Guardian Bride (9 page)

"What does she like?"

"What?" she asked.

"What does September like to do? Like to eat? What are

her favorite things? That could be a place to start."

Summer had to smile. He really was an intuitively nice

man. "Well," she started, "she does like to read. She was

always borrowing books from Mrs. Hinkle."

"Kid has a room full of books. We'll take her over there

and let her pick out a bunch."

Her heart tick-tocked faster than a mantel clock wound too

tight. She chanced a peek, making sure he was serious.

September would be ecstatic to spend a day in a room full of

books. A golden beam from the moon bounced off his face,

displaying a soft, sincere smile. "She'd like that."

"What else," he asked softly, "does she like?"

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Summer searched her mind, but nothing formed. Wasn't

there anything else September really liked? She tried harder,

forced herself to recall times she'd seen September happy or

content. Nothing appeared. Did she really not know, or was

sitting this close to Snake turning her fuddle-headed?

"I'll have to think about it," she admitted after several

silent minutes.

"All right," he said, "then tell me about August. What does

he like?"

"You," she blurted out before she had time to bite her

tongue.

He let out a deep chuckle, which caused her to glance to

the open doorway, hoping his mother hadn't heard. She didn't

want to disturb Stephanie's sleep, but more than that, she

didn't want to leave his room yet.

"Don't worry, she sleeps like a rock."

She twisted, gaping at him.

He laughed again, but muffled it this time. "I like August,

too. He's a good kid."

Happiness made her smile. "Yes, he is," she admitted.

"Always has been."

"What does he like?"

"Everything." She scrunched her face as August was

known for doing. "Except reading."

Snake chuckled. "A true boy."

"Hmm, yes he is." A giggle slipped out as she added, "Full

of snip and snails, and puppy-dog tails."

"Puppy dogs tails," he said thoughtfully.

"Oh, it's just a saying—"

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"I know. Kid also has puppies. His old dog, Sammy, is

getting up in years so he bought his kids a new dog last

Christmas." His smile grew. "About a month ago, she had

pups. Maybe August would like one."

Excitement made her skin quiver, and she squeezed the

fingers wrapped around her hand. "Oh, he'd love one."

His intent gaze wandered over her face for a long, silent

moment before he asked, "What about you, Summer? What

do you like?"

This time she did stop herself from saying
you.
But just

barely, for it surely was the only thought zipping around in

her head. All of a sudden, she knew it was time to leave—

while she still could. "I like patients who follow doctor's

orders. And it's time you get some sleep."

"There's not a doctor here."

Had his voice always sounded so husky and persuasive?

She squirmed, preparing to stand, but his hold on her hand

tightened.

"The doctor left orders with me for you to follow." Was that

her voice sounding so shaky? She swallowed. "And one of

those orders was lots of sleep."

He closed his eyes. "I guess I am a little sleepy. But will

you stay a little longer? Just talk as I drift off."

"About what?" she asked, more than willing to stay.

He yawned. "Whatever you want." He rolled his hand,

lacing his fingers with hers. "Just don't leave."

"I won't," she promised.

"Neither will I," he said, clearly drifting off into slumber

land.

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Summer sat there, on the edge of the bed, holding his

hand for a very long time. She didn't talk, and even after his

fingers went lax, telling her he was fast asleep, she sat,

simply absorbing a deep, satisfying security she'd never

experienced.

Closing her eyes, she once again searched for Jonas. It

had to be his presence easing her fears, quelling her doubts.

But try as she might, she couldn't feel the spirit who'd been

with her the past few years. She'd almost told Snake, a few

minutes ago, that it had been Jonas who told her to leave

Dodge. For two nights he'd hung in her mind, and when she

finally conceded, he led her directly to the Quinter house.

"Summer?"

She jumped off the mattress, lids ripping open as she

turned toward the door.

"What's wrong? Did Snake tear open his stitches this

evening?" Stephanie asked quietly, moving into the room.

"N-no, I don't think so. A-at least he said he didn't. H-he

just-just wanted—" Summer stammered, searching for an

answer.

"Has he had you in here talking to him?" Stephanie's voice

held a hint of humor, and love.

A warm sensation rippled her insides, and Summer paused

to consider what it meant. The Quinters, strong and

resourceful, loved one another unconditionally, something

she'd never thought much about before.

"He's always been a talker. Why, he even talks to his

plants. Almost as if they were humans and could hear him."

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Stephanie stopped beside the bed and stroked Snake's wavy

hair away from his forehead.

A wave of loneliness or loss rolled across Summer's

shoulders hard enough to make her quiver. She'd missed her

mother often over the years, to the point at times it turned

into anger. Pinching her lips, she held her breath, looking

inward for Jonas. He always came when thoughts of her

mother attempted to overwhelm her common sense.

Low and behold, there was no sign of him, even when her

lungs began to burn and she had to let the air release. Where

was he? She needed him, and he was no where around.

"Come on," Stephanie urged, placing a gentle hand on her

shoulder.

The weight was enough for her to abide. Summer let her

fingers slip away from Snake's and allowed the other woman

to lead her from the room.

As she closed the door, Stephanie asked, "Are you sure

you don't want to share my bed? It's big enough for two. And

I don't snore." She let out a silly snort. "Not much anyway."

