“Cora, please heat up some tea.”
A woman with long black hair, and a narrowed face nodded and turned to the kettle. Mrs. Pickett sat next to her and patted her hand. “How was your journey?”
“Ma’am… your son… is something the matter?”
“Oh.” She waved her hand dismissively. “Don’t mind him. He’s just not having a good day.”
A good day.
Just then the door swung open. Blake Pickett walked in and stood with his arms crossed over his chest. His broad shoulders stretched out the brown jacket he wore over a white shirt. A fine dust settled on his boots and she had to clamp down on the chuckle that wanted to escape.
Did he not realize he had left one of his spurs on making him look like a rattled cowboy who had rushed from the fields? Perhaps, he had in order to meet her.
“Cora, Ma, I need to speak with Mrs. Brooks alone for a few moments.”
His mother jumped to her feet. “Blake, don’t you....”
“Mother, you know I love you, but I need to speak with her alone.” He turned to Linda. “We have a misunderstanding to work out.”
Misunderstanding. Something was not right. Something that told her that the man who had penned her such heartfelt letters was not the same man who stood before her now. She sniffled as tears gathered in her eyes.
She wouldn’t cry. She just wouldn't. No matter what he told her, she’d be strong. A man had crushed her heart once, but never again would she let one inflict such pain.
She reached into her pocket, and unfolded the last letter, laying it on the table. “What kind of misunderstanding are you referring to?
THREE
Blake listened to the retreating steps of Cora and his mother. Once the door closed, he pulled out a chair and sat down. Tears covered Mrs. Brooks’ light blue eyes letting him know she was moments from crumbling. The black silk dress with its fine lace and fancy pattern reminded him of the state she found herself in— widowhood and pregnancy. A desperate state that had made her commit to a crazy arrangement.
“What had happened to your husband?”
She scrunched her brows, her pink full lips slightly puckering. “Don’t you remember from the letters?”
“I’m sorry m’am, I never wrote you those letters.”
Her eyes widened as her hand began to shake. A cry escaped her as a tear slipped down her rosy cheek.
“What do you mean?” She held up the letter, shaking it at him. “You told me, you yearned to be a father. That you’d love my baby as if it was your own.”
A pain seared across his heart. His mother’s deception had gone too far. And an innocent hurting lady would be receiving the brunt of her forgery.
“My mother wrote you those letters. She wanted to find me a bride.”
Mrs. Brooks fell back against the chair, the color draining from her face at the same time the letter slipped from her hand. Her other hand went to her swollen abdomen, as if trying to protect the child from the turmoil surrounding her.
“What am I going to do?” she whispered, looking at the wall but the fog covering her eyes made him wonder if she even saw the faded rose paper his mother had hung years ago.
“Can you not return to your family? Friends?”
“I’m all alone,” she said.
All alone. That explained why she had agreed to leave all she knew behind and marry a man she had never met. There was not a soul she had to cling to.
His gaze caught the letter on the floor. He bent and picked it up, reading the opening paragraph. His mother knew just how to persuade her. The opening was about how he couldn’t wait to raise the child she carried. And here he sat, crushing all her hope. He already knew what he was going to do. His sense of right and wrong would not let him abandon this widow.
God help him. This would be a mistake. But he just couldn’t leave a lady in distress especially when it was his own kin that had caused this.
“Ma’am.”
Her crystal blue eyes focused on him, as a few more tears slipped down her cheeks. Something warm swelled in him. Something warm that had been dormant for that last eight months when a gang of bandits had robbed him of his wife in a bank robbery, killing half the people inside. His side started throbbing at the memory. He reached to the area and pushed hard.
He had fallen on Sarah trying to protect her from the madman’s bullet, but the bullet had grazed his side, and plunged into her head. He had failed to protect one defenseless woman. How could he not try to protect another who depended on him? He just couldn’t turn her away.
“I can’t promise I’m everything my mother said I’d be in the letters, but I’ll try to be a good husband to you, if you’d have me.”
