The door swung inward and Red entered, looked at her, and smiled rather abruptly.
Cassie had the impression he’d forgotten he was married.
CHAPTER 6
Red hadn’t been able to think about anything all day except that he was married.
Married!
He’d left here yesterday a single man with too many chores and too many goals and not a second to spare for anything else. Now there was a woman in his house. He looked at Cassie and saw the most beautiful woman on earth.
She turned from his fireplace in his kitchen, and he thought back to how he’d held her in his arms all the way from town. He’d loved every minute of it.
“H–Hi, Cassie. I see you’re cooking.” He felt like some kind of monster to marry a woman standing on the freshly dug grave of her husband. But he’d seen no way out of the marriage. The crowd wasn’t even going to allow them to move out of the cemetery.
Cassie nodded and didn’t speak. Which gave Red a moment to remember why he’d married her—to save her. And why he shouldn’t have—because she wasn’t a believer.
Marrying Cassie was a sin, the greatest sin of his life.
But he’d had to help her.
But he could have thought of something short of marrying her.
Except he couldn’t think of anything.
But he should have tried harder.
But he’d tried hard !
The events had chased themselves through his head over and over while he did his chores until he’d wanted to crack his head into a rock a few times, hoping the pain and a big knot on his head would give him something else to think about.
It was just that at the time Muriel had been nagging him to save the poor little thing. That overbearing Mort Sawyer had been ignoring Cassie’s pleas and demanding to the parson that they “get it done.” Then Cassie’d started screaming to raise the dead, which considering they were standing on her dead husband at the time, she might have been trying to do exactly that. Throw in Wade looking on all hungry and evil and it had all forced his hand.
Except that wasn’t really the whole exact truth. Yes, it was part of the truth but not all of it. Red figured the only fool bigger than a man who tried to lie to himself was a man who lied to God. Both were just a pure waste of time. Red supposed he was seven kinds of a fool, but at least he was an honest fool. And the plain honest truth was he wanted to marry Cassie. He wanted to marry her almost desperately. In his own way he was just as bad as all those ruffians who were fighting over her.
Red couldn’t shake the idea that somewhere God had spent a lifetime preparing a perfect mate just for him, a woman who was a believer above all else, and Red had just gone and tossed God’s plan back in His face by marrying the wrong woman. Cassie Griffin. Cassie Dawson. God, forgive me, he thought. I do like the idea of her having my name.
Red had done his chores thoroughly, but it was a good thing he’d done them a thousand times before because his mind was not on his tasks. Even though Rosie was going be hurting bad by the time he milked her, he left the cow until last because he didn’t want to go back to the house to leave the milk. He almost dropped everything ten times and ran back to the soddy to see if Cassie needed help finding supplies, or lifting a bucket, or squashing a bug, or crossing a mud puddle....
Oh, no doubt about it, he had it bad. He wanted that woman, that overindulged, beautiful, non-Christian woman desperately. He sat down to Rosie and she thanked him for his prolonged neglect by kicking him soundly on his backside. He figured it was just what he needed.
And now here his wife was, smiling at him, a sweet, shy smile, and he thought about how he’d finished with Rosie and grabbed the bucket of eggs and forced himself not to run to the house.
He’d been twenty feet away when he smelled the cooking. He’d assumed she wouldn’t cook. He knew she was pampered. A person only had to look at her beautiful clothes to know that. And everyone said Griff was broke because of Cassie’s greed. Red didn’t listen to gossip, and he held that a man had free will; and no one, even a wife as pretty and perfect as a china doll—which is what everyone called her—could make a man spend money if he didn’t want to. And Red had known Griff enough to know the man was stiff-necked and arrogant all on his own. No one could blame Cassie for that. But whether Cassie was spoiled by Griff ’s wish or her own, Red had never known. He did know he hadn’t expected the cosseted china doll to cook. Yet there she stood, holding a heavy pot in her hands.
