A Bride For Brynmor (Songbird Junction Book 1)

by Jacqui Nelson

  “In Noelle, Grandpa Gus taught me how to run his post office. He said his grandsons had organized everything to work the most efficiently. Before you go, will you share your plans for your new office with me?”

  He did and ended with, “It’s as much a general store as a freight office. Everything we need to stay for a night, or even a month, is in this room.”

  A month with him? In this snug space? The idea made her mind race with possibilities.

  “We even have a piano.” She made a show of gesturing to it, hoping the sweep of her arm would conceal the truth. She’d lost her once ironclad self-control. She couldn’t stop craving more time with him while worrying what would happen if they stayed together too long. Or parted ways too quickly and she couldn’t stop Ulysses from hurting him again.

  “I’d rather have a hurdy-gurdy.” His gaze pinned her, feeding her hopes that he was talking about more than the instrument.

  “You like the gurdy that much?”

  “Only when you’re playing it.” He strode for the back door but paused with his hand on the latch. “I’m sorry I haven’t provided more. That…” He heaved a sigh. “That this room isn’t larger.”

  “It’s bigger than most places I’ve lived, and I’ve always thought cozy homes were the best. They keep people together.”

  Had he thought about that? Them having to sleep here alone together? Just the two of them. Without any walls between them.

  Chapter 4

  Standing in the dark room, outside of the circle of firelight, Brynmor’s heart pounded, chaotic as a hundred drums as he watched Lark doing what he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about. Not once since he’d stood in the cabin doorway and saw her in this tiny room.

  She was defining where they would sleep.

  She nudged her bedroll, her share of the pile of wool blankets they’d found in the freight, closer to the stove. He clutched his tighter to his chest, then shifted the material lower for better coverage. Not even a half hour of vigorous wood chopping had softened his ardor.

  Finally, she stopped fidgeting with the placement of her bed. She took a seat on it and patted the space beside her. “Is this enough room for you?”

  “Yes.” His reply came out rough, from a mouth as dry as the dust they’d swept from the room. He was lucky he’d uttered even one word.

  “Are you sure?” She surveyed the cabin. “I could try to make more room if you need it.”

  He said nothing and stayed still, waiting for her to decide what she needed.

  “I think this is the best layout.” She picked up the brush they’d also found in the freight.

  He’d insisted she keep it for herself. When she’d resisted, he’d told her to consider it part of the compensation she’d receive for setting up the office. A task they’d completed but only after working late into the night.

  “You’ve made everything look…” The stroke of the brush over her glossy hair made him forget what he’d been saying. There was only her. And she looked— “Perfect.”

  She shrugged one shoulder, elegantly and very enticingly. “I did what you suggested. And worked for less than an hour on my own before you returned and helped me finish.”

  It’d been a struggle to stay away even that long. He preferred working beside her. He’d have to sort out the woodpile in the morning.

  She set her brush carefully beside her blankets, as if it were her most cherished possession—until she fixed her attention on her watch and studied it closely. “Aren’t you tired? It’s past midnight.”

  He’d never get tired of gazing upon her. But it appeared he’d have to start acting tired if he wanted her to get any sleep.

  He placed his bed beside hers as carefully as she’d set down her brush, making sure he stayed squarely on his side of their sleeping space. From the corner of his good eye, he watched her stretch out on her side, her elbow propped on her blankets, her palm cradling her head.

  He sat facing the stove and fiddled with the kindling, trying to keep his own hands occupied.

  “Are you cold?” she asked.

  He shook his head. “Are you? I can get more wood.”

  “We have more than enough right here.”

  He felt the same way, but he wanted her to have more than a bedroll, a brush, and a watch. “You haven’t had many luxuries in your life.”

  “Oh, but I have.” She stared at Barnum and Bailey sleeping nearby, nestled together on their shared blankets.

  Lucky little bounders.

  “I had my sisters with me for fourteen years. And we had our music, both shared and separate.”

