“I’m fine, I just need a moment to catch my breath and corral my temper. We still have things to tend today.”
“I’ll sell it while you rest. It shouldn’t take long. I don’t think you ought to be out in the sun while you’re upset.” Worried she’d overdone herself again like she had the day they’d tried picking corn themselves, he squeezed her hands.
“August, I’m not faint or ill. His behavior wasn’t acceptable. I’m more upset for you than myself.” She squeezed his hands in return. “Aren’t we going to pick out some things for the baby?”
He nodded dumbly.
“Don’t fret so much. I wonder why you don’t run off, knowing you have to deal with him.” She looked over his shoulder, her gaze far away. “Maybe after the baby is born, he’ll soften toward the idea.”
He hoped so, for her sake. If the baby never met its sole remaining grandparent, August didn’t see any harm in it, although he knew Loyal missed helping her father with the church.
“I’m ready to go now.” She shook free of his grasp and pulled herself up.
Perhaps she was, but he wasn’t in the mood to face anyone who might speak against her. Going to town on a Saturday might not have been his best idea. “Are you certain? We can wait until next week.”
She frowned. “You have to bring the stalks down and plow the field next week. Mr. Stiles and his boys are expecting to work then.”
He sighed. “You’re right.”
“Of course I am.”
The smile she gave him was brave, although he knew she was trembling on the inside. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t shield her from every harsh word. While defying her father must’ve been hard, she’d taken his side. One small step at a time, perhaps he was winning her over.
* * * *
August helped Loyal find her feet on the hard-packed street. She smiled, but it revealed her uneasiness. Despite her assurances, he remained worried. Her naturally ivory skin looked paler than usual and her wide eyes were narrowed as she peeked around the street from beneath golden lashes.
Loyal had eggs, butter, and some vegetables to sell in addition to the corn. They’d decided the money would go for baby items. He reached for the basket of goods, drawing it out from beneath the wagon seat.
“Ready?” August offered his arm and she accepted, dainty hand sliding around the crook of his elbow. The tiniest lines marred her forehead. “No one will say anything with me at your side.”
“Wouldn’t they?” She touched a spot beneath his eye. “They said it before. All we need to complete the day is Maud and Sheriff Fowler.”
He forced a smile. “We’ll face them as they come.”
“Let’s get it over with.” She wore a billowy blouse tucked into a skirt he’d seen her let the waist out in just last night. In the two weeks since they’d cleaned the corn, she’d grown rounder. Partly because he sat with her for most meals and watched her eat and partly because she seemed to finally feel better—both physically and about his resolve to stay. He knew she’d chosen her clothing to hide her condition today.
She reached for the basket, but he held it behind him. “I’ve got it. No sense straining yourself.”
“For heaven’s sake. I’m not going to exhaust myself carrying a basket.” She blew out a long breath. Then a mischievous smile brightened her face. “Or perhaps I will. The bucket I carry chicken feed in gets awfully heavy.”
He laughed, surprised by how good it felt. “If you want me to take over caring for the chickens, just ask.”
With a light break in his farm work now that the crops were in, he could handle any chores. Having the hard part over with for a few weeks was a nice reprieve. It let him spend the evenings in her company.
“I don’t need you to do my chores. I’m not a princess with nothing better to do than sit around putting my hair in coiffures or trying on fancy dresses all day.”
“You used to read books about those things. Real ladies who were rescued by knights in armor and got whisked away to castles.”
She looked at him, surprise replacing her worry. “You remember that?”
There weren’t any fictional books at home. Their shelves held farm journals, manuals about animal husbandry, and a few newspapers he hadn’t read yet.
He shrugged. “They seemed important to you.”
“Maybe a few years ago, before I realized my life is far different than those princess fairy tales.” She frowned. “My father yelled fit to raise the dead when he found out I was hiding those types of stories.”
Mouth dry, August realized why he hadn’t seen any at the house. She’d given them up because Gideon demanded it.
“Idle hands do the devil’s work,” he muttered darkly.
