Marrying Minda (20 page)

Damn.

His manly member that she'd once touched stayed hidden beneath a scrap of wool with four buttons and a tie-string. Yet his mind pounded with recollection of her hand closing around it, bringing it to urgent life. He recalled his resolve to teach her how to pleasure him with her mouth without fear and suspicion.

Now that goal could never be achieved.

“This doesn't change anything.” He redirected his thoughts and pointed to the bandage on his thigh. As she bent down with a washcloth, she looked at him full-on, making a sound without words that made him want her all the more.

For it reminded him of her moans in the dark. His manhood flamed, and only a blind woman wouldn't see it rising up higher yet. Her latest blush told him she noticed.

He couldn't help a smidge of triumph.

“About me leaving, I mean,” he said, meaning it. “This pain isn't much. I could ride a hundred miles without stopping.”

The soapy swirls she made with the rag halted on his chest and her hand glided across one nipple. He held his breath, doubting she knew what she did to him, and figuring he'd better complete his wash-up himself like he'd threatened.

That was the safest course of action.

“That might be, Mr. Haynes.” Her voice trembled a bit. Maybe she did know, after all. “But you don't need to ride a hundred miles today.” Her tone was soft as dawn.

Her soapy hand slid just to the point his drawers lined up with his gut. If she slipped down inside he'd die and go to heaven.

But she didn't.

“Minda, I can finish scrubbing myself.” He scowled in frustration.

She stopped at once. “Brixton, I suppose you're right. I'll start breakfast and see to the children.”

Damn. Her voice took on that sad sound Katie's had, when he told her that her pa had just passed. Minda refreshed the rag, squeezed out the drips, and laid it on his chest. She left before he could take her soft, warm hand. It was best that she had, of course. He'd be hale soon and then he could leave.

At least she'd used his Christian name.

* * * *

“Uncle Brix,” little Ned asked after supper two evenings later, “those outlaws aren't out there anymore, are they?”

Avoiding Brixton's eyes, Minda looked up from her stitching at the anxious little boy.

Despite Minda's insistence that dreadful evening, both children had initially thought their uncle would die. Katie had sprung back to her usual enthusiasm, but Ned hadn't yet returned to the cheerful child he'd been before the picnic at the river

“Course not,” Brixton said from his X-shaped chair, his wounded leg slung straight out. He didn't look at Minda, either. “One rode off, and the other's already in a prison in Missouri by now. Far away.”

“But how can you know for sure?”

Brixton's eyebrows rose, and anxiety crawled down Minda's back on scratchy little feet. Brixton got up carefully and moved over to Ned to rub his head in one of those touching gestures Minda would remember forever.

Even with his injury, Brixton moved with grace and song, another memory Minda would treasure, but she knew he was restless to be out and about. Clem and Monty and other nearby farmers had generously offered to finish the wheat and tend the livestock so he could recover without worry. Her heart swelled at the loving generosity of her new neighbors.

Minda had never had to go to town. Each day, kindly folks from far and wide brought provisions and desserts when they stopped by with greetings and congratulations. Doc Viessman had come home, his house call full of approval at her technique and satisfaction with Brixton's progress.

With much noise and celebration, saloonkeeper Hank Clark had sent along several bottles of celebratory whiskey, and Geraldine Hackett had arrived in style, wearing Minda's Huntley bonnet. Unable to resist purchasing it for herself, she'd promptly paid Minda her share of the transaction, and eagerly invited more business.

Needing materials for her own new hat, as well as a remnant of brown wool, Minda traded the pert little cap of brown lace and feathers she'd worn only once. A delivery boy had gotten the supplies to her before day's end. With her good-bye, Geraldine had assured Minda, with bright knowing eyes, her son Caldwell would be back in time for the Bonnet Race.

Stitching a real toy dog with button eyes had kept Minda up late each night and her mind too busy to consider complications. And had allowed Brixton go to bed alone. Even the doctor had insisted her husband needed a proper place to sleep.

She had read apology and reluctance in his eyes, and he never turned toward her during the night. Never exchanging her day dress for her nightdress, she couldn't continue to give her heart to a man who didn't want to remain at her side.

Ned clutched his new toy dog tightly. Her heart wrenched looking at the troubled child. She wasn't the only person Brixton was abandoning.

