“No, I do not.”
“Shucks. Let’s go eat then.” Arm around her shoulders, he ushered her into the hotel and toward the dining room.
Five hours later, Birdie was the proud owner of a bay mare named Strawberry. She patted the horse’s neck as they rode toward home, Molly following Tad on a lead rope. “She’s a beauty, isn’t she, Tad?”
“Yes, she’s a fine animal. Strawberry is the mount I would have chosen for you.”
Birdie wouldn’t have been able to make a good choice if it not for Tad. He’d inspected every horse the man brought out for them to look at, picked three, and told her to select the one she preferred. Strawberry was the friendliest of the three. She’d nibbled on Birdie’s pocket looking for sugar and nudged her with her nose to get an extra pat and scratch.
The man wanted sixty dollars for Strawberry, but Tad talked him down to fifty—an amazing price when you considered how much the animal would have cost in Birdie’s time. Of course, she wasn’t making near what she did as a ranger, either. Now she had to watch her money closely, to make sure she could achieve her goal.
She knew she had a giddy smile on her face and that Tad had difficulty not laughing at her. Well, maybe not laugh, but he glanced at her often and appeared to be enjoying her happiness. With the acquisition of thirty acres and a horse, she’d become a property owner. Had she turned a corner and accepted the fact she was here forever? Yes, she supposed so. She’d been here seven months. It was time to make the most of her situation and build a life in the nineteenth century. Well, she’d been doing that, but in the deep recesses of her heart, she’d clung to the hope that she’d make it back home. For some reason, unknown to her, she’d been thrust into this time period for a purpose. It was her responsibility to follow her destiny.
It was late, almost ten o’clock, when they rode into the barn. An hour later, all three horses were groomed and contentedly munching on eats in their stalls. Clouds covered the moon as she and Tad headed for the house. An icy wind whipped up dust around them. They pulled their hats down on their foreheads and tilted their heads into the wind. Tad’s strong arm held her close to his body to protect her as much as possible.
They entered through the back screened in porch, a glow from the kitchen lighting their way. An oil lamp, wick turned down low, sat on the counter. The aroma of ham and cornbread filled the room, still warm on the large cast iron range. Tad removed his hat, hung it on the hat rack, and raked a hand through his hair. “Are you hungry?”
“No. Are you?” She was too excited to eat and didn’t know how she’d be able to sleep tonight. Fortunately tomorrow was Saturday and she’d probably stay on the ranch and get to know Strawberry.
He removed her hat and tossed it toward the hat rack. It barely caught on one of the knobs. “Oh yeah, I’m ravenous for you, love.” His large hands whipped the heavy cloak from her shoulders and it joined their hats. He stood before her, his blue eyes dark with passion, and something more. Could it be longing? Did he care more for her than he let on? Birdie’s heart thumped with hope. Was it because she cared more for him than she’d revealed—even to herself? Her breath caught in her throat at the suggestion—her mind realizing the truth. She was in love with him.
Tad wrapped his arms around her and lifted her to meet his kiss. She grabbed the back of his head and answered his demand to deepen the kiss. He explored her mouth and their tongues twined becoming familiar with the taste of each other. When he allowed her feet to touch the floor again, he gazed into her eyes as if reading her mind as his hands moved from her waist up to cup her breasts and stroke their pebbled peaks. “Tad,” she moaned and pressed closer enjoying his hardness against her belly.
Breath ragged, he dropped his forehead to hers, and ground out, “Sweetheart, you promised me an answer tonight. Will you marry me?”
Birdie had to take a leap of faith and pray Tad was part of her destiny in this time period. If not, why had he fished her from the river, and why was she here in his home with his family? Her body craved his touch almost more than she wanted to see Birdie’s Nest rebuilt. Thank goodness she didn’t have to choose between the two. She believed Tad when he said he’d help her. He wasn’t rich, but just knowing he supported her was enough. Plus, she loved him.
* * *
Tad waited impatiently for Birdie to come down to breakfast. Twice Maybelle tried to set breakfast on the table and he’d asked her to wait until Birdie and Bethany arrived.
