The Wrong Brother's Bride (17 page)

Under her bottom, his arousal strained through his trousers. She remembered he hadn’t bothered with undergarments in his haste to dress. So little clothing separated them. August kissed her neck, making her tilt her head back. Somehow he’d worked her dress buttons loose and his fingers traced her collarbone, light as bird feathers.

His mouth dipped lower, tongue at the top of her cleavage. Loyal wanted to give in and let him claim her as his wife in every way, except she couldn’t imagine how they’d make love on a narrow bench. She smoothed hair away from his forehead, pressing tiny kisses on his stubble-covered face.

“August.”

“Hmm?” Too occupied with her breasts, he didn’t look up. His mouth was an unfair distraction. Sorry to spoil his attention, she put her hand along his cheek, drawing his face away from her chest.

“This isn’t where I imagined consummating our marriage.”

“You imagined it?” He smiled. “Where does madame prefer?”

“Perhaps,” she said regretfully, “we should wait until the tornado is over and we’re certain we still have a house.”

August’s eyes cleared. “You’re right.” He raised his gaze to the wooden ceiling.

The only sounds Loyal heard were her heartbeat and Sorry’s panting. “Do you think it’s safe now?”

“I’ll see.” He carefully shifted her to the bench. “You’re alright? I didn’t hurt you?”

She smiled, touched by his concern and still heated from his wandering mouth. “Of course not. I wasn’t going to faint because you kissed me.”

“Good, because I’d like to do more.” He retrieved the lantern, mounted the steps, pushed the bolt back and raised the trap door. His chestnut head disappeared, but he made a displeased sound.

“Is it bad?” She thought the china hutch had fallen and broken the dishes. At least those could be replaced, unlike their lives if they hadn’t ventured into the cellar.

“I’ll have to put off the crib for a while. We may need a new wall.” He looked down. “I hope Adam Stiles needs a little more work.”

“What about the rest of the house?” The tremble returned to her voice. “I’m coming up, August.”

“It seems safe enough. Just raining now and the thunder is distant. Give me your hand.” He faced her, offering his, and she took it.

The kitchen was a disaster. The hutch lay face down. All the dishes were broken and spread out around it. The limb that had come through the window was bigger than she remembered. How he’d managed to avoid injury was a mystery. Leaves and water were everywhere. Her curtains were on the floor, dirty, torn, and limp. The crocheted tablecloth hung off the table, puddled on the floor, and two chairs were on their sides. Tears sprang to her eyes. So much damage.

August wrapped his arm around her. “Seems like a lot of work, but I’ll do it. Don’t fret. Let’s check on the other parts of the house.”

She let him guide her around, relief growing as everything else seemed just as it had been before the bad weather. The front porch was littered with leaves, which could easily be swept away in the morning when things began to dry.

“Could have been much worse,” he reminded her when they went back to the kitchen. “Sweep up all the glass you can—don’t worry about disposing of it right now. I’ll straighten the hutch out when I come back from the barn. I’ll hitch a horse and drag the branch away.”

Loyal nodded. She peeled a wet leaf off the sideboard and held it up for inspection. The silver maple, just as she’d feared. Gnawing guilt clenched her stomach. The leaf fell from her numb fingers.

“I should have let him cut the tree down last year. It’s so pretty and shady. Or, it was.”

“It’s not your fault. Accidents happen. Neither of us was hurt. That’s the important thing.” He put his hand to her stomach. “You and the baby are what matter.”

The marrow-warming lust was absent from his eyes, but she saw the truth in them. It was so startlingly similar to the look in Jeremiah’s eyes, she felt stunned. Love. Had it always been there and she’d missed it somehow? With her mouth cotton dry, Loyal couldn’t respond. She stepped back, managing a nod.

“I’ll get this tree out of here and hang some wood over the hole. Then we can do a little more tidying up and head to bed.” August’s voice was rougher than it had been a moment ago.

