Marrying Minda (6 page)

The dream-woman knelt at his side, but she seemed so real, so soft and fragrant. Her hair brushed his cheek. Did his bride want him after all?

Was she just a dream? Or a dream come true?

“I need you...” she said.

“And I need you, darlin',” he muttered into the night and pulled her down against his bare chest, his fingers reaching deep into her hair, as he kissed his bride long and good.

* * * *

“Mr. Haynes, how dare you? Leave me be.” Minda pushed away from him as she shrieked softly. Urgency pumped in her veins, but she knew horses and didn't want to unnerve the livestock. “What are you about? I thought we made this clear.”

Despite her protests, her lips had opened for a split second, and she raised her fingers to hold onto his kiss just a bit longer. It was her wedding night. If only this were real. Even with dread damping her flesh, she remembered his offer of a good-night kiss, and how truly difficult it had been to refuse him.

“Minda?” Sleep glazed his half-lidded eyes, his dark hair rustled against his bare shoulders. In the soft lantern light his chest showed chiseled shadows of muscle, and she feasted on the tantalizing sight. “What are you out here for?”

“I do need you.” Heat rushed to her toes as she found her voice. “But not in that way. It's Priscilla”

He moved inside his bedroll uncomfortably. “What? What about Silly?”

“She woke me up an hour ago with a fever that's rising too fast. I know sickness. Brixton, I need you to go fetch that doctor.”

As he scrambled to his feet, gracefully for a man so big, she shut her eyes tight against the tempting vision of him. After the trick he'd played, she wasn't supposed to want him at all. Annulment was the only recourse, disgraceful though it might prove. When she dared a glance at his face, he turned his back to her, as if he were embarrassed, too, and quickly pulled on his shirt.

He loped toward the house as he set his buttons.

“Wait, Mr. Haynes! Saddle a horse and be off. I said I need you to go get the doctor.” Maybe if she used his formal name, the rioting feelings would stop. But no. It just reminded her that she'd willingly married “Mr. Haynes.” Desperately, she tried to resume their prior animosity. Then panic, rather than anger, tore at her. “Hurry.”

“Thought I told you once. Do not tell me what to do.” Her husband's voice was dark as the sky overhead, his eyes bright in the lantern light. His breath still came hard. “And I can't oblige you anyway. Doc Viessman left town yesterday for David City. His eldest gal wed up with a farmer there. She's birthing their first any day now.”

Minda's face flamed at his mention of such a womanly topic. He went on, “I want to check Silly myself.”

“Gracey claims you're no family man,” Minda said, wishing like anything she wore something other than just the bridal nightclothes she'd bought for Norman Dale. She still hadn't cooled down and her breasts breathed underneath the silk, loose and taut at the same time. Most likely her husband had read invitation in her attire when she came to him. Or had the kiss been just a man's uncontrollable lusts? She moaned in some disgust. How could she consider such selfish thoughts during this time of crisis?

“I'm no family man. Gracey's right about that,” he said into her thoughts. “But I learned some medicine from a Kiowa guide. Saved Timmy Jacobson's leg one time.”

“Heathen medicine? I think not,” she said, as Brixton reached for the door, all but tearing it off its hinges. “This isn't some buckaroo's leg, but a baby girl.”

Hanging up the lantern, he threw her a scowl. “Heathen medicine?”

“Please be quiet,” Minda hissed, though his footsteps had barely made a sound. “Don't wake up the others.”

“Miz Haynes, I know how to keep quiet around sleeping things.” His low voice was hot gravel again, and his gaze would have scratched if such a thing were possible.

The inside of the little house was still and stuffy from the hot day, and the odor of sick hugged the air. Piled wildly in a corner were Priscilla's fouled garments and bed linens. Minda waved her hands at the awful turn of events.

Listless in her trundle bed with eyes bright from fever, the baby whimpered.

“We'd best keep both doors open,” Minda said, somewhat embarrassed at the disorder, “You know, let the fresh night draft flow from one end to the other.”

“Smells worse than this on the trail.” Brixton met her gaze then, and his eyes were softer now, almost kind. He bent down to the child, and Minda marveled at the big hardened hand touching Priscilla's forehead so gently. He cringed a little at the temperature. “She's on fire.”

“I know. Why do you think I'm so frightened?”

Concern creased his face. “Now, the Kiowa think to sweat a fever out...”

