Guardian Bride (6 page)

He lifted one brow in question.

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"She must have gone back out to the wheat field. The

harvest is almost complete, but they need every hand they

can get out there to make sure they finish up before the

storm that's threatening bursts."

His gaze went to the window.

Summer walked across the room and held the curtain

fringed with eyelet away from the glass so he could see

through the panes. "It's in the air," she insisted. "You can feel

it."

"Who's thrashing the wheat?"

"Your mother, your brothers, Kid and Bug, and several of

Kid's ranch hands." She let the material fall back into place

and turned to face the bed. "How are you doing? The doctor

left laudanum. I've been giving you a little every time you

stirred. Would you like some now?"

"No," he said, and as if it were an afterthought added,

"thank you." He glanced toward the window again. "Who's

running my thrashing machine?"

"Bug. He said he helped you build it, and that he's used it

before."

"He did and he has. How's the yield?"

"Kid says it's the highest you've ever had," she answered.

Kid had been over to see Snake several times since the

shooting, almost daily, and so had his wife Jessie. It was Kid

who'd said it was time to get the field harvested, and Jessie

brought a noon meal out to the workers every day. "He also

says there's not another field around that needs to be

harvested yet. You must have early seed."

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Snake's face made a tiny frown and then he nodded. "It's

a winter wheat hybrid I've been working on."

"It looks good," she admitted. "It's sure to bring a good

price at the mill."

His gaze roamed up and down her frame before it settled

on her face. "How do you know so much about wheat?"

She shrugged and moved back toward the door. "July did

some farming. We lived out by Cimarron. In the river valley,

had good water out there."

He nodded. "When was that?"

"Over ten years ago. The grasshopper plague wiped us

out."

"You...you had to have been just a little girl then."

"Eleven. But you don't forget something like that. Those

little bugs didn't leave a strip of green anywhere." She bit her

lip, not wanting to say more, not wanting to remember that

was also where and when Jonas died.

"Did you move to Dodge then?"

"No, not right away. We went to the eastern part of the

state for a few years, and then came back to Dodge. Had only

been there a month when the smallpox outbreak hit. August

was just a baby, September only three. September got it

first, then July and Ma caught it. Ma didn't survive."

"So you've been raising August and September since you

were fourteen?" he asked.

She took a moment to ponder at how quickly he'd done

the math to figure out her age. "Of course I have. They're my

brother and sister."

"In Dodge?"

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"For the most part. July moved us a couple of times, but

we always ended up back in Dodge somehow or another."

She moved to the doorway, not wanting to answer any more

questions. "I'm going to get you something to eat and drink.

You have to be starving."

"No, don—" he stopped and shook his head. "I'm really not

hungry."

"You will be once you start eating." Summer left the room,

wondering why she'd told him so much about herself. She

wasn't one to talk, let alone share her life story with others.

Perhaps it was because they were married and she felt she

should. Her feet stumbled. Luckily a chair was close enough

to grab.

He hadn't said anything more about their marriage.

Quickly, as if her feet had grown wings she flew to the ice box

and pulled out the soup she'd made last night. The house had

one of the finest kitchens Summer had ever seen, a root

cellar full of provisions and cupboard full of other supplies,

but after tasting two meals Stephanie Quinter had prepared,

Summer had started to do the cooking. The morning

Stephanie had fed them oatmeal with lumps the size of

biscuits, Summer determined if Snake had been destined to

die at an early age, it would have been due to his mother's

cooking.

Summer frowned, and silently chided herself for thinking

so rudely about someone who'd been so kind and considerate.

Stephanie had welcomed September and August into her

home as if they were her long last grandchildren, and

Summer would forever be grateful to the woman for that.

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While the soup heated, she pumped water into a pitcher

from the spigot at the sink, filled a glass, and set it along with

bread and other necessities onto a tray. She also took a

moment to wash her face and smooth her flyaway hair. When

everything was ready, she carried the laden tray into his

room. He still sat in the same position, legs dangling over the

edge. She set the tray on the small table he'd knocked over

earlier and moved it in front of him.

"Try to eat something. I haven't got much down you the

last week."

He lifted the spoon, watching the soup flow off it. "Where'd

this come from?"

"I made it," she said.

"Ma help you?"

"No." She almost smiled, understanding his apprehension.

He nodded and lifted the spoon to his mouth. After several

spoonfuls he laid the spoon down to take a bite of the bread.

"This is good," he said after swallowing. "Ma's not much of a

cook. We knew it before, but since Hog moved to Dodge, Bug

and I have been wondering if we'd starve to death." He took

another bite. "We were afraid Kid was going to chase us off

his porch with a stick if we kept begging the way we were."

She couldn't help but laugh. He looked at her in such a

way that Summer wished she could read his mind. He didn't

smile—not really anyway, but she kind of felt it.

His gaze went back to the food and after a few more bites,

he sat back. "That was good, thanks."

"You should finish it," she said.

"No." He shook his head.

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Maybe her food was as bad as his mother's. Summer had

never cooked for anyone outside her family, who never

complained about having something to eat.

"Really," he said. "It was good. I just can't eat any more.

I'm full."

