Mail Order Prairie Bride: (A Western Historical Romance) (Dodge City Brides Book 1) (21 page)

After sitting down and spreading her skirts out around her, she tore off a hunk of bread for herself. Sarah was biting into her second helping when Briggs finally joined her and sat down.

“Cornbread?”

He nodded and helped himself. They ate the whole loaf without saying a word.

When they finished, Briggs lay back, bent one knee and covered his face with an arm. Sarah watched his lips and his unshaven jaw. The rest of his face was covered by that fringed sleeve and the brim of his hat. “We’ll get on the road as soon as we can,” he said, “then we could either camp on the outskirts of town or stay with George. I reckon he’ll string me up if we don’t come by.”

“That sounds like a fine idea. We can run our errands first thing in the morning.”

He didn’t say anything for a few minutes, then—“You never offered to show me the letter last night. I’m curious what you wrote.”

Ah. Now Sarah understood the true motivation for his surliness.

She reached into her pocket. “I have it right here. Would you like to see it?”

His wrist came away from his eyes and he sat up. The seconds it took for him to read it felt more like hours. Finally, he lowered the paper to his lap and his eyes rose to meet hers. His brow was no longer furrowed. “It’s a good letter.”

“I’m glad you think so.”

Everything was quiet for a moment, except for the chilly wind sweeping across the prairie. She gathered her shawl more tightly about her shoulders.

“I’m sorry I was so hard on you last night,” he said, “but I was angry, and maybe a little jealous.”

Surprised, she wet her lips. “You have nothing to apologize for.”

“After I saw you burning that letter, I assumed the worst. I should have given you a chance to explain.” He leaned back on one arm, plucked a blade of grass, and entwined it around his index finger. “Do you think, after we post your letter, we could…” He paused, swallowing. “We could start again? I don’t know what Martha told you about Isabelle and me, but I promise you, Sarah, that’s finished. I brought the necklace with me this morning. I’m going to sell it today so that we won’t have to be apart over the winter. Once your letter goes out to Boston, everything will be different.”

Sarah’s heart warmed with hope and joy, knowing that Briggs still wanted to be with her. He wasn’t giving up. “That sounds wonderful.”

They sat in silence for a moment, staring up at the thick, heavy cloud-cover. Then Sarah couldn’t help herself. She closed her eyes and said a silent prayer that her past would not catch up with her—
ever
—and that this new life on the prairie, with the most incredible, beautiful man she ever imagined to exist, would not turn out to be only a temporary respite from the nightmare.

It frightened her sometimes, that out here on the prairie, so far from the rest of the world, this new life she’d stumbled into felt more like a dream than anything real.

* * *

“Let’s unload the wagon,” Briggs said, feeling replenished after eating his lunch and watering the horses. He had to admit his wife had been right in forcing him to take a break and eat something. The horses had needed the rest, too.

Sarah helped him unload the cooking utensils, the kettle, the spider skillet, and the boxes of butter and eggs she’d brought to trade for blankets. Briggs removed his shovel and shot gun. “I’m going to dig us out of this hole and use the shovel handle as leverage to lift the wheel. You can lead the horses out.”

For the next half hour, he forced the shovel into the tough ground, thick with tangled, grassy roots. Then at last the time had come to try again.

Sarah walked to the team and took hold of the harness. “I’m ready whenever you are.”

Briggs speared the shovel into the dirt to lift the wheel. It came up an inch or two. “Start pulling!” he yelled, throwing his full weight upon the handle of the shovel to lift the wheel, and feeling it cut into his palms. Sluggishly the wagon moved. “Pull them harder!”

The horses strained against the impossible weight, stumbling and groaning. The wagon creaked like an old ship, then soon shifted and rolled up the slope, picking up speed.

Then Briggs heard a scream. He scrambled out from behind, but saw no sign of Sarah. “Whoa!” he yelled. The team came to a sudden halt. “Sarah!” Dropping to his knees, he crawled under the wagon where Sarah lay on her side, clutching her wrist. “Are you all right?”

