Brooke suddenly wondered why she’d thought this man was so kind earlier.
Skyler nodded in his direction, touching the brim of his hat, but there was no amusement in his eyes as he placed his hand in the middle of her back and gently guided her toward the room she had used earlier.
Visions of Uncle Jackson’s whip and Hank’s fists danced through her mind. She didn’t know what to expect from this man, but she knew that if he were anything like the men she had known, it would not be pleasant. Her heart clawed at her throat as she walked woodenly into the room, and Skyler turned and shut the door behind them. She jumped as the latch clicked and knew by the soft clearing of his throat that he had noticed.
He walked slowly to where she stood, twirling the now limp daisy between her palms, and rested his hands lightly on her upper arms. She tensed noticeably, hating herself for her weakness as tears pooled in her eyes and her legs quivered. Past experience had taught her that things only got worse if you tried to resist, so she waited helplessly.
She was surprised when he led her not to the bed but to one of the chairs at the table, easing her down into it. Taking the daisy from her, he laid it next to her plate. Squatting down on the balls of his feet, he pushed his hat back and looked into her face. She glanced at him momentarily but then turned to stare stubbornly at a knot on the pine-wood wall, not wanting to meet his dark, penetrating eyes. As he placed one hand gently on her cheek, she stiffened. With gentle pressure he turned her face toward him. She looked at him for a brief second, glanced away, and then looked back, studying him intently.
“I will not hurt you.” His voice was low and tender. “I promise not to touch you until you say it’s okay.”
She searched his face, hoping to find truth there, yet unable to believe she would.
His face was placid as she studied him. His fingers trailed down her cheek as his hand dropped back into his lap and he reaffirmed, “I promise. You have nothing to fear from me.”
Placing her hands over her face, she couldn’t stop the sobs wracking her body as relief washed over her. After only a few seconds, ashamed she had shown such weakness, she stopped as suddenly as she had begun. Pulling herself together, she smoothed her tears away with the flats of her fingers, got up slowly, and walked to the bed. Removing one pillow and the top blanket, she held them out toward him. His eyes never leaving her face, he came closer to accept her offering.
He was turning away. I have to say something! When she touched his arm, his warmth seared her fingers and she quickly pulled back, afraid he might somehow misinterpret her intentions. She rubbed her palms nervously in a circular motion, staring at the blue water pitcher on the table by the door, trying to force the words from her throat. When she finally glanced his way and saw his questioning gaze. she was able to find her voice. “Thank you, Skyler,” she whispered. She wanted to say more, but no words would come.
He nodded. “Sky. Just call me Sky.”
She turned and lay down on the bed fully clothed, too emotionally exhausted to do anything else. Closing her eyes, she let sweet, peaceful sleep wash over her, somehow knowing that, if only for this one night, she could trust her new husband.
3
The sky was inky black when Brooke awoke and sat up in bed. I can’t do this. Fear coursed through her with the remembrance of the wedding ceremony. I married a stranger!
Slipping silently out of bed, she glanced furtively around the room as she made her way to the window, feeling along the inside of the frame for some sort of latch. Ahhh! There was a latch. She had missed it earlier. Carefully, so as not to make a sound, she eased open the window and crawled out. The ground was blessedly cool as her bare feet hit the grass. She had forgotten her shoes, but she couldn’t go back for them now. She began to walk away from the cabin. She didn’t know where she would go, but it didn’t matter really. Anywhere was better than here.
Suddenly she heard a noise from behind her and an echoing voice yelled, “Hey! Hey…hey…hey.” Picking up her skirts, she tried to run, but the grass tangling her feet impeded her progress. It wrapped around her ankles so that every step required a huge effort. She could hear the man’s pounding footsteps now.
“Come back here, you wench! Run from me, will you? I’ll show you what happens to little girls that run away!”
Her dress slipped out of her hands. She tripped on the hem and fell headlong. Her palms oozed blood from the deep scratches left by the rocks, but she felt no pain. Only terror. I must get away! Must escape! Anywhere! RUN!
