The 12 Brides Of Summer (Novella Collection Book 4)

by Vickie McDonough

  The fast-moving storm rolled down the wooded slopes and dropped into the valley. Lightning fired a warning shot, but Lucy stood fast. Buck gripped the porch railing and glanced at Sissy and Button standing stock-still near the doorway. He loved this family more than he thought possible—Lucy with her fight and fire, and those two young’uns who worshipped the light she walked in. He had hoped to cut their hay this summer, but from the looks of the white wall coming at them, he might not get the chance.

  The clouds unfolded, banked against the opposite mountains and packed down like a feather mattress. Rain came gentle at first, errant drops, plump and singular. Lucy stood like a ship’s mast, wind whipping her skirt through her legs. Buck screwed his hat down and strode to the gate but waited, holding himself back from her private war. Gorged to its limit, the sky broke open, and within minutes water ran like a river. The meager garden floated in a dark lake that licked at Lucy’s skirts. When the hail came, her hands went slack and her shoulders slumped. She dropped to her knees.

  Lucy Powell didn’t want to be coddled, but he’d not stand by and watch her drown in defeat. Splashing into the running current, he scooped her into his arms and offered his back to the stinging fury. Ice the size of checker pieces pelted into every living plant, beating them into the muddy water.

  Wide-eyed and white as sheets, Sissy and Button followed him inside where he fell into the rocker with their mother. Her great wracking sobs gouged his heart like Mexican spurs, and he jerked off his dripping hat and leaned back, pulling her closer. She pressed into him, trembling, he suspected, with more than the cold and wet. Her hair was smooth against his lips, and he murmured low, aiming to calm her as he would a frightened colt.

  The children stood mute by the table, staring at their strong, independent mother curled up in Buck’s arms. Thunder cracked, and the windows flashed a blinding blue. They ran and flung themselves against him, and he drew them close like a covey of rain-soaked quail. Huddled together in the sturdy cabin, they waited, and Buck thanked God for seeing fit to lead him there.

  As quick as it had come, the storm tucked tail and ran. Lucy had soaked him through, but she no longer shivered or sobbed. Outside, blue sky peeked through running clouds and sunlight winked in the water dripping from the roof.

  “Button,” he whispered, “can you build a fire for your ma?”

  The boy peeled himself from the rocker and shoved out his thin chest with a nod. “Yes, sir, I can.”

  Buck returned the nod, man-to-man. “Then be about it.”

  Sissy laid a small hand on her mother’s back. “You need to get out of those wet clothes, Mama.” The girl’s brow pulled with motherly concern. “I’ll help you.”

  Lucy uncurled but didn’t fly from his lap. Instead, she cupped her daughter’s cheek in her hand. “Thank you, honey. Lay out my black dress, and I’ll be right there.”

  Then she turned her eyes on Buck, and the aching, brimming pools stopped his heart.

  “I can’t do this anymore,” she whispered.

  He caught her hand in his and turned it over. Blistered, red, and cracking, the palm bore testimony to her determined spirit. He raised it to his lips fearing only one thing—seeing her break.

  “Not by yourself, you can’t.” His voice felt thick and unfamiliar. “But we can.”

  A heavy sigh shuddered through her. “You are a kind man, Buck Reiter.”

  He locked on her eyes, refusing to let her slip into despair. “Two are better than one, the Lord says.” A current surged between them, swift as the water through the garden. Did she feel it?

  Standing, he set her feet to the floor then curled his fingers against her cheek. She tilted her head into his touch, and he would have kissed her had Cecilia not returned to lead her to the curtained-off bedroom. As daughter and mother crossed the room, Buck’s jaw set like a sulled-up bronc. He’d stay and see them through the summer, find their cows and brand the calves. Salvage what he could of the hay and the garden, and wait for Lucy Powell’s heart to heal.

  Then he’d ask her to be his wife.

  CHAPTER 9

  The pale pink muslin hid near the bottom of Lucy’s trunk, beneath baby clothes and linens she had saved against a better day. She’d not worn the dress since last summer, before she’d donned her mourning black. Pressing the cool fabric to her face, she squeezed her eyes shut to hold the tears.