“Look here, Ned. Got a new whistle done for you,” Brixton said in a soft voice that made her eyes moist. “Now let's go check that heifer of yours. Might be time for a song. Almost time for bed, anyway.”

“Don't like the barn,” Ned said, pouting. “Too dark.”

That didn't sound encouraging at all. Until lately, Ned had used any excuse he could invent to spend time with the heifer. The fair was four days away. Brixton's leg was healing mighty fast. Heart sinking, Minda realized he might not even be around then.

“Now, Neddie.” She tried to keep her voice light. “You know she needs plenty of tender care to ready her for the fair. I'm making a nice red bow for her to wear.”

Suddenly, he was all smiles. “I know that. I'll brush her tomorrow. But Uncle Brix, our heifer will get dirty and tired on the way to the fair.”

“Well, that's the way of it, Ned.” Brixton tousled the boy's hair with what Minda knew was real affection. She shook her head slightly at the sight. It still stunned her that he'd leave the children.

After all, men left wives all the time.

“We'll walk her to town real slow,” Brixton said. “You and Katie can brush her clean and add that bow when you all get there.”

Well, that sounded like he'd still be here.

“Uncle Brix,” Ned said, eyes wide, “she'll be tired.”

“Now, Neddie, Nathan at the livery's got good stalls and pens set up. She'll be plenty rested before you lead her to the judging. You pick a name yet?”

Katie and Ned shook their heads. “Not yet,” Katie said, “but we'll come up with something in time. Something real special. Uncle Brix?”

“Yep?”

“You're riding in the Bonnet Race on Monday, aren't you? Strawberry's good and fast”

Heart pounding, Minda listened, expecting a firm no. It wasn't a question she had felt confident enough to ask her husband. Her bonnet would be ready in plenty of time. If he explained to the children he'd be gone already, she'd simply wear her new hat to church on Sunday. Unless...

Well, Caldwell intended to race. His mother had made that perfectly clear.

“No, Firefly, I just can't. Nothing but foolishness.”

Katie cried out, “But Uncle Brix, that's not so. It's a grand race. You're the best rider there is. And Mama is building a beautiful new hat just for the race.”

Brixton's brows rose over his dark eyes, but she wasn't sure if it was a response to the proclamation of her new hat or to Katie's name for her.

His eyes narrowed at her. “Thought you were making that new hat for Geraldine to sell at the mercantile.”

Minda shrugged, feeling ornery. He might want to leave her. She hadn't been in his life much over a week. But the children were his own blood and bone. “Perhaps you thought wrong. I believe I may display my hat whether you race or not. After all—” She lowered her eyelids demurely. “I just might have a secret admirer.”

When he tensed in quick displeasure, Minda realized he still considered Caldwell Hackett a threat.

“And Uncle Brix, I entered your name.” Katie's eyes, troubled, anxiously beseeched both Minda and her uncle.

“How? You haven't been to town.”

Katie raised her little nose. “When the reverend was here yesterday, I put your name on a paper and told him to put it in the box.”

Brixton groaned, and Minda glared at him with unspoken questions. What could it hurt to grant a little pleasure into the child's life, which had been fraught for months with grief and worry?

Brixton wasn't heartless. Minda knew that.

“And your leg's better. You said yourself,” Ned said with his normal bright smile.

“And today you climbed all those stairs up to the loft,” Katie persisted.

Minda hid a smile.

He wasn't weak, either. How better to prove to the townsfolk that not even an outlaw could keep him down?

Breath puffed hard from his nostrils, as Brixton apparently pondered his decision. “Well, I guess I can't disappoint you, Firefly.”

The children whooped and cheered.

Then Brixton's voice turned somber and mournful. “But you kids know, don't you, that I'll be leaving soon after?”

“G.T.T.?” Katie asked sadly. Minda hadn't the faintest idea what the initials meant, but she hated his words anyway.

Brix squatted in front of the children, his face tightening, and put separate hands on their shoulders as if to draw them close. “Yep. Going To Texas. But you know that's where I live and what I do, don't you? Told you time and time again.”

“No. No,” Neddie said. “I told you I needed a brother.”

“And we got a mama, but we need another papa.” Katie said, awash in sudden tears.

Brixton raised bleak eyes to Minda, but she shook her head, feeling both anger and pain.