Mouth pinched into a frown line, Mother asked, “What’s wrong with you, son? You’re usually in a hurry to get out to the stables to work.”
“It’s Saturday. I may not work today.”
Maybelle gaped at him and his mother laid a hand over her heart. “Are you ill?” She shoved up from her chair, rounded the table, and slapped her palm against his forehead. “You don’t feel feverish.”
“I am not sick. I just want us all to eat together this morning. Is that so odd?”
She returned to her seat and studied him. She was suspicious for sure. “Well, I expect not.”
Bethany stomped into the room and plopped down in her chair. “I don’t see why we can’t eat a little later on Saturday mornings.”
Tad hid his grin. “We do, an hour later than we do during the week.”
“Why can’t it be two hours? I need the rest.”
“You get plenty of rest, young lady. I’ll not have you grow up to be lazy like some of the girls you hang around with.” Mother shook a finger at her. “No man wants a wife who sleeps in when chores are to be done.”
“But—”
“Good morning!”
Tad glanced up to see Birdie standing in the doorway, her smile shy. No doubt she wondered if he’d shared the news with his family.
His huge grin drew a quirked eyebrow from his mother, but he couldn’t contain his happiness. She couldn’t hide the questions in her gaze, but for once, she didn’t say anything.
He pushed back from the table and strode to meet Birdie. “Good morning, my love.” Unable to resist the glow of her smile and her rosy lips, he caught her to him and kissed her, oblivious to the gasps echoing around the room.
When he drew back, Birdie touched his cheek. “Good morning, Tad.” She nodded to the women and flashed them her beautiful smile.
Arm around her waist, he pulled her close to his side. “I have an announcement to make. Birdie has agreed to be my wife.”
Chapter Eighteen
Squealing with joy, three women converged on Birdie. Mother caught her in a fierce hug. “My dear, we’re so happy to have you become a permanent member of this family.” She turned on Tad, caught him around the waist and sobbed against his chest.
He patted her back, suddenly concerned. “Mother, what’s wrong? I thought you’d be thrilled.”
She pulled back and caught his face with both hands. “I’m delighted, young man…so pleased with your choice and that you finally decided to settle down.” She caught Birdie’s hand. “From the very beginning I knew you two were made for each other.” She glanced at Maybelle. The older woman wiped tears from her cheeks with her apron. “Isn’t that so, Maybelle?”
Maybelle sniffed. “Yes, indeed, it is.”
Tad hugged the older woman. “Hey, now, no tears, Maybelle. This is a joyous occasion.”
“I know, but I still see you as a little boy stealing cookies when you thought I wasn’t looking.”
He’d had a wonderful childhood. If one of his parents weren’t available to doctor a scrape or cut, Maybelle was. He kissed her cheek. “Hopefully one of these days we’ll have a houseful of kids for you to bake for.”
“That’d be mighty fine.”
Lordy, he hoped Birdie wanted kids. They’d not discussed a family last night but they had plenty of time.
“Birdie, can I be a bridesmaid?” asked Bethany.
“Of course you can. I intended to ask you and I hope Mattie will be my Matron of Honor.”
“Ooh,” squealed Bethany
. “What colors will you have? I hope you won’t pick yellow as it makes me look sallow.”
Birdie tweaked Bethany’s nose. “I promise no yellow.”
Mother clapped her hands. “We have so much planning to do. I can have a wedding planned in two weeks time.”
“We’d like to wait a little longer than that, Mother.” He glanced at Birdie. “Say a month or two?”
Birdie nodded. “Yes, I think March would be perfect. And Olivia, we thought it’d be nice to have a small service here on the ranch.”
“Not get married in the church? Why the whole community will be disappointed if they don’t get to attend.” Mother sighed and shook her head. “Of course, the choice is yours, but I’m afraid we’ll hurt feelings if we keep the guest list too small.”
“Well, my feelings are going to be hurt if I have to throw this breakfast out and start over again,” announced Maybelle. “Sit down and discuss plans over breakfast.”
