Mail Order Prairie Bride: (A Western Historical Romance) (Dodge City Brides Book 1) (11 page)

Sarah smiled, thinking Martha was going to be a good friend.

“Now, sit down,” she said, “and I’ll tell you everything there is to know about being a prairie wife. Briggs will think he’s struck gold when he sees how useful you’ll be to him.”

Sarah had to admit, she wanted nothing more.

Chapter Nine

Briggs watched the pink sun sink into the horizon as he unhitched the team in the barnyard. He glanced at his little house, saw smoke rising from the narrow chimney poking out of the grass roof, and felt a confusing wave of emotions wash over him. Part of him saw that smoke as a dream come true. What he’d always wanted had finally become a reality. He had a companion now, a partner, the beginnings of a family.

A family
.

Unfortunately, something else had consumed his thoughts since the moment he woke that morning. What if his suspicions the night before would prove to be true? What if Sarah had been desperate to get married because she was carrying another man’s child, and that man had refused to marry her?

A few minutes later, after he led the horses into the barn, he swung the door shut and secured the latch. He sauntered across the yard toward the dugout, his heart quickening with every step. Why was he feeling this way? It didn’t matter if Sarah had loved someone else. He had loved someone else, too. Eventually she’d get over that man, as Briggs had forced himself to get over Isabelle. And if Sarah
did
give birth to a child in eight or nine months’ time, it could just as easily belong to him, for he’d made love to her on their wedding night.

But could he bear never knowing if it was his, or someone else’s? How would he live with that?

He made an effort to shake those thoughts away, for there was no sense worrying about something that hadn’t happened yet. She might not even be in the family way.

Reaching the house, he went inside. A delicious aroma hit him like a prairie breeze. It was hard to believe a simple scent could soothe his concerns and make him feel so grateful, considering what he’d just been thinking about.

How long had it been since he’d smelled anything like that? What was it? Cookies? A cake?

He walked down the steps to find the house warm and flickering with golden light from the kerosene lamp. He pat Shadow who had come to greet him, and noticed that something was different. Heck,
everything
was different. A red blanket had been fashioned as a wall, hung from the ceiling and dividing the sleep area from the eating area. The table was covered by a white cloth, but as he looked closer, he realized it was an old flour sack cut to fit. Again, fresh wildflowers stood in a cup in the center.

He removed his coat and turned to hang it on the hook by the door, but noticed a yellow calico sun bonnet hanging there. Where had Sarah found that? The only thing he’d seen her wear on her head was that ridiculous purple thing.

Just then, the blanket shuddered and Sarah stepped out from behind it. He found himself staring at her. Wondering….

“You’re back,” she said, her tone cheerful. “How was your day?”

Even if the cheeriness was an act, it was welcoming, just the same. “Fine. I’m catching up.” He glanced around again. “I see you’ve been busy.”

Sarah crossed to the stove. Shadow settled down next to her feet. “I went to the Whitiker’s place today.”

“I figured as much. You weren’t here when I came back mid-day.”

She whirled around. “You came back?”

“A man’s gotta eat.”

Her face went pale. “I’m sorry. I should have prepared something for you before I left.”

Briggs wondered why she was so apologetic all of a sudden, like she thought he was going to blow a gasket. “Forget it. I’ve been getting by on my own for the past two years. What’s one more day?”

She stared at him for a moment, squeezing the fabric of her skirt, then seemed relieved and turned back to the stove.

“What smells so good?” Briggs asked, all too aware of her tiny waist and curvy backside. She certainly didn’t look like she was in the family way, though it was too soon to tell, he knew.

“I baked a cake. I collected the eggs today and Martha gave me a little sugar. She said it was a welcoming gift. She also gave me a bonnet and that blanket over there.”

“That was mighty neighborly.”

“She’s a lovely person.”

Sarah flitted around the stove a little longer while Briggs sat back in his chair and watched her. The velvety tone of her voice as she hummed a sweet melody, mixed with her graceful movements around the kitchen, were beguiling. It was almost enough to make him forget what he’d been thinking about earlier.

She lifted the pot’s lid with a towel wrapped in one hand and tipped her face over the rising steam to take a whiff.

A few minutes later, she turned around with a steaming plate of food and set it down in front of Briggs. He found himself wondering where his thoughts had been the past few seconds—in some other heavenly world, he guessed, a place where nothing but the present mattered.

“Is this chicken?” he asked, unable to mask his surprise. She hadn’t gone out and shot herself a bird, too, had she?

“Yes. Courtesy of the Whitikers.”

His new wife must have made quite an impression on them, he thought, his mouth watering.

When Sarah finally sat down, they said a quick prayer, then began the meal. They ate in silence, partly because Briggs didn’t know what to say and partly because he was too hungry to talk between mouthfuls.

When they finished eating, Sarah began to clear the table. “I learned a lot today. I think I’m going to manage just fine when I settle in and start a routine.”

So she did plan on staying….

“I’m going to try my hand at making soap before winter,” she continued. “I’ve started saving ashes from the stove. Martha said we can do it together after the pigs are slaughtered.”

Briggs stared at the back of her slender, pale neck as she rinsed the plates in a bucket. She actually seemed to be enjoying herself.

“Watch your eyes around the lye when you make that soap,” he told her. “The fumes can sting.”

“I’ll be careful.”

She bent forward to open the stove. Her behind jutted out close enough for him to lay his hand on—if he was so inclined—but he fought the urge and concentrated on the delectable smell of baked cake.

Sarah removed it from the oven and set it on an upturned barrel. “That should cool a few minutes before I cut you a slice. Can you wait?”

“Sure.”

“Are you certain you don’t want some coffee?” she asked, pouring herself a steaming cup.

