by Tanya Hanson
“My sisters had a grand playful dog growing up, and I'm thinking of getting the children one,” she said.
Ned stirred long enough to cheer with his sister. Above Katie's lengthening braid, Brixton's eyes widened at Minda's defiance.
“She was a wonderful pal to them, and I loved Patches, too. Besides—” She stared unflinchingly back. “—she was a watchdog as well. Always set up a ruckus when strangers came to the door.”
There. That should do it. He was leaving them, alone and unprotected. Although she'd managed to hit five of the dozen cans he'd displayed during their lesson, it was luck, pure and simple. He may not care about her—other than stolen kisses—but a decent man ought to have a worry or two about his brother's children. His own blood.
With outlaws like Ahab Perkins and his miserable cohorts roughing up the countryside. Her flesh goosed.
“Pups are a ton of work,” Brixton said, his eyes deep black holes in the lantern light.
“We don't mind a grown-up dog,” Neddie said, but then his face paled, Katie's too. The pulsing sound of hoof beats coming up the drive had Minda's skin crawling, her heart thumping.
Katie and Ned looked at her, then out toward their uncle, their little faces white with dread.
After glancing at his gun belt hung high out of the children's reach, Brix got up to peer out the window. The overall tension alarmed her. Obviously, around here night visitors never brought good news. Neddie came to Minda and wrapped himself around her legs.
Or was it somebody even worse, like outlaws?
Nervously, she combed her fingers through Ned's little thatch of pale brown hair that she'd trimmed just this morning.
“Looks like the Blacks,” Brixton said, and Minda relaxed somewhat, recalling the neighbors. Boots clumped on the wooden porch steps, and Brixton let in their callers, making hasty introductions.
Monty Black tipped his hat to her. “Sorry to barge in, ma'am. We just come from Skinny Hank's. Sheriff Pelton got word the Perkins gang hit a place over in Platte Center last night. Lute Mohlman lost four pretty fillies. Took ‘em right out of his corral during supper. Weren't even all the way dark yet.”
“Damn shame.” Brixton shook his head, and Minda didn't chide him for his language. She didn't know where Platte Center was, but from her husband's tense face, she figured it wasn't all that far away.
“Lute all right?” Brixton asked.
Monty shook his head. “Perkins shot him in the knee when he came after ‘em. He'll live, but won't be walking until doomsday.”
“Damn worse,” Brixton muttered. “Gang's getting bolder and meaner.”
Minda shivered, and wished she'd covered Ned's ears, and not because of the curse.
Clem tipped his hat now. “We got a few places up ahead to warn, so we'll be on our way. Lock up tight, you hear?”
Closing the door after them, Brixton raised his eyebrows like he might be concluding something important. Maybe it meant he was going to stay.
“You'll be safe, children,” Minda said. “Uncle Brix will see to it.”
“Did you shut up the barn tight?” His eyes were almost accusing.
“Certainly,” she said, somewhat annoyed. “After you went back to the fields, Katie and I fed the horses. Ned took care of the cows. And I locked the barn door tight when we were done.”
Minda pointed to the key hanging by the back door. The lock was so rusted she'd been surprised the contraption worked at all. Next time she was in town, she'd barter for a new lock and key.
“So there's outlaws?” Katie's little voice shook. “That's why you locked the barn?” She looked at Minda first, then addressed her uncle. “We told her around here nobody locks up tight.”
“Well, Firefly, sometimes we just need to,” Brixton said, laying his left hand on Katie's shoulder. Minda was struck that he'd noticed the little endearment she'd come to using for the girl. “Besides, I'll be sleeping out there.”
“Could I sleep in the barn?” Ned asked.
“You'll be all right in here, tucked safe in your bed.”
“Uncle Brix, no. No. No. Don't leave us alone.” Katie's eyes were wide, and Minda's heart ached. The young girl was old enough to understand the seriousness of the situation, and had already experienced so much trouble in her short life.
“I'm scared.” Neddie switched from Minda's legs to his uncle's. Brixton didn't seem to mind, laid his big hands on the small brown head.
