Brazos Bride

by Caroline Clemmons

  No, she was certain her test proved poison’s use. Though she could die still, she refused to consider the possibility. Taking action to save herself, she ticked off the steps of her plan she'd completed.

  Many aspects still plagued her. But now she had an ally in Micah. He would help her, protect her. With that pleasant thought, she drifted to sleep.

  The sound of a key in the lock awakened her. Quickly, she pulled the sheet up under her arms. She reached for her shirtwaist where it lay on a chair and looked at the little watch pinned to the bodice. Quarter of six.

  Micah entered laden with packages and dropped them onto the floor near the chair. It appeared he had wasted no time spending his money. He must have needed many things, and the thought that she’d been able to provide help pleased her.

  He sank onto the chair. "Town gossips are already at work." His lovely dimples appeared with his conspiratorial smile and he winked at her.

  "So, people know we are married?" she asked. Drat, another oversight. She had forgotten to include the townspeople in her plan. How would they react when the marriage was annulled? Probably scandalized.

  "Bowman at the Mercantile knew. He acted almost civil when I bought these." He picked up one of the packages and untied it, then shook out a new shirt.

  "Mr. Bowman has always been quite nice to me."

  Micah shook his head and picked up another package. "Yeah, well, he hasn’t been civil to me, especially since your father's death."

  Heedless of her presence, he unbuttoned his shirt and tossed it aside. She gaped, unable to turn away. Dear Lord, her mouth went dry as the weather and she couldn't speak. He was almost as tanned on his chest as on his face, and his muscles rippled with each movement. Dark hair furrowed down his chest to a vee that disappeared at his waist just below his belly button.

  Good heavens, why couldn't she stop staring at the man? She licked her lips and wondered why she had the oddest urge to taste the indention of his navel. Where had such an outrageous thought come from?

  In the mirror he faced, his eyes met hers and he sent her a smile. Caught staring. Her cheeks heated.

  She gulped and regained her voice, though she croaked, “Sir, how dare you disrobe in front of me.”

  “Changing shirts is hardly stripping naked.” He stood and poured water into the bowl on the dresser. “Look, Hope, I’ve lived around only men for a long time.” He bent to splash water on his face and wiped his wet hands on his chest and underarms.

  “You will be in my home and I expect you to remember I am a lady.”

  “How could I forget?” He dried himself then scooped up his new shirt and slipped it on, buttoning it and looking at her. “This marriage is likely going to cause a lot of adjustments for both of us. You have to make allowances too.” He shoved the shirttail into his britches.

  “I understand that, but I expect you to be careful in the future. Do not take liberties just because we are thrown together.”

  Ignoring her comment, he weighed the second package as he had the first, then untied it. "Bowman said you always use this, so I figured you'd want some for tonight and tomorrow." He handed her three bars of the French lavender soap she preferred.

  That small gesture touched her, even though she knew Mr. Bowman should receive credit for the purchase. "Thank you. Looks like you bought a lot." She took advantage of his back being to her and slipped on her wrapper then took the chair near him.

  "Guess I got carried away. Money's been real tight for quite a spell. Couldn't resist getting things for my brothers and my ranch hands. Bought you something else." He dropped a new pair of denims to the floor and dug into his pocket. His hand uncurled and revealed a ring.

  "Reckon this will be too big now, but I figured it would fit when you gain back some of the weight you've lost."

  "A—A ring?" A knot formed in her stomach. Obviously, she hadn't thought this through even half as well as she’d believed. Given the circumstances, it amazed her he’d bought her a wedding ring. "Y—You bought one for me? That really was not necessary, but it does make our marriage more convincing. I will reimburse you."

  When his gaze met hers, anger sparked in his eyes. “Hard as it was to accept that two thousand dollars, I took it because it was part of the bargain. I needed it more than you could ever imagine.” He stepped toward her. “But I’m not taking another dime from you. Ever. This may not be a real marriage, and maybe my money is same as yours since you gave it to me. But as long as you’re my wife, I’ll provide for you.”

  She stiffened. “Your protection is what I need, not your income.”

