After purchasing a train ticket to Caldwell—it was as good a place as any to start over—Sarah went out to walk for a while. She wasn’t feeling very well and thought some fresh, cool air and sunshine might help. She stepped up onto the Front Street boardwalk, her heels clicking in a steady rhythm as she walked by Mueller’s Boot Shop. The smell of fresh bread emerged from the bakery next store and an unexpected wave of nausea moved through her.
Not again, she thought, holding her gloved hand up to her mouth. Her eyes searched frantically for a place to go, but where? She gagged, then turned and ran into the fenced-in alley beside the boot shop. With one hand on the tall fence, she bent forward and retched.
A moment later, she was wiping tears from her eyes and sniffling. What else would she have to endure today? Making her way back onto the boardwalk, she tried to ignore the curious stares. She waited for the sick feeling to go away, but it lingered. When she imagined getting on the train and rocking and swaying for the entire journey, she nearly retched again.
“Are you all right?” an older woman asked her. “You don’t look well at all.”
“I’m fine.”
The woman stared sympathetically. “Why don’t you let me take you to the doctor? I couldn’t live with myself if I left you here.”
Sarah was about to decline the lady’s offer but thought better of it because she felt so weak and dizzy. Perhaps she did need some help. She would put the visit on Briggs’s account. He owed her that, at least.
“Thank you,” she said, her body shaky as she tried to walk. The kind woman held Sarah’s good arm and led her slowly down the street.
“Pregnant!” Sarah shouted, staring wide-eyed at Dr. Green. “Are you certain?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Sarah collapsed onto a velveteen upholstered chair by the door. The doctor knelt in front of her, his brown eyes full of compassion. “Is there a problem, Mrs. Brigman?”
A problem? Only if one considered it a problem to be pregnant and not know who the father was.
She stood up and touched her fingers to her lips. Did the baby belong to Briggs? If so, she could not possibly dispute what she felt—a joy so intense, it could not be matched by anything else in this world.
Something inside her told her that it was his, but how could she be sure?
She whirled around and pulled the door open, her skirts spiraling outward.
“Mrs. Brigman! Where are you going?”
“I’m going to tell my husband!”
From where he sat in the barn milking Maddie, Briggs was agonizingly aware of the late afternoon silence. The wind had died down, the grass had gone still. If not for the rhythmic streaming of Maddie’s milk into the wooden bucket, he would have questioned whether or not his ears still worked.
He hunched forward beside the cow and remembered all the days during the past month when he’d looked forward to returning to the little sod dugout after a long day’s work. It’s true what they say, he thought, squeezing the last drop of milk from Maddie’s udder—you don’t appreciate what you have until it’s gone.
He gripped the bucket’s rope handle and rose to his feet, wondering if what he missed was simply the smell of hot cornbread and pork roast. Any woman could prepare a meal and create a cozy feeling in a sod house. All it took was a few flowers, a tablecloth, a curtain hung on the window.
But would another woman make this empty feeling go away?
Suddenly he wanted to saddle one of the horses and gallop straight back to town, get down on his knees and beg Sarah to forgive him for being such an ass, such a coward. When had he ever just let himself love her without fretting about it? When had he ever given her what she’d given him?
He stopped suddenly. And why in God’s name had he believed that no-good scoundrel, McPhee, over Sarah? Briggs could barely remember what he had said now, on account of the whiskey.
He turned to carry the bucket outside but stopped when he heard something. Hoof beats?
Anticipation rippled through him. Had Sarah come back to give him another chance?
Heart flooding with hope, he bent forward to set the bucket on the ground. The hoof beats came to a halt just outside and someone hopped down.
Briggs moved to the door. His mood began to rise. He was beginning to shake with joy, the urge to laugh! The orange sun came into view as he stepped outside into the light, ready to break into a run, to take his wife into his arms and apologize for everything.
He stopped dead in his tracks, however.
