Meadowlark

by Carolyn Lampman

  “You needn’t look like that,” Angel snapped, slamming the stove door. “This is my room, and I like it this way.”

  “Actually, I like it a whole lot better than the others.” Garrick smiled down at her as she stomped to the bed and began to undo the girl’s buttons. “To tell you the truth, it suits you.”

  “Humph, don’t try to bamboozle me. You’re shocked as hell!” She gave a fatalistic shrug. “As a matter of fact, it does suit me—far better than the rest of this place. You’re the only man besides Sam that’s ever been in here, so forget you ever saw it.”

  “It’s already forgotten.”

  “Good. Keep it that way.” As she slid the wet dress off the girl’s shoulder, she suddenly stopped and gave him a sharp look. “I can handle this myself. You go change your clothes before you catch pneumonia.” She turned back to her task. “But get back here as soon as you can. The girl shouldn’t be left alone, and I can’t spare anyone to sit with her.”

  Without a word, Garrick turned on his heel and left. When he returned half an hour later, his charge was tucked into bed and sleeping soundly.

  “It’s about time,” Angel said, rising from the chair by the bed as he let himself in.

  “Sorry, I had to get my coat and boots from the creek bank.”

  “And I have work to do,” Angel grumbled. “Your friend hasn’t moved much, but at least she’s warmed up some.” She nodded toward a decanter and a glass on the table next to the bed. “Give her some brandy if she wakes up.”

  “I’ll try, though I’m not much of a nurse maid.”

  “And you think I am?”

  He grinned at her. “I think you have a lot of talents you don’t share with the world.” Ignoring the disgusted sound Angel made, Garrick glanced longingly at the bookshelf. “Mind if I borrow a book? I haven’t had anything but the South Pass News to read in a long time.”

  Angel raised her eyebrows. “Well, well, I’d never have figured you for a reader.”

  “I could say the same for you.”

  “Good point.” She walked to the door. “Read anything you like. Just make sure you put it back on the shelf when you’re done. I’ll see you about dawn.”

  Awareness came to Becky slowly. There was a sound, an ominous crackling close at hand that Becky couldn’t identify at first. When she did, there was an instant recoil in her gut.

  Fire! She was dead, and her bright-haired angel had only been an illusion. Afraid to open her eyes, Becky lay still as she gradually became aware of a variety of sensations. A slight odor of flowers in the air...the ground soft and warm beneath her...the unexpected rustle of a page turning...None of it made any sense.

  Cautiously, she opened her eyes, and her confusion intensified. She lay on a bed in a comfortable room, the kind she remembered from her childhood. The fire didn’t burn in the deepest pits of hell as she had supposed, but in an ordinary pot-bellied stove. It was the sight of the stove that suddenly brought it all together. Closing her eyes, she made a small noise in the back of her throat. She was still alive.

  “You’re awake.” A deep melodious voice from the other side of the bed startled Becky. Her eyes popped open, and she turned to look.

  It was the angel! No, not an angel, she corrected herself, a man...a lying, hurting, deceitful, man.

  “Drink this.” He poured something into a glass, then slipped his arm around her back and held the beverage to her lips.

  Taking a swallow, Becky came straight up in bed, coughing and choking as the liquid fire burned its way down her throat.

  “Easy now,” he said, patting her back with a huge hand. “Brandy is meant to sip, not gulp.”

  When she finally caught her breath, she glared up at him with reproachful eyes. “Brandy!”

  “It’s a restorative. You nearly drowned.”

  “Who are you?”

  “They call me Swede.” After easing her back against the pillow, he set the glass on the small table.

  A Swede. Well, that explained the white-blond hair. Becky watched as he rose to his feet, her eyes widening in amazement as he crossed the room. He was huge! The easy swing of his walk struck a chord of memory, and she realized she’d seen him striding down the muddy street of South Pass more than once. She’d noticed him because he was so tall. “Where am I?”

  “Angel’s,” he said over his shoulder as he squatted down in front of the stove with a poker.