They all obeyed and she set platters loaded with food on the table. Mother jumped up, ran to the cabinet, and retrieved another plate and silverware. She laid it out beside Bethany. “Maybelle, you join us. You’re as much a part of this family as everyone else and we need your help.”
“Oh no, ma’am, I couldn’t do that.”
“Yes, you can.” Tad stood and held her chair until she sat down.
Bethany jumped up and returned with an additional place setting and set them before Maybelle.
She sniffed and brushed away a tear. “I’m honored to be included.”
Mother smiled at Maybelle and if she’d been within reach would have patted her hand. “We need you, Maybelle.” She picked up the platter of eggs and started it around the table. “Now, we’ll not discuss wedding plans until we’re through eating.”
Three hours later, Birdie sat atop Strawberry. Tad handed her the picnic basket to hold while he mounted his horse, a bay gelding, a different animal from the one he usually rode. “What’s your horse’s name?”
He took the reins and patted the animal’s neck. “This is Brodie. I’ve had him since he was a colt. He’s smart as a whip, aren’t you boy?” The animal whinnied and tossed his head. Tad grinned. “See I told you so.”
Birdie couldn’t resist a laugh. “He doesn’t have an ego, either, does he?”
Tad grinned. “Maybe a little one.”
They rode east and found the spot where they’d picnicked once before—back before their relationship had turned serious. Birdie couldn’t believe she was getting married, but she loved Tad and wanted a life with him. And children. She wanted them too. It’d be nice to postpone them for a short while, but in this day and time, with no birth control, women had no control over when they became pregnant.
Tad spread the quilt in an area vacant of cattle and settled the basket of food at one corner. He took her hand and led her to the center of the quilt. “Your expression is serious. What are you thinking about?”
She sat cross-legged on the blanket and he settled beside her. “About children and the lack of birth control in this era.”
“Don’t you want children?”
“Of course I do, but I would like to space them three or four years apart.”
“How would you do that in your time?”
“Well, there are birth control pills, but I’d probably use a diaphragm.” She sighed. “I suppose the Comstock Law makes it next to impossible to obtain condoms.”
Reddening, he cleared his throat before speaking. “Yes, doctors usually give them only to unmarried men who frequent certain establishments—for health reasons, you understand.”
“Of course. I’ve never understood the reasoning behind that practice. They will protect men against disease but allow women to die because their bodies can’t tolerate another pregnancy.” She picked at a loose thread on the hem of her riding skirt. “You know they aren’t one hundred percent effective, don’t you? For generations, couples have had children even when using prophylactics.” Birdie stretched out on the quilt. Propped on her side, she took his arm and pulled him down beside her. “Don’t worry, if we have a baby every year, so be it.”
“But I don’t want you to be pregnant all the time. It can’t be healthy for you.” He twirled a strand of her hair that had escaped her ponytail. “I’ll work out something.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’ll find a way to get condoms.”
“Not at the expense of going to jail, I hope.” She slid into his arms and tilted her face up to his face. “One kiss before lunch.”
He arched a brow. “Just one?”
His wicked smile was almost as arousing as the feel of his lips, the taste of his mouth and the heat of his length molded to hers. Her body hummed with a hunger of its own and Tad’s kisses left her seeking more. She needed closer, wanted to touch his skin. Before she could unbutton his shirt, he’d yanked hers out of her skirt and shoved it up to her neck. She giggled. “Are you trying to choke me?”
He rolled to his back, a deep chuckle bursting from his chest. “No, sweetheart, just wanted to touch the beautiful breasts that have fascinated me since I first saw them.”
She propped up on an elbow and pinched his side. “What are you talking about? When have you seen my breasts?”
“Uh, well, the day I pulled you from the river, your dress slipped down and exposed your assets a little.”
She swatted him on the belly. “You dirty old man!”
“Hey, I didn’t sit there and stare, but promptly pulled your gown up so no one else would see your beautiful flesh.”
Birdie snorted. “Yeah, I bet.”
“I promise. My mama raised me to be a gentleman.”