  He snapped, “Well, you get both, so get used to it.”

  Perhaps she’d gone too far. “Do not rile so easily. I meant no offense. It is just that ours is a...a business arrangement rather than a normal marriage.”

  There was a hint of pain in his eyes now. “Do you think I can forget it for a minute?”

  She didn’t want to hurt Micah, merely discourage romantic sentiments from him. Hope didn't want tender things from this man. Business, straightforward and uncomplicated, was called for. Nothing more. No sentiment, no tenderness, no affection.

  She took a deep breath. “Thank you for remembering a ring. It was very thoughtful of you.”

  The tension in him appeared to dispel as he exhaled. "Best one Bowman had, but that's not saying much." Micah reached for her hand and slid the gold band on her finger. "If this were a real marriage, I’d dam—darn sure buy you a ring if I could. You said we need to make folks think that's what we are, just a couple of lovebirds."

  "Yes, I did, did I not?" She withdrew her hand and looked at the ring. A symbol of infinite love was out of place in this union. It was too large, but then perhaps Micah was right and she’d regain the weight she'd lost. If so, it would be perfect.

  Especially, it reassured her that at least one other person thought she’d live and recover her strength. That belief was a gift far greater than the gold band. In spite of herself, she smiled at him. "Thank you."

  "Don't know about you, but I haven't eaten since before daylight, except for that dab of cake at the Hendersons’. Reckon you could hurry and get dressed so we can go to dinner?"

  Hope gathered her dress and stepped behind the screen. He certainly took charge, but she supposed he was used to giving orders. She had no wish to be bossed around again, not even by the man protecting her. For certain, when they arrived at the ranch, things would be different. Then, she’d be totally in control of her life.

  Or would she?

  She considered the man she’d married in that hurried ceremony. Micah appeared strong, able to defend and protect her. But would he want to dominate as well? Would he remember their bargain and keep his word?

  After donning her skirt and bodice, Hope smoothed the fabric and stepped into his view. She paused at the washstand long enough to brush her hair, sad at the strands of hair that remained in her brush. Should she retie the ribbon that kept her tresses from her face?

  Wishing her hair shone as it did before her illness, she scooped the long locks up on top of her head and considered the effect. "Married women wear their hair up." She didn’t realize she'd spoken her thought until he answered.

  "It looks real nice down."

  That was more like a request than an order so she smiled and released her curls. When she turned from the mirror, she saw he held a buttonhook and her shoes. She slid onto the chair.

  Micah knelt in front of her. "Mercantile had this fancy buttonhook. Figured it would come in handy for your shoes."

  She regretted the doubts his earlier bossiness sparked. “I have never seen one lovelier.” Its ivory handle gave way to delicate scrollwork on the flattened steel surface before the hook. "You are being very thoughtful. Thank you." She placed her foot in his strong hand.

  Quickly he fastened her shoe and changed to the other foot. She wondered where he’d learned to fasten a lady’s shoe, and fought the spark of jealousy that clawed at her. His hands were
large and strong, with calluses and scrapes that left no doubt he worked hard.

  She examined what she could see of his face as he concentrated on her shoes. Deeply tanned, he had tiny lines at the outside corner of each eye. His hair gleamed like warm molasses and the light from the window caught lighter strands.

  When he looked up at her, he flashed a devastating smile, and a dimple in each cheek softened the angular planes of his face. "I was thinking about the first time I saw you. Never figured one day I'd be buttoning your shoes."

  Oh, dear, his smile mesmerized her. She must guard herself carefully. She couldn’t lose her heart now that freedom was so close. All these years she’d worked as little more than a well-dressed servant and yearned to control her own life. No, she couldn’t give in to a handsome man’s smile.

  But she knew exactly when he meant. Every second of that visit was burned into her memory—first the joy of dancing with him, then the humiliation of her father’s hateful words. To cover the emotions warring inside her, she pretended to consider a moment. "You mean the time we danced at my father's birthday fandango?"

  Pain dulled the sparkle in his eyes and he looked down. "Yeah, right after I came here."

