Marrying Minda (27 page)

“I know that.” she nodded, laying a hand on his knee now. “I'm just telling you how
I
feel.”

“Truth is, Minda, you'd be raising the kids alone even if you had married my brother and not me.” He looked away again, face reddening.

“What are you saying, Brixton?” Minda's stomach churned. What other secrets had he and Norman Dale kept from her?

“My brother was dying.” His hands started a soothing journey up and down her arms, but he looked mostly in his lap while he talked. “His heart wore out with that scarlet fever that killed Ida Lou and their boy Paul. He even searched out a specialist in Omaha. That's why he picked you so quick. You could raise kids. He was a damn fool for tussying so hard to get ready for you. But truth is, he'd have died on you before long anyway.” The eyes watched her now, showing apology for his dreadful secret, but suddenly he turned away. “Likely in your bridal bed.”

Minda could hardly absorb the words, overwhelmed that she had been held to such a tremendous responsibility without her knowledge or choice.

And now she was to be alone anyway, despite the fact that her husband was alive and hale.

“But you accused me of contributing to his death,” she said, remembering his wrath the day they met.

With a head shake, Brixton sighed deep, his hair tumbling along his shoulders. “I repent of that, I truly do. I was up against a wall and damn angry about it.”

Outside, the wind rustled the cornstalks. “I can stick around to bring in the corn,” he said, desolate.

“How long is that?”

“Well, middle of September. All I can promise right now, Minda.” He stood up and pulled her along with him, holding her like he meant it, tight and strong.

But not forever.

“That's all I can ask then.” She gave him a watery smile.

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Chapter Seventeen

As August rolled on, Minda prayed that September could stay away forever. Brixton had promised half of that month to her. With the children in school, and unusual rain keeping the crop watered, she and Brixton had daylight hours, while Priscilla napped, to explore their bodies and their hearts, in addition to the dark heavenly nights in each other's arms. Her hat business exploded, and life would have been perfect.

If she hadn't had a husband who was leaving her.

One early September morning, fall tinting the air, Minda displayed her latest wares to Delmar Hackett at the mercantile while Geraldine cooed over Priscilla, and Brixton sought out refreshment at Skinny Hank's. One of his last days of freedom, he'd joked. He'd start the corn harvest in three days.

“Beauties, every single one, Minda. Why, I've had to increase my stock of dress lengths just so we have matching fabrics for your hats.” Something sparkled on the older man's left hand, and a plot hatched in Minda's head.

“Mr. Hackett, do you carry men's wedding rings?”

His plump forehead crinkled. “Can't say that I do, not called that anyways. I do keep a few simple bands for the ladies.” He winked at her. “And for ladies with prodigious hands as well, if you're thinking of a memento to fit Brixton.”

She was, indeed. It might remind him of her when he was alone on the trail. For a sad second, her heart trembled with bleakness worse than a barren late-winter day. “Then let me see them please. I can visualize his hand and likely select an appropriate size.”

“Fact is, my Geraldine gave me this ring upon our betrothal those long years ago,” Delmar said. “I'm a businessman, but most menfolk around here wouldn't dare wear such trinkets. Too easy to catch on a barb wire or a tool.”

Minda hadn't considered such a danger, but bought the ring anyway. It would make a nice good-bye gift. Her heart fluttered like the wings of a dying bird. But she still had ten more September days.

Priscilla heavy in her arms, she left the mercantile, strongly considering an installment plan on that wonderful perambulator for Priscilla. Nathan Moulton yelled from way down at the livery. He trotted over.

“I just rode in this morning, Miz Haynes. Thanks for the extra job. It was a thrill.” His boyish face was sunburned from his ride up from Kansas with Fara. “He's a powerful steed, that one. Does Brix proud. Wish he'd had him for the Bonnet Race. Why, Caldwell would have been a speck”

“Thank you, Nate. I'll go tell Brixton now. He's over at the saloon. I can't wait to see his face when he realizes my great surprise.” Her skin prickled with excitement, heart pounding with anticipation.

Nathan reddened even more. “Be doing that for you, ma'am. Skinny Hank's ain't no place for a lady of your caliber. You wait right here.” He ran off.