But she knew it was too late. She could hear the breathing of her pursuer now. She turned on her back, raising her forearms to protect her face. The menacing form of Uncle Jackson, with whip raised above his head, stood over her. She watched as the whip descended toward her face….
Brooke sat up with a gasp. She was still in the cabin—not laying on the cold ground outside with Uncle Jackson standing over her. Heavy, frantic breathing filled the room, and it took her a moment to realize it was her own. She took a deliberate calming breath and forced her clenched fists to unfold. Pulling her knees up to her chest, she wrapped her arms around them and rested her forehead there. A shudder ran through her body, and she wept. Wept for the innocence she had lost so young. Wept because she was afraid of what tomorrow might bring. Wept because she couldn’t banish the memories of the past that paraded through her mind one by awful one. Wept because she didn’t know what else to do. Finally, after she had no more tears, she lay down on her side, curled herself into a ball, and closed her eyes to sleep.
Golden sunshine streamed into the room the next morning. She stretched and, sitting up groggily, batted her mass of tangled curls out of her face, wondering momentarily where she was. Pushing the covers back, she swung her bare feet over the edge of the bed, glancing around the room. Reality slammed home as her eyes collided with the brown gaze of Sky. A gasp escaped as memory flooded in. He looked as if he’d been up for hours.
He sat at the table, leaning nonchalantly against the wall, the front legs of his chair not touching the ground. One hand was wrapped around a mug of steaming coffee. The suit from the day before had been replaced with buckskin. His fringed, buff-colored shirt hung on his frame loosely, revealing the contour of well-defined muscles underneath and drawing her attention to his masculinity. Her eyes came to rest on the soft blond curls revealed at his opened collar, then darted away as she moved on to study his face.
He was not wearing his hat, and she found that she liked the transformation. His deep brown eyes contrasted nicely with his curly, clean-cut, blond hair, adding to the attractiveness of his angular face.
He tasted the coffee, his eyes on her over the rim of his mug, and when he set it back down on the table, an amused smile played on his lips.
I’m staring. She glanced down, a blush shading her cheeks.
Suddenly she recognized that she had been under the covers. Her hand went to the back of her head and her eyes widened in astonishment. Her hair pins had been removed! And her shoes! Quickly she tucked her bare feet up under her skirt and began to gather her hair at the back of her neck. What must he think of me? She had been too tired the night before to worry about such things. She wondered at his kind treatment of her. Never before had a man treated her with such thoughtfulness.
“Sleep well? I put your hairpins on the dressing table.” He sipped his coffee casually as though nothing were out of the ordinary.
She looked away toward the window. Fear was added to her embarrassment as she noticed the late hour. “You should have woken me.”
He grinned. “I tried.” The legs of his chair rapped on the floor as he stood in one fluid motion, setting his coffee cup on the table, his face suddenly turning serious.
She felt the blood drain toward her toes in a sickening swirl. She had seen this same calm look on Uncle Jackson’s face a thousand times right before he exploded. This man had shown her more kindness than any man she had ever known, but now it had come to a swift end.
<
br /> Brooke bolted up off the bed, her whole body trembling violently. “I’m sorry!” Her voice shook. “I won’t sleep so late again!”
He had begun to walk across the room, but as Brooke jumped out of bed, she saw him stop. He was only a foot from her. She tried to stand still but couldn’t seem to stop shaking.
Bringing hands to his hips, he contemplated her with a strange expression. Shoulders hunched, rubbing her palms together, she watched him warily, noticing as his eyebrow winged its way upward. He stood still for a moment; then his hand moved.
She flinched, bringing her arms up and turning her head toward the wall.
“Brooke?” He stopped once more, his voice gentle.
Out of the corner of her eye she saw him slowly raise his hands, palms outward, to shoulder height.
“I’m not going to hurt you. Brooke—” he spoke her name a second time—“look at me.” His movements awkwardly deliberate, he lowered his hands to his sides.
She kept her head toward the wall, feeling foolish…realizing that if he was going to strike her, he’d have done so by now. Then she turned away from the wall, her shoulders relaxing, but could not bring her eyes any higher than the blond curls at the neck of his shirt.