She retrieved the broom from behind the door, old thoughts circling her head. What if Maud was right and August had left the township because he’d loved her all along? She’d never guessed, never entertained the thought of August as a husband before the day he returned. Surely it wasn’t possible for him to carry a torch this long?

It made her guilty of tearing the O’Dell brothers apart. The notion gave her the same sick feeling that looking at the tree limb did. Damage to the house could be fixed. She could never mend the tear she’d caused between August and Jeremiah.

13

The morning after the storm, August leaned against a post on the porch, staring out at the lawn. Sticks and leaves cluttered the grass; it was a relief that the barn, outbuildings, and springhouse were unharmed. Though the wind had been strong, the tornado had passed over them. He needed to measure the hole in the house and estimate the cost of repairs.

The weather was a setback, interrupting the planting, and he worried the corn might not mature before the first frost set in. Such was the life of a farmer, he supposed. Disasters struck everywhere. Flooding was a prominent problem in the bootheel, where marshes expanded over farmland during heavy rains. At least his land would dry out in a few days.

Loyal pushed the screen door open and stepped up beside him. “Coffee?”

The battered tin mug she offered was one of their few remaining dishes. Earlier, they’d eaten eggs and ham straight from the cast iron skillet. He took the proffered cup and blew to cool the liquid.

“Make a list of things you need for the kitchen. After I do some measuring, we’ll ride into town. No sense in putting it off. Can’t plow today. Might as well work on the wall. Then I’ll have to take the remainder of the tree down.” He’d examined the maple and several limbs that lay around the trunk. There were still branches raised to the sky.

“I loved that tree,” Loyal lamented.

“You can plant a new one. We’ll put it farther from the house.” He drank the coffee, going over plans in his mind. “You reckon we should check on your father?”

Gideon’s church and parsonage were five miles north of Wilson. The way August figured the tornado’s winding path had tracked, the parsonage might have been along its line.

“You’d do that?” she asked, raising her eyebrows. “Knowing he’d probably spit in your eye before accepting your help?”

“Just because people believe the worst of me doesn’t mean I have to be the worst.” He dumped the coffee over the rail and carried the cup inside. The floor was swept clean, but the room looked gloomy with scrap wood across the hole, blocking the morning light.

He closed his eyes, remembering last night, and how he’d wanted to consummate his marriage with Loyal. How she was willing and encouraging. It had crossed his mind that she might not have been as in love with Jeremiah as he’d always thought. She stated she’d loved his brother, and it was probably true. Clearly she wasn’t opposed to attention from him. If the cellar had been a bit more welcoming they might’ve made love, baby or not.

Her condition only made her more beautiful. There was a glow about her he’d never seen before and she didn’t cry as easily these days. Perhaps it was too soon to expect her to love him, but he hoped that day was coming. Last night he’d been on the verge of telling her. He couldn’t imagine how she’d react if he let those words loose into the air.

* * * *

Branches, leaves and a few odds and ends lay along the roadside. August stopped twice to remove big limbs from the path before they could proceed, but it didn’t prepared them for the shape of Gideon’s house when they turned down the drive.

Loyal gasped, clutching August’s arm. He winced as her grip tightened around his muscles, though he didn’t look away from the partially collapsed house. The roof seemed to have been torn away by a giant hand. It slumped over the front door and the wall was crumpled beneath it. Trees were ripped from the earth and scattered across the yard. Gideon’s horse cart was turned upside down, one axle broken. The horse was nowhere in sight and most of the fence where it had been pastured was gone or scattered. Except for the steeple missing and sizable hole in the roof, the church appeared intact.

“Papa,” Loyal whispered. “Do you think he’s—”

“We don’t know anything yet. Stay here while I look around.” August set the brake on the wagon and passed her the reins. He stepped down, striding across the ground, dodging house furnishings and trees.

“Gideon?” he called. “It’s August O’Dell. Answer if you’re able.”

