by Martha Hix
What was he up to?
Skylla feared Braxton had told Kathy Ann to call everyone together to say he’d be leaving the Nickel Dime, now that his body was on the mend. If he proved Claudine right . . . Well, Skylla didn’t want to be proven wrong.
The supper dishes done up, Skylla and everyone but Geoff collected in the sickroom. Braxton lay propped against the brass headboard, a dozing Electra at his hip. Skylla, Claudine, Kathy Ann, and Charlie Main circled the bed.
“Claudine.” Braxton gestured toward the cowhand. “Charlie Main has something to say to you.”
The ranch hand turned the brim of his grimy sombrero around and around in his hand. He cleared his throat, dancing his meager weight from one foot to the other. The battered hand of a cowpoke who’d lived a thousand years in one lifetime smoothed the heel of his palm across his head of straggling hair. “It’s like this, Miz Claudine. I, uh, I”—he shot a help-me glance at Braxton—“I’d like for you to be my bride.”
Skylla couldn’t believe her ears. Humming, Kathy Ann studied the ceiling. Braxton swiveled his gaze to Claudine; she clutched a handful of material at the bosom of her dress, and worked her mouth up and down. Though she couldn’t imagine her stepmother accepting Charlie Main’s proposal, Skylla crossed her fingers behind her back.
She wanted Braxton so very badly.
“It’s the best solution to our problem, I do believe,” said Braxton.
He took the calico pussycat into his arms, holding her close to his chest. Purrs vibrated through the room. For Braxton, Electra had become docile as a kitten and content as a setting hen. His power over women was remarkable.
“Charlie here has been at loose ends, needing a home and direction in life,” he said.
“I have,” Charlie put in.
“And he thinks you’re a fine woman, Claudine. Fine-looking and otherwise.”
“I do,” Charlie concurred and nodded his head, which caused Claudine to drop onto a chair.
“He’d like to have a fourth interest in this ranch,” said Braxton.
“I would.”
“He’d be willing to bathe and shave for you.”
“You didn’t say nothing ’bout—”
“Charlie, don’t interrupt me.” Braxton smiled at each person in the room. “I’d feel much better about leaving you ladies, were Charlie here to look out for you.”
“Where are you going?” Skylla asked quickly, panicked.
“Out west. California, perhaps.”
Her heart sank.
“I won’t be leaving right away,” he clarified. “Not until I get my strength back. By then . . .”
Before she could breathe in relief—she’d do anything to borrow time—he went on. “If I am spurned in my suit for Miss Skylla St. Clair, then I have no recourse but to look out for myself. As soon as a county clerk is seated, I intend to file suit against the estate of Titus St. Clair, deceased.” He glanced from person to person, smiling at Skylla. “For my five thousand dollars.”
She settled onto a straight chair, crestfallen.
Charlie stepped over to Claudine. “Ma’am, would you marry me?”
“I . . . I’m, I don’t think so.” Her peaches and cream complexion now resembled chalk. “I wouldn’t wish to hurt your feelings, Mr. Main, but I’d guess your age at forty or more.”
“Forty-two, ma’am.”
“I have had four husbands who were my elders, and frankly, I don’t think I’d be happy unless I had a younger man. I fear I’d outlive another husband, and I can’t bear the thought of that.” The back of her hand had gone to her forehead. She lowered it. “I still think I’m better suited to Sergeant Hale.”
The cowhand replied, “I figured you’d say that Miz Claudine. But ya cain’t blame a fellow for trying, can ya?”
“No, Mr. Main, I can’t.” Claudine smiled, though a level of distaste became visible on her countenance. “I am quite flattered that you would want me, but I pray you appreciate my position.”
“Yes, ma’am, I can. I reckon.”
“Claudine, you aren’t playing fair,” Braxton said, offended. “You have a chance to marry, but you won’t, which cuts me out of marrying Skylla. Each of you has know all along that my heart beats for her, and for her alone.”
Warmed by his adamant attentions, Skylla at last believed that, yes, his feelings were true.
“Tell me,” implored Claudine, “how would your heart beat, were I the heiress to the Nickel Dime?”
