Guardian Bride (2 page)
drinking or gambling man, the game he'd played with her
father had been the only time she'd seen him at the Long
Branch. He'd been in Dodge helping his brother build a new
hotel for several months, but had only stopped at the saloon
that once.
Summer pulled on the reins, and while Maisy, her faithful
old mule, brought their slow, steady pace to a halt, Summer
closed her eyes and offered up a quick, silent apology.
I'm
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sorry. Sorry to do this to this man, but he's my only hope.
Her thoughts juggled to include,
You better be right about
this.
A comforting and warm aura floated over her, as common
to her as the sound of the wind. She drew her eyes open,
glancing around, expecting to see the image of her Guardian
Angel. Jonas was nowhere in sight. A touch of disappointment
rippled her spine. He'd been with her off and on for the past
decade, guiding her through many dark and dismal nights,
but, in all honesty, she really shouldn't expect him to offer
comfort now—after all she was about to force his son into
marriage.
Maisy, tired as all-git-out, plopped her hind end on the
ground like an old hound. The wagon jolted and creaked, and
the gun Stephanie Quinter held juggled about. As the wagon
gave a final groan, the woman let out a sigh. She'd managed
to keep the gun from either dropping or firing and kept
herself from toppling. Summer scrunched her face with regret
she hadn't pre-warned Stephanie about Maisy's habits.
"What's going on?" Snake asked, resting one arm on the
top of his hoe handle.
He wore brown pants, held up by thick, black suspenders
that stretched over his wide shoulders. The shirt beneath the
straps was a speckled gray undershirt, with all five buttons
undone, and dotted with blots of sweat. The garment was
tight, and Summer felt a hint of apprehension at what was
about to happen. He must be as strong as an ox. Mounds of
muscles covered his arms, shoulders, and chest.
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Squaring her shoulders, she met his stare—and quivered
again. His eyes were the same soft, faded green as his field of
wheat, but their gaze was stone cold. If it was just she who
needed to get out of Dodge, she would have bolted, but this—
no, he—was August and September's only hope, and she
couldn't let them down.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Quinter," she said, surprised at how
calm she sounded.
His eyes glowed like an animal's at night, and then with a
somewhat disgusted squint, he pulled his gaze off her and
settled it on his mother. "What's going on?"
Stephanie Quinter rested the butt of her gun against her
shoulder. "I didn't raise any cheaters," she all but spit.
"Cheaters?" His furrowed brows looked like one long, dark,
caterpillar crawling across his forehead.
"Yes. Cheaters," Stephanie repeated. "This here gal says
you cheated in a game of cards with her father."
Regret for her father's behaviors wasn't new. Summer
bowed her head, peering out through her eyelashes.
Snake took the floppy brimmed hat off his head, wiped the
crook of his arm over his forehead, and then replaced the hat.
Anger seemed to float off his tall form as he lifted the flat-end
hoe and thrust the spade deep into the ground. The handle
wobbled, and he took a step closer to Maisy.
"I didn't cheat," he snarled.
Summer pinched her lips together and sucked in a bit of
air for fortitude through her nose before she lifted her face.
"You won the pot, and you didn't claim it."
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He reached out a hand. To Summer's surprise he merely
patted Maisy on the snout. The mule, who undoubtedly
thought she was a dog instead of a mule, turned her head
and ran her cheek up and down his arm. He let the mule
nuzzle him, patting her a bit more as he glanced up.
His cold stare once again settled on Summer. "I folded."
"But the other players didn't accept the fold. You won.
Your Queens over Aces, won."
He let out a short huff of air and closed his eyes for a
moment. When he opened them again, his face looked like it
was carved out of granite, hard and cold. "Miss Austin..." he
started.
A chill told Summer he fought hard to hold his anger in
check.
"There is nothing to accept in a fold," he stated.
She opened her mouth, but he held up one hand and
stopped her from speaking. "I folded, your father won, end of
game."
Her chin quivered and try as she might it wouldn't cease.
Scratching her nose, which had started to burn, she
explained, "My father didn't win. Sam Wainwright was still in
the game."
A look of confusion overtook his features. "Wainwright?"
She nodded.
His face twisted into a scowl. "That Mexican trader?"
She nodded again, blinking at the pressure building behind
her eyes.
He shook his head. "No, he didn't. He'd already passed
out. Was snoring up a storm in his chair."
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"He has witnesses who say he'd already thrown his money
in, and his cards were still in his hand. Three Jacks and two
Kings."
"So? He was passed out," he argued.
"He woke up after you left and claimed the win. But he—"
She took a breath to block the sob rising up her throat. "He
didn't want me. He wanted my little sister September,
instead. She's only eleven, and I can't—" She stopped,
needing a moment to quell the fear overtaking her system.
Gasping for air, she quickly added, "George Hinkle stepped in
and said your fold wasn't accepted. The next day he came by
our place and said you'd left town right after the game, and
that he'd send you a telegram that said you had two weeks to
claim the win."
At some point Stephanie Quinter had lowered her gun,
now she held out a folded, yellow sheet of paper. "I got the
telegram right here. She's not lying, Snake."
Summer wished he'd take his eyes off her so she could
wipe her stinging ones, but he didn't, just kept staring at her
as he reached out and took the note from his mother. He read
it quickly, glancing between the telegram and her.