  “Where?”

  “Angel’s. You know, The Green Garter.”

  “You brought me to a brothel?” Becky wondered why she was so dismayed when she’d planned on doing the same thing herself. It seemed that thinking about it and doing it were very different.

  The note of panic in her voice surprised him. “You said you lived here.” He closed the stove and rose to his feet. “I asked where you belonged, and you said with Angel.”

  She did have a vague recollection of saying something about angels. “Why did you save me?”

  “You fell into the creek. If I hadn’t been there, you’d have drowned.”

  Becky turned away. “It might have been better if you had just let me go.”

  “What?” Garrick was shocked.

  “Drowning would be less painful than starving.” She rubbed her hand across the blanket. “It was an option I hadn’t even thought of. I think I might like it better than becoming a saloon girl.”

  “A saloon girl! Surely there are plenty of other jobs around South Pass City.”

  “Not for me.” Becky shook her head. “Nobody would hire me. They all said I was too young. Of course, they’d throw me out as soon as they found out about the baby anyway. I won’t even be able to work in a place like this for very long.”

  “Baby? You have a child?”

  “No, but I soon will have.”

  “You’re expecting?”

  “Expecting, in a family way, pregnant, whatever you want to call it.”

  “What about the father?”

  She bit her lip as an image of Cameron flashed through her mind. “He’s gone. I thought of going somewhere else and pretending to be a widow. The farthest I could get on the money I had was Miner’s Delight, and I don’t think twelve miles would be far enough.”

  Silence fell between them. Becky closed her eyes, seeking solace in oblivion as sleep overtook her once more.

  Thunderstruck by the turn of events, Garrick came back to the bed and sat down. His book lay forgotten on the washstand as he mulled over the new information, approaching it from all angles.

  Two things were abundantly clear no matter how he looked at it. He had saved two lives instead of one, two lives that might still be lost unless she found some way to support herself.

  Suddenly, he wondered if finding a solution for this woman and her child might begin to atone for the black shadow that lay in his past. Would salvaging two lives make up for the loss of one?

  It was nearing dawn when Becky awoke once more. He was still there, the blond giant with the beautiful voice. Somehow, she thought he’d be gone once he learned of her shame. Her own father had turned his back on her, why wouldn’t a stranger?”

  “Would you like a drink?”

  “No, thanks.” Becky remembered the brandy with a shudder. “Did you spend the whole night in that chair?”

  “I was thinking.”

  “Must have been some problem!”

  “Bad enough you thought drowning sounded like a good idea.”

  “Oh.”

  Unbelievably, he smiled, not a false tinny smile but one that lit up his whole face. “I came up with something I’m sure you never considered.”

  “What?”

  “We can get married.”

  Chapter 3

  “Swede’s waiting for you downstairs,” Angel said from the doorway.

  Becky turned away from the window where she’d been basking in the mid-day sunshine. “I’m ready.”

  “Good, because he seems kind of fidgety.”

  “Oh dear.” B
ecky paled at the thought of making him angry. With a quick glance in the mirror, she hurried past Angel and out into the hallway.

  “You don’t need to look like that. He isn’t going to bite you.”

  Becky didn’t bother explaining being bitten was the least of her worries. Bitter experience had taught her the folly of keeping a man waiting. It was a lesson she had no intention of forgetting.

  As she rushed down the stairs, she was barely aware of her opulent surroundings. She had eyes only for the man at the bar trading small talk with the bartender.

  He glanced up at her arrival and straightened in surprise as she came to a halt in front of him.

  Slightly breathless, she dropped her gaze to the floor. “Sorry I took so long,” she murmured. Nervously, she waited for him to say something. After several long moments of silence, she looked up.

  Becky was very tall herself, but the top of her head only came to his chin. She had the unfamiliar sensation of feeling small as she looked up at him. There was no clue of what he was thinking as he watched her impassively.

