by Tanya Hanson
“Oh, no, Brixton, no.” Her languor at his delicious ministrations halted and she scrambled up to sit on the bed. “The money is for necessary things, like bringing your horse home from Kansas.”
“Lay back down,” he said, stroking her arm with soap and fervor. “Fara's staying at a real good farm I know well. It isn't the money. I don't want...” He raised the inside of her wrist to his mouth, his tongue taking a quick taste. Her pulse jumped. For a long, sweet moment, his eyes held her gaze, dark and firm. “Don't want to waste any of my days and nights here going off somewhere else.”
Disliking the sudden jolt that his time here was temporary, she held out her arms to him. He bent down and slipped his tongue between her lips, then moved to cherish one breast, then the other, enticing her nipples to new enchantment. As she wriggled with delight, his hand reached under the bed sheet again and her lower core parted at his fingertips. Almost overwhelmed with sensation, she dragged her fingers through the lengths of his hair. For a second, he sparked her center bud to a glimpse of those colors only she could see.
“You're a tease, Mr. Haynes.” She breathed against his ear, forcing away her sadness.
He pulled back, his face creased in disappointment. “Damn. Somebody's driving up.”
Bereft herself, she didn't chide the curse. He tried hard these days, but now she almost wished she had courage to mouth the word herself. Her emptiness was almost pain.
“I'll go check things. You get dressed.” His eyes still held the glaze of desire. “We have plenty of time to finish this up later. I'll come back to carry you out.”
Plenty of time. Those words encouraged her in spite of the disruption of their passion. “I'll hobble slow.”
Sighing and grimacing both, she managed to climb into a gray dress that had seen better days, but when she heard Gracey's voice at the door, she relaxed, kept her hair down and her feet bare. She found her friend in the big upholstered chair, face aglow with impending motherhood.
“Gracey! You're most welcome, but is everything all right?”
“Oh, I know it's early in the day, but I've gotten the boys to school and couldn't resist some fresh air. I woke up queasy this morning.” She patted her belly, then waved an envelope. “So I'm delivering a down payment for Lisa Pelton's new orange hat, and a letter to Brix. He's outside with it. Most of all—” She smiled demurely. “I wanted a chance to wear my new hat. I'm too proud of it to save it just for Sundays.”
“Probably his reward money. Mine didn't take long to reach me,” Minda said, then teased, “So is postmaster part of the duties of a preacher's wife?”
“No. But when I mailed a letter for my Auntie Faye in Hastings first thing today, Horace at the post office mentioned a post for Brix. I told him I'd deliver it.”
“Then let me make you some tea.”
“You will do no such thing. You're limping like a granny. I'll get us each a cup.”
While Gracey puttered at the stove, Minda leaned on a spindleback chair and walked it over like a crutch to her new worktable. The fabrics, laces and ribbons glimmered like jewels in a treasure chest. She had too many blessings to count.
So sweet, Brixton not wanting to waste their time together. An idea came then. She'd use Lisa's down payment for a higher purpose, as there were many orders ahead of hers.
“Gracey? Do you think your father could handle the livery and smithy all by himself for a while?”
“I suppose. But why?”
“I need to hire your brother.” She explained her plan to send the young horseman to Ellsworth to retrieve Fara as a surprise. “Brixton hasn't complained, but I'm sure he'd like his own horse back. Do you think Nathan would accept?”
Gracey laughed out loud. “Indeed. He's at that age where Paradise seems a worse place than Perdition, if you pardon my expression.” She blushed in wild apology. “He'll need to wait a bit though, ‘til he and Pa finish putting up their new shed.”
Since Gracey had been one of her first visitors after Peavy's attack, they found areas of fresh gossip today, Brixton and Caldwell's altercation being news no longer. Indeed, life in Paradise had become somewhat languid with the fair over for another summer, the Perkins gang harassing another state, and the corn not quite ready for harvest. Finally, Gracey rose and stretched. “I'd better get along home and discuss your proposition with Nathan.”
“You're absolutely alight with joy,” Minda said.
