What if all of those things that could save the farm were in the barn when it burned? She fell back on the bed. Her eyes stung. It’s too much, God. I can’t do this alone. She hoped for a calming verse to pop into her mind but it didn’t. If her mind would settle, she could sleep, but how could that happen, when all she could hear was Papa died thinking she’d failed?
She tossed the blankets aside and lay on her stomach, letting her pillow contain the weight of her worry tears. In the light of day, she knew Papa was in heaven and probably knew how her story was going to turn out. But she was still here, and life was, well, unsettling.
She fell asleep and dreamed of watching the farm being auctioned. Pete couldn’t be found and W.D. bought her memories.
“Billy?” Pete pushed the name through his lips, still not believing this drunken man could be his brother.
“Nobody calls me that.” W.D. growled and let go of the banister, his hand balled into a fist. “That’s a child’s name. I stopped being one of those a long time ago.”
Pete dropped his gaze and studied his broken thumbnail. He had to tell him. He took a deep breath. “I think you might be my younger brother.”
“Naw, your name’s Dent. I had a big brother, but I can’t remember his first name. I’ve been searching for another Dentice but came up empty.”
“I changed it.” Pete’s voice cracked. “I looked for you. I went to the farm where you were supposed to be.”
“Wasn’t there. That family moved to Kansas and used me for labor. Took out on my own when I was fifteen. Came back this way about a year ago.”
About the time Pete quit searching.
“Why’d you change your name?”
“No one could say it.”
“That’s some truth. I’m sorry about saying what I did about Miss Tucker. You care for her, easy enough to see that. Don’t know why that bothered me so much.”
“Maybe you’re looking for a home as much as me?” How would he explain all of this to Katie? Would she want to be associated with him once she knew W.D. was his brother? If she didn’t accept him, could he walk away from her? He knew he wasn’t going to let W.D. slip out of his life again. The pain of losing him twice might erase his desire for living.
“Guess this is where we say good-bye again.” W.D.’s voice thickened. “Sure wish I’d have shown up at the Tucker’s better behaved.”
“No. We’re not being separated again. You’re coming back with me, and we’ll figure out how this is going to work in the morning.”
“I don’t want to come between the two of you.”
“Things will work out. Let’s get you on your horse and get back to the farm.”
“I want you to know I haven’t always been this way.” He trailed behind Pete. “The last few years aren’t something I’m proud of. I’ve done things that—”
“Everyone has, Billy.” The old name rolled off his tongue with ease. He stopped and turned back. Under all that facial hair was a face he might’ve recognized. “Make no mistake, there’s no one alive that hasn’t sinned. That’s why we’re thankful for God’s grace.”
“Don’t think He has grace enough for me, but I’m sure glad I found you.”
“We’ll talk about it tomorrow when you can think clearer. Let’s go home, brother.” He turned his head to hide his tears of thankfulness. God had answered his prayer. Not the way he’d hoped, but it was an answer.
CHAPTER 12
Pete found Katie fighting a breeze while hanging sheets on the line. “Let me help you with that.” He took one corner, stretched it, and waited for her to pin it.
“What’s got you helping me with laundry?” She cocked her head. “Not that I don’t appreciate it. Hanging sheets is hard enough without the wind whipping them around.”
A gust blew the sheet, sticking it to both of them. Laughing, they untangled themselves.
“See what I mean?” Katie fiddled with her hair, fixing a loose pin.
He found her beyond adorable. Sliding a finger under a flyaway strand, he tucked it into place. Then without thought, his lips found hers. The connection could’ve been lightning forging them forever in that moment. He pulled away and felt a canyon-deep emptiness. “Katie. I’m sorry—”
She reached for him, and settled his lips against hers. Just as quick she broke away. “I’m not. But now I think I shouldn’t have done that.”
Pete swallowed, took a breath, and willed the fire between them to simmer. “Let’s finish this chore. We need to talk.”