  The hurt she saw softened her resolve. "Micah, I am sorry my father was so rude to you. He had no right to say those horrid things when you had only danced with me twice."

  He met her gaze and she saw the raw wound there. "You didn't say anything then. You stood quietly, as if you agreed."

  Oh, dear Lord, she never thought how it must have looked to him. She‘d only wanted to spare either of them more vitriol from her father. Now she restrained the urge to throw her arms around his neck and comfort him.

  "No! No, surely you know I did not agree. Micah, anything I said would only have made him angrier. Long ago I learned only my complete silence could help combat his rages."

  A large breath whooshed from him at her admission, as if he hadn’t exhaled until her answer. "Well, he said some mighty hurtful things, but reckon he was right. Man like me doesn't deserve even to dance with a woman like you." He stood.

  She wanted to explain that her father would never approve any of the local men because he’d wanted her to remain single and a servant to him, but what could she say that didn't make her father sound like the ogre he had been?

  "Micah—“ but she could only stare at him with open mouth. Oh my, she thought she’d forgotten how to cry, and now moisture stung the back of her eyes.

  Offering her his arm, he asked, "Shall we go down for dinner?"

  She stood and blinked away her tears then smiled up at him. "For once I will not have to worry about whether or not the food is poisoned." The thought lightened her mood and her step.

  "Yeah, I had a good idea about fighting that food thing. Guess we'd better talk about it, but not until after we've eaten our fill." He guided her down the stairs and into the dining room off the lobby.

  The room was far more luxurious than their so-called suite. White cloth covered round tables, and the chairs were upholstered in dark red velvet. Wallpaper in red and gold covered the walls above the dark beaded board wainscoting.

  They ordered the roast beef with potatoes and fresh bread. The cook even offered string beans fresh from someone's garden. Micah asked for coffee and she requested a pot of tea. She savored each delicious bite, amazed at her hearty appetite when she didn’t have to worry about poisoned food. At this rate her new ring would soon be too tight on her finger.

  “I reckon we’re both in the cattle business.” Micah looked up from his food.

  “I helped my father run both the household and the ranch. Of course, he never acknowledged my help.”

  He frowned. “He sounds like as hard a man to you as to others.”

  She hated to admit it, but couldn’t lie. “Yes. He believed women were put on earth to serve men. He did not tolerate anyone disagreeing with his opinion on anything.”

  “My dad was a fine man. Thought only about his family. Lordy, he loved my mama and us boys.”

  “He’s dead then?”

  “Him and Mama both. He went first, and she just never was happy without him. Died a year later. That was just before I came here.”

  Hope couldn’t imagine being part of a family like the one he described. Her friendship with the Hendersons was as close as she’d come to belonging. It wasn’t the same as having loving parents.

  They'd finished most of their meal when Hope paused. Oh no, she dreaded what was to come. Her heart sank to her knees. "That is Eduardo's voice from the hotel lobby. I hope he will not make a scene, but it would be like him to do so."

  Micah's face hardened and he laid down his knife and fork.

  Eduardo appeared in the doorway, a frantic look on his face as he peered around the room. When he spotted them in the back, he rushed to their table. "I should shoot you right here, Stone. How dare you go behind my father's back and take advantage of my cousin. Guess you think a fast one you have pulled."

  The other diners looked from Micah to Eduardo. Several threw money on their tables and left in a hurry. Others stared with piqued interest.

  Hope’s stomach clenched and food threatened to come back up. "Eduardo! Do not interfere. Micah and I are married and there is nothing you can do about it. You are making a scene. Please calm down and leave."

  Micah stood, his hand possessively on her shoulder. "Tell your folks my wife and I will manage her estate from now on. Thank them for generously caring for Hope, but I expect they’re eager to move back to their own home." He lowered his voice, but there was no questioning the authority there, "I want them gone by the time we arrive tomorrow."

  "Like hell I will, you back shooting Yankee. Do not think you can steal Montoya land and get away with it." Eduardo’s fists clenched and he looked ready to throw a punch.

