by Tanya Hanson
At least Norman Dale had told the truth about that.
She had imagined her husband beside her. But she'd let him down. She'd missed her chance. After all, he hadn't even kissed her before he ran off into the storm.
To erase the image of herself and Brixton sharing a transcending love, she tucked the children tight and kissed them soundly.
The storm seemed to hold the little house in angry hands and shake it. Minda'd be lucky to get the children to sleep. Why hadn't she listened closer to Brixton's lullabies and stories? She sang them a hymn she thought she remembered, but the words fizzled on her lips.
Priscilla slept, but her fever rose. Worry inhabited every inch of Minda. A nightmare word Brixton had said once came to life before her eyes.
A conniption, as Brixton would call it, brought on by the fever. Priscilla stiffened, eyes rolling back, and trembled for a terrible moment. Minda prayed and prayed some more.
Was it too late? Was she losing Priscilla and Brixton both?
Minda did the only thing she could think to do, and brewed the baby some willow bark tea. And afterward, the baby settled, like a tea kettle's steam that had been released.
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* * *
Chapter Eight
He was soaked through and through but didn't mind a single bit. The clean night air filled his lungs with life itself.
And brought him to his senses. The outdoors was where he belonged.
Buttermilk had been a dickens to catch, but Brix hadn't minded all that much. The tall cornfields had barricaded some of the horse's maneuvers, and the expedition had taken them across miles of sludged roads and fallow fields. Likely a vegetable garden or two.
Right now, he saw the lantern light glowing in Norman Dale's window up ahead. He had sight like a night owl, and a comfortable thought came upon him. It felt nice, just this once, to have a home and woman waiting for him.
Unless that light was a beacon of some sort of trouble.
Blood thumped in his veins like a crooked wagon wheel, and he hurried Buttermilk through the muddy road. Strawberry was tied behind, but he'd chosen to ride the high-spirited buckskin so as not to give Buttermilk any further chance to misbehave. His successful retrieval of the animals now gave way to a sense of dread.
By the time he'd stabled the horses, Minda waited on the porch, wearing Norman Dale's old dressing gown. The downpour had stopped, but the lively wind blew her hair across her face like a veil. For a moment his breath caught, thinking of the veil on their wedding day. Hell, he'd be gone soon, out of temptation's way.
“Brixton!” She stayed put, likely unwilling to muck through the farmyard. “Brixton, you're safe. You're back. Hurry inside. Get dry.”
He didn't like the worry in her voice. Had she thought he'd left for good, like he'd been promising?
She pulled the wet slicker from his body while he managed his muddy boots. “My goodness, you're completely drenched. Come on. Here's some toweling.”
As he stopped at the doorway, she shrugged the dressing gown from her body. “Now, you get those wet things off and slip into this. I'll put some Arbuckle's on to warm you up.”
“Summer rain, Minda. Never hurt nobody. Wet doesn't mean cold.” But he liked her fussing. She ought to be mad at him for the mean things he'd said as he left, and for not kissing her good-bye. “How're the kids?”
Then she finally looked him in the eye, face bleak. “I fear Priscilla suffered a bit of a convulsion. A conniption, Brixton. She's sleeping sound now, but I was terrified for a time.”
He opened his mouth to ask, but she didn't let him. “Yes, I finally used the willow bark. You know I was hesitant at first, but now I am convinced in my heart that you'd never take a chance on any of the children.”
His fists clenched around the towel. “You sure she's all right?”
Minda sighed. “Far as I can tell, yes. It didn't last long and seemed to tire her out more than anything. Then the fever spiked and broke. I'm thinking she's on the mend.”
“Yep. The remedy's tried and true,” he said, feeling a funny pleasure that she'd trusted him after all. Still, the worry over Silly's ailment had gone on long enough. “But the doc needs to be telegraphed.”
“Yes. In the morning. For now, get out of those sodden clothes,” she said again. “Just leave them in a pile in the corner. If the sun's out tomorrow, I'll set to washing them.”