“Brooke.” He waited, tilting his head down to gaze into her face.
She reluctantly raised her eyes. His look was tender, and a strange emotion pulsated in her heart. But she dared not hope this man’s gentleness was for real.
“Brooke, I was going out.” He nodded at the door, just to her left. “I would never…” His voice trailed off, as if unable to say the words. There was a slight pause; then he spoke before he moved. “I am going outside to get things ready to go. I will come back in a few minutes to check on you, okay?”
She nodded mutely, and after a moment he moved easily toward the door, leaving her alone.
Stepping out of the room, Sky leaned against the closed door, tipped his head back and closed his eyes. She had thought he was going to…hit her? For oversleeping? The thought was agonizing. What had she endured in the past?
He knew she’d had a nightmare in the night. He had been awake when she sat up with a start and began to cry. He had done the only thing he knew to do that would not frighten her. He had lain still in his bed on the floor and prayed for her.
Uncertainty assailed him as he realized he didn’t know one thing about her background. Yet, without a doubt, he had done the right thing in marrying her. If Jason were married to the beautiful young woman in the room behind him, her future might be the same as her past must have been. But Sky determined to give her better. He would protect her.
The thought of Jason moved him to action, and he headed outside to saddle up. When he got home, Jason would either be blind with rage, dangerously calm, or maybe he will have seen the truth of the words I spoke to him. That was the dangerous side of Jason Jordan these days. One never knew how he’d react in any given situation; he might be explosive and volatile one time, yet composed and lethally quiet the next. But always under the surface, in the last several years, ran a cruel, vengeful current of maliciousness.
He prayed Jason would listen to the truth as he let his thoughts wander back to the night he had learned of his cousin’s plan.…
After arriving at home that night, he’d spent a good deal of time in prayer. Heaven knew he hadn’t wanted to get involved. He’d argued with himself that it really was not his problem and, deciding he’d better just leave well enough alone, had gone to bed to try and sleep.
He had been on the verge of drifting off when the face of Victoria Snyder entered his mind. He opened his eyes, staring up into the darkness overhead.
What if it were Victoria? He sat bolt upright, his heart pounding in his chest. Victoria, his childhood sweetheart, had a caring and sweet spirit. What if this girl was like Victoria? The very thought of a girl like Victoria in Jason’s control was unthinkable. He would never be able to live with himself if he didn’t try to do something.
Getting up, he quickly penned two identical notes, then saddled his stallion and headed back to town. Jason, a permanent resident at Jed’s place, would probably be passed out in his bed by this time of night.
Praying for wisdom as he pulled up in front of the darkened edifice, Sky swung down and headed for the door. He banged loudly, then leaned his hands, fingers tapping, against the doorjamb, waiting for Jed to answer. Feeling impatient and wanting to complete the unpleasant task at hand, he pounded on the door again after only a moment.
“Comin’, Comin’! Hold your britches on!” Jed hollered from inside. When he opened the door and saw Sky, he frowned. “Shoulda taken care o’ business ’fore you left in such an all-fired hurry, ‘stead o’ disturbin’ people in the middle o’ the night. I knew you’d be back.” Stepping back, he nodded toward the door that led to the sleeping quarters and grumbled, “Go on. Jason’s in his room same as always. Conked out with his bottle o’ whiskey.”
Sky stepped past Jed, the sound of his cowboy boots loud in the stillness of the room. He did not bother to knock on Jason’s door. He probably wouldn’t wake up anyway. Opening the door, he stepped inside. Jason lay sprawled on the bed in the corner, snoring loudly, his usual bottle of booze grasped in one hand, his still-booted feet crossed at the ankle and hanging over the end.
“Jason, wake up.” Sky’s voice was firm. There was no response, so he grasped the toe of Jason’s bottom foot and threw his feet off of the bed. They landed on the floor with a thud, but all Jason did was mumble something unintelligible, smack his lips, and turn his face to the wall.
Seeing that a more drastic measure was needed, Sky scanned the room.