“Don’t force him into a corner.” Skylla straightened her back. “It’s unfair of you to ask such a question.”
“Claudine, I have an idea,” Kathy Ann piped up.
Everyone turned their eyes on her.
Kathy Ann held up a gold coin. “Why don’t y’all flip for the sergeant?”
Thirteen
Everyone in the sickroom gaped at Kathy Ann and her ludicrous idea for the older St. Clairs to flip a coin for Braxton Hale. Skylla had a fifty-fifty chance of winning, but what if she lost?
“Where did you get that money?” Claudine, recovered somewhat, demanded, her lips pursed as she eyed the gold coin.
“I gave it to her,” Braxton answered. “It was my last twenty dollars. It’s hers for her promise never to run away again, isn’t that right, Piglet?”
“Did I? Oh, uh, yeah. Sure. I won’t run away again.”
Braxton had gotten her to promise anything? Astounding. If he had, and apparently that was so, he had influenced her little sister beneficially. True cause for celebration.
“Well?” Kathy Ann said. “What about it? What about flipping a coin to see who marries the sergeant?”
“It just doesn’t seem right.” Skylla swallowed.
“It’s a ridiculous idea,” Claudine said.
“True.” Braxton put Electra aside. “I never heard of such a thing, truth be known. Yet it’s worth considering.”
“Seems fair to me,” was Charlie Main’s comment. “Seems all fair and square.”
Kathy Ann spoke succinctly. “I like it.”
Braxton smiled the smile of a captain prepared to go down with his ship. “If you ladies agree to the toss, I’m willing to gamble. It’s the American way.” He nodded. “At least I’ll have half a chance of winning Skylla’s hand. Are you for it, sugar?”
“T-toss the coin.” She waited for her stepmother’s response. If Claudine went along with the gamble, then no one could say it wasn’t, as Braxton and Charlie Main had pointed out, all fair and square.
“Claudine, do you want heads or tails?” Braxton asked.
“Heads.”
Let it be tails. Please, God, I don’t ask you for too much. But, please, this time let it be tails. Skylla shuddered.
“You want I should toss that coin for ya, Miss Kathy Ann?” Charlie Main asked.
“That would be nice.” Kathy Ann pressed the coin into the center of his palm, then stepped back. “All set, everybody?”
You could hear a pin drop, the room got so quiet. Even Electra seemed intent on the outcome.
Charlie Main cleared his throat, hitched up his dirt-stained britches, and smiled at the gamblers. “Here goes. Uh, hold up. Miz Claudine.” He made a fist around the coin. “If you lose, would ya be so kind as to flip a coin over me?”
“No! Now toss that damned coin.”
This was the first time Skylla had heard Claudine curse.
The gold piece flew vertically from the nail of his thumb, twirling over and over as it went up, up, up, then down. The bettors sucked in their breaths. The cowboy caught the coin on the back of his left hand, and pressed his right palm atop it.
He stepped over to Kathy Ann.
Skylla quit breathing. Her blood surged in her ears. God, if you’ll see me through this one, I’ll never make another selfish request.
The cowpoke exposed the coin.
“I’ll be golly.” He seemed shocked. “It’s tails.”
“Tails!” Skylla jumped from the chair, and it tumbled backwa
rd as she bounced up and down. In her excitement she barely noticed Kathy Ann and Braxton exchanging a wink, or Claudine resorting to tears. The redhead rushed from the sickroom, her hoop skirts taking deep bobs as she went.
Skylla’s leg didn’t hurt. A tomahawk cleaving her scalp wouldn’t have fazed her. This was the most exciting moment in her life. She’d won. All fair and square.
It was all Brax could do not to shout for joy. Now that all the pests had cleared out, he eyed his bride-to-be. She stood a couple of feet from the foot of his bed, her dark eyes dancing, her color high with victory.
“Come here, woman of mine.”
Skylla rushed to him and threw her arms around Brax’s neck. Triumphant, he gathered her close and whispered in her ear, “Welcome, bride-to-be. Make yourself comfortable.”