Katie grabbed another sheet. She didn’t look at him. “I know what you are going to say. You aren’t interested in having a skittish wife. That’s why I kissed you back. I’ll never get another one.”
He groaned. “You’re wrong. I’ve been wanting to kiss you for a year. But after you hear what I have to say, you may want to send me away.” He took the sheet from her hand and put it in the basket. He held her hands in his. “Last night I went looking for W.D. I found him at the saloon.”
“I hope you left that dreadful man there.”
He let go of her hands. She’d reject him as soon as she knew. He hated choosing, but he couldn’t let his brother leave without trying to help him.
“Katie, I know how you feel about W.D., but he’s my brother. I thought I’d lost him forever. I can’t let that happen again. I’ll leave, and Roy will help you find someone to work the farm.” He leaned over and kissed the top of her head, hoping she’d say something. When she didn’t, he backed away. “I hoped you would be able to forgive him.”
He wanted so much to stay. If only she’d say something. Anything that would let him hope there was a chance for them that would include W.D. With great sorrow, he turned and walked away.
He’d kissed her. Topsy-turvyed her world and then tore it apart with his words. Leaving. That’s what she heard. The only man who’d ever shown interest in her, that she’d been brave enough to kiss back, hadn’t even given her a chance to tell him he could stay.
She didn’t know he had a brother.
Henry came running through the sheets. “Katie, have you seen Pete?”
“Stop that! You’ll get them dirty! He’s in the barn. Pete’s leaving. It’s the two of us against the bank, Henry.” She reached for a clothes pin and tipped the bucket, spilling them on the ground. Pete had kissed her. Her first kiss, and now he was running away. If Henry weren’t standing there, she’d kick the bucket across the yard.
“Why’s he going?” Henry’s lip trembled.
Crushed at Henry’s pain, Katie pulled him close. “We have each other, Oma, and God. We’re going to be okay.” But would they? Katie wanted to kneel on the grass and yell at God.
“Henry, Katie.” Pete stood behind them.
Katie’s heart fluttered. Maybe it wasn’t too late. She held on to Henry but turned to Pete. “We don’t want you to leave.”
“I came back because I thought about our. . .” He blushed and brushed his fingers over his lips.
Surely he wouldn’t say anything about the kiss in front of Henry! Katie jumped in. “If W.D. can change, then we’d like him to stay. Wouldn’t we, Henry? Pete, he’s your family and you have to try.”
“Yeah, besides our project needs finishing.” Henry strode in front of Pete. “I can’t do it by myself.” He straightened his body and wore a serious look. “Besides, I saw you kiss my sister, and I think we’ve some talking to do. Man to man.”
“You’re right, Mr. Tucker. If I could speak with you privately, we could discuss the situation while working on the project.”
“What are you two up to? And why speak with Henry? You aren’t Papa.”
Henry’s shoulders drooped. “No, but I’m doing the best I can. Come on, Pete. Follow me.”
Pete stopped on his way to the house, struck by Katie’s beauty. Her blond hair glimmered in the evening sun, where she sat on the back steps, snapping green beans. Soon he’d ask her to be his wife, but first he had to show her the bees. “Come with m
e. There’s something Henry and I have been working on. He wants me to show you.”
“What is it?” She snapped the ends off a bean and tossed them into a pan at her feet.
“Always curious, aren’t you?” And beautiful. He’d asked Henry if he could marry his sister. Henry said yes, with great enthusiasm. They’d discussed what that meant for the farm, and the two of them came to an agreement. He and Katie would live in the house until Henry married, then build another house.
“Papa said I was worrisome and nervous.” She set the beans aside and stood, brushed off her apron, removed it, and draped it over the porch banister.
“I think you are a wise woman, not ready to jump in until you know the facts. That’s why Henry and I haven’t told you about any of this.” He held his hand out and, when she took it once again, felt God answering another prayer.
“You haven’t said a word about the big secret.”
