by Tanya Hanson
“Gracey claims you're no family man,” Minda said, wishing like anything she wore something other than just the bridal nightclothes she'd bought for Norman Dale. She still hadn't cooled down and her breasts breathed underneath the silk, loose and taut at the same time. Most likely her husband had read invitation in her attire when she came to him. Or had the kiss been just a man's uncontrollable lusts? She moaned in some disgust. How could she consider such selfish thoughts during this time of crisis?
“I'm no family man. Gracey's right about that,” he said into her thoughts. “But I learned some medicine from a Kiowa guide. Saved Timmy Jacobson's leg one time.”
“Heathen medicine? I think not,” she said, as Brixton reached for the door, all but tearing it off its hinges. “This isn't some buckaroo's leg, but a baby girl.”
Hanging up the lantern, he threw her a scowl. “Heathen medicine?”
“Please be quiet,” Minda hissed, though his footsteps had barely made a sound. “Don't wake up the others.”
“Miz Haynes, I know how to keep quiet around sleeping things.” His low voice was hot gravel again, and his gaze would have scratched if such a thing were possible.
The inside of the little house was still and stuffy from the hot day, and the odor of sick hugged the air. Piled wildly in a corner were Priscilla's fouled garments and bed linens. Minda waved her hands at the awful turn of events.
Listless in her trundle bed with eyes bright from fever, the baby whimpered.
“We'd best keep both doors open,” Minda said, somewhat embarrassed at the disorder, “You know, let the fresh night draft flow from one end to the other.”
“Smells worse than this on the trail.” Brixton met her gaze then, and his eyes were softer now, almost kind. He bent down to the child, and Minda marveled at the big hardened hand touching Priscilla's forehead so gently. He cringed a little at the temperature. “She's on fire.”
“I know. Why do you think I'm so frightened?”
Concern creased his face. “Now, the Kiowa think to sweat a fever out...”
“Absolutely not,” Minda said. “She'd explode into flames if we heated her up more.”
“Didn't say I agree.”
“We need ice. She needs to cool. Do they harvest the river ice in the winter? Is there an ice storehouse in town?”
“It's after midnight, Miz Haynes. That'd wait until morning. Besides, I reckon ice is just as bad. Gets a body to shiver and shake, brings on conniptions.”
“I'm sure you mean convulsions, Mr. Haynes.” She picked up the lethargic little one. No ice? No doctor? What on earth were they to do?
“Better not tell me how to speak, either.” He headed toward the kitchen and got the big washtub. “Water not hot or cold will do just fine. I'll get us a scoop of well water. Pump's too noisy for the kids. You go heat up the kettle. Then we'll mix the two. Please, Miz Haynes? Soon as it's daylight, I'll get some bark from the willow trees along the river. Helps bring down a fever.”
“Rough bark on that baby's tender skin? I think not!”
“Ground up, it makes a tea. I'll find some yarrow, too. In between, sassafras tea or aconite might help.”
“I know those last remedies perfectly well,” Minda said, irritated that this unruly cowboy knew healing methods when she was the one who had raised children. “But there aren't any such ingredients in your brother's supplies.”
“Probably got all used up during the scarlet fever,” Brixton mumbled, his voice growing taut.
Minda's body chilled and her face flamed at the same time. This man had suffered unthinkable loss in the course of the past four seasons, and now his niece—and adopted daughter—was stricken.
And, Minda acknowledged with a tremble, it might be her own fault. She'd cuddled the baby most of the afternoon. Who knew what contagion she'd brought with her on her long journey from Pennsylvania?
She met her husband's bleak gaze.
What if little Silly died? Minda could already hear Brixton's angry words of blame at her causing the death of someone else he loved.
He came to stand close to her. “Now you go get some water heated up.” Then of all things, he took her hand and held it to his lips just for a second. She didn't know men, but she did know comfort. That's all this gesture meant. “She'll be all right,” he said. The soft, sad tone of his voice crept into Minda's heart, as it had when they'd stood by little Paul's grave.
“Yes, of course,” Minda whispered, then repeated Mama's words. “The Good Book says we don't get handed more than we can bear.”