  “When is music separate?”

  “We’ve always performed as a trio. By choice and not because Ulysses insisted. But we’ve often chosen to practice on our own.” She smiled as she studied the room again. “Even in spaces smaller than this. Each of us has always had a private affair with a special instrument.”

  “I never saw you play one more than another. Except for your hurdy-gurdy.” And then one day she didn’t have it anymore. When he’d asked why, she’d said she’d sold it to a man who’d liked the sound of it. “I never understood how you could let it go.”

  “Because the man wanted the gurdy and when I refused, Ulysses said he’d sell everything I had if the price was right. When the deal was done, the man came to me and offered to return the gurdy if I spent the night with him.”

  His heart seized with rage. At the man and Ulysses and himself. He’d been in Cheyenne when this happened. What else had she hidden from him back then? “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I couldn’t. It was a test. Ulysses was always seeking something that might break the vow I’d made.”

  “What vow?”

  “After our first week with Ulysses, I swore if he ever forced me or my sisters to sleep with men for his profit, I’d strangle him with a string from Oriole’s violin. They were actually Wren’s words. But she only whispered them to me and Oriole, and now that I think on it, I believe she used garrote not strangle.”

  “Holy Moses.” He couldn’t imagine Lark’s timid and tiny sister doing that, let alone saying she would. Wren hadn’t said a word to him.

  “Growing up in a French mission surrounded by an endless river of transient fur traders changes one’s vocabulary. And perceptions. If I’d accepted the man’s offer, it would’ve been a choice. I would not have been forced.”

  “You were coerced,” he growled. “And bullied and—”

  She held up her hand. “Letting go of my gurdy was the only way to show I remained fully committed to my sisters.”

  “But you still could’ve told me. I would’ve helped you keep your vow and your gurdy too.”

  “And been thrown in jail for your troubles. Cheyenne was Ulysses’ Utopia. He always found ways to make their lawmen do what he wanted.”

  Her continued excuses for not sharing her life with him fueled his frustration. “What about Oriole’s violin?” he demanded. “It’s important to her, and she still has it.”

  A frown pinched her brow. “Her violin is…unique. It’s important to all of us. Even Ulysses. We’ve always treated it differently, and I—” She exhaled wearily. “I stopped asking why.”

  “Maybe the difference was Oriole decided she’d fight for everything she loved.”

  When Lark flinched, he did as well. Self-reproach stabbed him. He’d been gallingly judgmental today. First the station attendant and now her.

  He met her gaze squarely. “I shouldn’t have said that. I’m sorry.”

  “I’m sorry as well.” Her voice was hushed but not hesitant. “For many things I’ve said.”

  But she’d only said them because she’d faced more challenges than he could ever imagine. She’d been fighting for herself and her sisters long before they met Ulysses. The only pleasant thing she’d ever mentioned about the orphanage was being allowed to sing and play music, mostly at service in church. The mission had been heavy-handed in its quest to assimilate children wit
h native blood.

  And him? Was he trying to change her to suit him as well?

  When he’d first seen her gently chiding Wren, he’d been intrigued. When she’d spun to face him, he’d been spellbound. Her unbound hair had whipped around her with the force of her turn. Every muscle in her slender body had straightened, making her appear taller. And her eyes had flashed like obsidian daggers.

  She’d been the bear she’d teased him about being. Fierce, protective, untamed. If she hadn’t told him to never come near her again, he would’ve been content to catch a glimpse of her occasionally in Cheyenne. He wouldn’t have asked for more.

  Liar. You craved so much more. You still do.

  Her head tilted at an inquisitive angle as she watched him. Was she questioning his stillness? Had she sensed his thoughts?

  Silence wasn’t his friend. He cleared his throat. “We all fight in our own way.” His words came easily, with conviction. “Even Wren.”

  “I’ll do whatever it takes to guard her and Oriole. And you too.” She folded her arms. “The gurdy had to go. As did you.”

