The Major's Wife. Lauri Robinson

know,” Seth said, already heading there.

      It took even less time than he’d anticipated. He’d barely opened the tin, had yet to work much of the black slime into the leather when the door to her room opened. Her little nose was curled and her eyes were squinting.

      “What are you doing?” she asked.

      “Oiling my saddle.” He explained the obvious without looking up.

      “In here?”

      “Why not in here? An army man has to keep his equipment in order.”

      She crossed the room, opened the door. “Don’t you have a barn for that kind of thing?”

      He leaned back in his chair, stared at her pointedly. “If you don’t like it, you’re welcome to leave.”

      That was a nasty glare, the one she flashed his way, as she stomped across the floor to Russ’s old room. Seth allowed himself a moment to gloat.

      Only a moment, because in the next instant she was back, pouring something onto the seat of his saddle.

      “What the—” He grabbed the bottle, not needing to sniff the container to know she’d just dowsed his saddle with rose oil. “What do you think you’re doing?” A stupid question, but it was all he could think to say.

      “Disguising the stench,” she said with a curl to her lip.

      They stood there, across the table from one another. In all his born days, Seth had never backed down from a challenge, and he wasn’t about to start now. He even felt the tiniest mingling of guilt. After all, her only weapon was a bottle of rose oil.

      Wrong.

      Two nights later, Seth conceded her plethora of female things was more than he could take. Like those big bows, all eight of them, tied to the rungs of the ladder leading to his loft. And the bouquet of flowers that had been sitting in his hat this morning, which she’d positioned in the center of the table as if it was some huge, hideous vase.

      She had to have done that after he’d gone to bed last night.

      He should have heard her. He’d barely slept. Not with the way he was sneezing. The thought of another sleepless, miserable night snapped his last nerve. Two days of trying to out-scent each other hadn’t got him anywhere.

      Seth barreled through the door of their cabin. “What are you doing here?”

      Spinning around from where she stood near the stove, she held up a bundle of weeds. “Drying out wild lavender.”

      He sneezed.

      “Bless you,” she said.

      He’d been worn down before, but never quite like this. The cabin was overrun with flowers and bows and cushions and curtains. A man couldn’t take it.

      “No, I mean, why are you here?” He sneezed again. “If it was to make my life as miserable as possible, if the past five years haven’t been enough, you’ve succeeded.” They hadn’t spoken much over the past forty-eight hours, having been too busy trying to outdo each other. He was ready to talk now. “I did your father a favor—not to mention you—and he promised me a divorce in return.” After one more sneeze, Seth waved a hand around the cabin. “Instead, I get this.”

      Her eyes grew wide. “My father promised you a divorce?”

      “Yes, he did.” Seth hurried to shut the door before the entire compound heard him. “What were you thinking that night? Why’d you climb into my bed?”

      “I—I...”

      The way she trembled from head to toe sent a wave of guilt curdling in his stomach. He took a step back, but wasn’t going to back down on his questioning. He needed some sleep—in a cabin that didn’t smell like a flower garden.

      Another sneezed raked his body.

      “Bless you,” she repeated. “And I don’t know why I did that.” She spun, then walked across the room so the table separated them. “I thought I was going to marry another man, but—”

      “He was already married,” Seth supplied.

      “Yes,” she answered quietly, “he was.”

      That despondent little whisper did more to his insides than it should have. So did the way she gathered up several pots of flowers and set them outside the door.

      “Why are you here?” he asked as she propped the door open.

      “Because of your letter,” she said.

      “Which one?”

      She frowned slightly. “The one asking for a divorce.”

      “Which one?” he repeated.

      Her frown deepened.

      “I’ve sent you five sets of divorce papers.”

      “You have?” Shaking her head, she said, “I—I, um, I only saw this last set. The ones that arrived last month.”

      “How can that be?” he asked. “I know they were delivered.” After hearing no response to his first requests he’d insisted upon and received confirmation that the papers had been delivered to the house.

      He saw how wide her eyes grew before she turned and headed into his office. “M-my sister, M-Millie, always accepts the correspondence that arrives at the house.”

      Following, watching her pull dried bundles of flowers from the rope stretched from corner to corner, he sneezed before asking, “And she withholds mail from you?”

      “No...” Millie was searching for an explanation. She’d wondered if that had been the first time Seth had sent papers, yet had believed Rosemary when she’d assured her it was. The fact that Papa had promised a divorce was a surprise. He’d never mentioned that, but she had to believe Rosemary knew about it.

      The way Seth sneezed several more times had guilt and concern rippling through her.

      “Then why didn’t you get my other requests?” he asked, somewhat winded.

      “There was a lot of mail after Papa died.” Millie continued to pull down the flowers. It had been fun, irritating him, but his puffy, bloodshot eyes said this had gone far enough. “Anything to do with the army, anything official looking, was forwarded on. I must assume that’s what happened to your previous letters.”

      He gave a nod that didn’t really say if he believed her or not. She, on the other hand, had no doubt that Rosemary had received every set. Squeezing past him, flinching at another of his sneezing bouts, she carried the flowers she’d gathered out the front door.