The Wrong Brother's Bride (10 page)

“You’re stubborn, August O’Dell, but remember I’m stubborn too.” She pushed hair away from her face and put her hands on her hips. “Wait right here while I make the bed. I’m going to put medicine on you, and you’re going to sleep for a while.”

For a moment they stared at each other. August shook his head. “You’re gonna do what makes you happy. No sense fighting it.”

She would have been satisfied with his concession, except he was beaten and worn and clearly not in the mood for a fight. Without a word, she went to his room and replaced the bedclothes.

He padded in behind her, framed by the doorway.

Loyal looked at him over her shoulder and her breath caught. He leaned against the jamb, chest bare and well-muscled. Broad shoulders and corded arms tapered down to a flat abdomen and narrow hips hugged by his trousers. Handsome was too tame a word for him. It wasn’t difficult to understand why the widow in New Madrid had a tryst with him.

He held up the liniment bottle. “Brought this.”

It took her a moment to remember why they needed it. She’d looked past the bruises, at the man beneath. “Good. Let’s use it and get you tucked into bed.”

She drew the quilt down and straightened, taking the liniment so he could finish undressing.

August froze, watching her like a rabbit trying to decide whether to run or remain still.

“You’ll be more comfortable without your trousers. It isn’t as though either of us hasn’t seen the opposite sex without clothes on before. There’s nothing inappropriate about seeing your long underwear. I wash them, don’t I?”

He didn’t answer, although he unfastened buttons on his pants.

Loyal looked away and shook the bottle. The bedframe squeaked as he lowered himself to the mattress with a groan. Her gaze darted over him. Tanned skin against the white sheets, chestnut hair in disarray and undergarments low on his hips, August looked more like a lover expecting his concubine than an injured man who’d spent the night in jail.

She stamped the thought away. Too soon since her former fiancé’s death to think about another man—particularly his brother.

“Were you able to hire anyone?” She sat on the edge of the bed and tipped the bottle so the strongly scented liniment dripped on his side.

Bruised muscles under his skin twitched as she rubbed the ointment in. He was trying for a blank face, but pain etched strain on his features.

“I put the word out at a few places. There’s no telling how many people saw my confrontation with Fowler, though. We’ll be lucky if two or three men want the work.”

Loyal’s stomach churned. “What will we do?”

“Carry on as best we can. I’ll work from dark to dark.” Determination colored his tone. “I can do a couple of rows a day.”

“August.” She hesitated with her hand on his chest. His heartbeat thumped under her fingertips, a connection to a man who wanted to do his best despite her worries. “There’s only a short period you can harvest in and get another planting finished. You’ll never get it all done on your own.”

“What else can I do? I’m not letting the birds and vermin get it.” He propped himself on his elbow and met her eyes. “It’s not mine, but the next one will be. And there will be another one. I made a promise I mean to keep.”

The liniment warmed under her hand, a reminder she’d lingered too long in one spot. “Lie back and rest. You won’t be any good if you can’t move.”

Even with August here, the likelihood of keeping the farm felt like a distant dream. He’d come back and it meant more than he’d ever know. His breath hitched as she rubbed her palm over a tender spot.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine.”

“You don’t have to pretend it doesn’t hurt. I have eyes and it’s pretty ugly.” She stroked the oily substance over his stomach, where he wasn’t bruised. His gaze jerked up to her face. “Thank you for trying to protect me.”

He swallowed. “Maud wouldn’t have said those things to Jeremiah. I know this is my doing. I was stupid to listen, but sometimes…” He closed his eye again. “It would be easier if he hadn’t left the farm to me.”

“You don’t like it here.” Fear clogged her throat. Wilson township was the only home she’d ever known. The rolling hills studded with wildflowers and trees amid pastures and homesteads were forever embedded in her heart. She couldn’t imagine living anywhere else.

“I like it here. I don’t like the way people treat us.” He turned his face away from her, though the purple and black around his eye were still visible.

“I’ll let you rest. Don’t worry. We’ll get the workers we need and everything will turn out fine.” For a moment, she hesitated, waiting to see if he’d disagree with her.

He remained quiet.

She rose to leave, turning away before he caught her hand.

August didn’t speak, just looked up at her with one blue-gray eye.

Loyal leaned down and pushed hair off his forehead, then pressed her lips there, lingering for a few seconds.

He blinked in surprise and his mouth lifted in a smile.

“Go to sleep, August.”

He nodded and settled deeper into the mattress. She thought about how he’d told her no one had taken care of him since her mother cleaned his scrapes as a boy. It was a pity no one other than his brother had cared for him. With love, August could have been a good man. The kind their neighbors wouldn’t abuse. Maybe someday they’d see August was trying, and maybe one day she’d stop doubting him too.

8

It was still dark when Loyal heard the front door close. She fumbled to light the lamp and picked up Jeremiah’s watch beside it. Four-thirty in the morning and August was awake, ready to tend the corn. Bile inched up her throat, but she rose from bed and dressed, determined to help him.

By the time she stepped outside, wrapping her shawl around her shoulders, he had the horses hitched to the wagon.

He looked up when she approached. “You should be asleep.”

“I could say the same about you. Didn’t the liniment help?”

“It’ll ease the more I move. You sure you’re up to this? I won’t blame you if you want to go back to bed.” He took Handsome by the bridle and waited for her answer.

She shook her head. “I can help.”

“You ever help Jeremiah?”

“No. Have you harvested corn?” She was sure he hadn’t, not if he’d spent the last few years sawing trees.

“No.” He shifted his weight.

“Then we both have some learning to do this morning.” Loyal tied her shawl and started toward the field. The harnesses clanked and the horses’ hooves thudded against the ground as August brought the team after her.

