by Kaki Warner
“Prudence will speak when she is ready.”
“And we’re just to wait?”
Thomas had turned his head and looked at her then, and Edwina had seen a wealth of wisdom and patience and certainty in his dark eyes. “When it is time, she will come to me. So yes, I will wait.”
And waited still.
Edwina sighed and waved a fly away, showering her nose with fine sawdust. If only Declan would show such devotion to me, she thought for the umpteenth time. But he seemed to have forgotten her existence, which made her own nights as restless and tearful as Pru’s.
Feeling a familiar churn in her stomach, she pulled her bowl closer, closed her eyes, and breathed through her nose. When the queasiness passed, she resumed sanding, her irritation shifting away from her sister to her . . . what? Lover? Once-and-nearlyhusband? The man who had ignored her for over a month? That lump.
Granted, she had wanted Declan and the children to have time together to come to terms with Sally’s death. But really. It had been almost five weeks since the funeral. She hadn’t meant for them to completely ignore her. Forever.
She had seen him only once during that time—the day he had turned over the sheriff’s job to Buck Aldrich and had gone to pack up the contents of the little house beside Elderberry Creek. Through Lucinda and Maddie, she had learned that soon after, Amos and Chick and the children had left in a wagon creaking under the weight of window glass, milled boards, assorted building materials and furniture, while Declan had ridden off into the mountains with a string of horses.
Then nothing. Not a word, other than Thomas’s assurances that Declan would come back when he could. Men.
It wasn’t fair. She deserved an explanation of why they had deserted her, didn’t she? As if to punctuate her aggravation, her stomach rolled. Dropping the sanding block to the floor, she shot to her feet, barely getting her bowl in position before her stomach cramped. Luckily the cramping didn’t last long and produced no result. Leaning dizzily against the wall, she waited for the churning to stop.
“You poor dear.” Maddie paused in her painting to give Edwina a look of sympathy. “I wish there was something we could do for you.”
Edwina weakly waved her away. “It’ll pass.”
“I think it’s revolting. The whole thing.” Wobbling on the stool, Lucinda rose on tiptoe to fit the rod into the bracket above the window. “God must surely hate women to put them through that.”
“Just wait until the birthing starts,” Maddie called gaily, then caught Edwina’s glare and hastily added, “A miracle, I’ve been told. A woman’s grandest achievement.”
“Really, Maddie.” Lucinda tugged on one side to even the hem, then nodded in satisfaction. “You make her sound like a brood mare.”
“This isn’t God’s fault.” Anger replacing nausea, Edwina set the bowl on the windowsill. “It’s his. He just had to consummate, and now look at me.” She scowled down at her midriff, which at six weeks was still flat, especially with all the weight she had lost. Yet she felt as bloated as a spring tick.
“You look wonderful,” Maddie gushed, slapping on another brush full of whitewash. “Glorious. Glowing.”
“Oh, please, Maddie. She just vomited.”
Edwina felt tears start and kicked at her sanding block in disgust. If she wasn’t heaving, she was crying. Maybe Lucinda had a point. “I can’t believe this is happening! Why is he ignoring me? Has he changed his mind? Does he not love me anymore? Is that it? Why else would he—”
A thought struck her, one so unexpected and terrifying it almost buckled her knees. What if something had happened? What if he was hurt or the children were sick or the Indians had come again? What if he was out there now waiting for her to come to him?
Oh, Declan.
Panic sent her mind in flight. “I have to go! Now!” She raced toward the door just as it swung open and Pru stepped inside.
“Pru!” Edwina cried, rushing her sister before she could close the door. “Did Thomas bring you? Is he still here?”
“He might be. He said he—”
Edwina bolted past her, saw Thomas walking away. “Thomas!” she yelled, charging toward him. “You have to take me to the ranch! Now!”