“Will you trust me enough to follow me to Sugar Creek?” All afternoon he’d been thinking of a romantic way to ask her to marry him. He should have proposed during the fireworks. Henry suggested he buy her doughnuts, but Pete thought that was what Henry would want. He’d ask W.D. if he had any ideas when he turned in tonight.
“That’s Henry’s place. Don’t you know girls aren’t allowed?”
“He said it was okay.”
“Is it safe?”
“Please, Katie. You need to see this.” Pete held out his hand. “I’d like to show you before it gets dark.”
“Should I get a lantern?”
“No!” His chest hurt thinking about the night he’d taken one with him.
“Then we’d better hurry so we can get back before the June bugs come out.”
They walked in silence to the field by the creek.
Pete stopped just out of sight of the hives. “Remember, you’re safe with me. Don’t run. Are you ready?”
She nodded but her eyebrows let him know she was worried, along with her strong grip on his hand.
As they grew closer, she gasped. “There’s an apiary! Did Papa do this?”
“Yes, and Henry and I have been taking care of them. We have jars of honey stacked in the woodshed.”
“Wax, too?” She beamed. “You saved us and the farm. How did you know what to do?” Her eyes widened. “Did you get stung a lot? How much honey did you harvest? Are those all the queen bees Papa bought?”
“God saved you. I read a book.” And fought off a swarm of bees. “Yes, I got stung. I forgot how much honey, you can count the jars and yes, those are the Italian queens your father purchased.” He smiled down at her. “Anything else?”
“I want to go closer.” She stepped forward then turned. “Not by myself!”
No one would call her nervous and skittish now. “I’ll be right by your side.”
He felt her hand tremble in his. “We can go now. Henry wants you to know that he and I will take care of the bees. All we ask of you is to get the honey into jars.”
“I can make hand creams, too.” Her nose wrinkled.
Pete had a bad feeling, but before he could do anything, Katie sneezed. Loud. Bees came flying out of their hives, wings sounding like a train. “Run! We’ve got to get in the creek!”
Katie screamed once, twice, and then they were in the water.
“Put your head under!”
A few minutes later, the bees left, no longer considering them a threat. Katie’s hair had come undone and was plastered to her face. Already there were welts forming on her cheeks.
“I’m so sorry! I didn’t know they’d come after us if you sneezed.”
“Guess we do now. I must look awful with all these stings.”
“I love you, Katie Tucker. Honey, will you be my bride?” He plucked the hair from her cheek. “I could call you my honey bride because the bees brought us together.”
“Yes! Yes! I’ll marry you, Pete Dent.”
August came in hot and humid, but Katie didn’t care. She and Oma had spent days fixing honey cakes for the wedding today. She wore her mother’s wedding gown. It was a perfect fit. Oma said that was a sign she’d found the right man to marry. And that man was waiting for her at the altar.
Henry threaded his arm through hers. “Ready, Katie? Cause I sure am.”
Katie swallowed; she couldn’t speak. She nodded at her brother and took her first step down the aisle, where Pete waited. Soon she’d be Mrs. Pete Dent.
Christian author Diana Lesire Brandmeyer writes historical and contemporary romances. Author of Mind of Her Own, A Bride’s Dilemma in Friendship, Tennessee, and We’re Not Blended—We’re Pureed, A Survivor’s Guide to Blended Families. Once widowed and now remarried, she writes with humor and experience on the difficulty of joining two families, be they fictional or real life. Visit Diana’s website: www.dianabrandmeyer.com
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Christian author Diana Lesire Brandmeyer writes historical and contemporary romances. Author of Mind of Her Own, A Bride’s Dilemma in Friendship, Tennessee, and We’re Not Blended—We’re Pureed, A Survivor’s Guide to Blended Families. Once widowed and now remarried, she writes with humor and experience on the difficulty of joining two families, be they fictional or real life. Visit Diana’s website: www.dianabrandmeyer.com
THE COLUMBINE BRIDE
Davalynn Spencer
Thou wilt shew me the path of life.