Red had seen the Griffin place and he knew Cassie didn’t lift a finger outside. He’d seen Griff working in the garden and hauling water, and everyone knew she bought all her dresses ready-made, so she didn’t sew. Those were all chores that most women would do, especially when there was so much work on a ranch and Griff didn’t hire any hands.
But Cassie refused. Why even on trips to town, on the rare occasion that Cassie would lower herself to appear, she rarely left the carriage, sitting alone, ignoring all and sundry. Yes, there was no doubt Cassie was spoiled.
But she’d cooked. He wondered how a man could unspoil a woman. He’d better figure it out, because however Cassie Griffin was, Cassie Dawson was going to have to rough it. There’d be no more silk dresses. Yup, Cassie was going to have to learn, and if it had to be the hard way, so be it.
He felt all strict and manly standing there with the milk and eggs. He was thinking that milking cows and collecting eggs were woman’s work and she’d better start carrying her weight around here with the stock, too. Then he asked God for an extra-large dose of wisdom and went inside to the wonderful smell of warm food and the even more wonderful sight of a beautiful woman.
She looked at him with that perfect china doll face. She blinked her huge brown eyes at him, and he thought maybe he could see why Griff would die trying to keep her happy.
Red stepped inside, setting the eggs down to swing the door shut without taking his eyes off his brand-new, beautiful, perfect wife.
His last thought as the door thudded shut was that he’d have to be careful, or he’d end up dying trying to keep her happy himself.
***
“Red Dawson, you’re gonna die.” Wade Sawyer lowered his rifle and rolled onto his back with a deep grunt of self-contempt. “I should’ve done it. I should’ve killed him where he stood.”
He’d had Dawson in his sights. One shot and the china doll would be his. He’d take her away and not bring her back until she had accepted Wade as her husband. Not even his pa would have a chance at her.
He rested against the cool rocks on the overhang near Dawson’s poor excuse for a house. “No one would have known. And even if anyone wondered, who would challenge a Sawyer’s word?”
Something quick and hard twisted in his stomach as he watched the dusk settle in through the branches of an overhanging pine. The china doll was nowhere in sight. A stray bullet could have hit her. Wade tried to convince himself that he’d held off with the shot because of that. But it wasn’t true. The truth was he was a coward. He should have killed Dawson. He should have proved to himself that he was man enough to take what he wanted.
He’d never had the guts to kill a man. He’d had his chances. Drunken cowpokes looking for trouble. Rustlers. A cardsharp once who had cheated him. His father’s men were always around, backing him up, like they’d done today with Tom Linscott. And some of Pa’s hands were salty enough that they’d step in eagerly to do any shooting without Wade having to show his yellow streak.
“I’m a coward. I should have killed him, but I’m too yellow.” Wade stared up at the sky and hated himself for being weak. Losing the china doll today was the final proof of it. He should have stood up to his pa. He should have told that old tyrant that he’d have to kill his own son in order to claim that beautiful woman.
When they’d heard about Griff, he’d told Pa he wanted her.
His pa had said, “Let’s share her, boy.”
It made Wade sick to think it now, and to stop his head from working, he sat u
p and fished his pint of whiskey out of his saddlebag and took a deep pull on it, trying to drown out the sound of his father’s filthy suggestion. His pa had gotten in the habit of thinking himself above the law. And that included the laws of God. Once a man started thinking that way, everything he wanted to do was right.
Surely even his father’s arrogance didn’t extend so far that he meant share the china doll.... Wade’s mind veered away from the thoughts and swallowed more of the rotgut. What Pa had meant was he’d take the land and Wade could have the woman. But that wasn’t what Pa said. And even if Pa intended to leave Cassie to Wade, Pa would still be her husband and Wade wouldn’t be able to marry her and treat her honorably. Even the hint of something so foul happening to the china doll drove Wade into a rage.
When Pa had said those words, “Let’s share her,” Wade had lunged.
Mort, in his seventies and half crippled from arthritis, had backhanded Wade so hard he’d been knocked to the floor. Then he’d kicked Wade in the ribs until Wade had cried and begged him to stop.