Pru insisted on going, too, and if there had been enough room in Lucinda’s smart four-wheeled buggy, Lucinda and Maddie would have joined them, as well. As it was, the three of them were quite crowded. Oddly enough, despite the jostling and bouncing, Edwina’s stomach remained calm, and only once did she have use of the bowl she held in her lap throughout the daylong journey.
Thomas set a fast pace. Now that they were full into summer, the days were longer, and even with the late start, they crossed Satan’s Backbone well before dark. Leaning forward, Edwina peered down through the trees, trying to catch a glimpse of the house. Thomas had repeatedly tried to reassure her, but she needed to see for herself that it was still standing. When she saw that it was, she breathed a sigh of relief.
Forty-five minutes later, Rusty barked in welcome as they pulled up in front of the house. Before the dust settled, children were tearing out of the parlor door.
“Thomas!” Brin cried, bounding down the steps. Then she caught sight of Edwina and abruptly stopped. “Oh, no! Look who he brought!”
“What are you doing here?” Joe Bill demanded, stopping beside her.
“You’ve ruined everything,” R.D. added.
Even Lucas, hanging back on the porch, greeted her with a frown.
They didn’t want her. They didn’t love her anymore.
Burying her face in her hands, Edwina burst into tears.
The buggy rocked as Thomas, then Pru climbed down. Voices rose and fell, but Edwina couldn’t hear them over her own sobs.
After a while, silence. Even Rusty quit barking, and all she heard was the occasional stomp and jangle of harness as the horse shifted in the traces. She took a deep, hitching breath and, using the hem of her skirt, wiped the last tears from her face.
“Are you getting down or not?” a familiar voice said, startling her.
She looked up and saw Declan leaning against the front panel, his elbow resting on the dashboard. He was smiling. The dog.
“No.” She continued to wipe her face even as new tears threatened. How could he smile when her heart was breaking?
The buggy rocked on creaking springs as he climbed in and settled on the seat beside her. He was so close she could feel his heat, smell his sweat, hear his breath move in and out. She wanted to hit him.
“Why are you crying?”
She stared stoically out the other side of the buggy, wondering how she had ever loved such a dense man. “I’m not crying.”
“You were.”
She didn’t respond, refusing to admit her heart was breaking in a thousand pieces. She had some pride left.
“Nice buggy,” he said after a long silence.
“It’s Lucinda’s.”
“I figured.”
Another long silence. It finally wore her down. “Apparently my coming was a mistake. I apologize for upsetting the children.”
He shrugged, his shoulder bumping against hers. “They’ll get over it. What’s the bowl for?”
Ha! As if she would tell him now. She might be in a pickle, but she wasn’t desperate enough to trap a man with that old trick. She’d suffered enough humiliation. “Since I haven’t heard from you in a while”—seventeen days, in fact, and even then he’d been in such a rush to get his wagon of supplies back to the ranch before dark he had hardly spared her five minutes—“I was starting to worry that perhaps something had happened.”
“Everything’s fine. I’ve just been busy.”
She contemplated striking him but was saved from making a decision when the parlor door opened and Brin shouted, “We’re ready!”
Ready for what?
Declan climbed down, then turned to assist her. He was grinning again. “Come on. They’ve been planning this a long time.”
Edwina he
sitated. “Planning what?”
“You’ll see.” Taking her waist in his big hands, he swung her down, but instead of letting her go, he tucked her hand in his elbow and escorted her toward the front porch. “You know I love you, don’t you?” he said as they walked toward the porch.
Edwina almost stumbled. “Well . . . I . . .”
“I wasn’t sure I could love again,” he went on. “Especially after the mess I made of my first marriage. I didn’t expect a second chance. And I sure didn’t expect it to come with a woman like you.”
Wondering what that was supposed to mean, Edwina just stared up at him, her heart daring to hope.
Once on the porch, he stopped. Letting go of her arm, he took her face in his big, rough hands and kissed her. Then he kissed her again, and finally a third time. When he lifted his head, he might have been smiling but Edwina couldn’t tell because she was tearing up again.