  “Me? You told me to leave in order to protect your sisters and me?” He shook his head vigorously, then lowered his chin belligerently. “Telling me to leave won’t work again.”

  “I didn’t think it would. That’s why I’m trying to tell you something different. The truth.” Her brows arched, challenging him to disagree. “It all comes down to one thing. My life isn’t mine to live freely. And neither is yours. Your first priority must be staying safe so you can help your family.”

  Her words made him shake his head again. “This isn’t like it was in Cheyenne or all the places I lived before that. I’ve had time and the good fortune to settle my family in a prosperous life and then accept that I must let them go. Wherever they decide is best. I’m no longer a brother trying to be a parent. And Rob, Hedd, and Griff are all the stronger because I’ve changed and so have they.”

  Speaking of his family made him remember something. He pulled the letter from his pocket and held it out to her.

  When her eyes widened much too hopefully, he rushed to explain. “It’s not from your sisters. My brother wrote it. Said I was supposed to give it to you as soon as we had a quiet moment to think.” Then he’d been distracted by Ulysses, the train passengers, Caleb, the missing station attendant, and of course her. Always her.

  She took the letter but didn’t open it. She stared at it like it might swallow her whole. “That sounds like something Griffin would say. He’s always mulling over things, but why would he write to me?”

  Mulling, or brooding as Robyn called it, was one of the few ways Griffin had found to stifle his temper. But he wasn’t the brother in question. “The letter’s from Heddwyn.”

  Her jaw dropped in surprise. He shared her amazement. His middle brother couldn’t stand still. Heddwyn had never let a quiet moment remain quiet.

  When she finally opened the letter, he lay down on his bedroll and stared at the ceiling. She deserved more privacy, but his legs refused to put any distance between them again.

  After a long moment, she said, “You didn’t read it.”

  The certainty in her voice drew his gaze to her. She pulled her notebook from her pocket, tucked Heddwyn’s letter inside, and set it beside her brush and watch.

  “He said you’d share it with me when you were ready.”

  “Are you sure he said when and not if?” Before he could answer, she said, “If I don’t get a chance to see him again in Denver, please tell him I appreciate the time he took to write to me.”

  He grunted. He’d forgotten about having to return to that city in the morning.

  “You’re scowling again. Over a letter as kind as it was thoughtful.” Lark lay down on her bedroll and stared at the ceiling, mirroring his pose. Except only a fading frown—or a suppressed one—disturbed her brow.

  Heddwyn was capable of great kindness, but he hadn’t shown it in Cheyenne.

  He tried to sound unconcerned as he said, “I was thinking about tomorrow.”

  She nodded slowly. “We…can’t stay here.” A hard edge replaced the waver in her voice. “There’s no place to hide or run to if things get bad. When the train arrives, we should assume Ulysses will be on it. We board before he can get off. We avoid a confrontation.”

  “Agreed.” Then, as soon as the train left the junction, he’d do his own confronting. But not in Denver or Noelle where his family might be pulled into the strife. He’d delayed his fight with Ulysses too long.

  This time he’d ask Caleb to take his seat with Lark before he—

  He fought the tightness in his throat and forced himself to accept what he must do. He must walk away from Lark and search every part of the train, inside and out, and battle her troupe manager alone.

  Chapter 5

  Under a cloudless blue sky that reminded her of Brynmor’s uninjured eye, Lark leaned against the front of the cabin and studied the infamous water tower that led her Welshman to depart the train. Behind the cabin, the repetitive thump of Brynmor’s axe sang to her, telling her where he was and how hard he worked. A softer chorus of thunks marked his breaks to stack the split wood, building the pile high enough to reach the roof—as he’d informed her was his goal.

  In Cheyenne, he’d told her he’d never lived in the wilderness, but he’d spent most of his time outdoors. His days had been filled with driving wagons and caring for the horses or mules that pulled them. That activity plus loading and unloading the freight had turned him into a mountain of muscle with a humble core.