“Absolutely not,” Minda said. “She'd explode into flames if we heated her up more.”

“Didn't say I agree.”

“We need ice. She needs to cool. Do they harvest the river ice in the winter? Is there an ice storehouse in town?”

“It's after midnight, Miz Haynes. That'd wait until morning. Besides, I reckon ice is just as bad. Gets a body to shiver and shake, brings on conniptions.”

“I'm sure you mean convulsions, Mr. Haynes.” She picked up the lethargic little one. No ice? No doctor? What on earth were they to do?

“Better not tell me how to speak, either.” He headed toward the kitchen and got the big washtub. “Water not hot or cold will do just fine. I'll get us a scoop of well water. Pump's too noisy for the kids. You go heat up the kettle. Then we'll mix the two.
Please
, Miz Haynes? Soon as it's daylight, I'll get some bark from the willow trees along the river. Helps bring down a fever.”

“Rough bark on that baby's tender skin? I think not!”

“Ground up, it makes a tea. I'll find some yarrow, too. In between, sassafras tea or aconite might help.”

“I know those last remedies perfectly well,” Minda said, irritated that this unruly cowboy knew healing methods when she was the one who had raised children. “But there aren't any such ingredients in your brother's supplies.”

“Probably got all used up during the scarlet fever,” Brixton mumbled, his voice growing taut.

Minda's body chilled and her face flamed at the same time. This man had suffered unthinkable loss in the course of the past four seasons, and now his niece—and adopted daughter—was stricken.

And, Minda acknowledged with a tremble, it might be her own fault. She'd cuddled the baby most of the afternoon. Who knew what contagion she'd brought with her on her long journey from Pennsylvania?

She met her husband's bleak gaze.

What if little Silly died? Minda could already hear Brixton's angry words of blame at her causing the death of someone else he loved.

He came to stand close to her. “Now you go get some water heated up.” Then of all things, he took her hand and held it to his lips just for a second. She didn't know men, but she did know comfort. That's all this gesture meant. “She'll be all right,” he said. The soft, sad tone of his voice crept into Minda's heart, as it had when they'd stood by little Paul's grave.

“Yes, of course,” Minda whispered, then repeated Mama's words. “The Good Book says we don't get handed more than we can bear.”

“Wouldn't know,” Brixton murmured, holding onto her hand a second longer. “Never read it.”

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Chapter Four

“Fever's down a bit, I think,” Brixton said an hour later. Little Silly seemed content enough, ready to drop off to sleep in the washtub between Minda's supporting arms. “Let's get her dried off and back to bed.”

It had taken this full hour for his own panic to subside. When scarlet fever struck Paradise, he'd been on the trail. Jake's letter had caught up with him at the Cheyenne General Delivery, three weeks after the Satterburg's baby daughter had died, many others too. Including Norman Dale's own wife, Ida Louise, and young Paul. Norman Dale had been taken ill himself, never to recover completely. Truth to tell, Norman Dale had known he hadn't but months to live. He needed a new wife fast.

Brixton tightened his jaw. On top of his other lies, Norman Dale had known full well his damaged heart would have widowed Minda soon after their wedding day. Maybe even in their bridal bed. But Minda must never know. She'd hightail it out of here fast, and the kids needed a ma. Brixton had no wish to knot up his life with fatherhood.

Or with a wife. What the hell had he been thinking, gathering her in his arms like that when she'd come to his bedroll? Tasting her lips, holding her close? Who knew what might have happened next if common sense hadn't prevailed? He needed to leave Paradise fast. Even now, remembering the heat and scent of her, the sight of her in white lace in the lantern glow had his manhood twitching in forbidden joy.

But he stopped those runaway thoughts and feelings. Instead, his heart tugged to see little Silly suffering. Any creature in misery had him longing to help, but this was his own kin. Likely the fever had tuckered her out, but she wasn't well yet. Who knew what the morning would bring? What if ... A nightmarish question fizzled in his brain. What if he didn't get to leave?

Worse, what if Silly died?

Without a word, Minda lifted the baby, pinned on new britches and laid her gently in the trundle. The child moved listlessly, but seemed to be sleeping. Minda moved to Brixton, eyes wide and troubled.

“We've got to get Neddie-boy and Katie off safely in the morning,” she said. “I'm sure Jake and Gracey will take them in for a time.”