“I don’t deserve you, Ed,” he said in a solemn voice. “But I’m not going to make it without you, and the children aren’t, either. So, I hope you’ll love us back.” He let go of her face and grinned. “Prepare yourself,” he whispered and opened the door.
A fistful of mountain daisies was thrust into her face. Several fistfuls. Four, in fact. “Surprise!” the children shrieked.
Edwina glanced from one face to another. Beautiful, hopeful, beloved faces. Even Pru, standing beside Thomas by a new settee, was smiling as she hadn’t in weeks. Above their heads, hanging from the rafters by bright colored yarn, was a crudely lettered sign: WELCOME HOME, ED. Other signs, pinned about the room, all carried the same words: SAY YES.
Edwina’s heart seemed to swell in her chest.
She looked up through tearing eyes to find Declan grinning down at her, his beautiful eyes dancing. “Will you marry us, Ed?”
She tried to smile, but her mouth was wobbling. “A-All of you?”
“All of us!” Brin shouted, waving the daisies and sending up a cloud of pollen that made Lucas sneeze. R.D. nodded. Joe Bill did, too, showing the gap of another lost tooth in a big grin.
“Well . . . let me think . . .”
The children sent up a chorus of pleas. Pru sent her a chiding look and Declan laughed softly, his eyes promising retribution.
Edwina shivered at that delicious prospect.
“You almost ruined the surprise!” Brin shouted. “But I’ll still bake you a cake! All by myself!”
“And we fixed the house,” R.D. added proudly. “It took forever.”
Joe Bill hooted and danced a jig with Lucas. “No more stink!”
Only then did Edwina see other changes in the parlor, the new furniture, the special touches here and there. For her?
“In that case,” she blubbered, laughing and crying at the same time, “of course I’ll marry you. All of—”
Suddenly the ground shifted. Her stomach rolled. Clapping a hand over her mouth, she looked frantically around.
“She’s gonna spew!” Joe Bill cried.
Daisies flew. Children fled.
“Holy hell,” Declan muttered, as his wife started to heave. He looked anxiously at Pru, saw her standing there laughing like a loon, and was so shocked he couldn’t move.
Then realization came.
“Does this mean what I think it means?” He looked down just as his beautiful southern wife vomited on his boots, and all he could do was laugh.
Thus, the true courtship of Edwina Ladoux Brodie began.
And in the nick of time.
Turn the page for a preview of
Kaki Warner’s next book
in the Runaway Brides series . . .
COLORADO DAWN
Coming soon from Berkley Sensation!
Cursing softly, Lord Ashby—or Ash, as his new London friends had named him—braced his elbows on the limb of the pine he was hiding behind and adjusted the focus on his new binoculars.
Damn newfangled contraption. He liked his old field glasses better. The offset lenses might have been bulkier, but the image was brighter. This roof prism design darkened everything too much.
He twisted the adjustment again. The figure beside the creek blurred, then came sharply into focus. A woman. Auburn hair. Undressing.
Undressing? He pulled the glasses down, then quickly raised them again and scanned until he found her. Definitely undressing. In the open. Like a wee highland fairy. This couldna be the woman he’d been tracking across two continents for the last six months. The woman he sought was a gently bred Englishwoman. Much too proper to do such a thing.
But just to be sure, he continued to watch.
Nice form. Long legs. Skin as pale as pink marble, even with these darker lenses. And that hair had the look of the Highlands in it, catching the sun like burnished copper as she lifted her arms to—Bluidy hell.
Leaning forward as if that might bring the image closer, he peered in disbelief at the silver-dollar-sized birthmark below her right breast.
God bless Scotland. He’d found her. Damn her hide.
Lowering the glasses, he pushed away from the tree, then flinched when something jabbed into the middle of his back. Something hard and round and cold. Like a gun barrel.
“Hands in the air,” a gravelly male voice ordered. “And don’t move, you damn lecher.”
Unclear how he was expected to do both, he hesitated, then raised his hands. “I’m no’ a lecher.”