Approaching him, with her long, flowered skirt sweeping to and fro, was Isabelle.
Chapter 28
Clutching her skirt in a tight fist and holding onto her hat, Sarah burst out of the doctor’s office and ran up the street toward the livery. She would hire a buggy and drive out to the farm. Then she would tell Briggs she was expecting a child. A child!
As she ran, each long stride sent a jolt of pain up her arm, enough to make her feel faint. She raced into Ham Bell’s Livery, but skidded to a halt, realizing she’d never be able to steer a buggy with a broken arm. Maybe she could ask George to drive her. She just couldn’t give up. This news had to change things.
She was about to turn around and leave when a man in blue overalls approached her. “Hey there, what can I do for you?”
“I came in for a horse and a buggy, but—”
“We got that. How long do you want it for?”
Sarah struggled to catch her breath. “I need to drive out to the Brigman farm, but I’m probably going to need someone else to take me.” She held up her arm in the splint.
Ignoring her broken arm, he stared at her, his face lighting up like the Fourth of July. “Are you the one that left him for the fancy-dressed gentleman from Boston?”
Sarah frowned. “How in the world did you hear about that?”
“Everybody knows. Aside from that, the reverend’s daughter was here this morning, hiring out a horse. Seems like Briggs is finally going to get her back.”
Sarah staggered back a step. “The reverend’s daughter… Do you mean Isabelle?” Her stomach careened. “When did she go?”
“This morning. I reckon she’s there by now.”
Shock held Sarah immobile. That witch!
“You still want that buggy?” the man asked.
For a moment she just stood there, the world turning red before her eyes. What if Isabelle cried her heart out on Briggs’s shoulder and begged him to take her back. What would he do?
And what about the baby? Briggs already thought Sarah was a liar and could not be trusted. Wouldn’t he think she was now using her condition to get what she wanted? Hadn’t he always been quick to think the worst of her? And what if he thought it was Garrison’s? And what if it actually was?
Sarah looked up at the wood rafters, trying to decide what to do. A meadowlark flew back and forth, trapped high in the peaked ceiling. When it swooped down and found its way out the wide barn door, Sarah exhaled sharply and met the man’s waiting gaze. “I want that buggy. If you please.”
She would then ask George to drive her.
A few minutes later, Sarah was pacing back and forth in front of the livery, waiting for the man to bring the buggy around. Her courage cracked slightly when she pictured herself pulling into the homestead. What if Isabelle was inside the dugout, preparing a meal? What if Briggs was there too, sliding his hands around her waist and pulling her into his arms? Burying his lips in her neck?
If Sarah walked in on that scene, she might lose her mind.
Biting her thumbnail, she decided to see what was taking the man so long. She walked around the side of the building and collided hard with someone.
Taken aback, she looked up. “No. Not now.”
Garrison grabbed hold of her broken arm. Sarah shrieked, the pain so intense, she sank to her knees. “It has to be
now, love. Otherwise, we’re going to miss our train.” He dragged her toward the station.
“No! Someone help me!”
Garrison whirled around and withdrew a pistol from the inside pocket of his black coat. He pressed his cold palm over her mouth and dragged her along with the gun pressing into her temple. “One more peep and I’ll shoot you right here. I’d rather you be dead than in the arms of that brute you call a husband.”
“Hello, Briggs,” Isabelle greeted, her long strides fluid and graceful. Stopping a mere foot away, she smiled warmly. “I heard about everything. I’m so sorry. I couldn’t imagine you out here all alone.”
“You heard what, exactly?” he asked with a frown.
“George filed annulment papers at the courthouse this morning. I’m afraid Dodge has a way of spreading news about people’s personal affairs. We both can attest to that.”
He buried his hands in his coat pockets. “You came all the way out here by yourself? That wasn’t a wise thing to do, Isabelle—”
“Oh, hush. It was early in the day and I remembered enough not to lose my way.”
He recalled the last time she’d been here, and how she had looked over everything with such shock and disdain....
