The Dove: The Second Day (The 12 Days 0f Christmas Mail-Order Brides Book 2)

by Shanna Hatfield

  The baby sighed right along with the women standing in the entry.

  “Ready?” he asked.

  “Yes,” Kezia said, ignoring the looks of the other brides as she swept out the door with Culver.

  She felt his hand settle on her arm through the wool of her cloak as he kept step with her along the street.

  He looked down at her with a pleased grin. “I don’t know what you made, but it smells wonderful. If we don’t hurry to my shop, someone might try to snatch the basket right out of my hands.”

  Kezia gave him a reproachful glare followed by a sassy smile. “I can’t quite believe you, of all people, Culver Daniels, would allow anyone to snatch something you wanted right out of your hands.” Her gaze traveled from his head down to his boots and back again as she made a tsking sound with her tongue. “It’s a shame a big, strapping man such as yourself would allow someone to come between you and the object of your desire.”

  Culver stumbled and had to work to keep from dropping the basket or falling in the snow.

  Kezia swallowed back her amusement as he regained his balance. He turned to her with emerald sparks shooting from his eyes. “Are we still talking about dinner or something else, Mrs. Mirga? It seems to me the conversation is no longer about food.”

  “Oh, well, I…” She’d been baiting him with her words and was well aware of the fact. She just didn’t realize he’d catch on so soon. She could add intelligent and perceptive to his list of traits. Whether they fell in the column of positive or negative attributes remained yet to be determined. Unprepared to talk about serious matters, she glanced up at the sky and took a deep breath. “This fresh air is quite invigorating.”

  “Invigorating,” Culver repeated, giving her a look that did little to hide his baffled expression.

  In an effort to smooth things over, she began asking him about his business and he turned his attention to answering her questions.

  By the time they reached the blacksmith shop, they’d both fallen into an easy conversation. Culver opened the door and ushered her inside. She kept step with him to his rooms at the back of the building.

  Once they were inside, Kezia realized she’d forgotten to pack the jar of pickles. “I forgot something, Culver. Do you mind waiting a moment to eat? I’ll run back to the, um… to our place and get it.”

  “I can go, Kezia. No need for you to be out in the cold,” Culver offered, taking a step toward the door.

  “Thank you, but it’ll be faster for me to go, since I know where I left it.” She handed the baby to Culver then kissed Jem’s cheek. “Be a good girl while I’m gone.”

  Kezia left before Culver could offer a protest. From watching him with her daughter earlier, she was sure Jemimah was in good hands, but she wanted to be sure before she made any further plans to marry the blacksmith. A lifetime of fearing men left her wary of allowing another into her life, even if she refused to give him a place in her heart.

  Lifting her skirts in one hand, she raced back to the brothel and into the kitchen. She snatched up the jar of pickles and rushed out the door before anyone even noticed her presence. It took mere minutes for her to return to the blacksmith shop. Quietly easing open the door, she wanted to see how Culver interacted with her daughter when he didn’t know she was around.

  Silently slipping inside the building, she stood and listened. The rumble of Culver’s voice drew her to the livery. She peeked around the doorway. He stood with his back to her, pointing toward something up in the rafters.

  “See up there, Jem?” He tried to get the baby to follow the line of his finger to where a pair of turtledoves cooed from their spot on a solid beam. “Those are doves, just like your name. Yep, that’s a pair of turtledoves. They’ve been here in my shop for a while. Not sure where they came from, but here they are all the same.” Culver grinned down at the baby. “When they hold their wings just right, it looks like they’re forming hearts. I wouldn’t point that out to any of the fellas in town, but I think it’s kind of pretty when they do. I’ll tell you something else, little Jemimah. I betcha those two doves are thinking about settling down and having some baby doves. He’s quite taken with her, but Miss Dove hasn’t yet decided if she’s ready to love him. She draws close and then pulls away.”

  Kezia watched as Culver lifted her daughter a little higher and rubbed his face against Jemimah’s neck. The baby squealed with glee then patted his cheeks with her tiny hands.