She gave his arm a tug. “I thought we were going.”
“Jeremiah didn’t let you have books?” He couldn’t believe his brother would deny Loyal something she loved.
“He must have forgotten. I never brought it up. They’re just stories, August. No need to make a fuss about it.” She did an astounding job of pretending indifference.
No wonder she’d been surprised when he brought up the subject. How Jeremiah could have forgotten was beyond him. In the past, August had stolen books from Loyal to irritate her. He’d threatened to pull them apart page by page, drop them in water troughs, down wells, and toss them into trees if she didn’t join him and Jeremiah in the real world. All to get her attention. It hadn’t worked except to rile her temper. And, he shamefully admitted to himself, he’d liked watching her eyes spark with anger.
He gave in to her persistent tugging and they walked to Hooper’s Mercantile. The door was open wide, allowing air to flow into the building. Patrons looked up when August’s hat hit the bell hanging in the doorway. He felt Loyal tense, although she had a smile on her face.
A stout woman wearing an apron over her dress glanced their way and gave them a nod. She was checking items off a list in her hand. She gave them another look, scrutinizing August from beneath thin dark brows.
“For a moment I thought my eyesight was going. Looked like you had Jeremiah hanging off your every word as usual, Loyal.”
There was no malice in the woman’s voice. Hooper’s hadn’t been in business when August left, so he didn’t know the woman.
“This is my husband. Jeremiah’s brother, August. He worked for a lumber company in the bootheel until recently. We just got the corn in. He thought today would be a good day to sell.” There was a slight quiver in Loyal’s voice, but she smiled at everyone who listened.
He touched his hat brim in greeting, remaining silent.
“We brought some other things as well. I’m preparing…for the baby.” Her voice faded on the last word and she looked a little sick.
August unhooked his arm from hers and slid it around her waist. “You want to sit down?”
“I’m fine.” With a quick smile at him, she reached for the basket and he let her have it. “The time will be gone before I know it and I haven’t got much done. I hope eggs and fresh vegetables and some butter will get me enough to buy some cloth for diapers and gowns.” She lifted the basket onto the counter. “Go on and let me haggle with Mrs. Hooper, August. How much trouble could I get into if you’re looking around the store?”
She wasn’t doing a good job playing the happy newlywed, but aside from a few curious glances, most customers had returned to their business. Despite her assurances, he planned to stay nearby. He nodded and walked around her to look at hardware.
There wasn’t anything he couldn’t find in the barn at home, but he picked up a hammer, pretending interest in the head and weight before replacing it. Mrs. Hooper and Loyal talked quietly, heads low over the items they’d taken from the basket.
A book display caught his eye. Some were paper copies with cheap binding, others with leather spines, or hardbound. A few had pictures on the covers, some with the titles done in ink or gold leaf. Hard to say which Loyal might like. He picked up three, one with a wo
man pouting on the front, another for the title because it said romance in it, and the last was a thin volume of poetry. If she didn’t like the ones he picked, he supposed they could be returned.
“We missed your produce around here. Folks are always looking for fresh tomatoes,” Mrs. Hooper said. “Nice and firm. I swear I don’t know how you raise such big beauties.”
August turned to look at Loyal. She lifted one of the fruits. “Half a pound if it’s an ounce. The secret’s in the soil.”
“You must have bought some plant tonic from a catalog without telling me. I haven’t seen the like all season. These are perfect for a tomato sandwich.”
The idle gossip was about to bore him silly. He carried his book selections under his arm, studying ready-made wool trousers and a pair of boots with a sign claiming they were made from alligator skin. The sign warned him against touching. The price alone was enough to drive him away.
He wandered toward the textiles, marveling at the different materials, and touched a soft yellow flannel. It was a good choice whether they had a boy or a girl. They. He was already thinking of the child as his. He wondered what Loyal would say about it. Best not to mention his thoughts out loud, or he might let it slip.