  Last week’s hail had shredded not only the garden but had torn deeply into her resolve. Already July, and what little progress she’d made lay pounded into the mud. At least the outbuildings stood undamaged, thanks to Buck, upon whom she could not depend indefinitely. Someday he would not return. She had no right to wish otherwise.

  She draped the muslin across her arm and pulled out Cecilia’s church dress and Elmore’s good trousers then gathered a handful of pins and headed outside to air the garments.

  A pungent sweetness swept down from the mountains, kissing the meadow. Her skin prickled in the cool air as she took in her surroundings with new eyes. How many horses could graze here and in her higher acreage? Buck had once mentioned his intent to take his band of mares and find his own mountain, as he’d put it. Would he be interested in leasing her land? And if he did, where would she and the children go? But why would he want to settle so near the Horne Ranch when he said he wanted new country? Her heart hollowed out at the thought of his leaving.

  If she could sell off some of her cattle in the fall, she might make a go of it this year. But she had to find them first. Buck had set out early to locate the small herd, and suggested she ride with him after the Fourth to bring them back. The children could stay with his sister who, he insisted, would jump at the opportunity. What a temptation—a day riding the hills with no cares other than trailing a few cows. She’d promised to give it some thought, and when she’d mentioned it to Cecilia and Elmore, they had stormed her with pleas.

  Before the hail, she had looked forward to the Fourth of July, celebrating not only the nation’s independence but her own. She wanted to visit with Buck’s sister and learn her secret of surviving as a widowed mother in this harsh land. But Lucy already knew the answer.

  A heavy sigh slid over Cecilia’s dress as Lucy pinned it to the garden wire Buck had raised. He’d raised the woodpile, too, and she’d allowed him to raise her hopes of success and more. But she wasn’t his sister. She wasn’t his anything. His “two are better than one” remark referred to how they had worked—side by side as two individuals. Not two parts of one whole.

  The only thing Lucy knew with certainty was the way she’d felt in Buck’s arms after the storm. Safe. Protected. A bitter taste hit the back of her tongue.

  “Oh, Mama—do I get to wear my Sunday dress to Mr. Buck’s house?” Cecilia’s hopeful voice pinched Lucy’s heart.

  “You must promise not to ruin it. No grass stains or rips, please.”

  Cecilia clasped her hands beneath her chin. “I promise.”

  Lucy turned to scan the sky then placed a hand on her daughter’s shoulder. “Remember those strawberries?”

  Delight sparked in the child’s eyes, and she nodded.

  “Take Elmore with you and pick what you can. But pay attention to what you hear. If it thunders, come home immediately. Understand?”

  Cecilia nodded fiercely then hugged Lucy’s legs and dashed to the house for a basket and her brother. Lucy’s gaze fell to the columbine cluster at the end of the porch, so fragile and lovely, untouched by the hail in its sheltered corner.

  “The path of life, Lord,” she whispered. “I need to know the path of life.”

  Again the words came, whispering across the meadow and dancing around her shoulders. “Trust me.”

  The aroma of sweet beans drew Lucy from bed before dawn. She set the iron pot on the sideboard, punched down the bread dough she’d left to rise, and pinched off rounds to bake while she hitched up the horse. The children stirred and excitement rimmed their faces as they hurried to dress in their sun-kissed clothes. E
ven her pink muslin smelled fresh and clean from its airing out. Hope stirred. With shaking fingers she twisted her hair, dropping more pins than usual. Elmore picked up each one, and with the last coil in place, she chucked his chin.

  “Thank you, Button.” Buck’s gesture. Buck’s nickname. “You are a big help.”

  “I never seen you drop so many pins before, Ma.”

  Her heart would break for love. “Saw. You never saw.” She leaned down to kiss his sweet head and swatted him toward the sink. “Take the scrap can to the chickens, but don’t get dirty, and hurry back. We want to leave before the sun peeks over the ridge.”

  Cecilia took the rolls from the oven, carefully shielding her small hands with toweling, and set them on the sideboard. “You sure look pretty, Ma.” She lined a basket with a napkin and arranged the rolls just so. “Did you dress up for Mr. Buck?”

  Lucy’s breath caught. “I dressed up for the occasion. Just like you.” Reaching for another piece of toweling, she lifted the cast-iron pot.