She lifted the tray and turned to carry it back to the

kitchen.

"Will you come back, after you've put that away? So we

can talk."

Summer didn't turn around. "Yes," she said, walking out of

the room. He wanted to know if they were really married. Her

stomach pitched. She'd told Stephanie he didn't know what

he was doing. Couldn't possibly know he was agreeing with

the ceremony by simply nodding his head.

After cleaning the kitchen and putting everything back in

its rightful place, she closed her eyes to prepare herself for

what was about to come. Now that July was dead and Sam

Wainwright was a wanted man, there really wasn't any reason

to stay married. Yet, for some reason the thought tugged at

her heart. She'd only been at the Quinter farm a week, but

from the moment she'd seen it, she'd felt as if she'd finally

come home.

Summer walked back into the bedroom and wiping her

hands, which had begun to perspire, on her apron, she sat

down on the chair in the corner.

He stared at her for several silent moments, until she

wondered if she had something on her face, or maybe stuck

in her hair. She brushed the long strands aside, wishing she'd

taken a moment to brush it, or at least peer in the mirror.

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"How'd the marriage happen?" he asked.

She glanced up. "What?"

He waved a hand. "Our marriage. How'd it happen?" A

scowl formed. "Did Bug go get the preacher?"

"Bug? No."

"Kid did?" He looked shocked.

"No," she answered.

"Then who did?"

"Your mother."

"Ma?" Again he sounded as if she hadn't told the truth.

"Yes," she assured. "There wasn't anyone else here,

except August and September."

"How'd I get here?"

"I brought you."

"Really?" he sounded skeptical. "For some reason I

thought it was Kid or Bug. Where'd you find me?"

Summer bit her lip, wondering how much to say. She most

certainly couldn't tell him his father, Jonas Quinter, was her

guardian angel. At least that's what she called him. For the

past ten years, he'd came to her when she needed him, told

her where to find things, how to make ends meet when they

were miles apart, as well as many other things.

She swallowed and met the gaze coming across the room.

Snake no longer looked furious. He behaved quite amicable,

friendly even, considering the position he was in. Injured and

married, all because of her.

A cool breeze blew in the window and flowed over her. It

was as soft and gentle as being cloaked in pure silk must be.

A calming sensation grew from the pit of her stomach,

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swelling to encompass her. She sighed. Jonas was here, and

would help her through the conversation.

"Not long after you left, I-um-I had a feeling something

was wrong. I borrowed one of your horses and followed you."

She held back the part where she camped close enough to

hear him breathe that night, or how she stayed back the next

morning, fearing he'd sense her. "Before I caught up with

you, I heard shots. Two men on horses were chasing you. I

fired at them, but they were too far away to hit. They took off

in the other direction, and I chased your horse down. After I

pressed some bandages to your wounds," she didn't bother to

tell him the bandages were actually her petticoat, "I tied you

in your saddle, and we rode all day to get back home."

He didn't comment so she continued, "Stephanie was the

only one here, besides the children. She rode to town to get

the doctor. He said the bullet was close to your heart, and he

didn't know if you'd survive the surgery to take it out." She

paused, biting her lip until the pain made her stop.

"Stephanie said we had to get married before he started

working on you."

"Why?"

"She said since you hadn't made it to Dodge, the win

hadn't been claimed."

"So?"

Summer swallowed. Stephanie must have explained it

better, because that night it made more sense. It had seemed

like it was their only option—then. Now, she didn't feel quite

as confident. "Well," she said, checking the back of her mind

for more details. "If you'd never claimed the win, Sam

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Wainwright would be able to come and take September. But if

you and I were married, it would be the same as if you'd

claimed the win, and Wainwright's win would be void."

"And this had to happen before I had surgery?"

She nodded. "In case you died."

"Jesus," he swore under his breath.

Summer flexed her toes, giving herself something to do.

The story did sound a bit callous—even to her ears. At the

time she'd have agreed to just about anything, fearing he'd

soon expire. And it hadn't been because she was worried

about herself or September. It had been him. She couldn't let

Snake die, not because of her. Her family had already killed

one Quinter. Jonas didn't hold it against her, but the rest of

the family surely would.

"The preacher wouldn't perform the ceremony until you

agreed to it," she offered with condolence.

A frown pulled on his face, and his eyes moved about, as if

he tried to remember. Glancing back her way, he asked, "Was

I awake?"

"N-not really. But you're mother, the preacher, and the

doctor kept asking if you agreed and you finally nodded." She

looked at her shoes. Dust from the field covered them. She

flounced the hem of her skirt over her toes. "The preacher

performed the ceremony while the doctor dug the bullet out

of your leg."

He cursed again, quietly, and shook his head.

They sat in silence for some time. Summer couldn't think

of anything to say. He looked about as sad as anyone she'd

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ever seen. She almost wished he was angry again, shouting

and glaring at her with fire in his green eyes.

The room—though large enough to hold the big bed, tall

wooden dresser complete with an oblong mirror, a wash

stand, the table beside the bed, the chair which she sat on,

and still leave plenty of walking around space—began to close

in on her. A weight pressed on her chest. The air in her lungs

grew as heavy as clay.