“Please, stay inside with us, Uncle Brix,” Katie said. “Papa used to sleep with Mama.”
“In the same bed, too.” Neddie's hair bounced.
Katie nodded, a bit calmer. “And I think he liked it fine. Sometimes he'd keep the door shut and tell us he'd licorice-whip us if we bothered them.”
Minda almost smiled. It hadn't occurred to her that the children would find their odd sleeping arrangement, well, odd. What would it be like, sharing a bed with her rough-hewn husband?
A delicious tremble danced up her spine.
“And Miss Gracey sleeps with the reverend,” Ned said. “Seen ‘em when we stayed over with Philip and Martin at Eastertime.”
Katie nodded. “We spent the night to be in town already for sunrise service. And the egg hunt.”
“I found three eggs,” Neddie said.
It was certainly time to end the children's prattle about sleeping arrangements. Despite her wonder and the lingering amazement of their last kiss, Minda knew sharing a bed with her husband would be intensely unwise. And from his reddened cheeks, clearly Brixton thought so, too.
“Come on now, kids.” He touched Katie's braid. “You all get in bed now and start your prayers. Be along in a sec to tuck you in.”
“Then will you tell us another story, Uncle Brix? About that magic cow that talks on Christmas Eve?”
“Maybe.”
They scampered off, Ned's toy dog firm in his arms.
Minda's surprise must have shown on her face, for Brixton met her eyes again.
“What? Who you think tucked ‘em in before you got here?”
She heard prayers and Brix's soft mumbles before he came out from behind the children's sleeping curtain.
“I'm going out for that long-nine, now,” he said, scooting his old chair behind him. Tossing her a grin, he remarked, “That storytelling wears me out.”
While she cut up material for Katie's bonnet, Minda stole a glance at him from time to time through the open curtains. In the dark, the tip of his cigar danced like a firefly. But she didn't see any real fireflies skipping around the pasture. She knew a storm was likely, figured the creatures had taken shelter. She wondered if outlaws did the same, or if they preyed and prowled no matter the weather?
Her heart skipped unhappily in her chest. She felt safe tonight, but what about tomorrow after he was gone? She said a quick, fervent prayer for poor Lute Mohlman and his crippled knee. Taking to the upholstered wing chair, she calmed herself by designing Katie's hat. Priscilla's little snuffles and snores comforted her. Hopefully the little one was finally well.
It was almost like they were a regular family, but Minda knew better.
Brixton came inside about an hour later. “Starting to rain,” he said. He had his bedroll in one arm and a wooden contrivance in the other. Tossing the bedroll in a corner, he looked at her straight on. “I'll be hunkering down here unless you agree with the kids. About you and me sharing a bed, that is. During our lesson today, I figured you might be interested.” His eyebrow rose in such a rakish way her stomach tumbled.
But she ignored him with an eye roll. “What's that in your hand?”
Her husband shrugged. “Neddie got a toy. Seemed right to make one for Katie.” Seeming shy, he held out his hand. It was a beautiful wood insect with whirligig wings and a carved opening in its abdomen. “And when she's grown too old for toys, this hole's a place where she can set a candle.”
“It's a firefly,” Minda said. “Oh, Brixton, it's lovely. She'll be delighted.”
“Back
to using my first name again?” His mouth twitched in what was certainly a tease.
She ignored that, too. “And you made it just now?”
Brixton nodded. “I whittle fast. Night watch on the trail bores me silly. Got to keep my hands busy.” He reached in his pocket for his knife and made one last quick smoothing motion with his left hand.
“Why, I didn't realize you're left-handed. I'm all but certain Priscilla is, too.”
Once again, he shrugged away her words. She continued, “I made Ned the dog because I'm making Katie a new bonnet.”
“Then I'll whittle him a whistle soon's I can. Each will have something from both of us that way.”
Somehow his voice had taken a sad tone. She figured that meant he'd carve it his next lonely night on the trail. “You're leaving then, like you planned,” she said dully. “Our lesson. That was your good-bye kiss.”
He looked down at her long and leisurely, making her body tingle and shimmy again. Remembering the last kiss, she put down her needle and placed her fingers on her lips, wishing he'd do the same with his mouth. But all he did was breathe out loudly.
