The Wrong Brother's Bride (14 page)

A hand slid over his arm. He started, then looked down at Loyal. Afraid she’d see what he’d picked out for her, he tucked the volumes behind his back.

“That color doesn’t suit you.” She smiled. “Searching for anything in particular?”

“No.” He dropped his hand from the material. “All done up front?”

“Mrs. Hooper gave me credit toward my purchases.” She lifted the flannel, rubbing her fingers across it. “Do you like this color? He or she will need a warm blanket when it turns cold. I can sew. I’ve never had much skill with crochet needles.”

“I was so hoping to boast my wife made a set of misshapen mittens and an ugly scarf for me this winter.” He grinned and watched the worry melt from her face.

“Don’t be smart, August. Do you prefer the yellow or a light blue?” Instead of the blue, she reached for undyed white flannel. “This costs less. It’s no matter if it’s plain.”

“The yellow is fine. Good for either gender.” He looked toward the counter. “Let’s get Mrs. Hooper to cut a few yards.”

“A few? How big do you think this baby is going to be?” A line developed between her eyebrows and her hands caressed her stomach.

“They grow fast, don’t they? You could make a lot with a few yards. I want my niece or nephew to stay warm.” He longed to put his hand over hers. “I’ll get Mrs. Hooper. Then I’d better see about the corn. There’s enough here to keep you busy while I’m at the market.”

“August,” she protested. “We agreed to stay together.”

“You trust Mrs. Hooper?”

She glanced toward the front of the store. “Yes.”

“Then pick out some more things. For yourself as well. Pretty items, Loyal. Nothing somber. You can take new dresses in after the baby is born.”

She gave him a doubtful look.

“We’re not going broke because you buy things you need for you and the baby,” he assured her.

He strode to the counter where Mrs. Hooper stood and slid the books toward her. “I need those wrapped. They’re a surprise for Loyal later. She needs some cloth cut. Don’t let her buy plain cloth, either. I’m on my way to sell the corn and see about lumber. If you don’t mind, keep an eye on her. We had an unexpected visitor at the farm this morning. I’d hate to have any more altercations today.”

Mrs. Hooper studied him. “She was all set to marry your brother, you know.” She kept her voice low. “He was a fine man. Anyone could see how much he loved her.”

August’s chest hurt. He looked at the books. Such a simple purchase hardly equaled a declaration of love. “I know. He fell in love with her the first time he saw her.”

“She’s a good lady. Churchgoing, dedicated to caring for the people she loves.” Mrs. Hooper tore paper off a roll and folded it over the books. “She’ll make a wonderful mother.”

“I think so.” A lump formed in his throat.

“I’d hate to see her get hurt. Everyone talked after the sheriff arrested you. Not back more than a handful of days and you were already in trouble.” She wrapped twine around the package and tugged the ends, tightening the knot. “Sheriff Fowler said you’re a lot like your daddy, Mr. O’Dell.”

“I’m not—” He clenched his jaw. “I’m doing right by her. Taking up where my brother couldn’t.”

“Are you?” Her clear blue gaze pierced him.

“The last few weeks suggest so, Mrs. Hooper.” He wouldn’t feed the gossip fires by explaining his confrontation with Maud.

“You love that woman back there, August?” She flattened her hand over the package.

Blood rushed in August’s ears. Telling a stranger seemed inappropriate. Mrs. Hooper stared as though she’d wait forever for an answer. “I do.”

She nodded. “I thought so. You have the same look Jeremiah did. Poor Loyal probably hasn’t noticed it, although I can’t imagine how she missed it.”

Was he so transparent? He glanced toward the rear of the store, afraid Loyal might overhear the conversation.

“Your secret is safe with me. I’ll keep an eye on Loyal while you do your business.” Mrs. Hooper winked. “I won’t let her spend everything she made today.”

He felt he could trust her because Loyal did. She didn’t offer any unwanted advice. That moved her up several pages in August’s book. She hadn’t automatically lumped him into his father’s category, which gave her another point in his favor.

