“Whatever happened?” Bronson’s mother placed her hand flat against her chest. “Is Dottie ill?”
“No, no—” Dr. Dougherty waved away her question with quick sweeping hand gestures. “It’s Olivia who is not well, she fainted.”
Bronson’s eyes widened. If she just fainted, why the anger directed at him and what had any of it to do with his family? However, concerned for Olivia’s well being, he waited for the man to continue speaking.
“Fainted?” Hank asked. “You came here because your daughter fainted? I am not followin’.”
“Oh, goodness.” His mother, on the other hand, seemed to understand what was not said because her eyes flew to Bronson. “I didn’t know.”
“Would someone tell me what is going on?” His father let out a breath. “Shouldn’t we be hitchin’ up the horses and going for her instead of sittin’ around here?”
“They are on their way back,” the doctor interrupted. “Judge Collins will meet us at our house in two hours.”
“Us?” Bronson looked to every face. His mother’s face was a mottled canvas of reds and pinks. His father frowned at him and Doctor Dougherty once again glared.
“Bronson, go on upstairs and put on a clean shirt. Quickly now. Oh, and get those dark trousers on.” His mother assessed his hair next. “No time for a haircut. It will have to do.” She let out a sigh and looked to the doctor.
“I’m not sure what to say, Calvin. I understand you being upset, but I assure you Bronson will do the right thing. He has no choice in this whatsoever.”
What the hell was everyone going on about and why would his changing clothes fix things? Bronson stood, but didn’t move to leave.
His father also got to his feet and rounded the table, his face expressionless. His mother patted her husband’s arm. “Olivia is in the family way. Doc here says Bronson’s the father.” She pinned Bronson with a sharp look. “So we’re going to town and you’re marrying her this afternoon.”
If someone set him on fire in that instant, he wouldn’t have noticed. A strange mixture of anger and hurt pressed against his chest yanking the air from his lungs. Everything faded and a long tunnel appeared. At the end, in the very center, was a strange grey light.
“I think he’s about to pass out.” Someone spoke in the distance, but he didn’t pay any attention.
There was to be a child.
His child.
Olivia had turned him down knowing she was expecting. She didn’t want to be tied to him regardless of the consequence of their actions. It spoke volumes to know she’d rather chance public shunning, a hard life raising a child on her own, than to be his wife.
“Bronson?” Again a distant voice spoke and he ignored it instead focusing on the resentment that settled across his shoulders and lodged in his chest, making itself comfortable, planning to stay for a while.
Of course, he would marry her. It was the right thing to do. His child would know his or her father. No matter how Olivia felt. Even if he would never be allowed to touch her again, their child would grow up in a family.
“I proposed to Olivia and she turned me down. If she’ll have me, I will marry her today.” He blinked several times, finally allowing the surroundings to come into focus.
His mother watched him, her face pinched with concern. “All right, darling, go on upstairs and change.”
His father remained without a recognizable expression. He placed his hand on Bronson’s shoulder. “I’ll get the wagon hitched and bring it around.”
Seeming pleased with the way things turned out, Calvin Dougherty’s shoulders lowered. “Very well, then. I’ll go on now and await Dottie and Olivia’s return.” He cut his eyes at Bronson and then shook his father’s hand again as they made their way toward the side door.
His father’s deep voice rumbled with some kind of apology and, once again, fury burned into Bronson’s chest. Why should his father be apologizing for something that was not his fault? He turned to go after them, but his mother placed her hand on his forearm. “Go get dressed, Bronson.”
He swallowed past the thickness clogging his throat, hating the look of hurt in his mother’s eyes. “Pa shouldn’t be apologizing. I should.”
“Oh, Bronson, how could you?” his mother asked once again as they rode towards town. “I know it was a strange situation, but I thought we raised you boys to be respectful and have some sort of control.”
He kept his horse at a slow gait so as to remain alongside his parents’ wagon and kept his attention on the horizon, not sure how to reply. Thankfully, his father spoke when Bronson continued to remain silent. “Elizabeth, these things happen. Once they are married, it will be all right.”
She wasn’t having it. “Why did she turn you down, Bronson?”
That was a question he’d ask her. The answer would probably cut through him. “I don’t know, Ma. I told her I was willin’ to take responsibility for my part and that we should get married. She flatly refused. I went back and asked her again, she denied being…well, she turned me down again.”
“Goodness. Well, no matter, this afternoon we’ll have you two married. Oh, look!” She pointed toward a clearing near his twin’s house. “There’s Grayson. Go over there and tell him to come along. He should be there. And tell him to fetch Ashley, too.”
The Dougherty’s parlor was cramped and hot. Bronson tugged at his collar and considered again if he should’ve unbuttoned the top button of his shirt. One snap of his mother’s eyes and he lowered his hand. Not a chance.
Grayson stood next to him, Ashley on the other side of his twin. Both brothers kept sliding glances at him as if they expected him to either bolt or pass out. He’d do neither. If only Olivia would appear so they could get the ceremony over with. What in the world was she doing anyway?