Picking up the full pitcher of water that sat by the wash basin, he threw its contents in his cousin’s face. Bolting upright, sputtering and choking, Jason looked wildly around the room, water dripping from his double chin as the bottle of whiskey clattered to the floor. “What the blazes!” He started to reach for his gun belt slung carelessly over the head of the bed, but Sky got there first, pulling it out of his reach.
Recognition dawned on Jason’s face as he regarded Sky through glassy eyes. “Shhkyy.” The word was slurred as he blinked hard, no emotion in his voice. “What are you doin’ here?” He ran a hand over his wet face in an apparent attempt to clear his vision.
“We need to talk.”
Jason started to lie down, waving a careless hand in his direction. “Come back insha mornin’.”
“No, we will talk now.” Sky had him by the lapels of his grimy red shirt, pulling him to his feet. Jason stood there, swaying, then stumbled after Sky as he turned and left the room.
Back in the main room, Jed, who had stoked up the fire, waited for them.
“Coffee’s on,” he said with a meaningful look in Sky’s direction, nodding to the fireplace.
Sky pulled out a chair, motioning for Jason to sit. Walking to the fire, he poured a steaming mug of thick, black coffee and set it on the table in front of his inebriated cousin. Then, pouring himself a cup, he sat down next to him, turning his chair so he could look into Jason’s face. He let Jason sip his coffee for several minutes before he said anything.
“I’ll buy her from you.” The words were spoken bluntly. Money was the only thing that might sway Jason’s mind. Across the room Jed, who had been leaning one arm on the mantle, stood erect in surprise.
“Wha…? Who?” asked Jason, his befuddled mind apparently only beginning to clear.
“The girl you are supposed to marry tomorrow. How much did you pay for her?”
Jason rubbed the heels of his hands against his bleary eyes, leaning his elbows on the table. Then, looking at Sky, remembrance flooded his face. “I’m getting married tomorrow.” The words emerged as if this were news to him.
Sky, one hand wrapped around his mug, sipped quietly, waiting for what he had said to sink in. He did not have long to wait.
“You want to buy her?” Jason rubbed a hand over his face, the stubble on his che
eks rasping as his hand passed over it. He picked up his coffee, took a large swig of the scalding brew, and grimaced.
“How much did you pay for her?” Sky asked again.
“Seventy-five bucks. Fifty to her uncle and twenty-five to the wagon master who fetched her out here. Plus an extra five to the minister, so he’d do the ceremony at Greer’s Ferry.”
Sky swirled his coffee, staring into it. He still had his seed money. He had put a lot of work into the south field, hoping to plant it in wheat come spring. He set his cup down on the table. “I’ll pay you two hundred for her.”
Jason snorted. “Not likely. Five hundred maybe.”
Without hesitation Sky extended his hand. “It’s a deal.” It was all the money he had.
Somewhat befuddled, Jason shook his hand, sealing the deal.
Taking two pieces of paper from his shirt pocket, Sky placed them on the table. “You got pen and ink, Jed?”
Jed was gone only briefly, returning with a blue ink bottle and a turkey-feather pen. Carefully dipping the pen into the ink, Sky filled in something and then handed Jason the pen, shoving the papers toward him. “Sign them.”
Jason grinned at him. “Where’s my money?”
Pulling the money out of his shirt pocket, Sky laid it on top of the papers. A light danced in Jason’s eyes as he picked up the money and fingered it.
Then, taking up the pen, he scrawled his signature across both the papers.
Motioning to Jed to come to the table, Sky handed him the pen and he signed his name underneath Jason’s.
A weight lifted off Sky’s shoulders. He had freed the girl, and he had a signed paper to prove it. Carefully folding one paper and placing it back in his chest pocket, he walked over toward the fire. Jed busied himself with stoking the blaze but paused as Jason stood from the table. Scratching his belly, he yawned loudly and shuffled across the floor, heading back to his room.
Pouring himself a cup of the black brew on the fire, Jed looked at Sky. “Well, ya done it now. Whatcha gonna do with her?”
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