“Thank you, Mrs. Hooper. If she wants to spend every penny, it’s fine with me.”

She laughed. “Well, that’s a different story then, isn’t it? I could have your missus loaded up with all sorts of things for the baby by the time you return.”

“Whatever the lady wants. She deserves it. Time I get back I’ll have plenty of room in the wagon.” He gave her a nod and touched his hat brim before he left the store.

Mrs. Hooper hadn’t said he needed to tell Loyal he loved her, though it had been on her face. He should tell her, except Jeremiah lingered between them. As much as he’d loved his brother, he hated the ghost that seemed to stay with Loyal. Until she fully accepted him as her husband, he only filled a portion of the hole in her life. Fortunately, it wasn’t in him to quit, not when he knew he belonged with her.

11

The boards August measured and cut for the cradle didn’t look like much yet. The Osage orange had cost him plenty, but it was a native wood and hard-wearing. Finished right and treated with care, the cradle would last for years—long enough to rock Loyal’s grandchildren to sleep.

More than long enough if she wanted another baby. August stopped sawing and looked through the barn doors. She sat on the porch sewing a mattress for the cradle. The breeze lifted her hair away from her face. She glanced up and smiled when she caught him looking.

Before bed, when she brushed out her hair, he’d sit in the kitchen, pretending to read while she let the long auburn mass whisper down her back. He dreamed about tugging the tie at the end of her braid off and untangling the silky waves every morning. Dreamed about holding her in his arms at night, letting his fingers roam over her smooth skin. About kissing her lips until she begged for more.

Prickly heat crept up his neck. He was thinking about bedding her and they hadn’t even shared a
real
kiss. He straightened the saw, pushing the teeth through the wood. Back east, when lumber and mining companies decided on a spot to build a town, people came in droves. There were no ends to ways a man could spend his earnings. On the isolated quiet of the farm, August’s restless frustration helped him separate the section of wood he needed from the rest. If he kept his mind busy, he didn’t think about Loyal constantly. About what he wanted to do with her.

He almost wished tearing spent cornstalks from the ground and plowing were more strenuous so she’d bring out the liniment again. Pathetic. His entire life, he’d taken what he wanted. Hungry, steal an apple. Thirsty, leave the saloon when the barkeep wasn’t watching to avoid paying. Need a horse, what’s the harm in borrowing one without permission? It was a wonder he hadn’t been sentenced to hard labor in a prison long ago. The one thing he’d never tried to steal was his brother’s girl. Now that he had her, he couldn’t find the nerve to approach her as more than a friend.

After the baby is born
. It was becoming an all-too-ready excuse.

“August, come here! Hurry!” Loyal’s voice rose over the sound of his saw. Shrill enough it caused him to drop the tool. The board clattered against the ground. She was halfway across the yard, hands on her stomach. A cold chill rolled down his spine. He met her on the path, grasping her shoulders.

“The baby?” he asked, voice hoarse.

“Here.” She took his wrist and guided his hand to her stomach, looking expectantly at him.

Confused and a little worried, he stared at his hand. “I don’t—what’s happening?”

She frowned and moved his hand. “Oh, it’s not…” A smile lit her face. “There. You feel it?”

Painfully aware that his palm was pressed against the bulging flesh of her stomach, he took a deep breath. “I’m not sure what you’re getting at, Loyal. Is something wrong?”

“Not wrong. It’s perfect. The baby is moving.” She pushed his hand an inch to the right. “It might be hard to feel. Right there.”

The flutter under his hand wasn’t a twitch of her muscle. It was so light, no wonder he’d missed it before. “It’s really—it’s a baby.”

She laughed. “It is.”

Moments ago, the notion of Loyal bringing another person into the world was something he’d known would happen, but now it seemed real. Building a cradle was easy. Buying material, it made sense. As the movement ceased beneath his hand, he looked into Loyal’s eyes, stunned. Her expression reflected excitement, and he knew she hoped to see it in his too. He tried, but couldn’t make his mouth cooperate.

