The Wrong Brother's Bride (18 page)

He pulled Gideon into sitting position. The roof groaned and a board tumbled down, landing near August’s foot. Gideon sat limply without providing any help. “Come on, Redfearn. This house won’t stand much longer.”

Gideon grunted as August helped him balance on his good leg. “Keep your head low, I’ll let you know when you need to duck again. We’ll take it slow.”

He kept his arm under Gideon’s, supporting the man’s weight. He paused when the floor shifted beneath them until it seemed safe to carry on. They moved toward the kitchen, with August holding his hand out as a guide. Light came through the missing back door hole. Beyond the doorway, the grassy hill beckoned with fresh air.

Another groan came from the house and the floor tilted again. August clung to Gideon, who yelped in pain. The walls buckled. Boards cracked and the ceiling split. August shoved Gideon to the floor and threw himself over the preacher, ignoring the man’s moans. He covered his head with his arms. The house laid over as though it was too much effort for the walls to remain standing.

August bit his tongue when something hit his legs and low back. Glass that hadn’t fallen out of the windows before tinkled as it pelted his back. When the noise stopped and the world stilled, he opened his eyes.

“August!”

Loyal’s frightened call reminded him they needed to get out before she came in for them. He coughed, clearing dust from his mouth. “You still alive, Redfearn?”

“It’s God’s will for me to die here,” Gideon said with a gasp.

“Mine is stronger right now. We can go out through the window.” He kicked the boards away. Shaken and achy, but determined to reach Loyal, he climbed to his feet.

Gideon’s pale face shined with sweat and dried blood as he looked at the window. August offered his hand and pulled Gideon up, though the older man didn’t put weight on his injured leg. He looked as though he’d collapse any second.

“Why did you save me?”

“We could have this conversation outside where a house isn’t falling on us.” He clenched his jaw as he supported Gideon’s weight. “You grab onto the window frame and pull yourself through. Loyal’s waiting. She’ll take care of you.”

Gideon looked at August. “If you’re after something, I don’t have anything to give. My whole life was in this house.”

August sneered. “I want my wife’s happiness. Is that so hard to believe? She loves you, even if you’re too selfish to see it. I’d die for Loyal if I had to, but I won’t let her lose her father.”

Gideon blinked. “You love her.”

“It’s none of your concern. Just get the hell out, old man. Before I toss you out.” He lowered himself to one knee and laced his fingers together.

The preacher shook his head and gripped the window frame. He struggled through with help from August. Rubble shifted underfoot. A thick board caught August’s knee, knocking his legs out from under him. He landed hard on his stomach, losing his breath.

“Papa? You’re alive!” Loyal’s voice was faint. Still, it gave August strength. “Where’s August?”

“Right behind me. No, you don’t. Stay there, don’t come near this house. It’s not stable.” Gideon’s order was firm.

August pushed himself up, wincing at the ache in his knee. He reached for the windowsill. Sweaty palms made grasping the wood difficult. He clung for all he was worth, picturing Loyal’s face. With a grunt, he hauled himself through the rectangle and onto the splintered side of the house. His legs gave out before he made it across the nearly horizontal wall and he sat heavily on what used to be the back stoop.

“August!” Loyal’s face was pale and pinched. She looked at him over her father’s shoulder, about ten feet away where Gideon sat on an overturned tree.

Trust the old blighter to fake a broken leg and make trouble. “I’m fine. Make sure your daddy’s gonna live.”

He wiped the sweat off his brow and caught his breath. He’d done some hair-raising things in his youth, but never entered a tornado-damaged house before. It was one chore he hoped he’d never face again. When he was sure he could move without giving away how badly he was shaken, he examined the rip in his trouser knee and the skin beneath.

The scrape was ragged, but not as bad as the one on Gideon’s head. While it stung like the dickens, he guessed his legs had gone out from relief and anxiety more than injury. He rose, limping, thanks to the soreness in his back rather than the cut.