“Wouldn't know,” Brixton murmured, holding onto her hand a second longer. “Never read it.”
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* * *
Chapter Four
“Fever's down a bit, I think,” Brixton said an hour later. Little Silly seemed content enough, ready to drop off to sleep in the washtub between Minda's supporting arms. “Let's get her dried off and back to bed.”
It had taken this full hour for his own panic to subside. When scarlet fever struck Paradise, he'd been on the trail. Jake's letter had caught up with him at the Cheyenne General Delivery, three weeks after the Satterburg's baby daughter had died, many others too. Including Norman Dale's own wife, Ida Louise, and young Paul. Norman Dale had been taken ill himself, never to recover completely. Truth to tell, Norman Dale had known he hadn't but months to live. He needed a new wife fast.
Brixton tightened his jaw. On top of his other lies, Norman Dale had known full well his damaged heart would have widowed Minda soon after their wedding day. Maybe even in their bridal bed. But Minda must never know. She'd hightail it out of here fast, and the kids needed a ma. Brixton had no wish to knot up his life with fatherhood.
Or with a wife. What the hell had he been thinking, gathering her in his arms like that when she'd come to his bedroll? Tasting her lips, holding her close? Who knew what might have happened next if common sense hadn't prevailed? He needed to leave Paradise fast. Even now, remembering the heat and scent of her, the sight of her in white lace in the lantern glow had his manhood twitching in forbidden joy.
But he stopped those runaway thoughts and feelings. Instead, his heart tugged to see little Silly suffering. Any creature in misery had him longing to help, but this was his own kin. Likely the fever had tuckered her out, but she wasn't well yet. Who knew what the morning would bring? What if ... A nightmarish question fizzled in his brain. What if he didn't get to leave?
Worse, what if Silly died?
Without a word, Minda lifted the baby, pinned on new britches and laid her gently in the trundle. The child moved listlessly, but seemed to be sleeping. Minda moved to Brixton, eyes wide and troubled.
“We've got to get Neddie-boy and Katie off safely in the morning,” she said. “I'm sure Jake and Gracey will take them in for a time.”
In spite of his uneasy thoughts and her outlandish announcement, Brix couldn't help noticing how cuddling the baby's wet flesh had dampened his wife's nightdress. Her nipples stood out like rosebuds from beneath the thin white fabric.
He fought the hardening in his groin and forced his mind to the matter at hand. “What the dickens are you saying?”
“Priscilla might be infectious. We need to get the others away.”
“That's foolish talk, Miz Haynes. I promised my brother I'd keep the kids together. No matter what.”
“This isn't foolishness, Mr. Haynes. It's the one thing that kept the diphtheria from my sisters and me when Mama was stricken. She sent us away.”
“Seen diphtheria. This isn't it. Likely Silly ate some corrupted food at our wedding dinner. Hot sun spoils food quick. Wouldn't take but a bite to sicken somebody so small.”
It sounded strange to talk about his wedding.
Minda shook her head almost wildly, eyes bright with something like fear. “No, no. We can't take any chances. Besides, Gracey and I fed Priscilla some nibbles from Neddie's plate. He's sleeping fine.”
“Well, like I say, Mi
z Haynes. The kids stick together.”
“How can you be so irresponsible?” Her voice rose, and she stiffened away from the baby's bed.
He remembered her chiding him to be quiet and reminded her of the same. “Keep still, Miz Haynes. We got them all sleeping soundly. You ought to get some rest yourself. It's been quite a day.”
And it had. A sudden weariness clamped around him like the cloying heat. Lighting the stove hadn't helped. He longed for his bedroll, for a long sleep under a cool night sky even though, by now, morning wasn't far away. But that bedroll only brought Minda to mind again, and her warm body kneeling there, kissing him like she meant it for that split second.
In front of his eyes, her shoulders slumped. “I couldn't possibly sleep with all this on my mind.”
She said my like he wasn't caring as much, and his irritation flamed. Of course, she'd been good with Silly just now, and with all the kids all day long, but was she suggesting he wasn't doing his share? That he didn't have worry on his mind? He wasn't even over Norman Dale, and now he had to think of possibly laying this baby girl in the dark earth, too.