PSALM 16:11
CHAPTER 1
Colorado, 1886
Lucy Powell’s ears pricked at her children’s excited voices. She looked up from the vegetable seed packets to the candy counter where a tall bearded man reached for Elmore’s ear. Three quick steps took her past a table before she stopped. The man squatted, and her son’s eyes widened at the sight of a copper penny. Cecilia, ever the guardian, stayed her little brother’s hand.
“We don’t take things from strangers, Elmore.”
Lucy clutched the packets she’d already chosen and listened for her son’s reply.
“He ain’t no stranger, Sissy. That penny come out of my ear.”
Cecilia pulled him back with a sharp whisper, eyes narrowed at the man. “It’s just a trick. He fooled you.”
Elmore’s lower lip bulged, and Lucy suppressed an impulse to intervene. Intrigued by her daughter’s protective instincts and partially hidden by a display of granite ironware, she inched forward, waiting to see if Cecilia had the pluck she suspected.
“Pardon me saying so, miss, but you’ve got something in your ear, too.”
The man’s warm voice touched forgotten places in Lucy’s mind and weakened her daughter’s defenses as well. He reached toward one dark braid, and six-year-old eyes rounded at a second mysterious penny. Lucy covered her mouth and blinked back a burning sensation as he straightened and laid both coins on the counter.
“I’d thank you kindly if you’d help me out with these since I have other things I need to tend to.”
Lucy stepped forward. The man set his hat on, turned on his heel, and strode squarely into her.
“Oh!” Seed packets scattered as she flailed for balance. The man’s arm linked around her waist, and he jerked his hat off and mashed it against his leg, dangling her from his arm. “Pardon me, ma’am.”
Emboldened by her motherly motives and the ragged beard sweeping her forehead, Lucy gathered her footing, pushed out of the man’s grasp, and bent to retrieve her potential garden. He joined her, scooping up most of the packets as she scooped up her breath.
“No harm done.” She accepted what he’d gathered and scoured the beard bristling above her before lifting her eyes to meet his. She stilled at their clarity—blue as the sky. And slightly familiar.
“I hope you don’t mind them having a sweet.” One eye tightened at the corner with an unspoken thought.
She regarded her children, whose hope plastered their faces like a newspaper headline, then returned her attention to the man. “How very kind of you. Thank you.”
He nodded and stepped a
round her toward the hardware. Lucy tried to imagine what he looked like clean shaven. Clutching the seed packets, she joined her children, who were less concerned with her near trampling than with how many licorice whips could be bought for a penny. Cecilia’s calculating pleased Lucy, though guilt warred with sensibility as she justified not treating her children to this simple pleasure since their father had died. She did not have money for nonessentials, not with saving everything to buy supplies for the summer. And were it not for Mr. Wellington’s generosity at the mercantile, they’d have even less. His tally always came out different than what Lucy calculated. He’d best not let Cecilia help him with the order.
May was spent, school out for summer, and Lucy and the children would leave tomorrow for the ranch to salvage what they could from winter’s neglect. Ranch seemed such a grand term for their two sections and handful of cows, but it had been William’s dream, and Lucy determined not to let it die as well. By now their small herd must be scattered to the hills and their hay field decimated by deer. But she and the children could plow and plant, round up and repair. Rubbing the tightness that lately pulled between her neck and shoulder, she sagged against the counter.
“You all right, Mrs. Powell?” Fred Wellington’s squeaky question announced his approach, and she straightened. The man’s generous spirit must be what endeared his wife and daughter to him, for Lucy could not imagine living day in and day out with that voice. Though it couldn’t be much worse than living with no husband or father’s voice at all.
Glancing toward the stranger, she found him looking at coffeepots of all things. Mr. Wellington’s daughter, Priscilla, had come from the back and wore lovely flushed cheeks as she presented a varied selection to the man whose voice could melt ice on a winter pond.
The 12 Brides Of Summer (Novella Collection Book 4) Page 10