“You’ll be alright, Papa. We’ll take you to town and get you looked at.” Loyal’s voice was thick with worry. She looked away from him as August approached, her smile tight. “You’re hurt.”

He shook his head. “Not much, just bruises. Let’s help your daddy into the wagon.”

“I’m not going. I should’ve died in there.” Gideon’s eyes were red-rimmed, his mouth turned down. “You couldn’t leave well enough alone.”

“Papa, what a terrible thing to say. August saved you.” Loyal put her hand on Gideon’s shoulder. “I’m glad you’re alive.”

“I’ve got no house and my eyesight is failing. There’s no one to care for me.” Gideon glowered at August. “All I have left is a daughter who doesn’t care for my opinions.”

Loyal removed her hand, looking crestfallen.

“Enough,” August snapped. “She loves you. There’s no sense in sitting here, wallowing in pity. Get up, let’s go.”

“August,” Loyal said softly.

“I’m not coddling him, and I’m not leaving him here. We have repairs to do on our own house and he needs the doctor.”

He knew he sounded harsh, but Gideon wasn’t going to be moved with soft words and coaxing.

Loyal averted her eyes. “Come on, Papa. August is right, you know.”

Gideon stood, swaying a little. When August reached out to help, the old man moved away. He didn’t resist Loyal’s help, though, leaning on her as they approached the wagon. “Heathen. Brother was a heathen and father was the worst heathen of them all.”

August looked back at the broken house. Before he’d left Wilson township, he wouldn’t have gone inside looking for a man who hated him. Not even for Loyal’s love. If that didn’t show Gideon how much he’d changed, nothing would.

* * * *

For all his bluff and bluster, Loyal felt certain her father wasn’t hurt as badly as he let on. He was a lonely old man, although he had no one but himself to blame for that condition. She held August’s hand while Dr. Roy examined her father. The doctor’s parlor was crowded with patients who’d suffered injuries during the storm. Everyone was too busy suffering their own misery to pay much attention to her and August.

August stood beside the chair she occupied despite his aches and pains. He’d refused to let her look at his leg, though he was limping and declined a chair, saying others needed it more. From his posture, she knew he was uncomfortable standing, and it only added to her worries.

“Thank you,” she murmured, looking up at him. “I know he’s difficult.”

“I couldn’t leave him.” Although August’s voice was gruff, his eyes were soft. “If I’d had to carry him, I’d have done it. Too bad about the parsonage.”

She tightened her fingers around his. “I don’t know where he’ll go. I’m sure his congregation will help rebuild the parsonage.” She sighed. “Which could take months.”

August looked like he’d swallowed a lemon. His brow wrinkled and he frowned. “He can take the spare room.”

Loyal gaped. “You’d allow my father to live with us?”

He nodded. “Since he’s got nowhere else. You know what it would mean.”

They’d share the master bedroom. Her heart skipped a beat. There wasn’t room for another bed, not with one already filling most of the space. They’d sleep together like a real married couple. For a moment she imagined curling against him at night. His arm draped over her stomach, tucked beneath her breasts. It wasn’t an unpleasant thought.

“I know,” she said. “That doesn’t seem so bad.”

He gave her a half smile. “Could be a lot better than that.”

Her face heated. “It depends on how Papa’s doing. Keep that in mind.”

“I truly hope he’s not hurt badly, Loyal. I wouldn’t wish that on anyone.”

The sincerity in his voice warmed her heart. “I was worried when you went in the house. You might have been killed. Both of you. I don’t know what I would’ve done.”

“You don’t have to find out.” He pulled his hand away from hers and stroked her hair. “No sense worrying about it. We’ll wait for Doc Roy’s assessment, then make a decision.”

Loyal rose, pressing her hands to her back. August watched her with concern.

“I’m fine. Just need to stretch my legs.”

His eyes never left her as she walked around the doctor’s parlor. The wounded had thinned a bit as the doctor took in more patients. Almost two hours had passed since they’d brought her father. As time passed without word, she worried his injuries were worse than they’d guessed.

