Mail-Order Man (8 page)

Geoff shook the empty crockery. “He drank the jug dry.”

“I watered it down.” Brax glanced at the sleeping cowhand. “He hasn't done an honest day's work in who-knows-when. He's out like a light.”

Geoff rolled a shoulder. “Won't take much to rock me to sleep, Bubba.”

“Tell me about it,” Brax concurred.

“I thought we weren't going to do much work.”

“What else can we do?” He turned up his palm. “I can't sit around and watch Skylla work like a section hand.”

“You're getting sweet on the lady. Next thing, you'll hem and haw about running out on her.”

“I won't.” Skylla had gotten in over her head with this place, but in an easier setting, she'd do just fine. “She can take care of herself. She's a scrappy woman.”

“You shore gots eyes fo dat crippled girl. Pappy, Mammy, and a hound dawg answerin' ta Sammy, you does.”

“Cut it out.” He eyed Main again, to be certain of confidentiality. “Before we got here I told you not to use that field-hand patter, but it's been thicker than ever. If those ladies find out you're fooling them, we're in deep shit.”

“We may be in it already.” Geoff sat down on his cot, leaning his back against the log wall. “The redhead knows I'm a fraud.”

“What does she know?”

“The usual. Very little.”

Brax hooked his shirt on a peg. “Keep it that way.”

“I will.” A pause. “What if you get so fond of Miss Skylla's, um,
biscuit-making
that you get an idea to stay put?”

“That won't happen.”

“I wouldn't bet on it, Bubba, my man. I think you might forget California altogether.”

“Wrong.”

“You may claim to want your pound of flesh, but—”

“Pound of flesh?” Brax cut in. “I'm not after revenge. I want . . .” His voice trailed off as he came to grips with his intentions. “You're right. I was after vengeance. I wanted a St. Clair to pay for Vicksburg . . .”

“You speak in the past tense.”

Brax realized he had spoken as if his feelings had changed. Perhaps they had. That was the frightening part.

“I don't want to hurt Skylla,” he admitted and felt better for it. His irritation over the strawberries vanished as he considered that decent and fine woman. “I ought to do right by her.”

“Then we're making a home here?”

“Not a chance. But I'll do something to help Skylla get a new start in the town of her choice.”

“Watch your back in the meantime, Bubba. That Claudine isn't to be trusted. She's one conniving redhead. Already, she's cornered me. I think she figures to set me against you.”

“I don't need to tell you how to handle her.”

“That you don't, Bubba. That you don't.”

Needing a breath of air, Brax quit the log cabin and wished he could lose himself in a fine cigar. He ambled past the ranch house and outbuildings, and had every intention of soaking his feet in Topaz Creek. Someone had beat him there. A woman strolled along the bank in the moonlight, her head down and her arms crossed under her breasts.

Skylla.

She looked like an angel, decent and pure, what with the silver of moonlight spilling down on her; Brax gazed upon her almost with awe. He cut the gap between them.

“Evening,” Brax drawled as he approached Skylla in the moonlight, the sounds of night around them.

She said hello, her eyes on his bare chest. He liked her looking at him. She needed to start thinking of him as a
man,
which would be the next step in getting her to the altar.

“Mind if I join you for your walk?” he asked.

“I'd be delighted.”

They strolled along the creek bank for five, maybe ten minutes. Then he lent a hand to seat her on a cypress log. She stared at him. He did the same to her. Sitting down beside her, Brax warned himself off putting his arm around her.

When she spoke, she was all business. “I'm amazed you've gotten Charlie Main to work. He has a reputation for laziness. I had grave doubts this morning. Tonight is a different story. You've had no trouble encouraging him. You are”—her heart-shaped face brightened into a moonlit smile—“you're amazing.”

Brax took pride in her praise, but . . . “I didn't come out here to talk about Main.”

“You're still upset about the strawberries. Please forgive Kathy Ann. She didn't know we had plans for them.”

“She knew you didn't pick them for the fun of it.”

Skylla sighed, a mixture of weariness and frustration. “She craves attention, any attention, even the wrong kind.”

“I've noticed.”

“Kathy Ann is, was . . . illegitimate. You see, her mother was once Ben Lewis's kept woman, but they had a falling out. She gave birth in New Orleans. Yvette, Kathy Ann's mother, turned to prostitution.” Skylla had no trouble saying the word usually whispered by women. “But she did more than sell her body. Yvette neglected her daughter. Many times Kathy Ann was locked in a closet. For various reasons.”

“Sounds rough,” Brax murmured, not unaffected.

“I don't know all the particulars, but I do know the police found Kathy Ann in a locked closet. She'd been there for days. Her mother was dead on a bed. Kathy Ann hadn't met her father, but she knew his name. Ben and Claudine took her in.