Another jab in his back almost knocked him off balance. “You were spying on a lady.”
“I wasna spying. And any woman who touts herself about like a Newmarket tart on race day is no—”
“Show some respect!” A sharp crack on the side of his head sent him staggering.
“What the hell?” Lifting a hand to his temple, he felt a knot already forming and let loose several Gaelic curses, adding more from India and a few from Ireland. “What did you do that for, you manky bastard!”
“What’s that? Foreign talk?”
“Bugger off.”
“Damned foreigners. You’re everywhere. Keep your hands up and turn around.”
Hands raised, he turned to find a rifle—a Winchester Model 1866, by the look of it—an inch from his nose. Behind it, a grizzled old man peered up at him out of a face full of whiskers. At least, one eye peered up at him. The other was pointed off to the right somewhere. Concentrating on the one aimed in his direction, he wondered if he should put down the old man now, or wait to see what he wanted. He’d truly like to have that Winchester. His breechloading Snider-Enfield was no match for the newer lever-action repeating rifles.
The gun barrel banged against his nose to get his attention. “Manky. That’s good, right?” When he gave no answer, the barrel banged again.
“Donna do that,” Ash ground out, his temper fraying and his eyes watering from the blows to his nose.
The eye glanced up at his raised hand. “What’s that you’re holding?”
“Field glasses.”
“Hand them over.”
“No.”
“No?” The old fellow was clearly taken aback by the refusal. Then he grinned, showing more gum than teeth. “You’re a big one, ain’t you? But I doubt you’re big enough to win over a bullet. Care to try?”
“What do you want, old man?”
The grin faded. “I want to shoot you, and that’s the truth of it. But she’d hear and get upset and then I’d have to sit through another lecture. No, thank you. So we’ll let her decide what to do with you. Open your coat.” When Ash did, the old man frowned at his sword belt. “No gun?”
Ash shook his head.
“You army?”
“Cavalry. British. Retired.”
“Don’t sound British.”
“That’s because I’m Scottish.”
“I thought you said you were British.”
Ash sighed. “Can I put away my field glasses?” He didn’t want them damaged when he disarmed the old fellow.
“Where’s your sword?” the man asked after Ash stowed
the glasses in the sabretache case on his sword belt. “And get your hands up.”
Ash raised his hands again. “Ireland.” What was left of it, anyway.
“I thought you were Scottish.”
“I am.”
Now it was the old man who sighed. “British, Scottish, Irish. You foreigners confuse the hell out of me. I’ll let her sort it out.” The rifle waved in front of Ash’s face. “But make no mistake. You’ll show the lady respect or I’ll drop you where you stand. Understand?”
“Aye.”
“I what?”
“Aye—yes—I understand. What about my horse?” He rotated an upraised hand to point toward the brush where he’d left Lurch tied. He didn’t mention Tricks, not wanting to involve him unless necessary.
“I’ll get him later. After she decides if I get to kill you or not. March.”
They marched, although it was a far cry from any of the marches that had been drilled into him throughout almost two decades of military service. Following a faint trail, they cut through a forest of scorched stumps and blackened tree trunks, evidence of a fire that had swept through years ago. Already, vine maple and native shrubs were taking over, tangling with their legs and crowding against the shoots of a new forest rising out of the ashes. But once they broke into unburned woods where high limbs blocked the sun and kept undergrowth low, the going became easier.
Ash knew he could take the old man at any time—just slow down enough until the rifle was within reach, then do what he had been trained to do. Whirl, grab, and twist, then kick. But his left side remained weak from his old injury, and after that crack on his temple, quick movements made his head pound, so he marched stoically on. Besides, he was anxious to see the woman up close, still not convinced he’d finally found her.
Blasted headstrong woman. She’d run him a merry chase, so she had. But he had her now. The idea of that made him smile.
After several minutes tromping through woods and over fallen trees, he asked if he could put his arms down. “My hands are going to sleep.”