“August?” She laid her hand over his. “You look like you’ve been poleaxed.”

“That’s…Jeremiah’s—” The wind roared in his ears and he stepped back, struggling to calm his heart and the emotions pummeling him. Jeremiah’s intended, his baby, his farm. His world. August was an intruder with good intentions.

It should have been his brother standing there, rejoicing in his child’s movement. Sharing the happy moment with the woman he loved. Hot tears burned August’s eyes. He pressed his hand over them, although he failed to stop the one carving a path down his cheek.

“August.” Loyal cupped his face. “Look at me. What is it?”

He avoided her gaze, clenching his jaw. Bad enough she had to wipe away his tears, he’d be damned if he’d tell her he missed his brother.

Proof of your ma’s infidelity.
No boy of mine would act like a bloody milksop! Stop your whining, or I’ll give you another lick with my belt.
August flinched as his father’s words echoed in his head.

“I miss him too,” Loyal whispered. Her eyes glistened with moisture. “There’s no shame in your feelings. You don’t have to hide them from me.” She slipped her arms around his waist.

August stiffened at her touch. His arms hung by his side like broken limbs on a tree. Loyal’s face pressed against his chest. Giving in, he embraced her and lowered his head so his chin rested on top of her head. He closed his eyes, listening to his heartbeat, the birdsong over their heads in the trees, the sheep bleating, and horses’ snorts. All around them life carried on. Like the one growing inside her.

August held tight, lifting a hand to bury his fingers in her silky hair. A little sob shook her frame. He choked down the lump in his throat. For years he’d imagined holding Loyal, except never at the expense of his brother’s life.

“I’d do anything to put this right. To give your baby the father it deserves.” He blinked away the dampness in his eyes. All the thoughts he’d gone over instead of sleeping at night surfaced. “I’m sorry I’m not Jeremiah, Loyal. If I’d been here, he might be alive. I could have helped him get the mower out of the mud. Could have driven it instead.”

“You couldn’t have done a thing. It’s no use wondering what might have been. I’ve spent hours thinking about it many times. It won’t bring him back.” She raised her head, looking up. “He would hate to see us cry.”

“I’m not—” August swallowed.

“There’s no one here but me. Tell me how you feel.” She stroked his back, her touch firm and comforting. “You don’t have to be ashamed that you miss him.”

If he’d died when the saw blade sliced into his leg, Jeremiah wouldn’t have hidden his sorrow. Why their father’s cruelty had darkened August’s life, but had seemed to blow past Jeremiah like dandelion fluff was something he’d never figured out. It was easier to build a hard shell and shut out the good in the world than suffer disappointment when it slipped past his fingertips.

He feared if he told Loyal how much he regretted leaving, she’d demand the truth about his absence.

“Please, August. You never talk. You never tell me what you’re thinking. We’re married, we live in the same house, we’ll raise a child together, yet you keep everything locked away.”

She held him, her grip a line in the turbulent sea where he rocked.

“When I came home, I saw what he had. This farm, you, a baby on the way. He had everything he wanted. Then a piece of equipment crushed him. It doesn’t make sense, but what does? When I was a boy, our father would beat us because there was no money to buy more whiskey. I knew God didn’t care whether we lived or died. When I read your letter, I thought it proved I was right. Me, I’d never die because I was too ornery. God claims the good souls too soon and lets the devil have the rest. I don’t deserve to take what was his, to have all the luck while he rots in a grave.”

She shook her head. “God doesn’t do that. Your father was a terrible man. Anyone with an ounce of courage would have taken the two of you in. He threatened everyone who offered to help after your mother died. God didn’t take Jeremiah because he was too happy, just like he didn’t take your father away because he was too mean.”

He shook his head. “Why would he let me have this? I’m not a good man. How could someone like me ever take care of a woman like you? Jeremiah could have the farm and a good name, all the prosperity that comes with both. If there was ever one thing I hated him for, it—dammit, it should have been me.”

He bit his tongue, forcing himself to look away from her. For a long moment, she was quiet and her posture turned rigid.