Maybe she wasn't remembering that tomorrow, today now, was the day he'd set to leave. Seemed like a good time to tell her he wasn't. “Minda...”
“No arguing with me. Get undressed. You're worse than Neddie. Land sakes, I'm not going to peek.”
She turned her back, and he obeyed her, wishing she would peek, truth to tell. He wondered how it might be to have a wife for real. His clothes on the trail turned rank mighty fast. Without the dressing gown, she wore only the dainty nightdress she'd worn that first night. Their wedding night on his bedroll. He could see near through it.
“Minda...”
“Mr. Haynes, if you don't need hot water, there's plenty of cold to clean yourself up.”
She sounded too wifely of a sudden, and he grew miffed, figuring he didn't want one for real at all. He knew perfectly well how to look after himself. He'd been doing it for years. Truth was, he took more ice cold baths in creeks than warm ones in a tub.
There wasn't a tie for the robe, unless he'd dropped it somehow. Just as it flapped open, she started to speak in a shaking voice. “I can heat some if you'd rather.”
“No need.” Looking at her made him hot enough. He set to scrubbing in the little washtub by the stove, wondering at her tremble.
Then she turned to him, and he found her crying. “Oh, Brixton, I'm so relieved now, but I was so scared, those long hours you were gone. I thought Priscilla might die, and you'd get drowned in a flood or shot by the outlaws and I'd lose you, too. Even though I never had you, not at all. Not really.”
Tears bathed her beautiful face and her eyes opened wide when she noticed his open garment. His erection rose in invitation, and she didn't look away. For a second, an interested smile tugged at her berry lips, and he knew then and there he wanted that mouth pressed around his flesh. He could teach her that, in a gentle and kind way, letting her know what came between a man and his wife was their business alone.
But the suggestion might frighten her, this first time at least. For now, he was almost giddy, thinking how snug he'd fit inside her tight maidenhood, swelling until he released deep within her. Hell, he swelled almost to bursting now.
He couldn't stop to dry himself. Waiting even one more second was out of the question. Pulling her to him with his right hand, he unbuttoned her night dress with the other.
“You could have had me any time at all.” He breathed into her hair. “And there's so much I want you to learn.”
“Well, I think this is the right time,” she said, “and I want to learn as much as I can in whatever time we have.”
“I should check Silly.”
“I just did. She's sleeping peaceful. You'd just make a commotion and wake her up.”
“The kids?”
“The thunder scared them. They're sleeping behind the bedroom's closed door.” Minda said the last two words with a slow meaningful smile.
“Then where? Us, I mean?”
“That bedroll over there. Like the first time.” Her finger pointed eagerly, but her eyes looked away, shy.
“But I wanted the first time outside, under the stars.” He touched her cheek, soft as silk.
“Well, sometimes you make do with what you have. For as long as you're lucky to have it.” Her voice was barely a whisper.
Like a starving man, he suckled her breasts for a moment, then picked her up like a groom carrying a bride over a threshold. He laid her on the bedroll in the corner, snug at his side, letting his fingers glide up her leg. His free hand rested under head, her hair a counterpane of bliss, and turned her face to his. Nibbling he
r lips, he started a tender exploration there, then traveled to the miracle of her bosom. He licked and tugged with starvation, tensing at her groans.
“Now don't you get frightened, Minda. This helps ease the first time.” He slid a finger in her core, shuddering as her body trembled. He could wait long enough to drive her to pleasure, so he quickly settled himself on his knees between her thighs. While his fingers resumed their teasing, he lowered his tongue to her.
It didn't take as long as he thought, lucky for him, and he had the joy of watching her face the whole time. And finally, when her legs tensed around his neck, he knew it was time.
Time to go home.
* * * *
Minda's mind swirled with a thousand colors and her body felt blessed by a higher power she'd never imagined. The intimate touch of his fingers deep inside her, and his tongue mastering her so deliciously, forced her eyes to close in shyness.