Her mouth covered his in a heated kiss that sent a swirl of blood to a place that took to swelling. And it wasn’t his injury. His arms closed around her, then he deepened the kiss by thrusting his tongue into the sweet cavern of her mouth. Damn, he wanted to make love to her.
Right here, right now.
His fingers were aching to touch her, and he led them along her ear, her cheek, the curve of her aristocratically long neck. The hum that she murmured gave approval, and he couldn’t stop himself from running his palm along her shoulder. He wanted to get more familiar with her breast, and he began to unbutton the bodice of her mourning dress.
“Pack these clothes away,” he uttered. “I never want to see you in black again.”
“Whatever you say.”
He wanted to say, Let’s make love, but good sense finally broke through the cloud of his euphoria. Back off. This wasn’t the proper time for lovemaking. When they shared the joy of it, he’d make certain no vindictive redhead or anyone else had an ear to the door. “I’m not up to the likes of you, woman.” He buttoned her up. “Not just yet.”
Disappointment caused her to start to protest, but he cupped his fiancée’s lovely face between his hands, his fingers combing through her hair. “Let’s set a date, sweetheart.”
She settled down beside him, her side close to his. “You’ll need time for a proper enough convalescence. Dr. Brown said you should stay abed for three weeks.”
Brax started to get ornery, but didn’t. He needed to be shipshape for their wedding night. “Three Saturdays from now. How does that hit you?”
“Right in the heart.”
He kissed her nose. “Go to bed, sweetheart. You’re going to need your strength, too.”
She chuckled, then returned the nose-kiss. “You win. I’ll go upstairs to that lonely old guest room. But I’ll be thinking of you.”
He caressed her hip. “Believe me, I won’t count sheep.”
He hated to see her go. And his need for sex protested. But leave she did, throwing a kiss from the doorway.
His smile warmed him thoroughly. Damn, things were going well. Soon, she’d be his wife. His wife! His hand moved to the part of the bed she’d vacated. If he went to California without her, how would he feel? Rotten. He wouldn’t leave her. They were going to California together. By damn, he would never let her out of his sight, not for as long as he lived.
What does that mean? His eyes closed. Did he love her? He liked, admired, and respected her. He couldn’t stand the thought of losing her. If that wasn’t love, what was it?
It was then that he heard footsteps. Female footsteps.
“I’m going to make your life a living hell.”
“I thought that was you, Claudine. Why can’t you be a good loser and get lost?”
“I’m not a good loser.”
“Try to be. It’ll serve you well.”
She grabbed the foot rail, shaking the bed. “Damn you. How dare you tell me how to act?”
“Act anyway you please. But take care where you do it.”
“If you’re trying to threaten me, I won’t stand for it. I have as much right to be here as you do.”
“Then work for the common good, and you and I won’t have a problem.” He paused. “Close the door on your way out.”
She slammed it.
But he hadn’t had the last of his female visitors. Not five minutes after Claudine had huffed off, Kathy Ann turned the doorknob and stuck her head inside. “Did I do good, Sergeant?”
“Sure did.”
She eased inside, the click of the closing door accompanying her. “Did I really promise not to run away?”
“Absolutely.”
“All right. I won’t.” She chewed her lip. “Sarge, I’m glad you’re marrying Skylla.”
“Why is that?”
“I never saw her real happy until you came around. I want her to be happy.”
“You’re making strides.” He recalled his siblings’ formative years. “Kathy Ann, it worries me that you’re not in school. You need an education.”
“You sound like Skylla. She nags me about taking up my studies again. ’Course, she hasn’t said much lately. She’s been too busy with you.”
“We’ll both have more time now.” Did he mean that? Had he almost promised to take her with them to California? No, he hadn’t. He’d deal with the Piglet problem later.
“Sarge . . . you never said, but I need to know. Will you forgive me for shooting you?”
“You bet, Piglet. Everything’s worked out just fine.”
“Sarge, would you have shot me this afternoon?”
“No, Piglet. I don’t want to harm you. A pretty little thing like you, you’ve got your whole life ahead of you. What kind of S-O-B would I be if I deprived some nice fellow of making you his sweetheart?”
“You think I’m pretty?”
“Pretty as a little piglet,” he said honestly.
