Prairie Bride: (A Western Historical Romance) (Dodge City Brides Book 1)

by Julianne MacLean

  Sarah looked up at Martha, questioningly.

  Martha said, “Frank thinks very highly of Briggs.”

  “He’s going to let me help him dig his well.”

  “A well?” Sarah repeated, hoping she’d heard Frank correctly.

  “Yes, ma’am. I was too little to help Pa when he dug ours. And Briggs said I oughta know how to do it if I’m gonna be a farmer like him some day.”

  Martha stepped forward and ushered the children toward the door. “All right, all right. Back to your chores. Thank you for bringing the chicken.”

  Frank dropped the dead hen with a plop onto the table in front of Sarah, who quickly leaned back in her chair. The feathers shivered, then went still. Frank and Mollie bolted out the door.

  Martha picked the bird up by its claws and plopped it on the counter, much to Sarah’s relief. “Our children...” she remarked, smiling. “I don’t know how we’d get along without them. It would be dreadfully quiet around here.” She sat down across from Sarah and sipped her coffee. “So, how are you holding up? All this must have come as a shock to you.”

  Sarah raised her cup to her lips. A part of her wanted nothing more than to spill all her woes onto the table in front of this woman, but wasn’t it enough that Briggs thought she couldn’t manage out here? She didn’t want Martha to agree with him. “Well, I....”

  Martha began nodding before Sarah could finish. “I felt the same way when I first came. In fact, I burst into tears the moment Howard stopped the wagon in front of the dugout.”

  Sarah raised her eyebrows. “You lived in a dugout, too?”

  “Oh, yes. What a time that was. I thought I’d go out of my mind. I was used to life in town with the mercantile down the street. You can’t imagine how I suffered that first year.”

  Sarah glanced with hope around the tidy, well-stocked kitchen. “It seems like you have everything you need now.”

  “Yes, we put a lot into this place. Most of the big improvements came when Briggs arrived, though.”

  Sarah set down her cup, suddenly more curious than she cared to admit. “Really? How’s that?”

  “He was all alone—and life isn’t easy out here for a man on his own. In fact, it’s darn near impossible. He traded work for a meal or a loaf of bread and came by often. That’s why he was so desperate for a wife. He’d get behind in his own work, coming here to help us. He didn’t have time to do what a woman would have done for him. Make no mistake about it, you’ll work just as hard as he does. But you’ll make a good life here, I know you will.”

  Sarah felt her optimism returning. It wasn’t like her to give up, yet last night, when her husband had walked out the door, she’d come close. “It just seems like there’s so much to learn. I was so relieved when Briggs suggested I come here and talk to you.”

  “I told him to send you over the moment you arrived. I said, ‘Don’t let her lift a finger before she talks to me.’”

  “Well, he did let me lift a finger. In fact, he enjoyed watching me struggle over every little thing from lighting the fire to hauling water from the creek.”

  Martha reached across the table and touched Sarah’s hand. “Don’t be too hard on him. He’s had a rough time lately. He’s a little gun shy.”

  She drew her eyebrows together in confusion.

  “You don’t know?” Martha asked, sitting back. “Perhaps I shouldn’t have said anything.”

  “Please, tell me,” Sarah implored, wishing she had known more about her husband before their wedding night. She might have handled things differently.

  “It really isn’t my place to say.”

  “Martha, please, it would help me to know. Otherwise, this marriage is going to last about as long as a snowman in July.”

  Sarah watched her neighbor shift uncomfortably in her chair. “We can’t have that, now. Briggs couldn’t handle another heartbreak like the first one.”

  Sarah tensed. “Heartbreak?”

  “Worst thing I’ve ever seen.”

  Astonished, Sarah couldn’t imagine Briggs feeling so deeply for anyone, much less admitting to it.

  “Oh dear,” Martha remarked. “I knew I shouldn’t have said anything. Howard told me not to.”

  “Of course you should have. I need to know. What happened? Who was she?”