Neddie had told Brixton he needed a brother? Now Brixton had more reasons than ever to leave. He'd never chance putting an unwanted wife in the family way.

“Let's get you readied up for bed,” Brix said.

Minda's heart cracked a little more. After tucking in the children, he grabbed a bottle of whiskey and his bedroll.

“'Night, Miz Haynes.” With a polite nod, he went outside.

She hardly had the strength to swallow, but she wouldn't cry. Not one single tear.

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Chapter Thirteen

Minda smiled ruefully at her hand. Poison ivy. The blisters were healing nicely and the itching had stopped. Brixton's remedy, buttermilk rubbed on the rash, had worked wonders these past few days since Ned's escapade along the river. But she wouldn't be able to wear her Sunday gloves.

No matter. The little girls’ new bonnets were finished, and if she did say so herself, the hats would do her proud. Showing them off at church might mean she was greedy and irreverent, but after all, she did have a new venture to promote.

She might even expand the possibilities. Even her hard-nosed husband had exclaimed over the new toy dog she'd stitched and stuffed for Ned.

Every evening, Brixton had teased her about the quality of her stitchery, his eyes sending messages she couldn't quite read. Then he went outside to sleep. Friday night's rain had sent him inside the barn.

At least he hadn't fallen back to calling her
Miz Haynes
every chance he had. Still, her hopelessness was complete, and the sleeping arrangement insulting. After all, they'd spent nights together during the worst of his infirmity and managed restraint.

Hearing Katie's giggle, she looked toward the barn. Brixton, wreathed in laughter, helped the children hitch the horses to the wagon. They might get their clothes dusty, but that sweet tableau would stay framed in her mind for a long time.

Minda's heart started another crack.

Brixton's reasons for staying on no longer existed. With her outlaw extradited to Missouri and the rest of the gang seen in Wyoming, he'd be leaving soon. The children were safe and healthy now, the wheat harvest in, his leg sore but healing well.

“Come along now,” Brixton said, so striking in Norman Dale's second-best, ill-fitting suit he took her breath away. His eyes brightened when he saw her, and her heart tumbled down her chest like it had the day he met her stagecoach. “The girls sure look pretty enough in those new bonnets. And you, why...”

His thorough glance from her toes to her eyes filled Minda with a new kind of ache. His chest rose and fell.

Her go-to-meeting green velvet jacket-bodice had long been out of fashion, but she'd restored an old beehive-shaped straw bonnet of her mama's with silk ivy and brown veiling.

“You look lovely, Miz Haynes,” he said, finally. She was certain he meant every word, but her emptiness grew even at the compliment. Miz Haynes again.

She grumbled and climbed into the wagon by herself while the children scrambled happily in the back, Katie in awe of her hat and the
two
braids Brixton had made time for today. But Minda's mood improved. Although the morning was steaming hot, she started to feel alive and well. Along the road, they passed other wagons and buggies full of folks who had helped so much these past days, bringing food and cheer. She waved and called out to her friends and neighbors.

It would have been a fine day in Paradise, but for Brixton's constant threats to leave.

At least they had tomorrow. He'd promised to get the heifer to town, and to win the race.

Her heart thrummed, and she wondered if he'd give her a public kiss for all the town to witness if he won. Plain and simple, she wanted to touch the man she loved. Bathing him that day had tantalized her into desiring more. Her face warmed as she recalled his hot flesh nearly igniting under her fingertips.

Land sakes, what thoughts to have on the Lord's Day.

Paradise was already decked out in bunting and streamers for tomorrow's fair. Channeling her runaway emotions, Minda caught a touch of the gala spirit. As Brixton braked at the pretty white church, women gushed over the bonnets, and Geraldine Hackett, resplendent in her own new hat, led the excitement.

“Why, Minda, those girls of yours look glorious. Are those your own stunning creations?”

“Yes, Geraldine, and thank you.” Minda laid her cheek against Priscilla's, feeling Brixton's eyes on her. “It was a joy to make them.”

Marylaura Gerstenschlag from two places over ordered a Huntley on the spot. But Minda trusted her instincts when the doctor's wife requested the same. “Elizabeth, I envision something soft-crowned, gray velvet to match your eyes perhaps, sashed under your chin with wine-dark satin.”