“It’s my arm. Gem lost her footing and stepped on it.”

“Is it broken?”

“I don’t know.”

“Let me see.” He tried gently to peel her hand away. A muddy hoofprint dirtied her long sleeve.

Why had he let her do this? Why hadn’t he just done it himself? “Can you move it?”

“No.”

Leaning up on his elbow beside her, watching her face go pale, Briggs carefully rolled up her sleeve. His hands shook as he closed his fingers around her tiny, wounded wrist, feeling for broken bones. “Am I hurting you?”

Stiffening, she stared straight up at the bottom of the wagon and nodded. “Yes. I think it must be broken. I’m sorry, Briggs. That was so careless of me, to lose my footing.”

Clenching her teeth together, Sarah tried to sit up.

“It’s not your fault. It’s mine,” Briggs said. “And we’ll go straight to Doc Green’s office when we reach town.”

After helping Sarah out from under the wagon, Briggs swept her into his arms like a new bride and set her gently onto the wagon seat. By now, her color was pasty gray. He tried to appear calm, but his heart was battering his ribcage. What if something worse had happened to her? What if the horses had crushed her? Or a wheel had rolled over her body? She could have died right there in his arms, all because he was too impatient to wait on posting that damn letter.

An image flashed in his brain suddenly, like a lightning bolt—his youngest sister, June, cradled in his arms.

He remembered the exact moment she had taken her last breath, and how he had watched—sobbing uncontrollably, tears streaming down his face—as she quietly slipped away.

Sweet, darling June
.

She had been only seven. But so strong, for she had held on the longest. She was the last one to go.

As Briggs flicked the reins and took it slow over the rutted road, he glanced at Sarah beside him, and felt almost sick to his stomach.

* * *

By the time they rolled into Dodge, it was nearly dusk, and the pain in Sarah’s arm was severe and unyielding. Every time they’d hit a bump along the way, fresh spasms of agony shot through her body, and it took every ounce of self-control she possessed not to break down into a fit of weeping. Instead, she’d forced herself to withstand it. When she wanted to cry out, she focused on breathing steadily, in and out.

“We’re almost there,” Briggs said, steering onto Front Street. “You look cold.”

“I’m fine.” But her teeth were chattering.

Briggs shrugged out of his buckskin coat and draped it over her shoulders. As she wrapped it around herself, fresh pain shot up her side, but at least the coat was warm…thank heavens for that.

They pulled up in front of the doctor’s home on the main street, but all the windows were dark. “Wouldn’t you know it,” Briggs whispered. “He’s not here.”

They sat in the wagon for a moment while Briggs decided what to do. Sarah pulled the coat tighter around her shoulders.

“I’m going to drive you to George’s place,” he said, “and get you settled. Then I’ll track down the doctor and bring him over.” Briggs slapped the reins and drove to his brother’s house. Thankfully, a lantern was flickering in the front window. Briggs leaped out of the wagon, ran up the steps, and pounded on the front door.

Almost immediately, it creaked open and George stepped into view. “Briggs! What are you doing here?” He glanced over Briggs’s shoulder toward the wagon. “Is Sarah with you?”

“Yes. We came in for supplies and got stuck on the prairie. She’s hurt and we need the doctor.”

George’s eyes widened with shock. “Bring her in!”

Briggs ran back to the wagon to fetch her. Feeling weak and sick, Sarah leaned on his shoulder to step down. Before she knew what was happening, he had swept her into his arms. She buried her face in his neck, wanting to disappear into a deep sleep there, but knowing it would be impossible to ignore the pain long enough to slip away. He carried her inside, his strides smooth and fluid.

“Take her upstairs to the spare room,” George instructed, following. “I’ll light the lamp.”

In a matter of minutes, Sarah was set down on a soft mattress, and her husband drew a quilt up over her. He touched her forehead with the back of his hand. “You’ll be alright until I get back?”