  For the first time, she realized his eyes were a pale aquamarine. The blue-green color reminded her of frigid water beneath a thin shell of ice in the winter. His thick, white-blond hair added to the illusion of cold.

  “You planning on standing here all day?” Angel asked.

  Garrick tore his eyes away from his prospective bride to look at Angel. “No, and we’d better get going. Would you mind coming with us? We’ll need a witness.”

  “A witness? For what?”

  “For our wedding.”

  “Your wedding!”

  Garrick smiled at Becky. “Angel seems to have developed a habit of repeating everything I say.”

  Becky looked away in confusion. The words were teasing, but she didn’t want to do the wrong thing and make him mad.

  “I thought you didn’t know her,” Angel said.

  “I do now.”

  Angel gave a crack of laughter. “I’ll be damned, Swede. You’re the last person I’d expect to be swayed by a pretty face. All right, I’ll go with you, but don’t be surprised if the new Justice of the Peace won’t let me in her house. It’s the disadvantage of letting women hold public office, you know. They’re a trifle skittish around my kind.”

  “I hadn’t thought of that. If you’d rather not go—”

  “I don’t mind, but your bride might,” Angel said. “Mrs. Morris will probably think this little chick is one of mine.”

  Becky shook her head. “It doesn’t matter to me what she thinks. I...I’d like you to come. You’re the only friend I have.”

  Angel gave her an odd look but didn’t dispute Becky’s claim of friendship.

  “Let’s go, then,” Swede said. He self-consciously offered each lady an arm and escorted them out the door. “We may be a little crowded, but at least we won’t have to walk in all this mud.”

  Becky felt a flash of disappointment as Swede led her to the dilapidated black buckboard sitting in front of The Green Garter and helped her up. She had always imagined going to her wedding dressed in a beautiful gown of white satin and riding in a shiny new buggy, the envy of all who saw her.

  Staring at the peeling paint of the buckboard, she suddenly realized the enormity of what she was doing. A few hours ago, it had seemed a heaven-sent solution to her problems, a way out of the impossible situation she’d landed herself in. Now she wasn’t so sure. By marrying Swede, she was sacrificing everything she had ever dreamed of.

  An image of Cameron with his debonair charm and heart-stopping good looks rose in her mind. Irritated with herself, Becky pushed the thought away. She’d given up the right to dreams when she’d gotten pregnant. Instead of finding fault with Swede and their arrangement, she should be thanking her lucky stars.

  Crammed together on a seat that was meant for two, the trio headed down the street to Esther Morris’s home. Becky was uncomfortably aware of the long muscular thigh pressed against her own and the huge hands gripping the reins. The thought of those same fingers knotted into a fist made her shudder. She would have to be very careful around this man.

  “Listen,” Angel said suddenly, “a meadowlark!”

  Becky and Garrick both looked at her questioningly as the bird’s warbling call filled the air.

  “Look over your shoulder when a meadowlark sings,” Angel quoted the old saying. “Long life, love, and good luck it brings.”

  Garrick and Becky glanced back at the street behind them. It was filled with men, horses, and mules battling the quagmire of mud and animal droppings that made the thoroughfare difficult to navigate. Nothing new there.

  As they turned back around, their eyes met. Garrick raised an eyebrow and smiled down at her. “Maybe he’s wishing us good luck.”

  “Or telling us we’re lucky we don’t have to walk,” Becky said, returning his smile.

  “Whatever he’s saying, I’m glad to hear him,” Angel put in. “If the birds are back, that means spring is finally here. Winters in South Pass City are entirely too long to my way of thinking.”

  “Ja, it is always that way in the mountains,” Garrick said as he pulled to a halt in front of a well-kept cabin at the end of the street. “Here we are.”

  He jumped to the ground and lifted Becky down from the buckboard.

  She instinctively put her hands on his shoulders to catch her balance. Even through the heavy flannel of his shirt, she could feel the thick muscles moving beneath her fingers. A curious jolt ran through her at the unexpected contact. Once again, she was reminded how large and powerful he was. She tried to put it from her mind as Swede helped Angel alight.