“My sister is a very troubled girl. And I don't want her to run away again.”

“Again?”

“Yes. She's prone to taking flight. I won't chance her running into trouble, especially not here on the wild frontier.” Skylla shivered. “I shudder to think what would happen if the Indians got her.”

Skylla hugged her arms. “Truth be known, I don't have much experience dealing with a troublesome girl. I don't know what's best. I'm just doing what I sense is right.”

Brax took Skylla's hand. “I'll do whatever I can to help,” he said, though he'd just as soon volunteer to have a tooth extracted.

Her voice rang with relief. “Thank you.”

Enough about Piglet. “Skylla, it's time we talked about me and you. We haven't discussed the wedding.”

“You . . . you've only just arrived.”

Brax frowned, confused by her withdrawal. “Why did you send off for a husband if you don't want a wedding?”

“It was Claudine's idea. She contacted Mr. Petry.”

“But you went along with it.” He hoped. He prayed!

“Yes, I went along with it.”

“Then what's the problem? Let's set a date.”

A moment passed, peppered only with the sounds of moving water and insects calling in the night. Skylla studied the ground. “You're free to marry Claudine.”

“I don't want to marry her.”

Her line of sight hastening to his, Skylla's eyes got even bigger. “You can't be serious.”

“I came here to marry
Miss
St. Clair, not Mrs.”

“But you must. She's . . . she's counting on it.” There was something suspicious about the way Skylla spoke. “I . . . I'm not ready for marriage.”

Brax didn't like the sound of this. Not at all. “What does that mean?”

“It means I still mourn someone very dear to me. A sailor. An ensign. His gunboat went down off Florida.” The chill of grief shook her, evident even in the muted light. “He's been gone a good while now, but the concept of marriage is just too fresh for me.”

The strangest feeling came over Brax. He understood her loss. Why not let her adjust to the idea of becoming Mrs. Hale? It needn't be a lengthy wait, regardless. Not with his eagerness to take her into his arms and teach her the delights of the bedroom.

Geoff had been right. Brax had big eyes for her.

She deserves better than the likes of you, Braxton Hale.
True, but that wasn't the problem. Or was it?

He owed her something. What could he offer? As sweet and kindhearted as Skylla was, she deserved a wedding gift. At least a ring. If worse came to worst, he could give her the cameo. Yes, that's what he'd do. Give her the cameo.

His palm brushed a stray lock of hair from her cheek, his fingers settling against her ear. He feared she'd retreat, and when she didn't, profound relief rushed through him. “I know your mind is troubled, Skylla. There's a lot to be settled. But I have a terrible hankering. Would you allow me a kiss?”

Her eyes widened as she drew in a quick breath. Then a tiny smile tugged at her lips. “I would allow it.”

Slanting his lips over the lushness of her mouth, he put his arms around her thin yet womanly body. He tasted the sugar from the blancmange; it mixed with the natural sweetness that was the dark-eyed belle. He yearned to explore the depths of her mouth, then did. Every nerve in his body sparking, he discovered the joys of kissing his bride-to-be.

His fingers combed her hair, disturbing her hairpins, and he loved the feel of that heavy dark wavy mass as it cascaded down his arm. When he pulled her closer, the sensation of her breasts against his chest evoked such a craving that he ached to lay her on the grasses and make love to her until dawn's first rays . . . and then start over again.

Careful. She's skittish already over the wedding. Don't do something to turn her against it forever.
He broke the kiss, but his palms framed her face. Gazing into thick-lashed eyes silvered by moonbeams, he let his feelings override his sensibilities. “Marry me, sweetheart. Marry me tomorrow.”

Her head turned away. Without a word she left the log, distanced herself from him. He'd pushed her too far, too fast.

This was not going well.

Having deserted Braxton at the creek, Skylla shook and shook and shook as she hurried to the sanctity of her first-floor bedroom. She wilted onto the edge of the bed, lest her legs give out. One hand gripping the brass bedstead, she carried trembling fingers to lips still tingling from his kiss. Had she lost her mind, allowing herself to feel anything for Braxton? She didn't
want
him to matter. To forget James so easily was almost criminal!

To forget her pact with Claudine, worse.

The confusion of her feelings twisted her insides.

Claudine opened the door and ducked her head into Skylla's bedroom. “What happened to your hair?”

Guiltily, Skylla reached for her hairbrush. “I was just beginning to brush it.”

The redhead walked over to her. “What did Brax say when you said he's mine?”

“I didn't tell him. All I could bring myself to say was that he's free to marry you.”

“And he didn't jump at the chance?”