“No, darlin'. Look at me.” He raised his face to her own, resting on his elbows, close enough for her to see the magic and passion in his gaze. “Hold on. Hold me.”
Needing air, she grasped his head. The manly scent of his hair claimed her senses as the colors faded and her knees relaxed. Then the warm weight of him pressed over her body. He lowered his face to kiss her hungrily, and she tasted herself on his lips. Her chest heaved at the intimacy of his actions as her husband, her first lover, began his journey to claim her body and her soul.
He slid back to her breasts, and they suddenly tightened, aching with a fullness she didn't recognize. Pleasure so delicious it almost hurt washed over from top to toe.
“Ah, Minda, what you do to me,” he mumbled, his breath heating the skin of her belly. Fumbling for her hand, he wrapped her fingers about his throbbing shaft. In the lantern light, she stole a peek.
“Oh my goodness,” she whispered, awestruck at the sight. Even as she ached for him, her wonder grew. “I don't know...”
Brixton gasped out his words. “Ah, it'll be fine.”
His fingers reached for her core again, igniting fire and need. Suddenly she had no doubts at all. She wanted him. She needed to be complete with him, to have him fill her emptiness. It wouldn't be forever, but it would have to be enough. If all they had was tonight, she wanted every single second he could give her.
“Brixton, I...” She turned shy again. “Yes, everything will be fine.”
He moved between her legs, a hand gentle but firm on each breast. “Spread wider, darlin.'”
As she did, he pressed his manhood into her, patient at first, then with increasing pressure. She was untouched, but desperate to please him in spite of the twinge of pain. She relaxed, and they were joined, true man and wife. His rhythmic thrusts matched the pounding of her heart.
Then he shuddered and tensed, eyes shut tight, as he lay across her. His endless moans let her know she'd pleased him. His harsh breath landed hot on her shoulder, and he kissed her without a word. Turning, he held her backside against his front, and his gentle snores started almost at once.
She could hardly bear the rough bedroll against her sensitive skin, but his warmth and embrace comforted her. Goodness, she was a married woman in every sense of the word.
It might not be exactly what she came to Paradise for, but tonight it would be enough.
Finally, Minda drifted into sleep. But not for long. The length of him that nestled against her back grew hard and woke her, and her husband drew her to him again.
* * * *
Sunlight blessed her face, but Minda kept her eyes shut tight. The bedroll soft under her bare skin, she remembered her husband's warmth, his callused hands that felt like velvet as they learned the secrets of her body and taught her the mysteries of his.
She relived his trembles when her own hand had closed around his manhood, the wonderful weight of him atop her again and again.
She sighed dreamily. He had filled her every way a woman can be filled, and she had enjoyed every minute of it, even the brisk discomfort of the first joining.
Shyly, she turned to hold him close as she'd done before they finally slept in the summer darkness. But she opened her eyes to find herself on the bedroll alone, covered with the old dressing gown.
She knew why, and the distress slammed into her heart like the storm just passed.
He'd left.
Of course. She understood now. Last night's lovemaking had been the farewell kiss he'd promised, with something more.
She swallowed hard, but couldn't let her heart break. Not when she reminded herself that he'd never offered to stay. She was the one who had foolishly contented herself, thinking his blossoming rapport with the children would expand to something permanent. All he'd vowed was to care for them in a monetary sense, and the cattle trail was the only livelihood he had.
It was her own fault for losing her heart. She'd tried to guard against this very thing, but at her first sight of him, it hadn't been possible. She knew that now.
The little locket watch her mama had left her was in the bedroom, but she'd gotten good these past few days about telling time from the sun's station in the sky. When it was out, that is. This morning, the rain clouds were gone, other than the ones dampening her disposition.
Between eight and nine o'clock, she figured. They'd missed church, and she tightened her eyelids with more hopelessness. Missing services in Gleesburg had always incurred gossip, but out here, folks might believe her responsible for preventing the innocent Haynes children from righteous worship. Those wanting to take the children might feel justified in resuming their pursuits.