  “It was a terrible thing.” Martha stood and refilled Sarah’s cup with more hot coffee. “Briggs came here two years ago from Nebraska after his whole family died—”

  “His family died?” Her heart throbbed painfully in her chest, for she knew what it was like to lose people.

  “Consumption,” Martha explained. “Every last one of them except for George, who had moved to Dodge to start his law office the year before. Briggs lost his parents, his younger brother, his three young sisters. After all that, he just couldn’t stay there. He wanted to start fresh somewhere else. So he sold everything and came to Dodge to be near George and buy some land. Then he met Isabelle in town. Her father is the Reverend. Very friendly fellow.”

  “Isabelle....”

  Martha nodded. “Yes, she’s the one.”

  The one. So, Briggs wasn’t so innocent himself.

  “But Isabelle wasn’t exactly suited to the plains,” Martha went on. “She was a beauty though, and that made Briggs a little foolish in the head, I think. He spent most of his savings on the ring, plus an engagement gift—a necklace. I suppose he wanted to make sure she wouldn’t change her mind.”

  Martha paused. “So, Briggs built his little dugout and brought her out to see it, promising he’d build her a real house the following year. She took one look at that place and said she’d have to rethink their engagement. Not a week later, she ran off with another man—a rich one. It was the betrayal that broke Briggy’s heart. He said nothing was more important to him than trust, and that he’d never fall for a beautiful woman again because other men would always be trying to woo her away.”

  Martha seemed to jolt back to the present, then squirmed in her chair as she looked into Sarah’s eyes. Sarah had the distinct feeling Martha suddenly wanted to eat her words. “I’m sure he’s over that now,” she added.

  But when Sarah remembered the expression on Briggs’s face when he first saw her, she doubted it. “How long ago did this happen?”

  “It’s been about three months.”

  Only three months. That hypocrite.

  Sarah stood and crossed to the window, wishing she had known about this sooner. She could have thrown it back in his face when he’d challenged her about her past with another man.

  “Are you all right, my dear? Was I wrong to tell you?”

  Sarah faced her neighbor. “No, you were right. I think I understand now, why he’s been cool toward me.”

  He’s afraid to love someone. To trust them not to leave him.

  “I hope I haven’t interfered,” Martha said. “But you should know that it’s nothing you’ve done. He’ll warm up soon, I know he will.”

  Sarah looked out the window. Nothing I’ve done. If only it were true.

  When Sarah turned around again, Martha was folding the tablecloth. She set it on a shelf and carried the chicken to the table. “You don’t mind if I pluck while we talk, do you? If I can get this into the oven as soon as the bread comes out, I’ll be able to send you home with some fresh cooked meat for that hungry man of yours. That’ll help him forget about Isabelle.”

  Sarah smiled, thinking Martha was going to be a good friend.

  “Now, sit down,” she said, “and I’ll tell you everything there is to know about being a prairie wife. Briggs will think he’s struck gold when he sees how useful you’ll be to him.”

  Sarah had to admit, she wanted nothing more.

  Chapter 9

  Briggs watched the pink sun sink into the horizon as he unhitched the team in the barnyard. He glance
d at his little house, saw smoke rising from the narrow chimney poking out of the grass roof, and felt a confusing wave of emotions wash over him. Part of him saw that smoke as a dream come true. What he’d always wanted had finally become a reality. He had a companion now, a partner, the beginnings of a family.

  A family.

  Unfortunately, something else had consumed his thoughts since the moment he woke that morning. What if his suspicions the night before would prove to be true? What if Sarah had been desperate to get married because she was carrying another man’s child, and that man had refused to marry her?

  A few minutes later, after he led the horses into the barn, he swung the door shut and secured the latch. He sauntered across the yard toward the dugout, his heart quickening with every step. Why was he feeling this way? It didn’t matter if Sarah had loved someone else. He had loved someone else, too. Eventually she’d get over that man, as Briggs had forced himself to get over Isabelle. And if Sarah did give birth to a child in eight or nine months’ time, it could just as easily belong to him, for he’d made love to her on their wedding night.