  The down-to-earth tones of his current labor soothed her. The crisp, clean winter air allowed her to breathe deeply. A pleasant change from the many strident saloons and moldy boardinghouses that had structured her songbird life.

  Despite having little sleep, everything at the junction invigorated her. She couldn’t stop hoping Brynmor felt the same. His tossing and turning, after their conversation ended last night, didn’t however bode well for their feelings being in tune.

  She scanned the trees set back from the track to create an open but still sheltered spot. The plump spruce and barren aspens, that’d be adorned with golden leaves in the fall, held hidden potential. In those woods and beyond, lived many loggers, ranchers, and even a few trappers who could benefit from their goods being transported in and out by train. If the station attendant had the energy, the service could even be extended by packhorse or by wagon as roads were established.

  This junction had a future.

  It’d be a fine place to put down roots, to make a forever home. But Brynmor’s office and his brothers were in Denver, a booming city with an even bigger abundance of work. Any savvy business owner—not to mention dedicated family man—would focus on that and hire someone else to stay here.

  As Brynmor had done. Or tried to do.

  A whistle echoed faintly in the distance. The chopping on the other side of the cabin halted abruptly.

  Her hands shook as she checked her watch. The train was ahead of its scheduled time. Either that or it was right on time, and Mr. Court was giving them plenty of warning. Had the conductor once again seen Ulysses onboard?

  Her imperfect past barreled toward her, threatening to ruin her perfect reprieve with the man she loved.

  She rushed back inside the cabin. On the other side of the room, Brynmor came in through the rear door with equal speed.

  “Are our lambs ready to go?”

  His continued use of the word our filled her with joy. So did the sight of their foundlings bolting toward him. The little darlings bounded around him, then bunted his shins with their tiny heads. He scooped them up, one in each arm.

  When they wiggled rather than relaxing in his hold, he grimaced and hurried across the room toward her. “Why do they still dislike me?”

  “Are you joking? They adore you.” She felt the same way.

  He halted beside her. His scowl eased to a dubious frown as his gaze went from his cargo to her. “Then w
hy are they squirming to get away?”

  “They’re not. They’re trying to get closer.” When she touched his arms, he tensed as usual. This time she didn’t pull back. “If they wiggle, try holding them closer. Or actually higher.” She nudged his arms upward.

  As soon as Barnum and Bailey’s heads touched the bottom of Brynmor’s chin, they nuzzled him and finally relaxed.

  So did he. He sighed deeply as he whispered, “It’s a miracle.”

  “Enjoy it while it lasts. This is the first time they’ve held still all morning.”

  “They’re making up for barely moving a hoof all night. I’m glad you got settled and could sleep as well.”

  She may have lain still, but she hadn’t slept after their conversation ended. With Brynmor beside her, she hadn’t been tired. Her soul sang whenever he was near.

  They stood very close now. Her gaze dropped to her hands still touching his arms. She had to let go. This interlude had to end. They couldn’t stay here. But these last hours would remain forever in her heart. She’d spent more time alone with him than she had ever dared hope for.

  And she had Heddwyn’s letter that might lead to more. Her mind kept humming Brynmor’s hyperactive brother’s words like a new song that was fast becoming her favorite.

  My brother needs you. Stay with him.

  Stay with all of us. All of the Llewellyns and the Peregrines too.

  I want to protect you and your sisters. I vow that I will. But I can do nothing from a distance. And hardly anything on my own.

  Stand still with me.

  Could it be done? Could she accept Heddwyn’s request? Would their combined families prosper if she stood still and stayed with Brynmor?

  The train whistle came again. A long clear blast. Brynmor went out the front. After one final glance at the cabin, which felt more like a home than an office, she followed him.

  “When the train arrives,” Brynmor said as they walked toward the track, “we board as fast as we can.”

  Without breaking stride, she took Bailey from him. “Tell the engineer not to stop.”