In spite of his uneasy thoughts and her outlandish announcement, Brix couldn't help noticing how cuddling the baby's wet flesh had dampened his wife's nightdress. Her nipples stood out like rosebuds from beneath the thin white fabric.

He fought the hardening in his groin and forced his mind to the matter at hand. “What the dickens are you saying?”

“Priscilla might be infectious. We need to get the others away.”

“That's foolish talk, Miz Haynes. I promised my brother I'd keep the kids together. No matter what.”

“This isn't foolishness, Mr. Haynes. It's the one thing that kept the diphtheria from my sisters and me when Mama was stricken. She sent us away.”

“Seen diphtheria. This isn't it. Likely Silly ate some corrupted food at our wedding dinner. Hot sun spoils food quick. Wouldn't take but a bite to sicken somebody so small.”

It sounded strange to talk about his wedding.

Minda shook her head almost wildly, eyes bright with something like fear. “No, no. We can't take any chances. Besides, Gracey and I fed Priscilla some nibbles from Neddie's plate. He's sleeping fine.”

“Well, like I say, Miz Haynes. The kids stick together.”

“How can you be so irresponsible?” Her voice rose, and she stiffened away from the baby's bed.

He remembered her chiding him to be quiet and reminded her of the same. “Keep still, Miz Haynes. We got them all sleeping soundly. You ought to get some rest yourself. It's been quite a day.”

And it had. A sudden weariness clamped around him like the cloying heat. Lighting the stove hadn't helped. He longed for his bedroll, for a long sleep under a cool night sky even though, by now, morning wasn't far away. But that bedroll only brought Minda to mind again, and her warm body kneeling there, kissing him like she meant it for that split second.

In front of his eyes, her shoulders slumped. “I couldn't possibly sleep with all this on my mind.”

She said
my
like he wasn't caring as much, and his irritation flamed. Of course, she'd been good with Silly just now, and with all the kids all day long, but was she suggesting he wasn't doing his share? That he didn't have worry on his mind? He wasn't even over Norman Dale, and now he had to think of possibly laying this baby girl in the dark earth, too.

His skin crawled like fleas on a mutt. He might not be a family man, but these kids were his last flesh and blood.

In his own way, he cared one hell of a lot. Else he wouldn't have stuck himself with Minda Becker.

Minda
Haynes
.

But he held his tongue. “Then at least sit yourself down, get a load off your feet.” The lone upholstered chair was the damnedest uncomfortable thing, but Ida Lou had been proud of it. For a flash, he wondered if Minda minded moving into another woman's home. Then he squelched the thought. Didn't matter if she did. She was here now, and he'd make sure she stayed.

Rather than fuss, she did as he said, but perched at the edge of the cushion like she wanted to flee. Or like she had something else to say. He might as well let her speak up now, or he'd likely never hear the end of it.

“Brixton,” she said, looking about the kitchen instead of in his eyes. It struck him that she used his christened name for once. And he realized that something like terror colored her face. “Brixton, I think this might all be my fault.”

“Your fault? What on earth are you saying?” He pulled up a simple X-shaped chair he'd made from two flat boards when he was nothing but a tad of twelve. As he sat, he peeked over at the sleeping baby. She seemed peaceful.

“I think I brought the contagion,” Minda whispered. “It has to be me, something so sudden. With all the filthy air and dirty towns and unwashed passengers on that long journey, I'm certain I carried the sickness here.”

Whether she was right or wrong, he didn't like the fear in her eyes. For an odd moment, he touched her hand. “I'm telling you, it's corrupted food. Happens sometimes after a potluck.”

“How could you know? You don't live here anymore.” Her beautiful white neck tensed as she swallowed hard. She stayed silent, though, like she might be considering what to say next.

“I remember things.” He moved his hand back to his thigh. “And whatever you might think, my brother and I were close. We kept in touch. I got here three, four times every year.”

Yet those three unknowing weeks still caused him some troubled dreams. He hadn't had the smallest hunch things had gone so wrong in Paradise.

“Then you need to do the best for his children.”

Brix bristled at her words. Hadn't he done just that, taken them on, and worse yet, taken a wife, for better or worse? He'd done the impossible—gotten himself married. But he'd wrangle with her about that some other time. The edges of her eye sockets were gray from lack of sleep, and he grudgingly allowed that she was caring right well for a family not even her own. “I do, Miz Haynes.”