“Still, it’s not exactly—”
“Not exactly what?” she challenged, in that melodic tone she liked to use whenever she wanted to get her way. Funny, how he used to dissolve into a thousand besotted pieces over that voice, and everything else about her.
She raised an eyebrow. “Appropriate? These days, I hardly think my reputation is worth protecting. I’ve been married and deserted, and now I’m going to be a mother.” She lowered her gaze. “A mother without a husband.”
Briggs blinked a few times. “I didn’t know that.”
“No one does. Not even my father.” She wandered toward her horse and stroked his muzzle. Briggs felt an odd sense of pity—something he hadn’t imagined he’d ever feel for Isabelle. She’d always gotten everything she’d ever wanted. Even at his expense.
“I’m sorry about your circumstances,” he said, taking a step forward, then stopping himself.
“I know you are.” She faced him with a genuine look of regret, and for the first time, Isabelle seemed like a real person to him, not just a flawless beauty. He could see that she was a bit broken inside and humbled by the harsh realities of the world. “But I didn’t come all the way out here to talk about me,” she continued, pasting on a more familiar, dazzling smile. “You’re the one who needs a sympathetic shoulder today. I don’t suppose you’ve eaten.”
He gestured toward the barn. “I was just finishing up some chores—”
“Well, I have just the thing for a hungry man.” She dug into her saddle bag. “I brought enough sandwiches for an army, plus a bag of my own home baked sweets. I remember how much you loved my molasses cookies.”
He stood in the yard, staring. As much as he would like to believe that his former betrothed was just being kind, he knew she wanted something. Something he wasn’t, and would never be, able to give her.
He wondered uneasily how he was going to handle this. He gestured toward the house, and together they went inside.
Briggs set the bucket down in the dark dugout, and accidentally kicked a chair as he moved toward the window to open the curtains. When he turned, Isabelle was still standing on the bottom step, looking around the one-room house.
After a general perusal, she moved all the way in and set her saddlebag on the table. “I see a definite improvement since the last time I was here. Sarah certainly branded the place.” She walked to the window. “What lovely curtains.” She rubbed the fabric together between her thumb and forefinger and noticed the dried flowers in the vase. “I’ll have to replace these first thing.”
Briggs’s stomach lurched.
“Yes, a new bouquet tomorrow,” Isabelle chirped.
Tomorrow. He hadn’t thought of that. Of course, she was going to have to stay somewhere over night. She couldn’t very well ride back to town, alone in the dark. Maybe Howard and Martha would be kind enough to provide a bed for her.
Isabelle clasped her hands behind her back and wandered around the room, looking at everything. “Shall we dig into those sandwiches?” he asked, wanting to put an end to the awkward evaluation.
“Of course! Pardon me for snooping around. You must be famished.”
She laid the sandwiches in a decorative circle on a tin plate and set it on the table. Briggs sat down and began to eat, thankful for a reason not to talk.
Afterwards, Isabelle cleared away the empty plate and wiped the crumbs off the table, then began to make coffee. Within moments, its rich aroma filled the house, and Isabelle poured them each a cup. “So, I heard Sarah’s old beau came to take her back.”
Old beau. Obviously, the more degenerate parts of the story had somehow been concealed.
“They must have loved each other very much. I’m sorry, Briggs. You must know I can’t bear to think of how we parted. Yet here we are, sitting together as friends. You’re not angry with me?”
Why, he wondered, did the conversation always come back to her? “Of course not.” Yet the truth of it was, he hadn’t given it much thought. It wasn’t so much a forgiveness. It was a gradual fading of anger, or more accurately, a growing indifference.
Isabelle sipped the last of her coffee. “You know, Briggs, it doesn’t have to be so painful for you. I could come back. We could finally have what we both wanted before things went so wrong. Since we’ve been apart,”—she wiped a single tear from the corner of her eye—“I’ve missed you.” Her voice broke on the last word.