He had expected his words to bring a smile to her face, but instead she just straightened, and folded her hands on her lap. She was every bit a lady. “Sir, I thank you for your offer, but it is not fair for your hand to be forced because of another’s deception.”
Who was she? She must have been some wealthy man’s wife. She didn’t misspeak one word and her posture was quite proper.
“Ma’am, I mean no disrespect, but what will you do?”
Her proper posture crumbled as her shoulders slumped. “I....”
He reached to her trembling hands. They were ice cold. “Ma’am, I be much obliged if you accepted my offer.”
With a small nod of her head, she consented, though she looked more like a spooked filly than a hopeful bride. He’d just have to figure out how to comfort her without losing his heart. But never again would he love a woman. They were just too easily lost.
FOUR
Linda walked out onto the porch, raising her hand to shade her eyes from the blaring sun. A light heat surrounded her while a slight breeze blew the strings of her bonnet. Several sugar maples with bright gold and red leaves shaded the yard giving the place a homely feel. Off in the distance, she spotted Blake leading a palomino horse out of the barn. Off to tend to the cattle again.
In the few days she had been married to Blake, she had barely seen him. He had been absent at meal times, claiming there was much work to be done and he would eat with the cowhands. Despite the fact they were married he slept in a room down the hall from her. Loneliness circled around her heart. A loneliness that ate at it, making her question just what Blake was up to.
No! She shook her head. Ranchers worked long hard hours. Not every man was Max, and she needed to remember that.
But what should she do? Though she knew it was foolish, she still clung to the hope that Blake would be the man his mother portrayed him to be in his letters.
A small ache rumbled over her belly as tightness followed suit. Her hand flew to her abdomen while she scrunched her eyes. What was that? She was only six months. But that tremor felt like a birth pain. Maybe it was just early phantom pains. She had heard that women often endured them as their bodies prepared to bring forth life. But were they usually so intense?
A hand touched her back. She stiffened and then relaxed as Mrs. Pickett stepped to her side, her hand shading her eyes also. She wore a light brown calico dress and a red stained apron. She must have been canning more strawberries with Cora. Linda had helped her yesterday, and planned on helping some more. It had been so long since she had enjoyed female companionship.
“He looks so sad,” her mother-in-law said.
Something poked at Linda’s heart. Something that made her want to head over to Blake in order to comfort him.
“What do you mean?” she asked.
“I’m in his mother. I can read him.” She pointed at her son. “Look at how his shoulders slump, and his slow gate. He needs comfort.” Mrs. Pickett turned to her, a sad smile on her face, as she looked down at the floorboards. “Comfort only a wife can provide.”
Lind’s hands slowly lowered from her baby bump. Comfort only a wife could provide? And she was his wife who obviously was not fulfilling her promise. He had married her despite his mother’s deception, so she should do wh
at she could to help him.
Linda stepped off the porch and walked towards Blake, rubbing her hands together. Hopefully, he wouldn’t mind the interruption. If so she’d just apologize and leave. It was best not to disturb a man while he worked, as Max always said. Blake turned towards her, and straightened, narrowing his dark brown eyes.
A nervous flutter slipped over her as she reached out to the horse, and slightly patted its back. The hair felt so coarse to her touch. She waited for Blake to greet her, but he just stared at her as if she was some kind of oddity. She swallowed hard, feeling a tightness in her throat.
“Off to herd the cattle?” she asked, tipping her head to the side and letting a smile slip across her face. A smile she hoped looked sweet, innocent, but to her it felt forced.
“No, I’m just testing this animal. She was limping yesterday.”
“Oh.” She looked down at the horse’s legs, noticing a slight gash on one hind leg. “What....”
“Did my mother send you out here?”
A nervous chuckle escaped her. “She said you might...”
“My mother likes to meddle. Haven’t you realized that yet?”
A pang of pain shot through her heart.
