Marrying Minda (12 page)

He wasn't leaving, even though he couldn't stay.

The children's appealing little snores forced a smile from him. Silly fretted in her sleep, so he pulled her trundle closer so he could move it in a rocking motion. What kind of plaything should he make for her?

He couldn't leave Paradise until Silly was all the way well. Until the Perkins gang was behind bars. The decision had come long and hard, with anger and plenty of cussing, but he'd no choice in the matter. His brother wasn't even cold yet, and Brix didn't need to add another sin to his list.

Sure, he'd be missing the drive now, but he'd head for Texas soon enough. Ranchers in Butter Creek would pay him good cash money for riding supplies to their line shacks, fixing fence and digging post holes, breaking mustangs and readying things for fall round-up. He'd earn enough to tide the family over. But when another drive commenced, he'd be on it, no question and no doubt.

Until then, he had wheat to harvest, toys to carve, and a wife who seemed intrigued by his kisses. An erection started with a pleasure that was almost pain.

But that wife hadn't seemed to mind another man drooling over her hand. His temper burned all on its own. Caldwell Hackett wanting something else that belonged to a Haynes.

Suddenly, lightning slashed the darkness and three seconds later, thunder pounded Paradise, louder than a flash flood.

As Silly howled, Katie and Ned poked pale little faces from behind their curtain. The horses screamed, and the crash of splintering wood broke through the sound of rain.

Brix sprang to his feet, lit a lantern, and peered out.

Minda, hair tussled from sleep, dashed from Norman Dale's old room, wrapped in a quilt. “What was that dreadful noise above the storm?”

She took his breath away, but now wasn't the time. Disappointment in himself all but choked him. He might need a woman, but he didn't need a wife.

“Storm spooked the horses,” he said. “Broke out of their stalls and kicked the barn door open. Thought you said you locked up good and tight?”

He'd believed her, yet he knew his voice had turned cold. Right now just might have been their moment, but he had to leave her and it was her fault. There was no money to replace livestock that got itself lost or hurt.

“I did! Don't put this off on me. That lock is as ancient as Methuselah.”

“Held just fine last time I used it.” After pulling on his boots, he found his brother's old slicker in a cupboard.

“You're going out in this weather?”

“Damn straight, Miz Haynes. Hell, I should have checked the barn myself. That's what I get for trusting you. And don't you dare come down on me for cussing. I got to find them fast. Remember those horse thieves? They work best in the dark.”

Minda came close, smelling like roses again, and speaking too soft to hear. He leaned close, liking it but steeling his heart.

“But Brixton, they shot a man because he came after them.”

“I'm not after them. Just after what's ours.”

“Exactly.” Her tongue was sharp.

He paused to reassure her. After all, she was his wife. “You did all right with that gun today. You know where Norman Dale kept his hog-leg. You'll be safe enough. Stay tight and comfort the kids. Likely Strawberry won't have gone far.” He headed for the backdoor. “Buttermilk's got adventure in his blood, but I'm bound to find him quick. Be back soon's I can.”

For a flash, he wanted to kiss his wife's wide eyes closed and hold her like a man held his woman. Tell her to wait for him underneath the covers.

But he had things to do, and women were nothing but trouble.

“And don't you worry,” he said, looking back at her before he closed the back door, feeling some regret for his pique. His heart pumped in a way it never had before. “Norman Dale put up lightning rods.”

Outside, the rain splashing down his brim welcomed him, like it had a hundred times on the trail. Welcomed him back to the life he loved. A night like this in search of a wayward animal pumped him full of satisfaction. The fires inside him cooled down. This was what he'd been born for, not farming. Not family.

Like he'd thought, Strawberry stood drenched and unhappy, pawing the ground near Minda's rose garden. He saddled the horse, then set out to find the buckskin.

Breathing deep, he almost said a prayer. He was outside where he belonged. What had he been thinking a while ago? He didn't need four walls closing in on him or a woman he couldn't trust. Must have been loco to think anything different. True, he had to help his brother for just a little while longer, but then he'd be gone.

He started to enjoy himself, wind at his heels and mud in his eyes.