“Yes.” Gracey's face stayed soft and bright. “No babe will ever replace our Ruthie, so I don't care a whit if this next one's a boy as well.”
“Your sons are all precious,” Minda said fondly. “I spent my life raising girls. Not until Ned did I have a chance to hold a little boy close to my heart.” Or Brixton either, she reminded herself. Her rough and rowdy husband was every bit the father he claimed he wasn't. Somewhere deep down, her womb reeled with emptiness.
After helping Gracey into her buggy, Brixton came in the back door to stand in front of her at her worktable, tall, tender, and so serious that she knew finishing her bath was the farthest thing from his mind. Even still, her heart lurched with joy at the sight of him.
She swallowed with a loud gulp. “That letter wasn't your reward.”
“Nope. Letter was from Buck Hannon, trail boss of my outfit. Wonders where I am.”
Minda could hardly hear the words. She'd long known the dream would end. She just hadn't expected it to end today.
As he put his hands on her arms, she felt his pulse run with a sudden chill. “Truth is, Minda, Buck says I got to be back for fall round up. Or he'll hire someone else to ride point. Give somebody else my job.”
Clearing her throat kept the melancholy from her voice. She remembered that point riding was what he did. That a point rider was who he was. “Brixton, I do understand, I do. Sit with me.”
He hunkered on the big upholstered chair, and she reached to take his hands in hers. “Brixton, you must understand, too. Remember that day you told me things you'd never told anyone?”
“Yep.” He nodded.
Her hands tightened. “Well, I have to confess something now. I do not think I have the stamina to raise another family all by myself.”
She looked at him, hoping he understood she had none of the anger and threats from those first days left in her. “That night Silly got sick, the load bearing down on me was cut in half when you walked through the door.”
He managed a tight smile. “You just called her ‘Silly.'”
Her mouth twitched for a second but it wasn't a smile. “Don't sidetrack me. And Ned getting lost, why, without you...” She slowed down with a quiet shiver and a headshake. “And as for our little firefly. Well, it isn't all that far off when boys will be knocking on the door.”
“Won't be finding any of them good enough,” he grumbled.
“But you won't be here.” Minda pulled her hands away.
“Minda.” His voice was gentle, but he looked away. “I promised my brother I'd care for the kids. Never promised him I'd stay.” He met her eyes then. “Never promised you either.”
“I know that.” she nodded, laying a hand on his knee now. “I'm just telling you how I feel.”
“Truth is, Minda, you'd be raising the kids alone even if you had married my brother and not me.” He looked away again, face reddening.
“What are you saying, Brixton?” Minda's stomach churned. What other secrets had he and Norman Dale kept from her?
“My brother was dying.” His hands started a soothing journey up and down her arms, but he looked mostly in his lap while he talked. “His heart wore out with that scarlet fever that killed Ida Lou and their boy Paul. He even searched out a specialist in Omaha. That's why he picked you so quick. You could raise kids. He was a damn fool for tussying so hard to get ready for you. But truth is, he'd have died on you before long anyway.” The eyes watched her now, showing apology for his dreadful secret, but suddenly he turned away. “Likely in your bridal bed.”
Minda could
hardly absorb the words, overwhelmed that she had been held to such a tremendous responsibility without her knowledge or choice.
And now she was to be alone anyway, despite the fact that her husband was alive and hale.
“But you accused me of contributing to his death,” she said, remembering his wrath the day they met.
With a head shake, Brixton sighed deep, his hair tumbling along his shoulders. “I repent of that, I truly do. I was up against a wall and damn angry about it.”
Outside, the wind rustled the cornstalks. “I can stick around to bring in the corn,” he said, desolate.
“How long is that?”
“Well, middle of September. All I can promise right now, Minda.” He stood up and pulled her along with him, holding her like he meant it, tight and strong.
But not forever.
“That's all I can ask then.” She gave him a watery smile.
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* * *
Chapter Seventeen
As August rolled on, Minda prayed that September could stay away forever. Brixton had promised half of that month to her. With the children in school, and unusual rain keeping the crop watered, she and Brixton had daylight hours, while Priscilla napped, to explore their bodies and their hearts, in addition to the dark heavenly nights in each other's arms. Her hat business exploded, and life would have been perfect.