“They’re not very pretty.”
“Oh, yes they are,” was his quick response.
Beaming, she said, “Thank you. Thank you very much. For making me feel like a real person.”
Brax smiled at the smoothness of the situation. Everything would be fine. Mighty fine. Kathy Ann might surprise him and turn out all right.
The future, for the first time in too many years, looked rosy. Skylla would be his. With the exception of Claudine, the combining of St. Clairs and Hales might turn into a happy situation. Hell, if Kathy Ann’s recent maturity wasn’t a fluke, what would be wrong with her going to school in San Francisco?
“By the way, Piglet. Thank you for the candy.”
Skylla gave a thousand silent thanks for Braxton.
As to be expected, though, Claudine left no snide comment unspoken. Her catty, cutting remarks caused Skylla to consider not asking her to act as matron of honor, but she did. Amazingly, Claudine accepted. Perhaps the redhead would grow to accept the inevitable. This pipe dream proved doubtful, though, the coin-toss loser was no sport.
Nonetheless, Skylla packed her mourning clothes and made wedding plans. Never had she had been this full of energy. She lived on love. Additionally, the house had never been as clean or the garden so carefully tended, though housekeeping and gardening ranked way behind the care given to her patient.
He said she ought to have a new wedding dress, but she answered, “Most certainly not,” and wouldn’t be argued down.
Besides, she anticipated a surprise tenfold better than a new frock. Charlie Main had shared a confidence with her. “Miz Claudine says I oughta tell ya. Your man, he’s got a weddin’ gift for ya. He and that darkie, they thunk I was asleep one night when they was talking about Brax’s Momma’s brooch.” He opened his fist to show her a cream-colored cameo set in a uniquely filigreed mounting. “He said he’s gonna give it to you at your weddin’.”
To receive his treasured heirloom—oh, how nice it made her feel!
“Are you gonna give Sarge a wedding present?”
It was bedtime. Kathy Ann, who had spoken, visited Skylla in the bedroom Braxton had vacated a week earlier. This was the first such visit, which thrilled Skylla all the more. Her sister had been making definite
strides in social behavior.
“I have a gift in mind,” she answered. “I have but one treasure surviving to this September. Papa’s emerald and gold stickpin.”
“Sarge will like it.” Kathy Ann’s fingers milled through the things on top of Skylla’s dresser. “But didn’t Ambrose tell you to save it for his firstborn grandson?”
“Braxton will wear it. Someday he’ll turn it over to our son. Eventually, Papa’s intention will be met.”
Kathy Ann examined the stickpin. “It’ll match Sergeant’s eyes.”
“My thinking exactly.” Skylla smiled. “I’m going to find him. I’m going to give it to him right now.”
The pin set aside, Kathy Ann shook her head. “You can’t. He’s gone. He took off with Geoff a half-hour ago. They’re going after Oren Singleterry and the stolen horses.”
“No. Oh, no!” His health. His safety. Skylla worried for both as she demanded to know: “Why didn’t you say something before he left?”
“He told me not to.”
Skylla had a word with herself. He’d done fine physically, and he’d been itching to get decent horseflesh for the ranch. Furthermore, she wouldn’t quarrel with her sister’s loyalty to her soon-to-be brother-in-law.
Kathy Ann spoke. “I almost forgot what I’m here for. Sergeant said you’d need help with a wedding dress. He thinks I’m a good seamstress. He says I’m just about as good as he is.”
“We wouldn’t want to argue with a surgeon,” Skylla commented, not totally in charge of her wits yet.
“Well, what about your dress?”
“Will you help me pick something out?”
Her round face breaking into a grin, Kathy Ann nodded. The sisters dug into a trunk brought from Mississippi. Only one party dress had outlasted the war. Ruffled at its low neckline and beribboned in a deep shade of peach, the gown had short puffed sleeves and was fashioned from white dotted Swiss. It was by far the coolest outfit she owned, yet whimsy was its chief appeal. And the cameo would set it off nicely.
“It needs altering,” Kathy Ann said after Skylla slipped it over her head.
“Will you have time? I know you’re busy tailoring one of Uncle’s suits for Braxton.”