Swallowing the smile that threatened to break out on her face, she quirked an eyebrow. “If you say so.”
He turned back to face her. “I want you something fierce, Birdie. Are you sure we can wait until March to get married? That’s a month and a half away.”
She coughed. “Well, in my time, it’s not uncommon for couples to anticipate the wedding night.”
He grinned. “It’s not totally unheard of in this time either, but sweetheart, our first time will not be on the ground surrounded by cattle munching on grass.”
“Tad, I think you should know, I’m not a virgin. There haven’t been a lot of men in my life, but a few.”
The hands she loved so much cupped her face. “It doesn’t matter…as long as I’m the last.”
* * *
They conceded and allowed Olivia to reserve the church for the second Saturday in March. The woman had made an appointment with a dressmaker to have a gown made. Today was Birdie’s first visit. After viewing a number of fashion dolls and magazines, they’d agreed on a design. The dress was simple—a scooped off-the-shoulder neckline inset with lace, with abbreviated leg-o-mutton sleeves and a form fitting bodice that ended in a v just below her waist. The skirt flared slightly from the hips and back, while hanging almost straight in the front. She’d wear a waist length veil with a crown of flowers.
“But, it’s all so plain, Birdie. Can’t we add a flounce here?” Olivia pointed to the sleeves and then to the dropped bodice seam. “And one here?”
“I’d feel ridiculous in something with flounces.”
The dressmaker interceded. “Mrs. Lockhart, Miss Braxton has chosen a dress perfect for her height and figure. She’ll set tongues wagging and other brides will be copying her dress before the season is over.”
Olivia chewed her lip. “You really think so?”
“I know so. This dress speaks of elegance. I’m overjoyed to be the one to make it as it will bring me lots of business.” She patted Birdie’s hand. “Now, stop back by at the same time in a week so I can make further adjustments.”
Oh goodie. Birdie hated standing still and being poked and prodded, but to be beautiful for Tad, she’d do it. She grinned. Wonder how he’s doing at the tailor’s?
* * *
Tad stepped from the tailor’s shop, gratef
ul to be free to return to the ranch and get to work. He wondered how Birdie was managing with his mother and the dressmaker. He grinned at the idea of Birdie getting trussed up in a bunch of frou-frou. His smile wilted. He hoped they didn’t talk her into something she’d be uncomfortable wearing. Birdie was a beautiful woman, but ruffles and flounces didn’t suit her.
He approached the surrey outside the dressmaker’s. Chester whinnied a greeting. Hank looked up, strode toward him, and handed him a letter. “Some kid delivered this. Said I was to give it to you and tell you it was urgent.”
Urgent? If something had happened at the ranch, one of the hands would have ridden in to fetch him. He ripped it open and read the familiar script. His first instinct was to wad it up and toss it into one of the trashcans along the street, but the word “son” caught his eye.
Tad,
I know you don’t want to hear from me, but I have no choice. I’ve recently delivered your son. If you don’t come take him, I’ll put him in one of the orphanages. I can’t raise him. The choice is yours.
Lucy
A child? His child? If true, why hadn’t she told him sooner, asked for help? He would have provided for both her and the child. An orphanage? No way in hell would a child of his be given away—not while he lived and breathed. His heart thundered in his chest. Could it be true? If so, what would Birdie say? Would she refuse to marry him knowing his relationship with a woman like Lucy had produced a child?
He stuffed the letter into his jacket pocket and mounted Chester. “Thanks, Hank. Tell the women I have business in town and will be home by dinner.” The first thing he had to do was find out if Lucy was telling the truth. And how would he know if the child was his? The timing was right. He’d last been with Lucy on June first, the date he’d pulled Birdie from the Brazos.
Lucy’s home appeared neglected, not the neat little place he’d visited last year. He rode around to the back and put Chester in the lean to—hiding as he’d always done when he’d visited the woman. Only now, shame nagged his conscience. He strode to the back door and knocked. An elderly woman opened the door and invited him in. “I assume you’re Mr. Lockhart.”
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