She was on her second turn around the room when Dr. Roy appeared.

“Mrs. O’Dell, your father will be fine. The bump on his head didn’t require stitches, but he’s got a pretty good sprain in his left ankle. He’ll need a few weeks of rest before it returns to normal. He said the parsonage is gone.” Dr. Roy was ten years older than Loyal, a serious-faced man she’d known most of her life.

“It’s a complete loss. Do you think he should come with us to the farm?” she asked.

Dr. Roy glanced at August. “Might not hurt for you to keep an eye on him over the next couple of days. Head injuries are nothing to take lightly. You can take him home when you’re ready.”

“I can help him to the wagon,” August offered.

She swallowed. Aware Papa would put up a fight when he learned their plans, she wondered how to tell him. It would be so much easier if he and August could settle their differences. Perhaps this was their chance.

“Let me tell him. He may wish to stay at a boardinghouse or hotel.” Being a preacher wasn’t a lucrative calling. Maud Bowman had come into an inheritance from her parents and liked to make people think it was Irwin’s powerful sermons that inspired people to donate money to their church. Most people didn’t believe it, with good reason. Papa might have money saved, but she was sure he didn’t want to spend it on room and board.

Dr. Roy held the examination room door for her and she was relieved to find Papa sitting up with more color in his face than before.

“I thought you would have gone home by now.” His thick eyebrows were drawn together and he didn’t look pleased that she’d waited. A wide bandage wrapped around the top of his head, covering his gray hair. Another bound his leg beneath his ragged trouser leg.

Loyal didn’t see any reason to dance around the issue. “We were worried. Dr. Roy thinks it’s a good idea for you to come home with us.”

“With O’Dell? I’ll crawl back into the parsonage first.” Papa turned his nose up and looked away from her. “The day I cross the threshold of that house, you can be sure hell will suffer a frigid winter.”

“There’s no sense in arguing,” she scolded. Stepping closer, she lowered her voice. “He offered before I could suggest it. If you think he’s the same selfish boy who left, you’re wrong. Turn the other cheek, Papa.”

“Don’t preach at me, girl.” He didn’t sound as fierce as he had a moment ago. “I don’t need charity from August O’Dell.”

“It isn’t charity. It’s your daughter and son-in-law caring for you in a time of need.” She tapped her foot, waiting for his next argument.

“I’m sure I could find a parishioner with a spare room,” he muttered.

“Mama would expect me to care for you. It’s no trouble. August works outside. You’d only see him at meals, and it isn’t for long.” She offered a timid smile. “I miss you, Papa.”

Papa met her eyes, his face hard. “Just for a few days. My congregation are good folk. One of them will find a place for me.”

Relief fluttered through her. “You’ll come with us now?”

“Only because you’re persistent. Don’t think this means I forgive your husband’s behavior.”

Not yet, she thought. Someday that might change.

14

August washed the back of his neck and his face in the rain barrel by the barn. Loyal was settling Gideon into the spare bedroom and he’d decided they needed space. He’d brought the new wood and glass for the wall into the barn. Tomorrow he’d ride over to the Stiles’s place and see if Adam could help him repair the damage. More importantly, make certain the family had fared alright during the bad weather.

Worn out from the day’s activity and the scare he’d gotten when the parsonage collapsed, he trudged toward the house. Sorry bounded from the sheep pasture and reared on his hind legs, bumping August’s knee. Swallowing a curse, August put his hand out to keep the dog from jumping up again.

“Down, boy.”

Oblivious to the pain he’d caused, Sorry trotted to the house. August hobbled after him, bracing himself for cold treatment by Loyal’s father. The front room was empty and the door to his former bedroom was shut. Apparently Gideon wasn’t in the mood for company, which suited August just fine.

He heard Loyal in the kitchen and followed the sounds of dinner preparation. She looked away from the potato she was slicing when he entered.