* * * *

August wiped his sleeve across his brow and glanced down the row at Loyal. The dewy dampness had burned off, leaving the air humid. Sweat stained her dress around the neckline and loose hair plastered against her cheeks. Her face was red, lips pinched as she twisted another corncob from the stalk and threw it at the wagon. Sometimes she missed and he’d dutifully retrieve the cobs before she could walk away from the row. She had fallen behind him about a half hour into their efforts. While he’d picked two or three dozen bushels, she probably hadn’t managed half that. The ears closer to the ground gave her the most trouble as she stooped to pluck them from the stalks.

His hands ached from twisting the grain off the stalks, and little cuts made by sharp edges on the wide leaves covered his skin. Loyal looked to be faring worse. They hadn’t eaten breakfast and he was parched from the work.

“Loyal.”

She ignored him, tossing a cob at the wagon.

He looked back at the row they were working on, disheartened to see they were barely halfway finished. “Let’s rest a while.”

If she heard him, she didn’t acknowledge it. She was stubborn, alright, would work until she hurt herself if she thought they weren’t going to get the crop in on time.

He wiped his hands on his pant legs and went to her side. “I’m hungry and thirsty. We’ll start again after we take a quick rest.”

She turned soft brown eyes on him and almost dropped another ear as she sagged against him. August caught her and held on while she sobbed against his shirt. Unsure how to console her, he stroked her hair. She wrapped her slender arms around his torso, crushing the bruises there, but he didn’t want her to move. He’d waited for the day when she came to him for comfort. A little pain wouldn’t ruin it for him.

“We’ll never finish this,” she said, voice muffled.

“I’ll keep picking. You’d better stay up at the house. This is too much work for you.” As much as he hated to admit it, he wouldn’t risk hurting her over a crop.

She raised her face. “I’m not weak, August.”

“I know.” Her eyes were red-rimmed, her face blotchy. It frightened him to see her so worried and exhausted. “Come on. You’ll feel better after you eat something.” Keeping his arm around her shoulders, he steered her toward the house. The team followed them and he thanked the heavens that Jeremiah’d had the ability to purchase such a well-trained pair.

“I’m too tired to cook. I’d rather go lay down.” She wiped her eyes with her hand and stared at the house as though it was miles away.

“You rest while I cook. I won’t poison you.” He gave her a quick smile. If he was lucky, she’d eat something and fall asleep. While he worked outside, she could get the rest she needed.

They trudged up the path and his hand slipped down her side as he helped her up the stairs. His fingers curved around her side, beneath her ribs where her flesh was rounding at her waist. Though she still wore her regular clothes, soon she’d need to let the waists out, or buy material for new dresses. His pulse quickened when he imagined her growing rounder.

He’d love Jeremiah’s child, no doubt in his mind, but what would it be like to have his own?

Loyal looked at him as he reached for the screen door. She couldn’t know what he was thinking.

He avoided her gaze in case she guessed.

“I think you should go back to town and try again.” Her voice wobbled, giving away her exhaustion. “This time it might go better. I’m sorry, August. I can’t do this and you can’t do it alone.”

He hung his hat on the wall and nodded. Although he didn’t want to return to Springfield looking like something that been stomped on by an angry horse, he knew she was right. Pride wouldn’t bring the crop in.

“It would be best if I could trade for work. Someone else might be looking for laborers to help harvest in a few weeks.”

“Is it a possibility?”

What she meant was, would anyone hire him?

He shrugged. “I can try. Go on and lay down. I’ll bring you something before I go out again.”

She didn’t protest as she turned wearily for her bedroom.

August dropped into a chair, burying his face in his hands. When he’d left the bootheel, his friends on the lumber crew had called him crazy for wanting to become a farmer. They’d said he wouldn’t last a month before he’d be back cutting trees. It was good-natured ribbing meant to keep him from dwelling on his brother’s death, although he wondered if they weren’t right. As a sawyer for the Missouri Mining and Lumber Company, for months he’d felled trees, stripped branches, and loaded lumber only to wake up and do it again the next day. He hadn’t imagined farm work would be this difficult.

His stomach growled and he stood, going to the larder for ingredients to start breakfast. It wouldn’t be much, as he didn’t fancy a trip to the spring house. Loyal probably didn’t want a lot. Her appetite didn’t seem to improve until the evenings.

While he waited for biscuits to bake, he fed Loyal’s chickens. Sunny bawled from the pasture, eager for her share of grain, but he ignored her until the biscuits were ready. He fried eggs, careful not to break the yolks. After adding apple butter from a jar in the pantry, he had a meal fit for a queen. He put the plate and a cup of milk on a tray and carried it to her room.

Loyal was snoring on top of her quilt when he entered the room. There were shadows beneath her eyes, but she looked peaceful. He almost hated to wake her. Pink lips begged to be kissed and for a few moments, he just watched, wishing he could join her. Someday, he promised himself. With a gentle nudge on her shoulder, she opened her eyes, confusion darkening them.

“Jer—oh, August.” She sounded disappointed.

He drew back and tried to hide his hurt. “Sorry to wake you. I made breakfast.” They’d only been married three days. It was natural for her to mistake him for Jeremiah.

A weak smile graced her face. “You cooked and it looks good. I’m not awfully hungry.”

“Do the best you can. Don’t worry about the dishes. I’ll wash them later.”

She gave him a searching look. “You’re doing too much. I should take care of the house.”

It wasn’t enough, not to make up for the years he’d been gone, or show her how much he wanted to be a true husband. Cooking and cleaning were typically a woman’s work, but the simple tasks didn’t bother him. The widow Winston had taught him more about pleasing a woman than what to do in bed.

“When you feel better.”