Briggs dutifully reached across the table and patted her hand.
“You were always so kind to me, Briggs. So caring. I was a fool to leave you. Zack was so unpredictable and so vulgar sometimes. He always wanted to be the center of everyone’s attention. But you were always calm and settled. I realize now that to be settled is exactly what I want.” She raised her lids to reveal blue eyes now drowning in tears. “You’re what I want.”
Briggs sat staring at her, his pulse pounding inside his head. Here she was. Isabelle. Returned to him. Every night for two full months after she’d left him, he’d lain awake wondering where she was, how she was, and hoping beyond hope that she was missing him, just a little, and would change her mind.
He leaned back, watching her slowly rise from her chair. Reaching into her bag, she withdrew a handkerchief and dabbed her eyes, then walked to the window. Briggs pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes. Even in the heat of this situation, as he faced the fulfilment of an old fantasy, he was thinking of Sarah.
“You’ll be all right,” he told her, approaching. “You’re strong, Isabelle. You’ll manage.”
“But must I manage alone?” Her hand glided along his jaw and slid under his hair to cup his neck.
Then, to his surprise and dismay, she rose up on her toes to kiss him.
Chapter 29
Briggs looked down at Isabelle, her eyes closed, her lips parting in their approach. Her mouth touched his, and what should have been heaven, felt like hell.
Hands on her shoulders, he gently pushed her back down and shook his head. “I’m sorry, but no.”
Her arched brows came together in confusion. “What do you mean?”
“I can’t be with you, Isabelle.”
“Why not?” Her head cocked to the side. “I’d stay this time. I give you my word. Zack can jump off a cliff for all I care—”
“It’s not about Zack,” he said.
She stepped away.
“I did want you, Isabelle. Once. But I married someone else. I fell in love with someone with else.”
“You may have gotten married, but everyone knows you’d placed an ad, so it couldn’t have been love. You just married her to get over me.” The sparkle in her
eyes died, as if she suddenly realized she’d said the wrong thing.
Oh, God, Briggs hated this. “Maybe at the time I did it to get over you,” he explained, hoping to let her down gently, “but I care for Sarah now.”
“But you annulled the marriage,” she argued. “Why did you do that if you loved her? I thought you did it because I was free again.”
He shook his head and began to back away from her. “I’m sorry you thought that, Isabelle, but I made a terrible mistake. I never should have signed those papers.”
Something shifted in the stove. All at once, Briggs knew what he wanted and what he believed—that Sarah was innocent and that Garrison McPhee was a no-good blackguard.
God help him, how could he have believed what Garrison said? What was wrong with him? Had it been the whiskey, or was he just a stupid coward when it came to loving someone? Maybe a part of him had wanted Sarah to be taken away from him now, before he fell any deeper into his love for her.
Isabelle began to gather her things. “Zack will come back for me, you know. He won’t be able to live without me. And I only came out here because I felt sorry for you.”
“I know,” he replied, wanting to soften the sting of his rejection. “It’s getting late, though. I’d better drive you back to town.”
“I should hope so,” she haughtily replied as she scooped up her saddlebag and stormed out.
Briggs dropped Isabelle off at her father’s house later that night. It had been a long drive through the darkness, and they had both felt the chill of autumn on their cheeks and hands. Isabelle seemed beyond thankful to be returned to civilization.
Briggs then returned her hired horse to the livery, all the while feeling rushed, as if he were running from a fire someone had lit behind him. He had to find Sarah and apologize. A silent prayer rose up inside him—that she would forgive him, that she might give him another chance.
He pulled up in front of George’s house, set the brake on the wagon, and glanced up at the bedroom window. A fluttering of butterflies erupted in his stomach. He couldn’t wait to see Sarah, to hear her voice, smell the sweet rosewater perfume he’d come to associate with only her.
Prairie Bride: (A Western Historical Romance) (Dodge City Brides Book 1) Page 22