Scrambling into the dressing gown, she gathered the bedroll in her arms, up to her nose, breathing in the scent their lovemaking had left behind. She'd find time to cry later. Right now she had children to feed.
The bedroom door opened as she wound up the bedroll. Of course he'd left it behind. He likely had another one back in Texas. Maybe this one was Norman Dale's anyway. Borrowing off his brother had been Brixton's way in Paradise, after his long travels with a light load. The wedding suit, the horse he planned to ride to the train depot in Columbus. Strawberry would wait there at the livery until a stablehand could bring him home.
“So did you and Uncle Brix sleep out here on his bedroll?” Neddie asked, arms clamped around his homemade dog.
“Of course, you ninny,” Katie said, in the same big-sister way the oldest of her three had always used. “We were in their bed, remember?”
Their bed. The words hurt.
Priscilla sat in her little bed, clapping her hands and mouthing an unintelligible word.
“That's her word for hungry.” Katie placed her hands firmly on her hips.
Despite her heavy heart, Minda rejoiced at Priscilla's health. At least she had something good this day. Maybe Brixton had hugged the children good-bye while they slept. Katie wasn't extolling about the whirligig firefly though. Had he stashed it somewhere like a treasure hunt, reckoning she'd find it somehow?
Or did that mean he hadn't gone?
A girlish hope trilled in her heart, the same one as when she'd purchased her wedding dress, as when she'd first caught sight of Paradise from the stagecoach.
But that had merely led to her strange marriage to a man who had no desire to remain at her side.
“Well, now, you two dress yourselves, and I'll do the same.” She held back the trembles from her voice. After all, she had things to do.
“Mom ... Minda,” Katie shouted from the sleeping area, “look what I found on my bed!”
“And me, too. A whistle!”
Even at the children's joy, her spirits fell. He had presented his gifts after all before taking off. When had he made the whistle? He'd claimed to be a fast whittler, and obviously that had taken precedence over one last hour in her bed.
Her sadness was almost complete. But it didn't include regret. Whether he was close by or a thousand miles away, Brixton Haynes was still her husband. And he would come for visits now and again, wouldn't he? To see the children,
at least?
She set to her toilette and Priscilla's, then sliced stale bread, leftover from the wedding feast. Lord's day or not, there'd be no rest for her today, not with baking to do.
And Brixton's pile of sopping clothes. However, a quick peek in the corner and she noticed it was gone. Her mood gladdened as she recalled the morning he'd laundered up after Priscilla.
But she could see the clothesline outside, and nothing hung on it now.
Fully dressed, Katie came to the kitchen workspace, her shining eyes belying the fear and sleeplessness of the night. The firefly's wooden wings spun in flight. Minda had given her a piece of the grosgrain ribbon meant for the pink velvet hat, and it was tied in a jaunty bow at the end of Katie's beloved braid.
Ned followed, needing sleep dust washed from his eyes, but his short trousers hung straight. In his hands, he held his toy dog and whistle.
“Now we got something from you and Uncle Brix,” he announced cheerfully. “My doggie from you and my whistle from him. And Katie's bug and the hat you're making her.”
“Can I see it?” Katie asked. “Did you work on it last night?”
Nodding, Minda walked to the sewing basket by the upholstered wing chair. “Yes, indeed I did. I waited up for Uncle Brix, and it gave me something pleasant to do. Come, have a look.”
She took the bonnet and set it on Katie's head. It wasn't finished yet, but Katie beamed, although the twinge of worry Minda often saw in her eyes was once again apparent.
“He got back fine, right? And the horses, too?”
“Yes, thank God.”
“He sure was riled up.”
Minda sighed with a head shake. “Yes, and I am positive I locked the barn. But everything turned out well.” Unbidden, images of their lovemaking flooded her. She managed to hold back the pain of his leaving. “But never mind that. Let me get some breakfast down you children.”
“What does Silly get?” Neddie asked, holding his toys just out of his baby sister's reach.