  Esther Morris herself opened the door, and it was all Becky could do not to gape in surprise. For the second time in less than thirty minutes, she felt dwarfed. The woman had to be at least six feet tall and none too slender.

  Right now, she was listening patiently as Garrick explained why they had come. When he finished, her rather stern face broke into a smile.

  “A wedding. How delightful. Please come in and make yourselves comfortable. It won’t take me a minute to get ready.” If she recognized Angel, she didn’t mention it. Angel was still a bit wary but relaxed her defensive stance as she muttered something about feeling like a midget.

  To the rest of the world, Esther Morris was a celebrity, for she was the first female justice of the peace in the entire country. She was said to have been instrumental in pushing the world’s first women’s suffrage bill through the territorial legislature and had already gained the reputation for making just decisions.

  To Becky, she would always be the woman who quite cheerfully bound two strangers together for life.

  “You’re my first wedding,” she said as she came back into the room a few minutes later thumbing through a book. “It will be a pure pleasure to do this. Now let’s see, it should be right...Ah, here it is. If the bride and groom will please join hands.”

  Most of the ceremony passed in a blur as Mrs. Morris read the ritual. Becky responded at the appropriate times with little enthusiasm. She was surprised when Mrs. Morris called Swede, “Garrick Swenson.” How strange to be marrying a man without even knowing his name!

  She looked up at him, and he squeezed her fingers reassuringly. Her hand felt lost in Swede’s hard, callused palm, and yet his touch was as gentle as though he held a delicate piece of porcelain.

  “And now the ring...” Mrs. Morris looked at Garrick expectantly.

  There was an uncomfortable pause as Garrick realized with all his other plans he’d forgotten to get a wedding ring. Then suddenly, he smiled and pulled a rawhide thong from around his neck. Dangling at the end of it was a silver ring, which he removed and placed on Becky’s finger. It still held the warmth of his body, branding her skin, tying her to him. A few more words, and the wedding was over.

  There was a moment of discomfort as Mrs. Morris gave him permission to kiss his bride. With an apologetic look, Garrick leaned down and brushed his lips a
cross Becky’s.

  The touch was brief and not unpleasant, but it brought Becky to earth with a jolt. As her husband, he’d certainly expect her to share his bed. Her mind flashed back to the intimacy she’d shared with Cameron. She swallowed nervously, wondering if she’d be able to do those things with a total stranger.

  Within a very short time, the three were back outside and loaded into the buckboard. All too soon, they dropped Angel off at The Green Garter. For the first time all day, Becky and Garrick were alone.

  Garrick looked down at the woman beside him, sensing her nervousness but unsure what to say. He slapped the reins against the horse’s back, and they started down the street. “I’m sorry about the ring.”

  “What?”

  “The ring. I forgot to get one.”

  “Oh.” For the first time she glanced down at the ring on her hand. It was made from a horseshoe nail, cleverly bent into a circle and fused together. Burnished by years of wear, it shone in the sunlight like the finest silver. “This one is fine. It fits pretty well.”

  “My grandfather made it.”

  “Oh,” she said again, unable to think of anything else. Silence fell between them as he maneuvered the horse and buckboard around the worst of the potholes and mud puddles in the street.

  “Where are we going?” she asked after a few minutes.

  “Home.”

  “Where is that?”

  “Just out of town. I bought out a miner who decided it was time to move on. Sold me everything for a grubstake and my tent.” He looked down at her. “Did you want to stop and pick up your things first?”

  “There’s nothing to pick up. I sold it all.” She searched her mind for something else to say, to fill the uncomfortable void. “Was the horse part of the deal?”

  “Ja.”

  “She looks fat and healthy.”

  “Her owner said he was pretty sure she’ll foal in the fall. Her name’s Sophie.”

  The mare’s ears twitched at the sound of her name, and Becky smiled. “Hello, Sophie.”