A hush came over the room and he looked up to see that she entered the room. Unlike the usual calmness that was Olivia, she appeared pale, her eyes round. She looked about to either cry or get sick. Tears threatened to spill from her shiny eyes when they flickered to him and Bronson could only imagine what it meant. “Anywhere but here” would probably be a good translation. A lack of any expression was not difficult for him. He’d already tucked the anger away. His new friend, resentment, remained draped over him like a cape, and he allowed it.
Once they were married, there would be time to talk and discuss why Olivia kept the secret of her pregnancy from him. Then again, what did it matter? The answer was obvious. She wasn’t in love with him and didn’t want to marry someone she didn’t care for.
*****
Olivia couldn’t believe what happened. Her stomach lurched with every word the judge uttered and she eyed the room, considering the easiest escape route in case she got sick again. In the back right corner she spotted a cleverly placed bucket and she shot her mother a grateful glance.
Her aunt and mother beamed up at her while she and Bronson exchanged vows. As if it were a planned occasion, both were dressed in their Sunday best and their hair had been coiffed perfectly by her aunt’s companion, Eugenie. All the while, Bronson’s mother seemed more pained than happy. Her eyes were pinned on her son’s face.
The Cole brothers’ expressions were more amused than serious, while Hank Cole looked on with the same blank expression as Bronson’s. Her soon to be husband kept his voice even, but his tight jaw communicated he’d rather be anywhere than in this room at the moment. It was more than evident that given the choice, he’d bolt from the room without a backward glance.
How had it come to this? Why hadn’t she been able to keep the secret just a few days longer? Instead, she was about to be married to a man who loved someone else.
“Olivia?” Judge Collins lifted an eyebrow. “Do you take Bronson Lyle Cole as your husband?”
“Yes.”
Bronson’s bright blue eyes met hers for only an instant and she searched for an inkling of what he felt, but then his attention was gone when the judge asked him the same question.
His answer was firm, solid, like the man. Then it was over. Everyone began talking at once. The Coles embraced Bronson, while her mother and aunt rushed to her, embracing and kissing her cheeks. “It was perfect,” her aunt told her with a nod. “Quick and simple. No need for all that fluffy, irritating stuff.” She eyed the flowers in Olivia’s hand. “Let me put them in water.” She rushed off with the pitiful bouquet Olivia had crushed to death.
Elizabeth Cole took Olivia’s hands and led her away from the rest of the people. “Come, sit down. You look about to fall.” Like a meek mouse, she allowed her now mother-in-law to usher her to a chair. “Now take a breath.” Her gentle gaze helped Olivia settle. “Everything is going to be all right, don’t you worry.”
“I hope so.” The room emptied and she wondered where the men went. “I am so sorry.”
“Don’t apologize for what happened. It did and now all we can do is look forward to my beautiful grandchild’s appearance.”
Elizabeth Cole smiled as Olivia’s mother came over and placed a hand on Olivia’s shoulder. “That’s right, dear. The men are loading your trunks into the wagon. Once that’s done, you can go to your new home.”
“Oh.” Olivia jerked toward her mother. “So soon?”
“Are you ready?” Bronson entered the room a few moments later. Her husband looked directly at her without warmth. “Everything’s loaded up.”
Chapter Twenty
Wedding days were not supposed be awkward, stilted occasions. In comparison to his brothers’, his was more like a funeral. Then again he’d attended a couple of burials that were filled with laughter and conversations remembering the loved one that had passed on.
His bride barely spoke more than a word or two before his mother settled her on the porch so she could enjoy the fresh air and hopefully not become sick again. They’d stopped several times on the way to the ranch so she could dry heave on the side of the road. Obviously there was nothing left in her stomach to lose.
“Bronson?” His mother approached with a blanket. “Take this to Olivia. I am preparing some clear broth so she can get some nourishment.” Over her shoulder, he spotted both of his brothers. They sat with his father drinking coffee. In front of them was some sort of dessert the cook had made in honor of the rushed occasion. He wasn’t sure where Nora and Grace were at the moment. Probably in another room oohing and cooing over Grayson and Nora’s baby boy.
He went outside to his pale bride who didn’t bother to look up. Instead, she closed her eyes as if wanting to avoid any interaction. The blanket was soft in his hands, one of his mother’s quilts. “How are you feeling?”
Her eyes sprung open. “I find the cool breeze is helping.” She allowed him to spread the blanket across her lap and she pulled it up to cover her waist. “Thank you.”
Bronson settled into a chair next to hers. The boil of anger in his gut had tapered to more of a simmer. It was not the time to ask questions, but he had to know. “What were you planning to do? Were you going to find a way to dispose of our child?”
“How could you…” she stopped speaking and took a breath.”I don’t blame you for being angry.”
“How kind of you.”
“You didn’t want to marry me. We both know you only asked for propriety’s sake. This…” she motioned back and forth between them. “…is the last thing you wanted to happen.”
“You presume to know me so well.” Bronson didn’t like the bitterness in his voice, but he continued on. “Then enlighten me as to why I would prefer my child grow up without me knowing he exists?”
Olivia’s shoulders fell, as did her gaze. “I don’t think that. I know you will make a good father. It’s just that…”
“Olivia, do you think you can manage to come inside and have a little bit to eat?” His mother stepped onto the porch and looked between them. Her intelligent eyes met his and he knew she’d overheard some of the conversation and deemed it not the right timing.