He looked so cross with his thin lips barely visible by his beard and his brows pinched. Maybe he was right. Maybe his mother was just meddling and he didn’t need her.
She nodded as tears gathered in her eyes, the fantasy and hope in her mind once again being distinguished. She turned to leave, when a hand gripped hers. She turned back towards him.
A softness now filled his eyes, and for a second she found herself lost in the deepness of them. “I’m sorry Linda. I know this is hard on you.”
“Thank you, Mr. Pickett.”
A chuckle escaped him.
Her gaze snapped up.
“Blake, please,” he said. “We are married. I think that it’s proper to use our first names.”
A smile tugged at the corners of hers lips. His words gave her hope. Hope that maybe there was a future for them.
Blake looked back at the horse, and tightened the saddle strap. “Would you like to see the ranch?”
He tugged on her hand, and she stepped closer to the mare. He bent holding out his hand. She stepped in it, and in a second, she found herself propelled onto the horse gripping the pommel. A girlish giggle escaped her. It had been a while since she had ridden a horse. Max had always preferred she remained in the parlor of their home, maintaining the perfect image of a lady. Movement sounded, and she turned to watch Blake slip in behind her. His chest was mere inches from her back. A slight heat flushed over her skin. This felt improper. Quite improper. But he was her husband.
“I’ll take you to see some of the calves,” he said. He tapped the side of the horse and the mare began to trot.
FIVE
Linda listened as he told her that his father had bought the ranch back in the 50s, and how he had fought hard to keep ownership of it, during the Civil War.
Was that why he worked so hard? Did he feel he owed it to his pa to keep the ranch profitable? A sinking filled her again. Such a drive could lead a man to unscrupulous activities.
She spotted a fence that seemed to go on for a few miles, fading into the slight rolling Kansas hill. A bright blue sky with cotton like clouds added the perfect touch, making the landscape look more like a painting than an actual ranch. A herd of cattle could be seen, milling around, dipping their heads towards the thick green grass. Young calfs frolicked at their mother’s side.
“In a few weeks we’ll drive some of the herd to the market.”
She stiffened. Drive them to the market. How many times had Max claimed to have driven animals to the market? It seemed as though every month he would be gone for weeks. She took a deep breath and then slowly released it, but still her nerves rattled through her. She fought hard to control her tremors and hoped he wouldn’t notice.
“Linda, are you alright?”
He had noticed. She gripped the pommel harder.
“Yes. it’s....” What could she tell him? Obviously not the truth.
“Your husband was a rancher correct?” he asked.
The nerves inside of her intensified. “Yes.” Her voice came out as a squeak. Tears gathered in her, and one slipped out. Though, she knew he meant no harm, his words stabbed at her, ripping open the scars Max had left.
Two feet planted on the dirt ground, and then Blake’s strong arms reached for her waist. She placed her hands on his shoulders, and let him pull her off the horse. His hands gripped her sides, as she leaned her head towards his chest. How safe his arms felt. A woman could lose herself in them.
“I’m sorry, Linda. I didn’t mean to awake painful memories.”
Linda chewed on her bottom lip. She needed to tell him something. Something that would explain her reaction to his questions so he wouldn’t probe too much.
“My husband died during a cattle drive. His horse spooked.”
Tears rushed down her face as guilt crashed around her. That lie came too easily. She would have to spend some time on her knees tonight begging for forgiveness.
“I see.”
She wiped a tear from her cheek. “He was working so hard to provide for me. For our baby and now....” A sob cut her off.
“Come,” he said, taking her hand and leading her and the horse away. They walked in silence. Linda kept her gaze focused on the ground as dust and dried grass began to soil her black boots.
Max would have chided her for letting them be soiled. But she wasn’t with Max. She was with someone who seemed to care how she felt. Once again that small hope flared in her.
A slow trickle floated to her and she glanced up at a large boulder near a stream. Blake dropped the reins of the horse and let it graze as he sat on the boulder, motioning with his hand for her to sit next to him.