  But could he bear never knowing if it was his, or someone else’s? How would he live with that?

  He made an effort to shake those thoughts away, for there was no sense worrying about something that hadn’t happened yet. She might not even be in the family way.

  Reaching the house, he went inside. A delicious aroma hit him like a prairie breeze. It was hard to believe a simple scent could soothe his concerns and make him feel so grateful, considering what he’d just been thinking about.

  How long had it been since he’d smelled anything like that? What was it? Cookies? A cake?

  He walked down the steps to find the house warm and flickering with golden light from the kerosene lamp. He pat Shadow who had come to greet him and noticed that something was different. Heck, everything was different. A red blanket had been fashioned as a wall, hung from the ceiling and dividing the sleep area from the eating area. The table was covered by a white cloth, but as he looked closer, he realized it was an old flour sack cut to fit. Again, fresh wildflowers stood in a cup in the center.

  He removed his coat and turned to hang it on the hook by the door, but noticed a yellow calico sun bonnet hanging there. Where had Sarah found that? The only thing he’d seen her wear on her head was that ridiculous purple thing.

  Just then, the blanket shuddered, and Sarah stepped out from behind it. He found himself staring at her. Wondering....

  “You’re back,” she said, her tone cheerful. “How was your day?”

  Even if the cheeriness was an act, it was welcoming, just the same. “Fine. I’m catching up.” He glanced around again. “I see you’ve been busy.”

  Sarah crossed to the stove. Shadow settled down next to her feet. “I went to the Whitiker’s place today.”

  “I figured as much. You weren’t here when I came back mid-day.”

  She whirled around. “You came back?”

  “A man’s gotta eat.”

  Her face went pale. “I’m sorry. I should have prepared something for you before I left.”

  Briggs wondered why she was so apologetic all of a sudden, like she thought he was going to blow a gasket. “Forget it. I’ve been getting by on my own for the past two years. What’s one more day?”

  She stared at him for a moment, squeezing the fabric of her skirt, then seemed relieved and turned back to the stove.

  “What smells so good?” Briggs asked, all too aware of her tiny waist and curvy backside. She certainly didn’t look like she was in the family way, though it was too soon to tell, he knew.

  “I baked a cake. I collected the eggs today and Martha gave me a little sugar. She said it was a welcoming gift. She also gave me a bonnet and that blanket over there.”

  “That was mighty neighborly.”

  “She’s a lovely person.”

  Sarah flitted around the stove a little longer while Briggs sat back in his chair and watched her. The velvety tone of her voice as she hummed a sweet melody, mixed with her graceful movements around the kitchen, were beguiling. It was almost enough to make him forget what he’d been thinking about earlier.

  She lifted the pot’s lid with a towel wrapped in one hand and tipped her face over the rising steam to take a whiff.

  A few minutes later, she turned around with a steaming plate of food and set it down in front of Briggs. He found himself wondering where his thoughts had been the past few seconds—in some other heavenly world, he guessed, a place where nothing but the present mattered.

  “Is this chicken?” he asked, unable to mask his surprise. She hadn’t gone out and shot herself a bird, too, had she?

  “Yes. Courtesy of the Whitikers.”

  His new wife must have made quite an impression on them, he thought, his mouth watering.

  When Sarah finally sat down, they said a quick prayer, then began the meal. They ate in silence, partly because Briggs didn’t know what to say and partly because he was too hungry to talk between mouthfuls.

  When they finished eating, Sarah began to clear the table. “I learned a lot today. I think I’m going to manage just fine when I settle in and start a routine.”

  So, she did plan on staying….

  “I’m going to try my hand at making soap before winter,” she continued. “I’ve started saving ashes from the stove. Martha said we can do it together after the pigs are slaughtered.”

  Briggs stared at the back of her slender, pale neck as she rinsed the plates in a bucket. She actually seemed to be enjoying herself.