That remark hurt Skylla, even though Claudine had spoken the bald truth.

“Forgive me, Daisy. I didn't mean to sound cruel.”

“You needn't apologize. I'm more upset by Braxton.”

“Are you attracted to him?”

“Yes.”

“Understandable. He does have his charms.” After a gentle kiss on her stepdaughter's cheek, Claudine said, “Let me handle him. Just go about your business, and I'll take care of everything. Including our handsome soldier.” She gave her a hug of assurance. “Daisy, it's best we do what we decided weeks ago. I must take the first husband. Braxton Hale would chew you up and spit out the leftovers.”

“That is an unkind thing to say.”

“I know whereof I speak. I know men. After four husbands, I surely do.” Both women chuckled nervously. “Of course you realize I don't degrade your father with that statement. Ambrose was my finest husband. My only love.”

Skylla and Claudine laced fingers.

“I want you to have that kind of love.” The redhead sighed. “I pray to God a wonderful man will arrive on our doorstep and sweep you off your feet. One who isn't carrying the baggage of a lost family and a tarnished reputation.”

“What if God sent Braxton to me?”

“Darling, don't forget that I know of our newly arrived knight-in-tattered-armor. He was quite the lady-killer in his younger days. Many upstanding matrons waited until the dark of night for their carriages to stop near Woody's Blacksmith Shop.”

“The libertine business.”

“Yes. When a lady wished to be a wanton, she turned to Braxton Hale. I never heard a whisper of disappointment. But he never gave anything but his well-endowed body. He doesn't have a heart to give to a lady.”

What about the Indian girl? Uncle Titus claimed Braxton had loved Song of the Mockingbird dearly, and somehow Skylla didn't doubt the depth of the fair-haired soldier's feelings. For ones he held dear, he had a huge and generous heart.

“He's too forceful for your gentle sensibilities.”

“If you mean to repulse me, dear Claudi, I'm afraid you've failed. I find it intriguing that so many women desired him . . . when he could be ours forever and evermore.”

“Daisy, I wish you wouldn't—”

Unfazed, Skylla nailed her colors to the mast. “We should rethink our pact.”

A frown lessened Claudine's beauty. “Shall I remind you of the legal repercussions that could come up? Moreover, we decided not to change the rules, no matter what.” She stood, staring down at Skylla. “Daisy, we must abide by the rules, or the Nickel Dime could be jeopardized. He may be a charlatan after no more than the ranch. He could sell it from under our feet, if we don't protect ourselves.”

“He could have demanded the ranch in payment for Uncle's debt, but he didn't.” Skylla trusted Braxton, but she left the bed to pace and ponder. After a few trips up and down the carpet, she decided caution was the prudent course. “The future of the ranch must remain our first consideration.”

“I'll have a chat with him.”

“No. The Nickel Dime is my responsibility. So, it's my duty to bear the tidings.” A chill went through her. “I'll tell him everything. Later. In the morning. At daybreak, when he milks Bossy. Then I'll tell him the truth.”

“Don't put it off, Daisy. The longer you do, the more difficult it'll be.”

“I know.”

 

 

Instead of retiring to her bedroom to wait for Skylla's honesty, Claudine marched outside into the night. She would not sit on her hands and allow her stepdaughter to steal Brax Hale.

She considered forging a note “from Skylla,” asking Brax to meet her in the stable. She'd take down her hair, throw off her clothes, and offer him a midnight ride. She remembered her monthly Drat! It was then that she saw a shadowy figure open the barn door. “To heck with the monthly. That's Brax, and I'm going after him.”

She took down her hair as she marched toward the barn, throwing hairpins as she went and shaking her thick red curls into a cloud around her shoulders. Two blouse buttons unfastened, she moseyed on in. It smelled musty inside. Musty, dusty, and too much like cows. Oh, well. “Hello, hello. I know you're in here. Come out, come out, wherever you are.”

She scanned the dimly lit barn, her eyes stopping in the corner. Noises from there ceased.

“What are you up to, naughty boy?” She simpered. “Do you need help?”

“No.”

“Now, Brax.” Actually, he didn't sound as cocky and confident as a golden-haired warrior, but what man would, getting caught doing something that seemed suspicious? “Are you playing with yourself?”

“No.”

Knowing the open barn door would limn her body in silver, she swayed her hips while walking toward him. Brax was sitting down now, she imagined. . . watching her. She lifted her hair, let it drop, then fanned her face. “I do declare, it's close in this barn. Shall I take off a few of these clothes?”

“Yeah.”

She stopped a good ten feet from Brax. Oh, for a good look at him! He had to be getting hard, what with her stripping off her clothes like this. “Do you like what you see?”