She gripped the edges of her black dress and sat next to him, their shoulders mere inches apart.
“I’m sorry you had to face such a loss,” he said looking at the lake. An unsettledness seemed to cover him, as if the conversation made him uncomfortable, but yet his words made her think he was trying to comfort her, but didn’t quite know how.
“Your mother mentioned you were a widower.”
A shadow passed over his face. “Yes.” He ground out. “My wife was killed by a madman.”
The hair on the back of her neck pickled. “A madman?”
“During a bank robbery right here in Baxter.”
Linda jumped from the large rock. Her hand flew to her neck. She slightly rubbed it as the scraping sensation passed over her skin. Bank robbery. Madman. No.
Blake jumped to his feet, and walked over to her, taking her arms. “I’m sorry I shouldn’t have said what I did. Women should....”
This just had to be a coincidence. But Max had been involved in a bank robbery where several people had been killed. Could it have been the same one? A small bead of sweat trickled over her brows. A small pain throbbed in her abdomen. Her arms flew around it as her stomach clenched in a painful grasps.
“Linda.” Blake scooped her in his arms and rushed towards the horse. He set her on it, and swung up behind her. Dried bushes sped past them as the horse raced back to the house. Pains still sliced through her. She clenched her teeth together. Dear Lord, was her child coming? It was too soon.
SIX
Blake yanked the horse to a stop and jumped off it. He scooped her in his arms again and rushed her inside, yelling for his mother.
Mrs. Pickett raced after him as he pounded up the steps, speeding to her room. He slammed open the door and lay her on the bed. He gazed into her eyes, while pushing back a sweaty ringlet. “Ma, we need the doctor,” he shouted.
“We wont have time! I’ll get Cora. She’ll know what to do!”
“Cora?” Linda asked. Why would his mother ask her?
“Don’t worry, Cora comes from a long line of midwives,” Blake said, sitting on the bed and taking her hand. A g
entleness filled his eyes. A gentleness that she hoped wasn’t unwarranted. She closed her eyes, and lay still whispering prayers. Please God let Max not have been responsible. Please let this aches only be a false alarm.
Long feminine fingers touched her belly slightly prodding. “The tightness is subsiding.” The Cora lay her palms flat on her belly. “She best rest, I make tea.” Her hands lifted from her body and Linda listened to the taps of her steps as she left the room.
She relaxed back into the bed. Yes she must rest and not let Max’s memories rob her of the only joy he had left her.
“I’ll stay with her,” Mrs. Pickett said.
Blake’s strong hand slipped from hers. She opened her eyes as he pushed a ringlet out of her face. “Let no worries bother you,” he said before turning and walking out the door, slightly closing it behind himself.
Blake pushed against his side, the familiar pain once again, throbbing. Linda had looked so pale, fragile. Guilt filled him. He shouldn’t have spoken of Sarah’s death, though he knew she’d learn of it soon enough. It was all the town folk of Baxter Springs talked about, and every one of them wanted to put Cherokee Dave in the hands of the law for what he and his gang had done. Still he should have waited. Linda had already been upset.
He walked into his room, and without thought went to the old oak armoire, finding a small music box with cherub carvings. It had been Sarah’s, and now it contained the only thing that helped him endure her loss. He picked up a small black glass bottle and popped out the cork. He needed just a small sip. Just enough to dull the pain. A bead of sweat slipped down his face. He couldn’t tell if it was from exertion or the fact he hadn’t had a sip since last night. He brought the bottle to his lips and took a small sip. The bitter taste slipped down his throat, making him scrunch his eyes.
Laying his forehead against the armoire door, he chided himself. How many times had he promised himself, he’d give up the medicine, but for some reason it helped to dull the pain he felt and not just the physical. Linda’s fearful eyes filled his mind as they merged with Sarah’s. It didn’t help that both women had crystal blue eyes that enchanted him.
Mail Order Bride: JUMBO Mail Order Bride 20 Book Box Set Page 24