“Yes.”

Briggs turned to his brother. “George, look after her. I’m going to find the doctor.”

Sarah listened to the sound of her husband’s boots tapping lightly down the stairs and the squeaking of the screen door as it burst open and snapped shut. She lay in the bed, staring up at the white painted ceiling.

George approached the bed. “How did it happen?”

Sarah hadn’t even realized he was in the room. She’d been concentrating on fighting the pain.

“The wagon got stuck in a deep rut,” she answered. “I was leading the horses out, but Gem slipped and I fell. I should have been more careful.”

“Nonsense. Accidents happen. Where was Briggs?”

“Behind the back wheel.” She paused to breathe. “He was in such a hurry to get to town….”

George frowned. “Is everything all right between you two?”

Confused and disoriented, Sarah tried to sit up.

“No, lie still.” George hurried to the bedside and pulled the covers up to her chin again. “I know about the situation. You mustn’t worry.”

She tried again to sit up. “What
situation
? Do you mean the locusts?”

He backed away, bumping into the rocking chair and stumbling slightly.

“George, what’s going on?”

“Nothing. You should rest.”

Her agitation caused another spasm of pain. She clutched at her arm and dropped back down. “Don’t tell me to rest. I’ll rest when you tell me what’s going on.”

George pushed his spectacles up the bridge of his nose. “It’s nothing to be concerned about.”

“Please tell me,” she said, her tone softening as she tried to sit up. “If you don’t, I’ll lie here imagining all sorts of things, probably far worse than whatever it is you’re trying to hide from me.”

George let out a sigh of defeat. “Like I said, it’s nothing to worry about. It’s just that an old…” He paused. “An old
friend
of Briggs’s is at the center of a scandal.”

“A scandal?” Sarah’s thoughts slowly came into focus. “An old friend? Do you mean Isabelle?”

George relaxed slightly. “So you know about her.”

“Of course. He told me everything.
Eventually
. What’s happening?”

George let out a breath. “Evidently, her husband has abandoned her. That certainly didn’t last long,” he added, under his breath.

Sarah felt a wave of uneasiness spread through her body. “Where did you hear that? Maybe it’s just gossip.”

“It’s quite true.”

“How can you be sure?”

He stared at her, directly. “Because she came home to her father’s house last week, and she called on me the other day to ask about Briggs.”

Chapter Twenty-One

Briggs burst through George’s front door with Doc Green trailing a few paces behind him. “She’s up here.”

They quickly climbed the stairs. When they walked into the bedroom, Sarah looked at first as if she’d fallen asleep, but her eyelids fluttered open immediately upon their approach.

George was sitting in the rocking chair, watching over her.

The doctor pushed passed Briggs. “Good evening, Mrs. Brigman. I’m Doctor Green. You’re husband tells me you were trampled today.”

“Yes,” she replied. “I think my wrist is broken.”

The doctor approached, set his leather bag down on the bed, and touched her forehead. “No temperature. That’s a good thing.” He pulled the covers back. “Which arm is it? Ah, this one.”

Briggs stepped forward. Sarah’s hand had turned black and blue. It was swelled up the size of a turnip.

Dr. Green attempted to roll up her sleeve but it was too tight. “I’m going to have to cut this.” He darted a glance at George in the rocker.

“I’ll wait downstairs.” George rose and took Briggs by the arm. “Why don’t you come too? I should talk to you about something.”

Briggs glanced down at his brother’s firm grip. “I’ll come later.”

“I’ll need his help here,” the doctor firmly mentioned.

George hesitated briefly, then left the room and closed the door behind him.

The doctor withdrew scissors from his bag and cut Sarah’s sleeve from wrist to elbow. “I’m going to examine you now, my dear. I warn you, it might smart a bit.”

Briggs approached the bed and took hold of her other hand.

The doctor touched her wrist. “Does this hurt?”

“Yes.”