“Ah, Minda. You claim to be a fast learner, but I haven't taught you near what you need to know. ‘Night now.”
He nodded politely and hunkered down to pull off his boots. Then the bedroll rustled beneath him. Hearing the sound had Minda's mind roil with the memories of his kisses and caresses on that very same bedroll on their wedding night. Sighing, she dimmed the lantern and headed for the bedroom, her mind awhirl, her womanhood alive.
Braids and lullabies. Bedtime prayers and stories. Whirligigs and whistles. And Brixton Haynes didn't consider himself a family man?
* * * *
After Minda shut Norman Dale's bedroom door, she left behind a scent of roses floating on the night air. Brix imagined her, fragrant and drowsy, tumbled in the covers of a bed big enough for both of them.
He sighed, deep. His wife's kisses told him she just might be willing to share it with him. And for the first time he could remember, he found himself liking rain falling on a roof better than dripping down his brim.
And he didn't like that a bit.
Beneath his bedroll, the plank floor wasn't any harder than the packed dirt of West Texas, but tonight he longed for a real bed and a real wife in it. Likely she might even welcome him, especially if he told her what decision he'd come to.
He wasn't leaving, even though he couldn't stay.
The children's appealing little snores forced a smile from him. Silly fretted in her sleep, so he pulled her trundle closer so he could move it in a rocking motion. What kind of plaything should he make for her?
He couldn't leave Paradise until Silly was all the way well. Until the Perkins gang was behind bars. The decision had come long and hard, with anger and plenty of cussing, but he'd no choice in the matter. His brother wasn't even cold yet, and Brix didn't need to add another sin to his list.
Sure, he'd be missing the drive now, but he'd head for Texas soon enough. Ranchers in Butter Creek would pay him good cash money for riding supplies to their line shacks, fixing fence and digging post holes, breaking mustangs and readying things for fall round-up. He'd earn enough to tide the family over. But when another drive commenced, he'd be on it, no question and no doubt.
Until then, he had wheat to harvest, toys to carve, and a wife who seemed intrigued by his kisses. An erection started with a pleasure that was almost pain.
But that wife hadn't seemed to mind another man drooling over her hand. His temper burned all on its own. Caldwell Hackett wanting something else that belonged to a Haynes.
Suddenly, lightning slashed the darkness and three seconds later, thunder pounded Paradise, louder than a flash flood.
As Silly howled, Katie and Ned poked pale little faces from behind their curtain. The horses screamed, and the crash of splintering wood broke through the sound of rain.
Brix sprang to his feet, lit a lantern, and peered out.
Minda, hair tussled from sleep, dashed from Norman Dale's old room, wrapped in a quilt. “What was that dreadful noise above the storm?”
She took his breath away, but now wasn't the time. Disappointment in himself all but choked him. He might need a woman, but he didn't need a wife.
“Storm spooked the horses,” he said. “Broke out of their stalls and kicked the barn door open. Thought you said you locked up good and tight?”
He'd believed her, yet he knew his voice had turned cold. Right now just might have been their moment, but he had to leave her and it was her fault. There was no money to replace livestock that got itself lost or hurt.
“I did! Don't put this off on me. That lock is as ancient as Methuselah.”
“Held just fine last time I used it.” After pulling on his boots, he found his brother's old slicker in a cupboard.
“You're going out in this weather?”
“Damn straight, Miz Haynes. Hell, I should have checked the barn myself. That's what I get for trusting you. And don't you dare come down on me for cussing. I got to find them fast. Remember those horse thieves? They work best in the dark.”
Minda came close, smelling like roses again, and speaking too soft to hear. He leaned close, liking it but steeling his heart.
“But Brixton, they shot a man because he came after them.”
“I'm not after them. Just after what's ours.”
“Exactly.” Her tongue was sharp.
He paused to reassure her. After all, she was his wife. “You did all right with that gun today. You know where Norman Dale kept his hog-leg. You'll be safe enough. Stay tight and comfort the kids. Likely Strawberry won't have gone far.” He headed for the backdoor. “Buttermilk's got adventure in his blood, but I'm bound to find him quick. Be back soon's I can.”