A bird cawed, but he didn’t hear any human voices. He pushed the church door open first, disappointed to find it empty. Sunshine poured through the damaged interior. Shutting it behind him, he turned for the remains of the house. There was no access at the front, so he rounded the back. The door hung on the topmost hinge, swinging slightly in the breeze. August pulled it open and it fell away from the frame. He pushed it aside, steeling himself for the worst.

Glass shards and splintered wood made crossing the floor a hazard. He shoved the table out of the way and stepped over a fallen shelf. Beams from the ceiling fell in front of the door leading to the front room. Darkness made it hard to see inside. With the ceiling caved in, he’d have to crouch while he searched for Gideon. He splashed through a puddle and nudged a photograph under shattered glass out of his path.

“Gideon?”

August ducked beneath a beam, feeling blindly for objects in front of him. Remembering the matches in his pocket, he struck one and held it up. In the flickering reddish light, he searched for a lamp, but the only one he found was broken. He shook the match out before it burned his fingertips.

Stomach in knots, he dreaded returning without news of Loyal’s father. He shouldered past a sofa on its end, flinching when it tottered and almost fell on him. Using a second match, he hunkered down, scanning the floor for signs of a body. He knew Gideon didn’t have a cellar. The old man had always claimed if God wanted him to die, he’d go with arms wide open. The collapsed roof didn’t allow August to stand up straight, so he bowed over and shuffled through the ruined objects.

The gilded edges of Gideon’s bible caught the light. A hand clutched the spine, though a bookshelf concealed the rest of the body. August kicked his way through the rubble and pulled the bible away. He touched the other man’s hand, testing the skin temperature.

“For Loyal’s sake, you’d better be alive, you old bastard.”

Gideon’s hand was cool, but not cold enough to suggest the man was dead. He let out a pent up breath when he found a pulse in Gideon’s wrist.

“Guess we all witness a miracle now and then.”

He lifted the bookshelf away, groaning at the solid weight. It shifted without allowing August to see how bad Gideon’s injuries were. Propping it on his shoulder, he struck another match. Sweat broke out on his forehead, but he got a better look at the preacher. A crusted gash marred Gideon’s forehead and his breathing was shallow. August leaned closer, patting the old man’s face.

“You still alive, Redfearn?”

Gideon groaned and opened his eyes. He shifted weakly. “You. What are you doing here?”

“Pulling your sorry hide out of the rubble. Any man with sense would’ve high-tailed it to safer ground. Where are you hurt?”

“God said it was my time.” Gideon’s voice was a harsh croak.

August gritted his teeth. The bookshelf was getting heavier and Gideon’s attitude wasn’t helping. “God doesn’t get a say, because I can’t leave you here. Loyal would never forgive me. Or you.”

“Loyal doesn’t care for my opinion. Let me die in peace, O’Dell.” Gideon closed his eyes, sinking back into the debris around him.

“You can’t be hurt too bad, not if you have enough fight left to argue with me. This shelf isn’t a feather, old man. You’ll have to crawl out on your own. We can leave through the back door afterward.” Dust fell around them, causing him to cough. “Before the roof finishes caving in, if you don’t mind.”

“It’s God’s will,” Gideon argued.

“You’d leave your daughter without saying good-bye? Never meet your grandchild?” August gathered his strength and pushed the bookshelf up a little higher.

“Loyal made her choice. Twice. She doesn’t care if I die.”

August shoved the bookshelf, knocking it into a beam that trembled, causing more dirt to rain around them. He pulled on Gideon’s arm. The preacher groaned. “I think my leg is broken.”

August swallowed a curse. “Which one?”

“The left one. The shelf came down on it. Just leave. I’m not important,” Gideon rasped.

August shook his head, knowing his father-in-law couldn’t see the action. “I know what it’s like to lose someone without the opportunity to say last words. How the regret lingers like a sore that won’t heal. I won’t let Loyal suffer without hearing you say good-bye. You’re coming out of this house with me. You can die after you talk to her, if that’s your heart’s desire. This is gonna hurt, but it’s got to be done.”