If she hadn't had a husband who was leaving her.
One early September morning, fall tinting the air, Minda displayed her latest wares to Delmar Hackett at the mercantile while Geraldine cooed over Priscilla, and Brixton sought out refreshment at Skinny Hank's. One of his last days of freedom, he'd joked. He'd start the corn harvest in three days.
“Beauties, every single one, Minda. Why, I've had to increase my stock of dress lengths just so we have matching fabrics for your hats.” Something sparkled on the older man's left hand, and a plot hatched in Minda's head.
“Mr. Hackett, do you carry men's wedding rings?”
His plump forehead crinkled. “Can't say that I do, not called that anyways. I do keep a few simple bands for the ladies.” He winked at her. “And for ladies with prodigious hands as well, if you're thinking of a memento to fit Brixton.”
She was, indeed. It might remind him of her when he was alone on the trail. For a sad second, her heart trembled with bleakness worse than a barren late-winter day. “Then let me see them please. I can visualize his hand and likely select an appropriate size.”
“Fact is, my Geraldine gave me this ring upon our betrothal those long years ago,” Delmar said. “I'm a businessman, but most menfolk around here wouldn't dare wear such trinkets. Too easy to catch on a barb wire or a tool.”
Minda hadn't considered such a danger, but bought the ring anyway. It would make a nice good-bye gift. Her heart fluttered like the wings of a dying bird. But she still had ten more September days.
Priscilla heavy in her arms, she left the mercantile, strongly considering an installment plan on that wonderful perambulator for Priscilla. Nathan Moulton yelled from way down at the livery. He trotted over.
“I just rode in this morning, Miz Haynes. Thanks for the extra job. It was a thrill.” His boyish face was sunburned from his ride up from Kansas with Fara. “He's a powerful steed, that one. Does Brix proud. Wish he'd had him for the Bonnet Race. Why, Caldwell would have been a speck”
“Thank you, Nate. I'll go tell Brixton now. He's over at the saloon. I can't wait to see his face when he realizes my great surprise.” Her skin prickled with excitement, heart pounding with anticipation.
Nathan reddened even more. “Be doing that for you, ma'am. Skinny Hank's ain't no place for a lady of your caliber. You wait right here.” He ran off.
She perched on the Hacketts’ pickle barrel. She'd made toys for Ned and hats for the girls, but she'd never concocted a suitable gift for her husband. Fara's return was a surprise, not a present. As it was, a wedding ring wasn't typical, and he might not wear it simply out of safety. A gift for him had been a difficult decision.
Unless. Her hand lowered to her belly. Gracey had mentioned queasiness, and Minda had used the chamber pot for an entirely new reason after Brixton left her side this morning.
Unless she were about to present him with fatherhood. Her heart barely beat. Neddie had insisted he needed a brother because Paul lived with God, and Katie had her own baby sister. In her giddiness, Minda almost felt queasy now. Purchasing that perambulator might make more sense than ever.
She grappled for control in time to watch Brixton's black hair linger on his shoulders as he walked from the saloon with their neighbor, Tom Holden. Seeing her, her husband's face split with a grin that weakened her knees against the cask. He ran to her because with the weight of Priscilla, she couldn't run at all. His wide-spread arms gathered them both close.
Saloon or not, his scent was sunshine and life itself.
“Oh, Minda. My Fara? This can't be real.” His words, as well as his lips, kissed her, firm and soft at the same time. “How could you?” His dark eyes accused her affectionately.
“Now, now, Mr. Haynes. I have my own money and can spend it as I will.” She glanced down. With all that was between them, how could she still feel shy? “It just didn't seem right, you not having your own horse.”
He looked away. “That'll sure save me a trip to Kansas.”
Throat tightening with the ache that came more and more often as time sped on, she knew what that meant. He could freight the horse on the same train he took from Columbus to Texas.
“This is a righteous cause for celebration.” He nodded firmly with that insouciant grin of his, but she saw a trace of regret behind the sparkle in his eyes.