Mort had grabbed his hair and jerked his head back and roared, “You come at me, you’d better be ready to win, you whinin’ pup. You’re eighteen years old but you’re lyin’ on your belly crying like a baby girl. Now I expect you to back me up today.”
Wade should have crawled out of the room and come back with a gun. Instead he’d followed his father’s orders and humiliated his china doll. He’d mocked her in front of that crowd. He’d played the fool because he always did.
He thought about how much he hated his father. How often he’d dreamed of having the strength to beat him into the dirt. How often he’d had nightmares that ended in his own death at his father’s hands. But his other favorite dream ended when he killed his father. He woke up half crazy from all those nightmares, and only whiskey would quiet the torment.
Now Wade drew deep on his brown bottle, then lay on his back and nurtured his anger and fed his hatred, focusing it on Red Dawson.
The rage boiled in Wade’s stomach, a killing fury stirred in him, and he rolled back over, picked up his rifle, and took a bead on Dawson’s door. If Dawson stepped outside at that instant, he’d die.
Wade was ready. He was finally ready. He was finally man enough to kill.
He waited and watched and wanted and hated.
***
Cassie had been rehearsing what she’d say when Red returned. She was determined to talk at least a little, since she’d been mostly mute the whole time they’d been together. Griff had wanted an intelligent conversation with dinner. He’d always said she couldn’t hold up her end because she was so uneducated. Which was true. She’d quit school at fifteen when she got married. And he’d pointed out that her mind was naturally childlike, as was the case with most women. She thought that was true, too, because inside her head she spent a lot of time screaming and complaining and making sharp, crude remarks—very childish.
But Griff needed to be allowed to discuss his day. He said a man couldn’t relax properly without that. She had learned to smile politely and nod and make encouraging comments to keep him talking. She would try to talk enough to let Red tell her about his day but not so much as to annoy him.
“Everything’s ready. If you want to wash up, we can eat right now.” She hoped she wasn’t being bossy.
Red smiled wide. “It smells great. To walk in and have a meal set down in front of you is a real nice thing, Cassie. It makes me feel like a king. Thank you very much for this.”
Cassie was dishing the ham onto Red’s plate and she almost dropped it. Making dinner was her duty. The notion that Red would thank her for that almost knocked her over. She nodded and almost smiled, but she controlled the silly impulse. “There’s water warming in the fireplace. I could ladle it for you.” She set the ham down and moved toward the fireplace where she’d settled a pot of water to warm.
“No, I’ll get it. You’ve done enough.” Red waved her away and hurried to scoop water into a basin. He set the basin in the sink, rolled up his sleeves, and washed his hands all the way to his elbows. Then he washed his face and ran his hands into his hair, finger-combing it. He took the bowl outside and tossed the water and came to the table.
While he washed, Cassie spooned a plateful of potatoes, gravy, ham, and biscuit for each of them and hung a coffeepot over the flames to be ready when dinner was done.
As Red pulled out his chair, Cassie sat quietly, ready to memorize any critical word he said about the potatoes she’d whipped so smooth or the gravy she’d fussed over to rid it of the tiniest lumps. She needed to confess her use of yeast on the biscuits because he would no doubt disapprove of extravagance. And she was afraid she’d made too much of everything and it would go to waste. Or too little of everything and Red would go hungry. She took small servings herself, even though the wonderful smell of ham had been torturing her for an hour. She would take more later if there was any left.
She picked up her fork and lifted the first bite of the luscious meat to her lips, when Red said, “We say the blessing first, Cass.”
She almost dropped her fork. Those were words her mother had always said to her as a child. “Before we eat, we ask God to bless the food, Cassandra.”
Griff said it was a meaningless ritual.
Cassie laid down her fork and folded her hands in her lap. She nodded at Red then bowed her head.