* * * *

Minda watched him leave like her eyes were in someone else's head. Fear slammed hard against her mind and heart. For a black moment, she figured she'd lost him. And he left, believing she'd let him down. Oh, she had felt dread before. She'd been afraid to leave Pennsylvania, but sure she'd arrive to Norman Dale's waiting arms.

And afraid at Mama's tragic death, but comforted by friends and neighbors. Right now there was no one around, other than three frightened children who depended on her. And on a man who now had to face lightning strikes, flash floods, crazed animals, and gun-slinging outlaws.

What would happen if he didn't make it home? What would happen to the children? Her throat choking with tears, she remembered Gracey Satterburg's hands on Priscilla, and some selfish farmer, Tom Holden, wanting baby Ned as a slave.

She had no money, likely no legal standing to the farm or the children's guardianship. Not even Caldwell Hackett transacting to sell her hats could bring on sufficient support.

Although he had implied that she could come to him for anything, anything at all. He might truly have appealed to her back in Gleesburg, with his fine manners and intellectual occupation, but unruly Brixton Haynes had conquered her heart.

If she didn't love him, she was close. It had come on quick but slow at the same time. He'd never know, and wouldn't care anyway, but she held the secret close inside for herself alone.

Neddie came to her then, embracing her legs, in a flood of tears of his own. “But Minda, our heifer. We raised her since a calf. I got to check on her. I reckon she's scared to death.”

“No, no, sweetheart.” She bent to hug him tight. “You know Uncle Brix made sure she's safe.”

“Will he come back?” Katie asked. And like a stab in the heart, Minda realized the child hadn't asked “when.” Poor thing had already suffered such unimaginable losses. Thinking she'd lost her uncle was just a natural course of events.

“Of course he will, Firefly.” That reminded her of Brixton's wonderful carved toy, but she held on to the hope that he'd be back to gift it himself. “Remember, Uncle Brix is used to being outside, helping animals. That's his job and he's good at it.”

Maybe her own words could convince herself.

Katie's lip turned out in a pout. “But the thunder scares me.” She held her weeping baby sister, and Minda wrapped her arms around them both. Heavens, Priscilla was feverish again. What next?

“Now, you and Ned need to try to sleep. You're safe and warm in here. I'll tend to Priscilla. Why don't you two cuddle up in my big bed?” She led the jittery little pair toward the bedroom. “You know, my little sisters used to like crowding together during a noisy storm, and hiding under the covers.” That was true. The girls had liked nothing better.

In the doorway, Katie's face turned paler yet, although it might have been the flickering candle. “But our mama and Paulie died in that bed.”

Minda didn't now how much more her heart could bear before it broke completely. “That was a tragedy, Katie, but the Lord does promise not to send us more than we can bear.” And Minda had believed it, once. “But your papa bought a brand new bed for me. I promise. I've been the only one asleep on that ticking.”

At least Norman Dale had told the truth about that.

She had imagined her husband beside her. But she'd let him down. She'd missed her chance. After all, he hadn't even kissed her before he ran off into the storm.

To erase the image of herself and Brixton sharing a transcending love, she tucked the children tight and kissed them soundly.

The storm seemed to hold the little house in angry hands and shake it. Minda'd be lucky to get the children to sleep. Why hadn't she listened closer to Brixton's lullabies and stories? She sang them a hymn she thought she remembered, but the words fizzled on her lips.

Priscilla slept, but her fever rose. Worry inhabited every inch of Minda. A nightmare word Brixton had said once came to life before her eyes.

A conniption, as Brixton would call it, brought on by the fever. Priscilla stiffened, eyes rolling back, and trembled for a terrible moment. Minda prayed and prayed some more.

Was it too late? Was she losing Priscilla and Brixton both?

Minda did the only thing she could think to do, and brewed the baby some willow bark tea. And afterward, the baby settled, like a tea kettle's steam that had been released.

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Chapter Eight

He was soaked through and through but didn't mind a single bit. The clean night air filled his lungs with life itself.

And brought him to his senses. The outdoors was where he belonged.

Buttermilk had been a dickens to catch, but Brix hadn't minded all that much. The tall cornfields had barricaded some of the horse's maneuvers, and the expedition had taken them across miles of sludged roads and fallow fields. Likely a vegetable garden or two.

