like leaving the hen house door open with a fox sitting
nearby.
Belinda sat back in her chair, huffed out what she must
have thought was a refined gasp of air. She put him in mind
of a washed up stage actress and not a very good one.
Thurston rubbed his palm over his pant leg. "I just wanted
to ask my daughter if this was the union she wanted. A father
needs to be sure his daughter marries well." Almost as an
afterthought he added, "And is happy."
Randi's head snapped up. Her face held a dumbfounded
daze.
Howard frowned. Was there a glimmer of hope in her
eyes? She couldn't possibly believe her father's line of
bullshit. His jaw tightened as he declared, "You didn't seem
too concerned about that when you were pointing a shotgun
at my chest."
Everyone's mouth fell open as they stared at him. Howard
shrugged. "You didn't." He included his mother in his round-
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about glance. "None of you were willing to listen to a word
either one of us had to say."
Ma plopped the pot in her hand down on the table with a
thud. "It was just the shock of it all. Not at all what we
expected," she said.
"It wasn't what we expected either," he said.
"Hog—"
"Mr. Quinter—"
His mother and Randi's father started speaking at the
same time. Howard held his hand up, stopping them both.
Snake appeared, riding into the yard with two carpet bags
tied to his saddle.
"Randi's belongings have arrived." Howard turned to her.
"Is there anything you want to say to your father?"
Her eyes glistened with unshed tears. After a moment of
hesitation, she shook her head.
"All right then. I'm sure you'll all excuse us." He didn't wait
for anyone to answer, just scooped her into his arms and
carried her to the tent.
She didn't say a word, and he didn't encourage her to
speak, for if she had, he wouldn't have known how to answer.
His mind was awhirl with the morning's events and with the
work that was not getting done. He'd always known a woman
could cause more havoc than a hunting party of braves, but
he'd never believed he'd experience it firsthand.
He set her inside the flap and handed in the two bags
Snake passed to him. "I'll make sure no one comes in."
"Thank you," she whispered as the flap fell back into place
behind him.
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He stood outside the tent wondering what to do next.
"You doing all right?" Snake asked.
Howard walked a few feet away from the tent, lowered his
voice. "Why the hell did you go find a preacher?" His fingers
itched to grab his brother's shirt collar.
Snake held up both hands in defense. "Don't blame this on
me." His brother, who was barely a year older, clicked his
tongue as he pointed one finger and thumb and made the
age-old sign of a pistol and closed one eye as if he were
setting the gun's sights. His smile was wide, as if he'd just
told a joke everyone enjoyed.
Howard glared.
Snake lowered his hand and shrugged his shoulders. "You
were the one who went and got the preacher for Ma when it
was Kid and Jessie, and Skeeter and Lila." Shaking his head,
he added, "You know what Ma's like."
Howard rubbed both hands over his face. In the twenty-
four years he'd been alive he'd rarely seen a time when any
of the boys defied their mother. "Yeah, I know." One hand
went to massage the tension in his neck. "Hell, a wife's one
thing, but one who has a slimy politician as a father—that's a
whole different recipe." He glanced toward the group still
sitting outside Ma's tent. "I should have let her shoot me."
"Aw, come on, little brother, it can't be that bad." Snake
slapped a hand on his shoulder.
Howard let his eyes fire stones at his brother faster than a
good sling-shot.
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Snake shrugged them off like water rolling off the brim of
his floppy leather hat. "Look at Kid and Skeeter, they're
happier than catfish in the mud."
"Yeah, and look at all the hell they went through." A tidal
wave of anxiety rippled over Howard's body.
Snake opened his mouth, but closed it again and nodded.
"You got a point there."
Howard pointed to Thurston Fulton. "That man is going to
make our lives a living hell. Count my words."
Snake let his gaze linger on the group engaged in their
unorthodox tea party for a silent length before he asked,
"What can I do to help?"
"I don't know, yet, but as soon as I do, I'll let you know."
Howard looked around the site and could almost see his
dream slipping away. "I gotta go talk to Bug, let him know
what needs to be done today. Stay here and make sure
neither that man nor his wife bother Randi."
"All right."
Howard started to walk away, then stopped and turned
back to his brother. "No peeking either. I'll only be gone a few
minutes. And I'll be watching."
Snake let out a short laugh before swallowing the rest of it
to nod, but the stupid grin on his brother's face made Howard
wish he'd been fortunate enough to have been born an only
child.
Randi had held the tears at bay while her new husband
carried her across the field. She'd come to Dodge to escape
her father's plan of marrying her off to a stranger, and yet,
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not only had he found her, but he'd succeeded in his goal. As
he always did.
She pinched her lips and closed her eyes. What she
wouldn't give for the simple everyday life she'd known before
learning Thurston Fulton was her father—taking care of
mother, cooking, baking, gardening, not having to face
anyone for weeks on end. Later when mother had become an
invalid, there was a time or two she'd wished for a visitor,
wanted to talk to someone whose deep ragged coughs hadn't
made speech too much work to endure. But even on those
days, when she wished for company, she'd never wished that
company be her father.
She was sure—even though she couldn't recall—there had
been a time she wanted to see her father, know the man who
sired her. Perhaps when she was little and mama wasn't ill
she had wished for a real family. But in those carefree days of
her early childhood, mama had been all she had—and
needed. They'd had each other and that was enough. Mama
never talked of him, never wondered where he was or when
he'd return, so neither had Randi.