  “But you do like Mr. Buck, don’t you?”

  What had he said? Out of the mouths of babes? Her throat ached. “Yes, I like Mr. Buck.”

  “Is he going to be our pa?”

  The dutch oven landed on the table with a thud. Now was not the time to discuss such things, but a six-year-old did not have a keenly developed sense of timing. Lucy swallowed a scolding and instead chose truth. Stooping to meet her daughter face-to-face, she looked into William’s eyes, and sorrow tightened like a drawstring.

  “A lady waits until a man asks to marry her. You will do that someday—wait for a young man to ask for your hand.” Taking that small hand, she smoothed it with her own. “Mr. Buck is very special to us all.” Warmth bloomed in Lucy’s chest, pressing to expose more than she cared to admit. “I believe God sent him to help us, but whether he wants to be part of our family is up to him. And neither you nor I will ask him about it.”

  Cecilia blinked. “But would you say yes if Mr. Buck asked?”

  Lucy closed her eyes, attempting to close off her heart from her daughter’s keen perception. Squeezing the small hand, she opened them again with purpose. “Do you want to be late for the party?”

  Instantly refocused, Cecilia gathered her basket and hurried to the wagon. Lucy followed with the beans then returned to the cabin for her wild-berry lemonade. Two contrasting halves made one delicious whole—berries and lemons. And Buck had provided one of those halves. Was there anything in her life he had not touched?

  As they drove from the yard, a sharp golden light cut across the mountains, and Lucy tugged her bonnet forward. Elmore held Rascal on his lap and Cecilia cradled the basket. Not one word of complaint came from either of them, not with Independence Day breaking clear and bright with the promise of pie and cake and maybe games. Lucy shook her head. How little they knew of true independence—of leaning only on one’s self and not another for everything. Aside from where it pertained to armies and kings and governments, independence was overrated. For without God’s help, where would she be? She depended on Him for everything. And perhaps a little too much on Buck Reiter.

  At the base of the ridge, she stopped at a path little more than a deer trail cutting through the cottonwoods. A strip of flattened grass on either side bore witness to Buck’s many wagon trips to the cabin. She tightened her grip on the reins and turned north. Her wagon was not as large and sturdy as his, but she trusted him not to set her on an impossible journey. Lifting her scrutiny from the road to the horizon, her pulse quickened at the silhouette of a lone horseman against the brightening sky.

  CHAPTER 10

  The Powell place lay southwest of the ridge, and Buck watched Lucy drive from the yard and along the meadow’s edge. At the juncture, she hesitated then slapped the horse on. Her hearty “yah” carried up through the trees and spread a warm spot in his chest.

  A month ago, he was set to take his string of mares and move on. Then he ran into Lucy Powell and her children at the mercantile and delayed his leaving. A week later, he thought to give her a few more days, help her get on her feet, then set out. The week after that, he shaved off his beard and reckoned one more week would do. And last week he held her in his arms and gave up on leaving her at all.

  The creak of her wagon sounded beyond an aspen cluster, and he nudged Charlie from the brush and onto the trail. Lucy drove round the trees and pulled up in front of him, her bonnet hiding her face and her young’uns grinning like opossums.

  “Right on time.” He leaned on his saddle horn and winked at Elmore. Lucy wore a fancy dress, not the same one she’d worn for so long. “You ladies look mighty fine this morning.” Cecilia beamed, and Elmore pointed at his britches.

  “You, too, Button.” He reined Charlie around. “Follow me.”

  That morning before Buck left the ranch, he’d helped Nate carry the kitchen table out to the yard, and as they approached, a checkered cloth waved from it like a red-and-white flag. He tied Charlie at the house rail and helped the children from the wagon. When he reached for Lucy, she placed both hands on his shoulders and he swung her down. His heart raced ahead and he pulled his hat off and rolled the brim, waiting for words to catch up. She smelled fresh as the meadow after a rainstorm, and he swallowed hard. “You look. . .mighty fine, Lucy.”

  Her cheeks pinked to the color of her dress. “I thought you might be tired of seeing us in our everyday work clothes.”

  “I never tire of seeing you.” The words were closer than he thought and fell out of his mouth without his say-so. A full flush rose on her face, and she turned to the wagon and reached for the bean pot beneath the seat.