She perched on the Hacketts’ pickle barrel. She'd made toys for Ned and hats for the girls, but she'd never concocted a suitable gift for her husband. Fara's return was a surprise, not a present. As it was, a wedding ring wasn't typical, and he might not wear it simply out of safety. A gift for him had been a difficult decision.

Unless. Her hand lowered to her belly. Gracey had mentioned queasiness, and Minda had used the chamber pot for an entirely new reason after Brixton left her side this morning.

Unless she were about to present him with fatherhood. Her heart barely beat. Neddie had insisted he needed a brother because Paul lived with God, and Katie had her own baby sister. In her giddiness, Minda almost felt queasy now. Purchasing that perambulator might make more sense than ever.

She grappled for control in time to watch Brixton's black hair linger on his shoulders as he walked from the saloon with their neighbor, Tom Holden. Seeing her, her husband's face split with a grin that weakened her knees against the cask. He ran to her because with the weight of Priscilla, she couldn't run at all. His wide-spread arms gathered them both close.

Saloon or not, his scent was sunshine and life itself.

“Oh, Minda. My Fara? This can't be real.” His words, as well as his lips, kissed her, firm and soft at the same time. “How could you?” His dark eyes accused her affectionately.

“Now, now, Mr. Haynes. I have my own money and can spend it as I will.” She glanced down. With all that was between them, how could she still feel shy? “It just didn't seem right, you not having your own horse.”

He looked away. “That'll sure save me a trip to Kansas.”

Throat tightening with the ache that came more and more often as time sped on, she knew what that meant. He could freight the horse on the same train he took from Columbus to Texas.

“This is a righteous cause for celebration.” He nodded firmly with that insouciant grin of his, but she saw a trace of regret behind the sparkle in his eyes.

“You mean, supper at Miss Lila Jean's?” Minda forced a tease, not wanting anything serious to mar the moment.

“Maybe, but I'm devising how to rejoice with you later on.” His voice came out husky, brushing her skin.

“Now, now, Mr. Haynes, Priscilla has ears,” she murmured against his kiss, marveling at the passion his lips invoked.

By nightfall, he'd tended and tucked in all three of the children while she stitched eagerly upon a new design for Lorelei Braun. When he came from behind the bed curtain, still humming his lullaby, she dropped the hat at once. Holding out his hand like a true bridegroom, he led her from her worktable. Before they reached the bedroom, he had slipped off his own clothes.

“What's this damn corset for?” he grumbled, trying to divest her of her inexpressibles.

She couldn't help a giggle. “It's essential for the style of this old dress.” Kicking away the homely gown, she leaned into his mouth. “You see, someone promised me a new one.”

He stiffened, apparently having forgotten, so she comforted him right away, kissing the corner of his mouth. “It makes no matter, Brixton. I've been too busy making hats to think up something for myself.”

“I like you far better without dresses anyway,” he said into her hair, having successfully untied the corset. He picked her up like any true bride and carried her over her threshold.

His mouth bent to brush her breasts as he headed for their bedroom. Laying her tenderly among the pillows, he knelt on the bed at her side, his hands playing upon her body in the gentle rhythm of a choirmaster. Her breasts became his first area of worship. Heat from his tongue started a slow burn that traveled up to her neck.

His gaze scorched her. She moved almost restlessly, seeing the glory of his raging manhood and wanting to contribute to his pleasure as well.

“Brixton...”

“Not now,” he murmured against the coil of her ear, making her quiver deliciously. His tongue briefly parted her lips, then he busied it at her other ear, before taking a long, sinuous sweep under her chin.

Then down to her nipples to drink voraciously. Minda's spine rose up in her delirium, desperate for her breasts to meet the dark soft whorls on his chest.

Her inner legs from hip to toe were next for the travel of his tongue. Once again, his eyes never left her face, and his hair dragged sinuously, tickling her flesh into a spasm of delight. Even at the ankle just healed, his touch caused such combustion that moaned as if with her last breath.

She was empty but satiated at the same time. He was hers and that was enough.

His masterful tongue kissed her senseless at the center of her being. Colors never yet imagined swirled in her head, and sounds never before heard wrenched from her soul.