Summer had to smile. In the pale light, with the older

woman grinning like a school girl, Summer could see a

youthfulness that years and wrinkles distorted in the light of

day. In her younger years, Stephanie Quinter had been a

beautiful woman. Catching the remnants of that beauty in

every tiny, well-sculptured feature, Summer believed she saw

the woman Jonas knew. The woman he fell in love with, and

though he no longer walked the earth, she knew the man still

loved his wife with a deep passion.

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"No. I'll sleep out here." Summer glanced to Snake's

bedroom door. "In case he needs something in the middle of

the night. But, thank you for the offer." She reached out a

hand and squeezed Stephanie's. "And thank you for being so

kind to us. To me and September and August."

"You're family, girl. All of you. Of course we'd be kind to

you. Take care of you." Stephanie patted Summer's cheek.

"One's gotta take care of family. It's all that really matters on

this earth."

A surprising lump formed in Summer's throat, and she

swallowed. It refused to be dislodged. She bowed her head,

blinking against the tears, and moved toward the sofa that

doubled as her bed. Why did the Quinters feel more like

family than July had? He'd been her father for as long as she

could remember. The sour taste of guilt filled her mouth. She

should be in mourning, but grief over his death refused to

grace her mind or heart.

Near the sofa was the large wicker basket Stephanie had

given her to store her clothing. She lifted the lid to retrieve a

night gown. A smile tugged on her lips at the memory of

Snake asking if his mother used her stitching machine on

him. He'd been right to wonder. His mother loved her sewing

machine. Summer carried the gown to the water closet on the

far side of the room, silently adding the woman was amazing

when it came to the craft. Since arriving she and the children

had received more clothing than they'd ever owned. Every

day, Stephanie created one of them another outfit.

Shut in the room, Summer took her time removing her

clothing and donning the gown. At first she'd refused the

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clothing Stephanie offered, it had been September who'd

came up with a proposition. She'd said they'd all, she,

Summer, and August, work for the clothing, doing chores and

odd jobs. The children were upholding their end of the

bargain without complaint. The security of living on the farm

could also be part of their compliance, though to be honest,

neither September nor August ever balked about helping out.

Summer gathered her clothes and blew out the lamp

hanging on the wall before leaving the room. She paused for

the briefest moment, the conveniences of the Quinter home—

namely the indoor plumbing—made her feel like an imposter.

She shook the sensation aside and closed the door.

Moving through the house lit only by the moonbeams

shining through the windows, she concluded the reason she

wasn't mourning July was because she'd thought of the day

he would no longer be around for years. Not that she ever

wished him dead, but the hope he'd just leave one day had

been with her continuously.

After placing her folded clothes in the basket, she closed

the lid and settled onto the sheet and pillow Stephanie had

already placed on the makeshift bed. July had been more

work than help for as long as she could remember.

She rested her head on the pillow and stared at the ceiling.

Perhaps he was also the reason she never thought of

marrying. It wasn't as if she'd had any offers, but then again,

she'd have had to encourage a man to court her before they'd

ask to marry her. Finding work that would provide enough

money to keep food on the table didn't leave time for such

things.

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Her head turned, and she gazed at the door to Snake's

bedroom. If she hadn't thought much about marrying, why

did she have this urge to sneak in his room and lie down

beside him? A warm, exciting tingle raced over her body, and

she twisted her head, staring up at the ceiling. He was so

handsome, and the thought that they were married—no

matter how unconventionally—seemed dreamlike. She hadn't

wished for a husband, but she had dreamed of having a

secure home and plenty of food and clothing for the children.

Her feelings had never played into her dreams, other than

happiness at seeing September and August fit and fine.

Her marriage to Snake certainly entangled her feelings—to

the point she was utterly confused. She closed her eyes, and

listening to the crickets singing outside the open windows,

she willed Jonas to offer assistance.

The next thing she knew, morning light had crept into the

house, and the scent of coffee filled her nose. She threw the

sheet aside and jumped to her feet.

"Whoa, slow down there, girl," Stephanie said from her

stance near the stove.

Snatching her dress and rushing for the water closet,

Summer apologized, "I'm sorry, I must have overslept."

"There's no rush." Stephanie kept her voice low. "The

thrashing is done."

Summer ducked into the wash room. Minutes later, her

nightgown in the basket and the pillow and blankets folded

and put away, she walked to the table where Stephanie sat

with two steaming cups.

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"Have a seat, it's early yet," Stephanie offered. "I just

couldn't sleep."

Summer sat and accepted the cup Stephanie slid across

the table. "Are you ill?"

"No," Stephanie said thoughtfully. Her gaze was on the

steam swirling out of her cup and both hands were wrapped

around the thick white mug. "You know, for years after my

husband died I wished I could have him back for just one

night. I wanted to feel his arms around me one more time,

sleep one last time with my head on his chest."

A single tear rolled down Stephanie's cheek. Summer

reached over and placed a hand on one stooped, thin

shoulder, wishing she knew what to say.

Stephanie gazed across the room. "He was here," she

whispered. "Last night—" a tiny, raspy sob slipped out. "He

came to me."

Summer's hand grasped on tighter, and she held her

breath.

Stephanie wiped at her face with one hand and lifted the

coffee mug to her lips with the other. After swallowing, she

said, "You probably think I'm crazy."