Mail Order Prairie Bride: (A Western Historical Romance) (Dodge City Brides Book 1) (14 page)

“I’m coming with you.”

“You don’t have to,” he replied. But she saw the look of gratitude in his weary eyes. And she saw, for the first time, that he was not disappointed in her.

His appreciation breathed new life into her worn-out body. Sarah picked up her bonnet, tied it tightly under her chin, and gazed with driving purpose at her husband. “Try and stop me.”

Chapter Twelve

Briggs and Sarah worked until past midnight in the corn field, cutting what was left of the stalks and tying them into secure bundles. Neither of them said it, but they both knew there was little chance much of the crop would survive the rest of the night.

Worn out and thirsty, they returned to the dark little sod house. Briggs never imagined any place on earth could feel more warm and welcoming. While Sarah lit the lantern, he went outside to fill a bucket with water from one of the barrels. He had to scoop the grasshoppers out with his hand, and he knew it would taste bitter, but his mouth was so dry, he could have devoured a gallon of sour milk.

When he entered the house, he and Sarah both stood at the table, filled their cups and gulped down the water.

“Ugh,” she groaned, her delicate features twisting into something unrecognizable. “Do you think the creek water will taste like this, too?”

“Probably.”

“Will it ever taste good again?”

“I reckon, sooner or later.”

A locust fell from the grass ceiling and dropped onto Sarah’s head. Briggs set down his cup and reached out to brush the insect away.

She did not flinch. Most women, he thought, would cry or shriek or do worse, but he supposed Sarah had toughened up considerably, somewhere between the nibbled geranium plant and the ravaged corn field.

He lowered his hand and noticed that her eyes were somber and hooded. “Is something wrong?”

“I’m just tired,” she replied.

He stood close enough to touch her. He could even smell her—not the rosewater this time. It was just her. He shut his eyes, wanting to enjoy it for a few seconds.

“I couldn’t have done this without you,” he said, opening his eyes again.

Her soft hand cupped his cheek.

Without conscious thought, he turned his lips into her warm palm and kissed it. He wanted to cocoon into her warmth and stay there forever. He didn’t want to face the grasshoppers, the field, the certain devastation that would greet him in the morning. To his utter surprise, he only wanted Sarah—to hold her close in his arms. To feel her soft bare flesh next to his own.

Startled by his desire, he forced himself to let go of her hand and take a step back.

He told himself he was only searching for solace because of what was happening outside. Tomorrow, the crop would be gone. Making love to Sarah tonight would not bring it back. It would only plunge him into that black sea of heartache if she decided to leave him—which, after this ordeal, was a very real possibility.

Sarah kept her features composed, but he saw in her eyes that she’d been wounded by his withdrawal. “Are you okay?” she asked.

He nodded, and tried to remember that he had a duty to himself to maintain an emotional distance between them—at least for the time being, until he felt more certain that he could trust her.

“We’ll get by,” she said.

He stared into her dark eyes and saw the enormity of her strength, and despite his intention to remain cautious and guarded, he saw his partner. His companion. A woman who could be his mate through the years, here on this land, for the rest of their lives. Part of him wanted to stop what was growing inside his heart, but another part of him wanted to cherish it and cultivate it.

Finally surrendering to his desires, he stepped forward and gathered her into his arms. Her body melted into his. She was small and warm and oh, so lovely. The day’s trials had emptied him of all energy, but as he held his wife, he felt hope and optimism returning.

“Sarah,” he whispered in her ear. “There won’t be anything left in the morning. The wheat crop will be gone.”

She nodded, pressing her face into his chest, wrapping her arms tight around his shoulders.

Instead of the deafening hiss and crackle of locusts, Briggs heard only the sound of his own breathing, light and slow, and knew he was feeling everything he’d vowed never to feel again—a love he didn’t ever want to lose.

* * *

“We should get some sleep,” Briggs said later, leaning back in his chair as they sat across from each other at the table. “There’s no point staying up all night worrying. We’re going to have a lot to do tomorrow.”

Sarah couldn’t bear to face the idea of tomorrow. But when she turned her exhausted mind toward sleep, she realized uncomfortably that they were both inside the house together, both aware of the single, narrow bed. But she couldn’t possibly ask him to sleep in the barn. Not tonight. She had already told him so when they sat down.

Uncertain as to what to do, she glanced at Briggs and fought the tightening in her chest. They had not shared a bed since their wedding night, and that had turned out to be a disaster. In fact, both times she’d given her body to a man, it had caused nothing but despair.

Wouldn’t it be better to wait until Briggs had forgiven her and gotten over his anger completely? She and Briggs had come so far, she did not want to remind him of their painful beginnings and spoil things again.

She realized uneasily that her hands were trembling. She dropped them to her lap to hide them under the table.

Briggs stood and scratched his head. “I guess I’ll sleep on the floor. The bed’s not really big enough for two.”

Sarah’s shoulders slumped. All her nervous reasoning suddenly seemed silly. Briggs didn’t even
want
to sleep with her.

She rose from the table and sat on the edge of the bed, wishing she had a blanket to cover herself. She removed the pins from her hair and set them on the rough bedpost while Briggs lay down on the dirt floor beside the table. Within seconds, Shadow curled up beside him and Sarah could not help but envy the body heat they were sharing.

Resigning herself to her empty bed, she reached into her bag for her night dress and made her own blanket, forcing her mind to fall as quickly as possible into a deep sleep.

* * *

The next morning, before dawn, Sarah woke to the sound of Shadow shaking himself, his ears flapping noisily like a startled pigeon. Briggs had risen and lit the lamp, and was dipping his tin cup into the bucket of water. He gulped it down, and his eyes clamped shut at the sharp taste.

“I’ll make coffee,” Sarah offered.