  “You made it!” His sister strode across the porch, down the steps, and around to Lucy with a hearty hug. “I’m Lilly and I’m so glad you came.”

  Lucy clutched the beans and flicked her eyes over Lilly’s trousers. “It’s nice to meet you, Lilly.” She looked around with concern. “The children—they were right here.”

  Lilly waved off the worry. “Button and Sissy introduced themselves quite properly and they’re in the kitchen helping Ara get things together. Darlings, they are. What a delight to have them here. It’s been too long since I had a little one around.”

  Button and Sissy? Buck tucked away his pride as his sister took the beans and a basket over her arm and charged up the porch steps. “Come inside and we’ll put these in the oven to keep. My, but they smell good. Buck said you make the best beans.”

  Lucy retrieved a Mason jar from beneath the seat but couldn’t leave because he blocked her way. He longed to pull her close and ask her right then and there to marry him, but wouldn’t that set the bees to buzzing. “I’ll unhitch the mare.”

  She smiled, nervous, and nothing like the fiery, shotgun-wielding woman he’d startled a month ago. He touched her shoulder. Ran his hand down her arm and wrapped her fingers in his own. “I’m glad you came.”

  Lucy’s arm still burned from Buck’s touch, but she hugged her middle and bit her cheek while he regaled the children with the story of his nephew’s courtship. Cecilia and Elmore laughed outright at Buck’s tale, but they were children. Lucy merely felt like a child.

  Everyone lounged back from the large table covered with the remains of cakes and pies and beans and beef. Lucy had eaten so much she felt as stuffed as poor Ara looked. Never had Lucy seen such a large and handsome young man as Nate Horne blush in utter silence, and never such a becoming bride as Ara, who was not only in the family way, but could be carrying the entire family all at once for the size of her.

  “You really hid in the buckboard?” Cecilia turned wide, innocent eyes on Ara. “But Mama says—”

  A quick swat to her leg and Cecilia’s mouth clapped shut like a cellar door.

  “What does your mama say, dear?” Ara rested her arms across her swollen belly.

  “Her mama says she must mind her manners.” Lucy’s recent conversation with Cecilia burned about her neck and ears, but she smiled to assure Ara that all
was well. And indeed, it felt so. The Hornes had welcomed her and the children like family, raved over her wild-berry lemonade, and cleaned up every last bean in her kettle. And Buck showed a playful side she’d not seen before.

  Not that he’d had opportunity to play or relax when he was busy stacking wood, building fences, or doing the other hundred things he did to help her. Here, in the comfort of his family, if he wasn’t teasing his nephew, he was touching the children. A pat here, a hug there. And Button and Sissy, it was as if they were his own.

  The thought snagged in Lucy’s throat, and she covered her mouth with her napkin. Buck’s hand found her back, gentle and warm.

  “Are you all right?” His deep whisper fired chills up her arms and stole her breath, and she feigned a coughing fit. He refilled her glass with lemonade then handed it to her with concern tugging his brow.

  With little more than a squeak, Lucy thanked him and envisioned Mr. Wellington trying to comfort his wife. Stifling a moan, she choked even further, bringing Buck’s hand down firmly. She coughed in earnest, the wind nearly knocked from her. Holding up a hand, she shook her head. “I am fine. Truly.”

  His eyes darkened as he smoothed circles on her back and lit rings of fire inside her. “That you are.”

  If she didn’t put distance between herself and this man, she was liable to beg him to marry her and show Cecilia what it meant to be two-faced and brazen all at the same time. “Let me help you clear the table, Lilly.”

  Ara also stood, and Buck’s sister fired a warning look. “Sit.”

  As obedient as a pup, the girl fell back to her chair with a chuckle. “Yes, ma’am!” But the way she rubbed her rounded self—even in front of the men—told Lucy the expectant mother needed rest. The baby might be early. Or the babies.

  “Button.” Buck jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “Got something in the barn for you.” Elmore jogged away beside Buck’s long strides as they made for the stables.

  “And I have something for you.” Lilly motioned for Lucy to follow her inside. The sprawling log house enclosed her in a welcoming embrace, and at once Lucy felt at home. But when Lilly handed her a pair of folded denim pants, Lucy stared.