“Brixton, now. I need you now.” She moaned, and reached between the latticework of their legs to find his powerful manhood and grant it entrance. “Now.”

He filled her as only he could. As the spiral collapsed into a gentle peace, she simply knew. It would never have been like this with Norman Dale. With any other man.

“Oh God, Minda,” He breathed atop her, letting her adore the wonder of his weight upon her. “Minda, this was a sacrament all our own. Something holy, and I'm no godly man.” He rose up on his elbows, searching her eyes. “I will remember this forever. I wish I could find the words I mean.”

“I know.” She caressed his back, completely overwhelmed. He had already alerted her to the impossibility of giving her, of giving anyone, the declarations he'd spoken to Esperanza.

But at least she had him for a while. Ten more September days.

* * * *

Minda woke up alone and exhausted. From the children's chatter outside the bedroom and the glorious sunshine pouring past the curtains, she knew she'd overslept.

As she sat up, the room swayed and her stomach stirred unhappily. She swallowed hard until it passed. When it did, she rose slowly, her memories of last night overtaking any brief unpleasantness. Lost in her husband's lovemaking, she had known a union that surpassed any other time they'd spent in each other's arms.

As she buttoned her old purple dress—she'd replaced the button Delaware Peavy had cut off and hastily added a ruffle of gray gingham where she'd cut away strips—she reveled in the tenderness of her breasts where Brixton's lips had lingered and feasted, swelling them with so much leftover pleasure the bodice fit tighter. In a moment, she'd likely see him shaving outside, the sinews of his back weaving together in impossible beauty. She quivered like a schoolgirl.

Opening the bedroom door, she swelled with love for the three children who had claimed her heart. Already dressed, his face damp with soapy water, Ned ran to her, and Priscilla called out more of the new words she learned every day. Minda had meant it, telling Brixton she couldn't raise another family alone.

But she'd never leave them. She'd simply hoped her words would inspire a change in his way of thinking, make him reconsider his plans to leave. And after last night, that benediction of love, she had more than a casual notion that he just might stay.

At the stove, Katie turned with her bright smile, her hair unbraided but otherwise ready for school.

“Mama, I lit the stove. I can make grits for you and Silly if you want. Me and Ned had bread and jam.” She made a satisfied sound with her lips. Minda beamed. The chokecherry preserves she'd attempted had turned out wonderfully.

Then she frowned. Brixton always lit the stove before his outdoor chores. “Katie, I'm not sure I like you playing with fire.” With a smidge of anxiety, her eyes glanced out the window. No one stood at the shaving mirror.

“Oh, it's all right. Papa taught me long ago, when our first mama passed.”

“Well, all right them. I am sorry to have slept so late. I don't understand why I'm so tired.” Of course she did, and she warmed. Then she smiled. Obviously, Brixton couldn't wait to tend to Fara.

Katie giggled. “Mama, you need a new dress so bad.” Then she smiled in her little girl way.

Minda laughed back with a little shove. “I'll see about it soon. You children and those hats keep me too busy. I can hitch the wagon and drive you two to school, if you'd like.”

“We can both ride Dobby like always,” Ned said.

“Then I'll saddle him up when I'm done with Mabel. Have you seen Uncle Brix yet?”

Katie shook her head, pulling mournfully at her lack of braids.

“Oh, I know, I know.” Neddie beamed, waving his arm like she suspected he did all day at school. “It was just past being dark. I went to the privy. He didn't see me so he didn't wave. He rode off on that new horse of his. Do you think he'll let me ride him some day?”

“Of course he will, although soon he'll be busy with the corn harvest, you know.”

Her heart lightened. She'd been right. Brixton had merely taken Fara out for a morning ride. If he left at sunup, he'd be back any minute to wish the children a good day at school.

But he didn't come back. She plunked the children on Dobby herself. Missing the noon meal wasn't like him either, and supper was cause for nerves. Even in the first days of their marriage, when anger and resentment had colored his moods, he'd never been knowingly thoughtless or rude.

Still, he was a man, and she'd realized long ago that she had a great deal to learn about living with one. He'd made no secret of his devotion to Skinny Hank's whiskey mill. There might be card games, or contests, or other manly pursuits needing his attention before he consumed his days with harvest.