“You mean, supper at Miss Lila Jean's?” Minda forced a tease, not wanting anything serious to mar the moment.
“Maybe, but I'm devising how to rejoice with you later on.” His voice came out husky, brushing her skin.
“Now, now, Mr. Haynes, Priscilla has ears,” she murmured against his kiss, marveling at the passion his lips invoked.
By nightfall, he'd tended and tucked in all three of the children while she stitched eagerly upon a new design for Lorelei Braun. When he came from behind the bed curtain, still humming his lullaby, she dropped the hat at once. Holding out his hand like a true bridegroom, he led her from her worktable. Before they reached the bedroom, he had slipped off his own clothes.
“What's this damn corset for?” he grumbled, trying to divest her of her inexpressibles.
She couldn't help a giggle. “It's essential for the style of this old dress.” Kicking away the homely gown, she leaned into his mouth. “You see, someone promised me a new one.”
He stiffened, apparently having forgotten, so she comforted him right away, kissing the corner of his mouth. “It makes no matter, Brixton. I've been too busy making hats to think up something for myself.”
“I like you far better without dresses anyway,” he said into her hair, having successfully untied the corset. He picked her up like any true bride and carried her over her threshold.
His mouth bent to brush her breasts as he headed for their bedroom. Laying her tenderly among the pillows, he knelt on the bed at her side, his hands playing upon her body in the gentle rhythm of a choirmaster. Her breasts became his first area of worship. Heat from his tongue started a slow burn that traveled up to her neck.
His gaze scorched her. She moved almost restlessly, seeing the glory of his raging manhood and wanting to contribute to his pleasure as well.
“Brixton...”
“Not now,” he murmured against the coil of her ear, making her quiver deliciously. His tongue briefly parted her lips, then he busied it at her other ear, before taking a long, sinuous sweep under her chin.
Then down to her nipples to drink voraciously. Minda's spine rose up in her delirium, desperate for her breasts to meet the dark soft whorls on his chest.
Her inner legs from hip to toe were next for the travel o
f his tongue. Once again, his eyes never left her face, and his hair dragged sinuously, tickling her flesh into a spasm of delight. Even at the ankle just healed, his touch caused such combustion that moaned as if with her last breath.
She was empty but satiated at the same time. He was hers and that was enough.
His masterful tongue kissed her senseless at the center of her being. Colors never yet imagined swirled in her head, and sounds never before heard wrenched from her soul.
“Brixton, now. I need you now.” She moaned, and reached between the latticework of their legs to find his powerful manhood and grant it entrance. “Now.”
He filled her as only he could. As the spiral collapsed into a gentle peace, she simply knew. It would never have been like this with Norman Dale. With any other man.
“Oh God, Minda,” He breathed atop her, letting her adore the wonder of his weight upon her. “Minda, this was a sacrament all our own. Something holy, and I'm no godly man.” He rose up on his elbows, searching her eyes. “I will remember this forever. I wish I could find the words I mean.”
“I know.” She caressed his back, completely overwhelmed. He had already alerted her to the impossibility of giving her, of giving anyone, the declarations he'd spoken to Esperanza.
But at least she had him for a while. Ten more September days.
* * * *
Minda woke up alone and exhausted. From the children's chatter outside the bedroom and the glorious sunshine pouring past the curtains, she knew she'd overslept.
As she sat up, the room swayed and her stomach stirred unhappily. She swallowed hard until it passed. When it did, she rose slowly, her memories of last night overtaking any brief unpleasantness. Lost in her husband's lovemaking, she had known a union that surpassed any other time they'd spent in each other's arms.
As she buttoned her old purple dress—she'd replaced the button Delaware Peavy had cut off and hastily added a ruffle of gray gingham where she'd cut away strips—she reveled in the tenderness of her breasts where Brixton's lips had lingered and feasted, swelling them with so much leftover pleasure the bodice fit tighter. In a moment, she'd likely see him shaving outside, the sinews of his back weaving together in impossible beauty. She quivered like a schoolgirl.