietly choked out, her body shivering with cold and yearning.
"Come here then, pretty bird," he murmured, laying down and opening his arms under the covers. "I'll get you warm."
She turned to face him, pausing as she whispered, "It's just for tonight."
Declan grunted, then hissed as she snuggled up, wrapping her arms around his waist, hooking her left leg around his hip, and weaving her right between his knees to press her feet against his warm calves.
"You're cold as ice, woman," he grumbled, tucking her tighter against him and briskly rubbing his hands up and down her back to generate more warmth as her trembling increased. "We might need to check the bed for digits when we wake up; make sure you have all your toes and fingers."
"Maybe I'll leave 'em as a surprise for you," she softly shivered with a giggle as she tilted her head back to look at him, which proved to be a massive mistake she realized when he tipped his chin down at the same, his lips curling in her favorite lopsided grin.
For the first time in twenty-seven of the most excruciating days she'd ever experienced since their marriage, Declan's perfectly sculpted mouth was a mere breath away from hers, waiting for her to claim or deny it and the man in her arms.
"Whatever happens tonight doesn't change anythin'," she quietly warned, unable to resist his nearness. "I'm still mad at you."
"And I'm just warming you up," he quietly agreed with a nod, his eyes alight with heady emotions that pulled an answer from deep inside her.
Their breath mingled in soft pants of anticipation as her left hand moved from his back to the bare swell of his right pectoral, and her right cradled his whiskered jaw, reveling in the rough texture she'd missed against her smoothness. Wren's nose brushed his before she touched the corner of her mouth to his, inviting him to turn and partake in a tender, languid kiss.
Then caressing her hand up and around his neck, Wren threaded her fingers through the thick hair at his nape as she cupped the back of his head, pressing his mouth more insistently against hers, and their unhurried exploration gave way to a wilder, more demanding one.
A soft mewling whimper escaped Wren and turned to breathless gasps when Declan's warm lips left hers, joining his trembling hands as they caressed her flesh in pursuit of removing her nightgown. Desire too long denied flared to life between them like a raging inferno, and she gave herself over to a night full of blissful passion.