  “Watch your eyes around the lye when you make that soap,” he told her. “The fumes can sting.”

  “I’ll be careful.”

  She bent forward to open the stove. Her behind jutted out close enough for him to lay his hand on—if he was so inclined—but he fought the urge and concentrated on the delectable smell of baked cake.

  Sarah removed it from the oven and set it on an upturned barrel. “That should cool a few minutes before I cut you a slice. Can you wait?”

  “Sure.”

  “Are you certain you don’t want some coffee?” she asked, pouring herself a steaming cup.

  The pleasant aroma floated to his nostrils and he found himself liking the idea of sitting at the table after dinner sipping coffee with his wife, a wife who suddenly seemed comfortable and confident in her surroundings. A wife who was making plans for the future, even if they were just plans about soap.

  Would it really matter if a cup of coffee kept him up late? “Maybe I will have some,” he answered. She set a cup in front of him. “You ever milk a cow before?”

  Sarah cleared her throat. “No. But Martha explained—”

  “Did she show you?”

  “Not exactly.” Sarah rose and touched the cake with her finger. She sliced a few pieces and set them down on the table. “I suppose you want to teach me.”

  “You won’t learn if I don’t, and you’re gonna have to do it sooner or later.”

  “I’m ready to learn as soon as you find the time to show me.”

  He nodded. “I’ll wake you in the morning and show you how it’s done. At least that way you’ll be up at a decent hour.”

  Sarah choked on her coffee. Her cheeks blushed like a couple of ripe tomatoes, and for the first time since he’d met her, Briggs laughed.

  For a moment, Sarah looked mortified, her eyes wide, her brows perking up toward the ceiling. Then, as if she couldn’t fight it any longer, she burst into an infectious, cheek-splitting grin. “All right, so I slept in this morning. I promise it won’t happen again.”

  Briggs nodded, smiling at her, wondering how it was possible that simple laughter could sweep so much tension out of a room.

  Briggs rolled over in his bed of hay, scratching at his chest and arms and wondering in the darkness wh
at time it was. Slowly, groggily, he sat up, unable to sleep with Maddie stomping in her stall next to him. She seemed restless. Must be morning.

  He stood and stretched, tossed the blanket over the side of the stall, then picked some hay out of his hair and brushed some more off his shoulders. Was his wife up yet? He remembered his promise to teach her how to milk Maddie and supposed he should go to the house and wake her.

  Faint traces of light brightened the sky as he crossed the yard, carrying a lamp, and entered the dark dugout. He descended the steps very quietly, which made no sense considering he was here to wake Sarah. But the silence of the dawn and the peaceful little house seemed too special to disturb.

  Briggs held the lamp high and looked around the tidy kitchen. Then he turned his gaze toward the red blanket hung as a curtain. He could hear Sarah’s steady breathing behind it. Slowly, lightly, he made his way toward the curtain, remembering her sweet smile at the dinner table the night before. All night long, it had stuck in his mind like honey, and now, here he was, confused by a sense of anticipation filling his brain. Waking her seemed such an intimate thing to do. He found himself wanting to stall the milking and watch her sleep for a while.

  Fighting that notion, he steeled himself and pushed the curtain aside.

  There she was, lying on her side with the covers pulled up to her ear. He paused a moment to admire what he could see: her jet-black hair, her eyelids and long lashes, the curve of her hips and the trail of her legs beneath the blanket. As he watched her sleep, his body awakened in the most surprising way. He wanted to forget about the chores and crawl under the covers with her, wrap his arms around her and feel her warmth against his bare skin.

  Letting that thought rest only briefly in his mind, he leaned forward to lay his hand on her shoulder to wake her, before his body convinced him to do what his heart was not yet ready for.

  Still in a dreamy state, Sarah began to wake in time with the gentle swaying of her body. A hand was resting on her shoulder. She sighed, then opened her eyes and gazed sleepily up at a pair of magnetic green eyes. As she recovered her consciousness, she realized it was her husband bending over her, waiting for her to say something.