For a flash, he wanted to kiss his wife's wide eyes closed and hold her like a man held his woman. Tell her to wait for him underneath the covers.
But he had things to do, and women were nothing but trouble.
“And don't you worry,” he said, looking back at her before he closed the back door, feeling some regret for his pique. His heart pumped in a way it never had before. “Norman Dale put up lightning rods.”
Outside, the rain splashing down his brim welcomed him, like it had a hundred times on the trail. Welcomed him back to the life he loved. A night like this in search of a wayward animal pumped him full of satisfaction. The fires inside him cooled down. This was what he'd been born for, not farming. Not family.
Like he'd thought, Strawberry stood drenched and unhappy, pawing the ground near Minda's rose garden. He saddled the horse, then set out to find the buckskin.
Breathing deep, he almost said a prayer. He was outside where he belonged. What had he been thinking a while ago? He didn't need four walls closing in on him or a woman he couldn't trust. Must have been loco to think anything different. True, he had to help his brother for just a little while longer, but then he'd be gone.
He started to enjoy himself, wind at his heels and mud in his eyes.
* * * *
Minda watched him leave like her eyes were in someone else's head. Fear slammed hard against her mind and heart. For a black moment, she figured she'd lost him. And he left, believing she'd let him down. Oh, she had felt dread before. She'd been afraid to leave Pennsylvania, but sure she'd arrive to Norman Dale's waiting arms.
And afraid at Mama's tragic death, but comforted by friends and neighbors. Right now there was no one around, other than three frightened children who depended on her. And on a man who now had to face lightning strikes, flash floods, crazed animals, and gun-slinging outlaws.
What would happen if he didn't make it home? What would happen to the children? Her throat choking with tears, she remembered Gracey Satterburg's hands on Priscilla, and some selfish farmer, Tom Holden, wanting baby Ned as a slave.
She had no money, likely no legal standing to the farm or the children's guardianship. Not even Caldwell Hackett transacting to sell her
hats could bring on sufficient support.
Although he had implied that she could come to him for anything, anything at all. He might truly have appealed to her back in Gleesburg, with his fine manners and intellectual occupation, but unruly Brixton Haynes had conquered her heart.
If she didn't love him, she was close. It had come on quick but slow at the same time. He'd never know, and wouldn't care anyway, but she held the secret close inside for herself alone.
Neddie came to her then, embracing her legs, in a flood of tears of his own. “But Minda, our heifer. We raised her since a calf. I got to check on her. I reckon she's scared to death.”
“No, no, sweetheart.” She bent to hug him tight. “You know Uncle Brix made sure she's safe.”
“Will he come back?” Katie asked. And like a stab in the heart, Minda realized the child hadn't asked “when.” Poor thing had already suffered such unimaginable losses. Thinking she'd lost her uncle was just a natural course of events.
“Of course he will, Firefly.” That reminded her of Brixton's wonderful carved toy, but she held on to the hope that he'd be back to gift it himself. “Remember, Uncle Brix is used to being outside, helping animals. That's his job and he's good at it.”
Maybe her own words could convince herself.
Katie's lip turned out in a pout. “But the thunder scares me.” She held her weeping baby sister, and Minda wrapped her arms around them both. Heavens, Priscilla was feverish again. What next?
“Now, you and Ned need to try to sleep. You're safe and warm in here. I'll tend to Priscilla. Why don't you two cuddle up in my big bed?” She led the jittery little pair toward the bedroom. “You know, my little sisters used to like crowding together during a noisy storm, and hiding under the covers.” That was true. The girls had liked nothing better.
In the doorway, Katie's face turned paler yet, although it might have been the flickering candle. “But our mama and Paulie died in that bed.”
Minda didn't now how much more her heart could bear before it broke completely. “That was a tragedy, Katie, but the Lord does promise not to send us more than we can bear.” And Minda had believed it, once. “But your papa bought a brand new bed for me. I promise. I've been the only one asleep on that ticking.”