Right now, he saw the lantern light glowing in Norman Dale's window up ahead. He had sight like a night owl, and a comfortable thought came upon him. It felt nice, just this once, to have a home and woman waiting for him.

Unless that light was a beacon of some sort of trouble.

Blood thumped in his veins like a crooked wagon wheel, and he hurried Buttermilk through the muddy road. Strawberry was tied behind, but he'd chosen to ride the high-spirited buckskin so as not to give Buttermilk any further chance to misbehave. His successful retrieval of the animals now gave way to a sense of dread.

By the time he'd stabled the horses, Minda waited on the porch, wearing Norman Dale's old dressing gown. The downpour had stopped, but the lively wind blew her hair across her face like a veil. For a moment his breath caught, thinking of the veil on their wedding day. Hell, he'd be gone soon, out of temptation's way.

“Brixton!” She stayed put, likely unwilling to muck through the farmyard. “Brixton, you're safe. You're back. Hurry inside. Get dry.”

He didn't like the worry in her voice. Had she thought he'd left for good, like he'd been promising?

She pulled the wet slicker from his body while he managed his muddy boots. “My goodness, you're completely drenched. Come on. Here's some toweling.”

As he stopped at the doorway, she shrugged the dressing gown from her body. “Now, you get those wet things off and slip into this. I'll put some Arbuckle's on to warm you up.”

“Summer rain, Minda. Never hurt nobody. Wet doesn't mean cold.” But he liked her fussing. She ought to be mad at him for the mean things he'd said as he left, and for not kissing her good-bye. “How're the kids?”

Then she finally looked him in the eye, face bleak. “I fear Priscilla suffered a bit of a convulsion. A conniption, Brixton. She's sleeping sound now, but I was terrified for a time.”

He opened his mouth to ask, but she didn't let him. “Yes, I finally used the willow bark. You know I was hesitant at first, but now I am convinced in my heart that you'd never take a chance on any of the children.”

His fists clenched around the towel. “You sure she's all right?”

Minda sighed. “Far as I can tell, yes. It didn't last long and seemed to tire her out more than anything. Then the fever spiked and broke. I'm thinking she's on the mend.”

“Yep. The remedy's tried and true,” he said, feeling a funny pleasure that she'd trusted him after all. Still, the worry over Silly's ailment had gone on long enough. “But the doc needs to be telegraphed.”

“Yes. In the morning. For now, get out of those sodden clothes,” she said again. “Just leave them in a pile in the corner. If the sun's out tomorrow, I'll set to washing them.”

Maybe she wasn't remembering that tomorrow, today now, was the day he'd set to leave. Seemed like a good time to tell her he wasn't. “Minda...”

“No arguing with me. Get undressed. You're worse than Neddie. Land sakes, I'm not going to peek.”

She turned her back, and he obeyed her, wishing she would peek, truth to tell. He wondered how it might be to have a wife for real. His clothes on the trail turned rank mighty fast. Without the dressing gown, she wore only the dainty nightdress she'd worn that first night. Their wedding night on his bedroll. He could see near through it.

“Minda...”

“Mr. Haynes, if you don't need hot water, there's plenty of cold to clean yourself up.”

She sounded too wifely of a sudden, and he grew miffed, figuring he didn't want one for real at all. He knew perfectly well how to look after himself. He'd been doing it for years. Truth was, he took more ice cold baths in creeks than warm ones in a tub.

There wasn't a tie for the robe, unless he'd dropped it somehow. Just as it flapped open, she started to speak in a shaking voice. “I can heat some if you'd rather.”

“No need.” Looking at her made him hot enough. He set to scrubbing in the little washtub by the stove, wondering at her tremble.

Then she turned to him, and he found her crying. “Oh, Brixton, I'm so relieved now, but I was so scared, those long hours you were gone. I thought Priscilla might die, and you'd get drowned in a flood or shot by the outlaws and I'd lose you, too. Even though I never had you, not at all. Not really.”

Tears bathed her beautiful face and her eyes opened wide when she noticed his open garment. His erection rose in invitation, and she didn't look away. For a second, an interested smile tugged at her berry lips, and he knew then and there he wanted that mouth pressed around his flesh. He could teach her that, in a gentle and kind way, letting her know what came between a man and his wife was their business alone.