A hand slid over his arm. He started, then looked down at Loyal. Afraid she’d see what he’d picked out for her, he tucked the volumes behind his back.
“That color doesn’t suit you.” She smiled. “Searching for anything in particular?”
“No.” He dropped his hand from the material. “All done up front?”
“Mrs. Hooper gave me credit toward my purchases.” She lifted the flannel, rubbing her fingers across it. “Do you like this color? He or she will need a warm blanket when it turns cold. I can sew. I’ve never had much skill with crochet needles.”
“I was so hoping to boast my wife made a set of misshapen mittens and an ugly scarf for me this winter.” He grinned and watched the worry melt from her face.
“Don’t be smart, August. Do you prefer the yellow or a light blue?” Instead of the blue, she reached for undyed white flannel. “This costs less. It’s no matter if it’s plain.”
“The yellow is fine. Good for either gender.” He looked toward the counter. “Let’s get Mrs. Hooper to cut a few yards.”
“A few? How big do you think this baby is going to be?” A line developed between her eyebrows and her hands caressed her stomach.
“They grow fast, don’t they? You could make a lot with a few yards. I want my niece or nephew to stay warm.” He longed to put his hand over hers. “I’ll get Mrs. Hooper. Then I’d better see about the corn. There’s enough here to keep you busy while I’m at the market.”
“August,” she protested. “We agreed to stay together.”
“You trust Mrs. Hooper?”
She glanced toward the front of the store. “Yes.”
“Then pick out some more things. For yourself as well. Pretty items, Loyal. Nothing somber. You can take new dresses in after the baby is born.”
She gave him a doubtful look.
“We’re not going broke because you buy things you need for you and the baby,” he assured her.
He strode to the counter where Mrs. Hooper stood and slid the books toward her. “I need those wrapped. They’re a surprise for Loyal later. She needs some cloth cut. Don’t let her buy plain cloth, either. I’m on my way to sell the corn and see about lumber. If you don’t mind, keep an eye on her. We had an unexpected visitor at the farm this morning. I’d hate to have any more altercations today.”
Mrs. Hooper studied him. “She was all set to marry your brother, you know.” She kept her voice low. “He was a fine man. Anyone could see how much he loved her.”
August’s chest hurt. He looked at the books. Such a simple purchase hardly equaled a declaration of love. “I know. He fell in love with her the first time he saw her.”
“She’s a good lady. Churchgoing, dedicated to caring for the people she loves.” Mrs. Hooper tore paper off a roll and folded it over the books. “She’ll make a wonderful mother.”
“I think so.” A lump formed in his throat.
“I’d hate to see her get hurt. Everyone talked after the sheriff arrested you. Not back more than a handful of days and you were already in trouble.” She wrapped twine around the package and tugged the ends, tightening the knot. “Sheriff Fowler said you’re a lot like your daddy, Mr. O’Dell.”
“I’m not—” He clenched his jaw. “I’m doing right by her. Taking up where my brother couldn’t.”
“Are you?” Her clear blue gaze pierced him.
“The last few weeks suggest so, Mrs. Hooper.” He wouldn’t feed the gossip fires by explaining his confrontation with Maud.
“You love that woman back there, August?” She flattened her hand over the package.
Blood rushed in August’s ears. Telling a stranger seemed inappropriate. Mrs. Hooper stared as though she’d wait forever for an answer. “I do.”
She nodded. “I thought so. You have the same look Jeremiah did. Poor Loyal probably hasn’t noticed it, although I can’t imagine how she missed it.”
Was he so transparent? He glanced toward the rear of the store, afraid Loyal might overhear the conversation.
“Your secret is safe with me. I’ll keep an eye on Loyal while you do your business.” Mrs. Hooper winked. “I won’t let her spend everything she made today.”
He felt he could trust her because Loyal did. She didn’t offer any unwanted advice. That moved her up several pages in August’s book. She hadn’t automatically lumped him into his father’s category, which gave her another point in his favor.
“Thank you, Mrs. Hooper. If she wants to spend every penny, it’s fine with me.”