Yet, a few moments ago, Thurston Fulton sounded proud
of her, and said he wanted to know if she was happy. Had he
loved her—and mama—all these years and work had simply
kept him from being with them? Her swirling mind had
wondered why he'd told Howard she used to host his parties.
She'd never played hostess in her life—he'd always had
Belinda for that, even while mama was alive.
When Howard had released his hold, lowered her feet to
the floor of the tent, and said something, she'd murmured her
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thanks and twisted, afraid he'd see the tears in her eyes. As
soon as the tent flap slipped closed, the tears fell in earnest.
Brushing them away didn't help, they continued to flow. Now,
through the blur, she bent down to pick up the bags Howard
shoved through the flap.
She hesitated before lifting the bags. On the other side of
the canvas, Howard's brother, Snake, said something. Randi
leaned closer to the flap.
Footsteps thudded as the men walked a few steps away.
She eased the flap open a touch, held an ear near the
opening, and listened. Her body began to tremble from head
to toe. She slapped a hand over the gasp emitting from her
lips and stepped away from the flap. Eavesdropping only hurt
the dropper, the pain ripping at her chest proved it. Her bags
felt like thousand-pound feed sacks. She half-carried—half-
dragged them to the bed. Howard's anger-filled voice echoed
in her ears as she collapsed onto the mattress.
"Why the hell did you go find a preacher?" he'd said.
She shouldn't feel this hurt, he'd already told her he didn't
want a wife. But he'd been so nice about it all, so kind to her.
To hear his furious tone while talking to his brother shattered
the ounce of happiness she'd felt at the way he'd stood up for
her.
What had she expected? He was forced to marry her. The
question was—what was she going to do? All of a sudden the
small alcove at the brothel didn't seem so dismal, almost felt
like a safe haven. Dread lowered onto her, even that little
hovel was no longer an option. By now everyone at the house
knew she'd been living there.
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She glanced around the tent. There was no way she could
stay here. Not with the way Howard felt. A deep sinking
feeling filled her stomach. Perhaps she could go talk to her
father and ask him to take her back to Topeka with him. A
quiver ripped up her spine. The couple of months she'd lived
at her father's house had been awful, to say the least, but
what else could she do?
Light filtered through the canvas, and she peered around
the space. Even living in a tent with barely enough room to
turn around in would be heaven compared to living with
Belinda again, but she had to be fair. She was not Howard's
problem and couldn't expect him to provide for her—hastily
married or not.
Conversation sounded outside the door. The thought of
ignoring it did occur, especially since she recognized Belinda's
voice, but for some reason she couldn't. Pushing the air from
her lungs, she rose and moved to the flap.
"Howard said no one's to disturb her." Snake's wide
shoulders blocked the opening.
"But he surely didn't mean me. I'm her step-mother, and
she may need assistance fastening her gown," Belinda
answered.
Snake didn't answer, and a moment later someone tapped
the side of the canvas. The material slapped and rippled all
the way to the other end.
"Randi, do you need any help getting fastened?" Howard's
voice rang clear.
She stepped back and scurried to the bed. "No, no, I'm
fine. I'll be out in a few minutes." Garments flew out of the
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bag left and right as she ruffled through until finding what she
needed. Belinda knew full well her gowns all buttoned up the
front, knew she didn't need any help. A new shower of horror
descended upon her, returning to Topeka with her father and
Belinda was the last thing on earth she wanted. She'd broken
free, and never, ever would go back. No matter what.
The voices outside the door continued, but hushed enough
she couldn't make out a single word. As fast as possible she
pulled off the pants and shirts and put on her own clothing.
The pitiful wrinkles of her underclothes were tolerable, but
the deep creases marring the pale yellow dress would
infuriate her father. She tried to stretch a few of the deeper
ones from the material, but it was hopeless.
Unfastening the buttons, she pulled off the yellow dress
and grabbed the dusty blue one she'd made last summer. It
had tiny white stripes, and seersucker didn't show creases
like linen. Pushing the last pearl button through its fastening
loop a thread snapped. The tiny button slipped from her
fingers and bounced across the floor. She flinched.
Her father would be just as mad if she came out with a
button missing, and his ire was nothing to mess with. Now
she had no choice but to wear her gray skirt with matching
jacket. But the traveling suit was highly unsuitable for a day
dress, her father wouldn't approve at all.
Nerves boiled in her stomach. She flopped onto the bed
just as Howard's voice sounded again. "Randi, are you all
right in there?"
"Yes." She tried to keep the sobs from sounding in her
voice.
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The flap opened a touch. "Are you dressed?" he asked
uncertainly.
"Yes." She wiped at her eyes and nose with both hands.
He walked in, took one look at her, and scurried over to
kneel in front of her. "What's wrong?"
It had all become too much. The sobs building in her chest
burst. No one had ever been this kind to her. She was a pitiful
creature with nothing to offer, dependent on the kindness of
strangers. She sobbed again.
He clutched her hands. "Randi?" he asked, softly.
She had to answer, but what could she say? "I—I lost a
button," blurted out her mouth.
"A button?" he asked, sounding dumbfounded.
She buried her face in her hands.
"A button ain't nothing to cry over."
"I-I c-can't go out th-there without a b-b-button," she