The paper crinkled as he balled it into his fist. He hung his
head and rubbed at one temple as if it hurt. Summer took
advantage of the moment to wipe her nose on the sleeve of
her dress, and then brush away the water welling in her eyes
with both hands.
When he lifted his head, his hat was pushed back. A mass
of wavy, gold hair fell over his forehead. He brushed it aside,
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pulled the hat back down, and pointed one finger at his
mother. "I'm not marrying her," he declared.
"Snake—" Stephanie Quinter started.
"No," he interrupted, sternly. His eyes settled on Summer.
"I'll go to Dodge and claim the win. And then—" He blew out a
long, heavy sigh. "I'll figure what the hell to do about it."
Relief came as welcomed as spring after a long, cold
winter. Summer's shoulders relaxed as if she'd just shed a
heavy, woolen cloak. "Thank you, Mr. Quinter."
He looked at her, and then he closed his eyes, giving his
head a slow shake, like he had a hard time believing what
had just taken place. She couldn't blame him. It was a bit out
of the ordinary—winning a person in a poker game. It was
even more unordinary to be the person who was won. Then
again, there wasn't a whole lot about her life that was run of
the mill.
"Where's your little sister?" he asked, jolting her attention.
Summer pointed at Stephanie Quinter. "At your mother's
house. So is my little brother, August. He's eight," she added,
for no real reason.
Snake took a deep breath, but the air was hot and stifling.
His body was as well, steam threatened to ooze out of every
pore. He should have left Dodge when the rest of his family
had, but instead he'd decided to spend a day talking with the
local miller. While waiting for his appointment with Mr.
Everest, he'd decided to stop in at the Long Branch and joined
the game just to pass the time, not really caring if he won or
lost.
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The thought of Wainwright, a filthy man who'd stunk to
high heaven, made his stomach churn. The man boasted
about being a Mexican trader, boldly laughing about
transporting wagons full of young girls down to the border.
Snake had no doubt the man wanted the little sister. He
looked up and met the watery gaze of Summer Austin.
A straw hat, decorated with a splattering of flowers,
shielded her head and face from the midday sun. Beneath the
rim, glossy, raven-black hair looked like it had streaks of
deep blue shimmering in it as is flowed over her shoulders
and down her back. Her eyes were so dark he wondered if
they were black too, and her skin had a bronze tint to it, like
she spent many hours out of doors. She was attractive, in a
dark and elusive sort of way, and Snake wondered if her little
sister looked like her. Not that it mattered. Wainwright most
likely didn't care how beautiful the girls were.
He closed his eyes for a moment, tossing the thought of
the evil man aside. A new subject instantly took its place. It
didn't matter how nice looking Summer Austin was either, he
wouldn't have any part of keeping her around. The last thing
he needed was a young woman and her siblings underfoot.
He'd already been away from the farm too long while helping
Hog get the Majestic up and running. Besides, Ma was too
quick with that shotgun of hers—marrying her sons off as if
they were a litter of pups looking for homes.
He'd go claim the bet, make sure Wainwright was long
gone from Dodge, and then give the whole kit and caboodle—
Summer and her brother and sister—back to her father.
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Hopefully, Snake glanced back to his field, he'd get it all
accomplished before it was time to harvest his wheat.
"Snake," his mother said.
Before she could start in on one of her rants, or tell him
what she thought he needed to do, he interrupted, "You two
head back to the house. I'll be along shortly and saddle up to
ride to Dodge."
"I think—"
"Ma," he warned sternly, holding up a hand.
For once in her life, his mother didn't argue. His brows
lifted in surprise, but he quickly tugged them down.
"All right," she said, and then gesturing toward the mule
added, "Summer, can you get that animal to stand up?"
"No."
Summer's reply made him snap his head towards her.
"No?" he asked.
She shook her head. "Once Maisy sits down, you just have
to wait until she stands up. No prodding or coaxing in the
world will get her going until she feels up to it." Summer
glanced toward his mother. "She's old," she said, as if that
explained everything.
A sigh of disgust fluttered from his chest. He wrapped his
fingers inside the mule's halter and clicked his tongue. "Come
on, girl, up and at'em."
The mule looked at him with big brown eyes, and then
rubbed the side of her face against his shirt. He tugged
harder. "Come on. Up."
The hide covering the animal's back quivered from rump to
neck, but the mule didn't make any attempt to rise.
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"Up! Up, now!" he demanded, a bit fiercely.
The mule snorted and turned her head, defiantly staring
straight ahead.
"It's really no use. She'll get up when she's ready. It's
usually no more than half an hour or so," Summer assured.
"You're joshing, right?"
"No," she answered solemnly.
Snake walked to the front of the animal and bent down to
stare in the big eyes. They were clear and bright, and the rest
of her looked good, too, no sign of illness or mistreatment.
The mule met his stare and yawned.
More than a bit frazzled, he glanced up at the driver. "How
often does she"—he pointed to the mule with his thumb—
"take a little rest?"
Summer shrugged. "It was only about four or five times a
day. But the trip from Dodge was long. Most likely the longest
one she's ever taken."
"Oh." Unable to think of anything else to say, he shook his
head with disbelief and walked over to gather up his tools. It
was a good three miles back to Ma's house, too far for the
women to walk in this heat. His mother would most likely
blister him if he left them out here alone, so after loading up
his pack, and unable to think up a solution, he sat down in
the shade of the wagon to wait until Maisy, the mule, decided
to stand up.