His skin crawled like fleas on a mutt. He might not be a family man, but these kids were his last flesh and blood.
In his own way, he cared one hell of a lot. Else he wouldn't have stuck himself with Minda Becker.
Minda Haynes.
But he held his tongue. “Then at least sit yourself down, get a load off your feet.” The lone upholstered chair was the damnedest uncomfortable thing, but Ida Lou had been proud of it. For a flash, he wondered if Minda minded moving into another woman's home. Then he squelched the thought. Didn't matter if she did. She was here now, and he'd make sure she stayed.
Rather than fuss, she did as he said, but perched at the edge of the cushion like she wanted to flee. Or like she had something else to say. He might as well let her speak up now, or he'd likely never hear the end of it.
“Brixton,” she said, looking about the kitchen instead of in his eyes. It struck him that she used his christened name for once. And he realized that something like terror colored her face. “Brixton, I think this might all be my fault.”
“Your fault? What on earth are you saying?” He pulled up a simple X-shaped chair he'd made from two flat boards when he was nothing but a tad of twelve. As he sat, he peeked over at the sleeping baby. She seemed peaceful.
“I think I brought the contagion,” Minda whispered. “It has to be me, something so sudden. With all the filthy air and dirty towns and unwashed passengers on that long journey, I'm certain I carried the sickness here.”
Whether she was right or wrong, he didn't like the fear in her eyes. For an odd moment, he touched her hand. “I'm telling you, it's corrupted food. Happens sometimes after a potluck.”
“How could you know? You don't live here anymore.” Her beautiful white neck tensed as she swallowed hard. She stayed silent, though, like she might be considering what to say next.
“I remember things.” He moved his hand back to his thigh. “And whatever you might think, my brother and I were close. We kept in touch. I got here three, four times every year.”
Yet those three unknowing weeks still caused him some troubled dreams. He hadn't had the smallest hunch things had gone so wrong in Paradise.
“Then you need to do the best for his children.”
Brix bristled at her words. Hadn't he done just that, taken them on, and worse yet, taken a wife, for better or worse? He'd done the impossible—gotten himself married. But he'd wrangle with her about that some other time. The edges of her eye sockets were gray from lack of sleep, and he grudgingly allowed that she was caring right well for a family not even her own. “I do, Miz Haynes.”
“Then listen to me! A newcomer changes everything.”
Damn right, he said to himself, holding his tongue tight so he didn't speak the words out loud.
“After Papa died at Gettysburg, my mama sewed and mended for a living,” Minda said in a drained voice. “A troupe of traveling players came to Gleesburg and hired her to stitch up some damaged costumes. Mama came down with the diphtheria right after those intruders left. I know they brought the illness into our house. I know of what I'm speaking, Mr. Haynes.”
He swallowed hard himself, figuring she had a right to feel some dread. For a strange reason, he sought to disavow her notion.
“Well, I come just as far as you,” he said. “If what you say is true, I'm guilty myself. Now, I'll get you some tea.”
He headed for the stove, mostly to lose sight of those wide, hurt eyes. He'd rather make some Arbuckle's but knew that would keep them awake for whatever was left of the night. The tea was weak, so he added some color with a dash from his brother's whiskey bottle. That'd sure get her to sleep. But when he got back to the ugly stuffed chair, he found her fast asleep already. The real thing, too—her mouth hung open a bit. For an unwise second, he longed to kiss it, stroke her tongue with his. Then he remembered his vow to her that she'd have Norman Dale's room all to herself.
Well, hell, this wasn't any bedroom. He leaned over and closed her mouth with his. Took him about a minute to calm his raging cock, but giving into that second of temptation had been worth it.
She was lighter than a bag of dried beans. Gently, he carried her to the bedroom. Norman Dale had gotten the new bed-tick filled with feathers for his bridal night. Across the pillow, her hair splayed around her head like a gold and silver wagon wheel touched with gentle rust, and Brix couldn't resist touching it. Like he'd watched her do with Silly, he drew the cover gently up to her neck and took one last guilty peek at her bosom while he did so.