  Hope forced herself to rise in order to stand beside Micah, presenting a united front to all who watched. Apparently her action worked and Eduardo thought better of using force against Micah.

  She took comfort from Micah’s presence next to her. "Eduardo, is that all I am to you, just a parcel of Montoya land?"

  He reacted as if she'd slapped him. "Hope? Of course not. You know you are more like my sister than a cousin. But I hate like the devil to see this worthless killer take advantage of you. Already he has murdered Tio Alfredo and yet he is free. You need rest and protection, and my folks, they can give you that."

  “Micah was found innocent.”

  “He is as guilty as sin. Everyone knows it, no matter what some rigged jury said. Lousy lying Yankee.” Out of nowhere, Eduardo swung at Micah.

  Micah stumbled backward but remained on his feet. He lunged forward and punched Eduardo with two fast fists.

  Chapter Eight

  Her cousin dropped to the floor, a stunned look on his face. He shook his head then touched his jaw. He rose slowly, his gaze never leaving Micah.

  Micah appeared ready to land another punch if Eduardo gave him cause.

  She moved to her cousin and laid her hand on his shoulder. "Eduardo, your parents were exceedingly kind to move in and look after me, but now I have a husband to take over. I am sure Aunt Sofia and Tio Jorge will wish me happiness. You know they will be relieved to return to their own home."

  Eduardo still looked angry enough to bite a dog. "Why did you trick me like that? Saying you had to come in to pick out your burial clothes and then had to rest at the Hendersons's place? Had me worrying this might be your last few days."

  She patted her cousin's arm. "Truly I am sorry if I alarmed you, but you would never have brought me to town had you known why I wanted to come, verdad?"

  "Sí, that is true, but I do not like that you have married this man," Eduardo barked, but some of the steam left him. He still frowned but he looked down at her upturned face. "Well, since it is done and all and...and you look happy enough. Aw, Hope, I guess there is nothing I can do if you want him." He spat the last word like a curse.

  “Tha
nk you, Eduardo.” She tiptoed and kissed his cheek, aching with guilt for her duplicity. But she knew no other way to save herself. Some day surely everyone would understand. “You know I hold you and your parents in high regard. I think of you as a brother more than a cousin.”

  Why couldn’t she say the word love? What was wrong with her? It would help if she knew whether or not her aunt and uncle were the ones poisoning her.

  “If this is what you want, so be it.” Eduardo glared at Micah and pointed a finger at his chest. "But, Stone, you had better watch your step. If I hear you have been mean to her, I will come after you." With that, he turned on his heel and stalked out.

  "Well, that was pleasant." She resumed her seat and smoothed her napkin across her lap. Suddenly the day's events caught up with her and she wished she were already in bed so she could curl up and sleep for hours and hours.

  Examining his fist, Micah sat down beside her. "His parents aren't going to be any happier than he was. Reckon they'll challenge us on this?"

  "There is nothing they can do now." But the thought dulled her appetite and she declined dessert.

  She hated to hurt her aunt and uncle if they were innocent, but no one else had as much opportunity to poison her. Aunt Sofia appeared genuinely concerned for her welfare, convinced Hope had the same affliction as her late mother. Tio Jorge had always doted on her, almost as if she truly was his daughter, but money’s lure did terrible things to people. Eduardo was in and out of her home daily. Even he could have slipped something into her tonic or in food waiting on a tray. How horrid to suspect her only family, but she had no choice.

  Preserving her life was too important to take chances. She knew no other way to insure her safety—or theirs if they weren't a part of the plot against her. If the guilty person turned out to be someone else, as she hoped, she would apologize to her family. In the meantime, they would have to accept her decision and Micah's.

  Aunt Sofia insisted Hope’s symptoms were exactly like those of her mother. What if they were? Did that mean that Hope was destined to die, or could it mean that someone also poisoned her mother? The thought had taken root weeks ago. Although they’d never been close—due to her mother’s coldness rather than Hope’s preference—Hope hated to think a killer had been successful in eliminating her mother. If they found whoever was guilty, perhaps they’d also have the answer to that horrible idea.