Still wearing her clothes from yesterday, she threw off her night dress and stood. She tried to ignore Briggs, who watched her while she filled the stove with cow chips. Feeling self-conscious, she struck a match, which whisked and flared on the first try.

“Your hair,” he said, squatting to pat Shadow.

Sarah froze with uncertainty, then realized she was still holding the burning match. She tossed it quickly into the chips, feeling like her cheeks were catching fire as well.

“I’m used to seeing you with it pinned up,” he added.

She turned around. “I’ll be pinning it up in a minute.”

Still stroking Shadow, Briggs glanced up at her. “You look nice.”

A rush of excitement pooled in her belly, and she had to wait for the rapid beat of her pulse to subside before she could form words.

“Thank you. Have you been outside yet?” She turned away from him, wanting to change the subject.

“No, and I can’t see anything out the window. It’s still too dark. Maybe I’ll go milk Maddie while the coffee’s brewing.”

“I can do it. It’ll take a while for the stove to heat up, anyway.”

Briggs pulled on his hat and studied her a moment. “We’ll both go. Take a look around.” He gestured for her to follow. They climbed the steps and reached the door. Briggs lifted the latch, but before he pushed the door open, he turned and looked down at Sarah. “I hope you said another prayer last night.”

“I did,” she answered.

Slowly, he pushed the door open. It was not the sight, but the eerie sound that crushed all hope—a monotonous, deafening buzz that hurt Sarah’s ears.

Briggs quickly stepped back and shut the door again. He said nothing. He stood there, head bowed, clutching the latch.

Sarah touched his shoulder. “I’m so sorry. I’d hoped they’d be gone by now.”

His body moved with a sigh. “Me, too.” He gazed down at her, his eyes strained with worry. “Do you still want to come to the barn?”

“Yes,” she answered, needing to be with him, needing to see what was left of their farm.

Ushering Sarah by the elbow, Briggs pulled the door open and stepped outside. He raised his arm to shield their faces from the pesky creatures. A pink haze colored the horizon but barely lit the sky as their feet crunched over the ground. Millions of grasshoppers surrounded them, flitting about and feeding hungrily on anything they could find.

Sarah and Briggs reached the barn and quickly entered. The animals were restless, crying and complaining. A number of grasshoppers had infested the tiny structure.

Briggs lit the lantern and the room brightened. “Good God,” he said, his voice a pale whisper. Sarah’s mouth dropped open in shock.

The locusts had been everywhere, devouring, consuming. The wooden handle of a hoe that stood by the door had been chewed where Brigg’s sweat had soaked in. The worn parts of the harness were badly eaten, and the creatures were still feasting on it. Ropes were cut through and in pieces. An old straw hat which had been left hanging on a post by Maddie’s stall was in shreds.

Two insects simultaneously beat against Sarah’s face. She waved them away while Briggs stood staring at the stalls, astonished. The pests were eating the hay. They were crawling around on the horses’ backs and scooting through their long manes.

He went to the harness to examine it more closely. Sarah followed. “Can we save it?”

“I think so, but we better take it inside the house.” He placed it in her arms. “Is it too heavy for you?”

It was heavier than she expected, but not unmanageable. “I’ll be fine.”

“Why don’t you go inside?” He looked around the barn, the frustration evident in his weary eyes. “I’ll milk Maddie, then check the crops, but it’s not looking good.”

Sarah nodded in anguish and left the barn. She walked back to the house with the harness, squinting through the swarm and feeling her hopes sinking fast. She had come here with a dream of a rewarding farm life, but it seemed that dream would not be granted so easily.

She only hoped, that after all this devastation, Briggs wouldn’t decide to pack it in. And pack her off at the same time.

Chapter Thirteen

The unwelcome visitors stayed two more days, feasting on the helpless homestead. Each night, Briggs slept on the floor of the dugout with Shadow, and Sarah slept uneasily in the bed. Several times she started from her pillow, dreaming that the locusts had invaded her bed. Then she would discover that the little sod house had kept its promise of shelter. It had forbidden entry to almost all the enemy insects.

On the third day, Sarah and Briggs woke with little hope that the grasshoppers would ever leave, but as soon as the sun rose in the sky, the wind shifted. By noon, the swarm departed as quickly as it had come, leaving nothing but shredded corn stalks and bare fields where wheat had once blown in the wind, like waves on the ocean.

Nothing had survived in the vegetable garden either, the dry soil strewn with dead grasshoppers. The water in the barrels looked like grasshopper soup and probably tasted worse. Briggs hauled the barrels to the garden and tipped them over, watering the soil and assuring Sarah that the locusts would make good fertilizer for the new crop he’d plant.

That evening, they sat in silence over a dinner of corn meal pancakes and sorghum molasses, trying not to think about how they would survive the winter without the profits from the harvest. Sarah just wanted to forget everything for the night and pray that she would someday feel hopeful again.

“What do you think the creek looks like?” she asked, trying to keep her hopes from fading completely.

Briggs sipped his coffee, which was the only thing fit to drink that didn’t taste like grasshoppers. They needed to keep the milk for making butter to sell, though they wouldn’t get much for it. “I don’t know. I haven’t gone down there yet. Why?”

She sighed. “I’d love to take a bath.”

“I was just thinking the same thing.”

“You were?”

He nodded. “Why don’t we walk over after supper?”

They finished eating within minutes, and Sarah cleaned off the table. She untied her apron and draped it over the chair. “Are you ready?”

“I’ve been ready for three days.”

Sharing a much needed chuckle, they climbed the steps and opened the door. Magenta light struck Sarah in the face as she turned toward the sunset, which seemed to smile at her with bright, swirling clouds.

“Ah,” Briggs sighed, stopping just outside the house. “Do you feel that?” Eyes closed, he breathed in the warm, clear evening breeze.