She laughed. “Well, that’s a different story then, isn’t it? I could have your missus loaded up with all sorts of things for the baby by the time you return.”
“Whatever the lady wants. She deserves it. Time I get back I’ll have plenty of room in the wagon.” He gave her a nod and touched his hat brim before he left the store.
Mrs. Hooper hadn’t said he needed to tell Loyal he loved her, though it had been on her face. He should tell her, except Jeremiah lingered between them. As much as he’d loved his brother, he hated the ghost that seemed to stay with Loyal. Until she fully accepted him as her husband, he only filled a portion of the hole in her life. Fortunately, it wasn’t in him to quit, not when he knew he belonged with her.
11
The boards August measured and cut for the cradle didn’t look like much yet. The Osage orange had cost him plenty, but it was a native wood and hard-wearing. Finished right and treated with care, the cradle would last for years—long enough to rock Loyal’s grandchildren to sleep.
More than long enough if she wanted another baby. August stopped sawing and looked through the barn doors. She sat on the porch sewing a mattress for the cradle. The breeze lifted her hair away from her face. She glanced up and smiled when she caught him looking.
Before bed, when she brushed out her hair, he’d sit in the kitchen, pretending to read while she let the long auburn mass whisper down her back. He dreamed about tugging the tie at the end of her braid off and untangling the silky waves every morning. Dreamed about holding her in his arms at night, letting his fingers roam over her smooth skin. About kissing her lips until she begged for more.
Prickly heat crept up his neck. He was thinking about bedding her and they hadn’t even shared a real kiss. He straightened the saw, pushing the teeth through the wood. Back east, when lumber and mining companies decided on a spot to build a town, people came in droves. There were no ends to ways a man could spend his earnings. On the isolated quiet of the farm, August’s restless frustration helped him separate the section of wood he needed from the rest. If he kept his mind busy, he didn’t think about Loyal constantly. About what he wanted to do with her.
He almost wished tearing spent cornstalks from the ground and plowing were more strenuous so
she’d bring out the liniment again. Pathetic. His entire life, he’d taken what he wanted. Hungry, steal an apple. Thirsty, leave the saloon when the barkeep wasn’t watching to avoid paying. Need a horse, what’s the harm in borrowing one without permission? It was a wonder he hadn’t been sentenced to hard labor in a prison long ago. The one thing he’d never tried to steal was his brother’s girl. Now that he had her, he couldn’t find the nerve to approach her as more than a friend.
After the baby is born. It was becoming an all-too-ready excuse.
“August, come here! Hurry!” Loyal’s voice rose over the sound of his saw. Shrill enough it caused him to drop the tool. The board clattered against the ground. She was halfway across the yard, hands on her stomach. A cold chill rolled down his spine. He met her on the path, grasping her shoulders.
“The baby?” he asked, voice hoarse.
“Here.” She took his wrist and guided his hand to her stomach, looking expectantly at him.
Confused and a little worried, he stared at his hand. “I don’t—what’s happening?”
She frowned and moved his hand. “Oh, it’s not…” A smile lit her face. “There. You feel it?”
Painfully aware that his palm was pressed against the bulging flesh of her stomach, he took a deep breath. “I’m not sure what you’re getting at, Loyal. Is something wrong?”
“Not wrong. It’s perfect. The baby is moving.” She pushed his hand an inch to the right. “It might be hard to feel. Right there.”
The flutter under his hand wasn’t a twitch of her muscle. It was so light, no wonder he’d missed it before. “It’s really—it’s a baby.”
She laughed. “It is.”
Moments ago, the notion of Loyal bringing another person into the world was something he’d known would happen, but now it seemed real. Building a cradle was easy. Buying material, it made sense. As the movement ceased beneath his hand, he looked into Loyal’s eyes, stunned. Her expression reflected excitement, and he knew she hoped to see it in his too. He tried, but couldn’t make his mouth cooperate.
The Wrong Brother's Bride Page 10