The pleasant aroma floated to his nostrils and he found himself liking the idea of sitting at the table after dinner sipping coffee with his wife, a wife who suddenly seemed comfortable and confident in her surroundings. A wife who was making plans for the future, even if they were just plans about soap.

Would it really matter if a cup of coffee kept him up late? “Maybe I will have some,” he answered. She set a cup in front of him. “You ever milk a cow before?”

Sarah cleared her throat. “No. But Martha explained—”

“Did she show you?”

“Not exactly.” Sarah rose and touched the cake with her finger. She sliced a few pieces and set them down on the table. “I suppose you want to teach me.”

“You won’t learn if I don’t, and you’re gonna have to do it sooner or later.”

“I’m ready to learn as soon as you find the time to show me.”

He nodded. “I’ll wake you in the morning and show you how it’s done. At least that way you’ll be up at a decent hour.”

Sarah choked on her coffee. Her cheeks blushed like a couple of ripe tomatoes, and for the first time since he’d met her, Briggs laughed.

For a moment, Sarah looked mortified, her eyes wide, her brows perking up toward the ceiling. Then, as if she couldn’t fight it any longer, she burst into an infectious, cheek-splitting grin. “All right, so I slept in this morning. I promise it won’t happen again.”

Briggs nodded, smiling at her, wondering how it was possible that simple laughter could sweep so much tension out of a room.

* * *

Briggs rolled over in his bed of hay, scratching at his chest and arms and wondering in the darkness what time it was. Slowly, groggily, he sat up, unable to sleep with Maddie stomping in her stall next to him. She seemed restless. Must be morning.

He stood and stretched, tossed the blanket over the side of the stall, then picked some hay out of his hair and brushed some more off his shoulders. Was his wife up yet? He remembered his promise to teach her how to milk Maddie and supposed he should go to the house and wake her.

Faint traces of light brightened the sky as he crossed the yard, carrying a lamp, and entered the dark dugout. He descended the steps very quietly, which made no sense considering he was here to
wake
Sarah. But the silence of the dawn and the peaceful little house seemed too special to disturb.

Briggs held the lamp high and looked around the tidy kitchen. Then he turned his gaze toward the red blanket hung as a curtain. He could hear Sarah’s steady breathing behind it. Slowly, lightly, he made his way toward the curtain, remembering her sweet smile at the dinner table the night before. All night long, it had stuck in his mind like honey, and now, here he was, confused by a sense of anticipation filling his brain. Waking her seemed such an intimate thing to do. He found himself wanting to stall the milking and watch her sleep for a while.

Fighting that notion, he steeled himself and pushed the curtain aside.

There she was, laying on her side with the covers pulled up to her ear. He paused a moment to admire what he could see: her jet-black hair, her eyelids and long lashes, the curve of her hips and the trail of her legs beneath the blanket. As he watched her sleep, his body awakened in the most surprising way. He wanted to forget about the chores and crawl under the covers with her, wrap his arms around her and feel her warmth against his bare skin.

Letting that thought rest only briefly in his mind, he leaned forward to lay his hand on her shoulder to wake her, before his body convinced him to do what his heart was not yet ready for.

* * *

Still in a dreamy state, Sarah began to wake in time with the gentle swaying of her body. A hand was resting on her shoulder. She sighed, then opened her eyes and gazed sleepily up a pair of magnetic green eyes. As she recovered her consciousness, she realized it was her husband bending over her, waiting for her to say something.

“Is it morning already?” she asked, her voice breathy.

“Yes. Maddie’s waiting.”

“Maddie,” she repeated, trying to make sense of the word while she sat up. Her blanket fell away to reveal the top of her night dress, which was unbuttoned at the neck, and she noticed Briggs avert his gaze.

Her heart lurched and she wondered if he’d ever forgive her enough to look at her again—to see her as a woman, to desire her. She had hoped it would not matter, but strangely, this morning, it mattered more than she cared to admit.

“I’ll wait for you in the barn,” he said, rising to go.

“What about breakfast?”

“After we tend to Maddie and collect the eggs.”

Sarah listened to his boots tapping up the steps, then lowered her bare feet to the cold floor. She tried to cling to a hope that one day, things would be different. They would have to be, if he ever wanted children, assuming, of course, she wasn’t already with child. But Garrison had told her there was only a short time each month when a woman could conceive, and he’d assured her it didn’t happen as easily as most women thought.

If there was any truth to that, she may never find herself in the family way. Not with a husband who insisted on sleeping in the barn.

She dressed quickly, pulled her shawl around her shoulders, and hurried outside. Cool air struck her cheeks as she crossed the yard, her footsteps light over the dewy ground. She stepped through the barn door to the now familiar scents of horse and hay. By the light of a lantern, Briggs was shoveling dung out from under Maddie, dropping it into a wheelbarrow. The fringe on his buckskin coat swung back and forth with each toss. Sarah stood in the doorway, pulling her shawl tighter around her shoulders, waiting for some instruction.

“You might want to shovel out some of the mess before you start each morning,” he told her.

A few moments later, when the stall was clean, he pulled a small stool up beside the cow. He reached for a bucket and set it down with a
clunk
. Sarah, still standing by the door and feeling rather daft, swallowed when Briggs leaned out of the stall and looked at her, his golden hair falling forward onto his face. “Coming?”

She nodded, then moved toward him. “Where do you want me?”

He placed his large hand at the small of her back, guiding her to the stool. “Have a seat right there. Maddie, be still.”

Sarah sat down, now at eye level with the cow’s broad side.

Briggs knelt down beside her. “You’re going to have to spread your knees apart to lean forward.”

Sarah tried to suppress her blush as she slowly spread her legs.

“Now grab hold of her teats and squeeze.”