“I’ll help you.” He took Olivia’s elbow and assisted her to stand waiting for her to remain still for a few seconds to ensure her sensitive stomach didn’t react.
When the sun began to set, the women gathered in the front room, their quiet conversation falling pleasantly over the space. Bronson stayed in the kitchen with his brothers and father. His twin placed a hand on his shoulder. “Congratulations.”
He met the matching blue eyes to his and, in them, he saw clear understanding. An entire conversation of support and encouragement transpired between them. Communicating in a way they’d always been able to.
“Thanks.” He looked to Ashley and his father, who understood the two of them were always a united front. The only time he’d been distanced from Grayson was when he thought himself in love with Nora. The pain of any separation from his twin was something he never hoped to experience again. Of course they would be attracted to the same woman, they were so connected that it made sense now.
“We best be going.” Ashley stood and stretched. “Early morning tomorrow.” He walked to Bronson and, in a gesture that surprised him, hugged his shoulders. “Of course you and Gray would have children close together and leave me out.” The corner of Ashley’s mouth lifted. As near a smile as he’d ever get from his stoic, older brother.
“From how you and Grace can’t stop staring at each other, you won’t be far behind,” Grayson quipped and followed his brother to the front room.
Bronson stood and went to see them off.
Goodbyes were said and his mother came and wrapped an arm around Bronson’s waist whispering so only he would hear. “Take Olivia to your bedroom. It’s been straightened. Her things are already there. Don’t argue with her over what can’t be helped. Be patient, son. She’s embarrassed and confused right now. All will be well, you’ll see.”
To his surprise, Olivia allowed him to help her to stand and didn’t question where he took her. Bronson hesitated upon pushing the door of his large bedroom open. There were flowers on the table by the bed. His normal pitcher and basin had been replaced by a larger one painted with flowers. The bed was made in fresh linens he didn’t recognize and on the wardrobe door, which was open, he could see Olivia’s dressing gown hung.
“Can you please help me?” Olivia turned her back to him. “I can’t reach the top buttons.”
His hands trembled, making it hard to do as she said. When he’d made it to the middle of her back, she stepped away. With swift movements, she undressed to her chemise, rinsed her face in the basin, and sat down to brush her hair from the updo someone had pinned it into.
Rather than remain without a clue as to what to do, Bronson followed suit and washed his face and hands. He sat to remove his boots and then went to the chest where he placed his folded shirt on top and his boots to the side. His brothers always kidded him on his penchant for neatness, but now he was glad for it. It gave him something to do.
His pants were next and he inspected them. They were not ones he’d wear to work in the morning. These were his Sunday pair. So he folded them and went to the wardrobe to store them, only to stop and freeze upon realizing Olivia was already in his bed.
Here he was parading about in the nude. He held the pants between his legs and turned to her. She wore some sort of nightdress and was lying with her back propped up by pillows. Her eyes met his.
“I don’t have anything to wear to bed,” he offered.
Her eyes widened, but she remained silent.
The silence angered him. Hell, she’d seen him naked before. He stashed the pants in the wardrobe, rushed to the bed and climbed in pulling the blanket to his waist.
“Goodnight.” Bronson cut off the lantern’s glow and rolled to his side away from her.
“I’m sorry.” Olivia’s voice trembled.
He ignored her and prayed sleep would come. And that his body would stop its natural reaction to her being so close.
Anger, as it turned out, was a good deterrent to passion.
Chapter Twenty-One
Cook did not arrive until late morning. The older woman who lived in a cottage on Cole lands spent her mornings with her husband and son who worked for the Coles as ranch hands.
Long gone were the days of her three little boys racing through the house in play. As were the afternoons where they’d sit around the table while she gave them lessons, plying them with as much as she could before they became restless and began to bicker and fight.
Her lips curved at remembering the day the twins had tried her patience and she’d dragged them to the porch for a spanking. In matching stances, they’d bent at the waist waiting for the leather strap to hit, only for her to burst into tears at the thought of hurting her boys. Matching sets of wide eyes had turned to her and when she’d sat on the chair to cry, they’d both begun to cry as well, promising to behave.
After that day, anytime they’d misbehave and she threatened them to go out to the porch, they’d straightened out right away terrified of making her cry.
Ashley, on the other hand, was a rascal who was adept at misbehaving without either her or Hank finding out about it until much later.
She’d always been too soft with the boys. Her heart belonged to them, so Hank became the disciplinarian. A fair father, the boys would find themselves doing disagreeable chores rather than being beaten over transgressions.
Now with Bronson married, all three of the men, it left an empty space in the house and she marveled over how fast the years had passed. Truthfully, she looked forward to grandchildren filling the space with their giggles, mischiefs and toys.
Hank came into the kitchen, his large body filling the space. He looked to her in the way only he could. At the same time conveying love and something deeper. Desire. Elizabeth couldn’t help the blush and marvel at how her husband still managed to draw heated emotions from her. “Good morning.” His deep voice was husky from sleep.
Every Blue Moon Page 10