Then he looked out the lone window. It wasn't long until morning, and for a beguiling second, he wished he could climb in beside her until the sun rose. She was his wife.
And it was his wedding night.
But he remembered the vow again.
Instead, he sighed and pulled the X-shaped chair next to Silly's bed, to keep watch.
* * * *
Minda woke to a blare of sun shining in her eyes. Her heart pounded. Where in God's heaven was she?
Then she remembered. She was married. She had a husband. The bed was soft and smelled clean but had Brixton kept his word?
Of course. He had promised not to take advantage. And truth to tell, she knew she'd remember if he had ... If they had ... No woman would forget her first time, not with a man like Brixton Haynes in charge. Relief mixed with regret flooded her body and mind, until she remembered Priscilla's violent illness. How had she come to be in this bed?
Her husband, of course. Had he touched or seen something he shouldn't? Embarrassment flared.
Rising quickly, she grimaced at yesterday's calico dress. It was the gown she'd worn before washing up from Priscilla's sickness. But to her relief, she saw the valises her husband had brought in from the wagon. She scrambled through her meager collection of clothes and pulled out her most serviceable, well-worn frock. After all, if she were a nursemaid, she might as well look the part.
The scent of coffee hit her nose when she left the small sleeping chamber, and her stomach growled. Yesterday had been so tumultuous that she hadn't eaten much at her wedding dinner.
Her wedding dinner. Her jaws clenched tight around her teeth. What in the world was going to happen next? Her anger, for one thing. Where on earth was her husband? Had he left Priscilla all alone? She found Katie at the rough-hewn dining table, stirring some kind of mush for Neddie-boy, who looked glumly at the pasty mess in the bowl.
In her little trundle, Priscilla at least appeared to be sleeping soundly. Minda breathed deep in relief.
Or had she died in the night? Minda's skin danced with dread, and her bile rose. Where was Brixton? And how in heaven had she allowed herself to fall asleep? She ran to the child's bed and barely heard Katie's good morning.
Thank God. Priscilla's body gave off normal heat, and her little chest rose and fell naturally. Brixton's washtub remedy had worked. Then it hit her. He'
d gone like he said he would.
Of course. If the baby was well, he had no reason to stay. He had that trail boss to meet up with in Kansas somewhere. Yesterday, he had explained leaving his horse in Ellsworth and would catch a train to get there. Now that he'd made her his wife and the children's mother, he could go on with his life. Like he'd said right off, what did it matter? She'd come to Paradise to become Mrs. Haynes, and she had.
Disconsolate, she poured a cup of coffee. His leaving wasn't a surprise, yet she was staggered at how bereft she felt. But he'd surprised her last night, too. His worry for Priscilla had seemed genuine. So how could he leave his own kin? As she forced her mind to recall all his disagreeable qualities, she reminded herself that she didn't want him either.
“Where's your uncle? Why has he left you alone?” she asked dully, not sure what she felt or why.
Katie shrugged as she shoved a spoon in her brother's mouth. “I don't know. I found these grits hot on the stove. And a fresh pail of milk.”
“I can eat all by myself.” Ned wiped the gray goop from his mouth with his sleeve.
“Then do it.” Katie said.
Minda almost smiled. The children bantered in just the way she remembered her little sisters doing all those years ago. Even with Minda standing here for the first time, the children behaved like the morning was a normal one. Obviously, they had no idea their baby sister had taken desperately ill in the night. And she wouldn't tell them, not just now. Not ever, if Priscilla was on the mend. She couldn't worry their little hearts so soon so soon after they'd lost their father.
And their wayward uncle. If he had even a tiny bit of concern for them, why didn't he stay at least a little while?
Or at least say good-bye?
She picked up Priscilla, who cuddled for a moment, then seemed to writhe against Minda's body heat. Maybe she ought to try giving the baby something to eat, although memories of that little rebellious stomach last night didn't encourage her.
Still, it would give her something to do instead of thinking about Brixton's abandonment. She had a ton of fouled laundry to keep her occupied as well. But after a peek in the corner, she realized the pile was missing.