There was a long silence and it took all of Cassie’s willpower not to peek at Red and see if he’d prayed silently and was now eating without her while she sat, eyes closed, waiting. When Red finally spoke, it wasn’t like the sweet, memorized prayer her mother had always said. Red just talked to God.
“Father, Cass and I got married today. You were there, Lord, I felt You there. Bless this marriage we began today and bless the soul of Lester Griffin. And take care of the babe, Lord. It’s a big responsibility. I need You to give Cass and me the wisdom to be good parents. Thank You for this wonderful meal Cassie made. Let us use the strength we get from this good food to do Your work on this earth. In Jesus’ name. Amen.”
Cassie lifted her head and said, “That was a nice prayer, R—uh ... uh...” Cassie was struck speechless. She pressed her fingers over her lips as she realized that she didn’t know her husband’s name and found she couldn’t call him Red.
“What, Cass? Is something wrong?” Red looked worried and she saw him take a quick glance at her stomach.
Cassie dropped her eyes to her lap and whispered, “I ... Red isn’t...” She glanced up at him, afraid he’d be angry at her stupid question, but she had to ask. She whispered, “Should I know your real name?”
He looked dumbfounded for about two seconds, then he grinned so widely that she lifted her fingers away from her lips and smiled back.
“I reckon a wife oughta know her husband’s name,” Red announced and started laughing. Cassie was amazed to hear the sound of laughter come from her own lips. It was a sound she hadn’t heard for three years. She slipped her fingers back over her mouth to stop herself.
She remembered the moment, the circumstances of the last time she’d laughed. Griff had asked her to marry him and she’d yelled, “Yes!” and laughed and flung her arms around his neck. He’d pulled her arms away from him roughly and shook her so hard her head had snapped back and forth and tears had come to her eyes. He’d told her she was making a fool of herself and to please try and moderate her voice and not flaunt herself.
Griff had corrected her from the very beginning, even before her mother died when he’d cared for the family accounts. Then, when he’d been put in charge of Cassie’s inheritance, he’d been even more strict. She accepted that because he was so much older and wiser. But Griff had always been kind, carefully explaining things to her and with incredible patience telling her he didn’t expect much from her until she’d had the chance at proper training.
But that day, he had shaken her so violently her neck stung and she could feel the bruises forming on her arms. She’d immediately ap
ologized, and she’d begun the hard work of growing up so she could be worthy of a man as fine as Griff. She’d never, never shouted again and she hadn’t laughed out loud in three years.
Now Red was laughing, and she had laughed back. He didn’t seem upset at all. Cassie decided in that moment that it wasn’t what the rules were that was important. It was finding them out and obeying them. She would have to learn a whole new set of rules, but she could do it. She could be the wife that Red deserved.
“My name is Fitzgerald O’Neill Dawson. My mother was born in Ireland and she landed all her love for the Old Country right smack on my head with a single name.”
“Fitzgerald O’Neill Dawson?”
“It’s a mouthful.” Red turned to his ham and started cutting.
“It’s a fine name. Do you want me to call you Red?” She’d always called Griff by his nickname because he had dictated that she should. Now she waited for Red to make his wishes known. Cassie carefully imitated Red’s motions, picking up her fork and knife seconds after he did.
“Red’s okay. I doubt if I’d know to answer if anyone called me Fitzgerald of all things. Even my ma called me Red.”
“Tell me about your parents, Red,” Cassie asked politely. She was suddenly excited about the wealth of questions she could ask of a man she didn’t know at all. She could keep him talking for months.
“Well, let’s see. My pa was a parson. Ma had hair as red as mine, and there were ten children in all.”
“Ten children!” Cassie gasped.
“Yeah, I was the youngest. Six of the kids died of one thing and another, mostly before I was born. So, there are four of us grown. Let’s see ... of the six that died, we lost one in the War Between the States. Another fought and got home okay, but scarlet fever went through and killed him. Another brother, the one that was next older than me, and the two sisters next older than him died of yellow fever before I was born. And I had a sister who died having her first babe. I was old enough to remember that.”
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