  “Liked that, did you?” Culver asked, brushing his whiskers against the baby’s smooth skin.

  Kezia knew he’d shaved earlier, for his skin looked so taut and tempting the first time she’d seen him that morning. Yet, it appeared he could use another shave as stubble covered his jaw and chin. For a moment, she wished she could touch him as freely as her daughter did, to rub her fingers over those whiskers and bask in his attentions.

  Mentally shaking herself to gain control of her thoughts, she hid in the shadows of the doorway and watched the blacksmith with her precious girl.

  “Do you think your mama is like that dove, Jem? Do you suppose she’ll come around to liking me at some point? I’ll confess to you, mostly because you can’t talk, that I’m quite taken with your beautiful mother. I’ve never, in my life, met a woman like her. The idea of taking her for a wife doesn’t bother me like I thought it would. In fact, I rather like the thought of marrying her. And I’d get you as a bonus.” Culver planted a kiss to the dark curls atop the baby’s head and gently bounced her in his arms.

  “I know this isn’t the best place for a baby, but if your mama does decide to marry me, I promise I’ll do my best to keep you safe, Jemimah. I could teach you to ride a horse and maybe you’d grow up to be a lady silversmith. Would you like that?”

  Jemimah cooed at him, much like the doves in the rafters.

  “Is that a yes?” Culver asked, shifting her in his arms. “Shall we go back inside by the fire? I don’t want you to get cold out here, although the livery is usually a comfortable place to be. Do you like the horses, Jem?” He pointed to the horses in each stall as he slowly walked past them, stopping to check on Doc Deane’s horse. “Do you know the sound a horse makes, Jemimah? A horse neighs.” He made the sound several times, delighting the baby. He pointed to the cat. “Meow. That’s what the cat says. Meow.” As they moved along the stalls, he stopped in front of the milk cow. “Moo. That’s the sound the cow makes. Moo.” Jemimah laughed and touched his lips. “Do it again?” he asked as the baby blinked at him with big eyes. “Moo goes the cow.”

  Jemimah tried to mimic the sound, pursing her little rosebud lips.

  Culver chuckled. “You’ve almost got it, Jem. Keep trying. Moo.”

  Kezia retraced her steps and opened the front door to Culver’s business, soundlessly escaping outside. She leaned against the side of his building, gathering her composure before she made her presence known.

  Conflicted by what she knew about men and what she’d just witnessed from the blacksmith, she wondered if he was truly as kind and gentle as he seemed. He’d certainly impressed her with the way he’d treated her daughter, holding her as if she was a priceless treasure.

  A man who could be that tender with someone else’s child would certainly be good to his own. Would he treat a wife with as much consideration and care?

  Culver Daniels seemed entirely too good to be true. Until she found out more about him, she’d remain on guard, cautious where he was concerned.

  With her thoughts whirring in a hundred directions, Kezia took a calming breath and opened the door. Culver glanced over his shoulder at her as he opened the door to his private rooms. He smiled and turned so Jemimah could see her mother as Kezia hurried their direction.

  “Did you two have fun while I was gone?” Kezia asked, preceding Culver inside when he motioned for her to lead the way.

  “I just showed Jem some birds in the livery. They’ve been roosting up in the rafters.” With one hand, Culver helped Kezia remove her cloak then watched as s
he set the jar of pickles on the table.

  Kezia took her daughter from him and unwrapped the blanket that kept her snuggled in warmth. “I hope she wasn’t any bother.” Jemimah wiggled her arms and legs then reached out for Culver.

  Without hesitation, he took her, holding her on one brawny arm while he pulled out one of the chairs at his table. “Won’t you take a seat, Kezia?”

  Unused to men with manners, Kezia stared at the chair a moment before slowly sitting down. Culver edged the chair a bit closer to the table then sat down across from her, still holding Jemimah.

  “You won’t be able to enjoy your dinner if you hold her the whole time,” Kezia said, rising and spreading Jemimah’s blanket on the floor on the rug. “She can sit here while we eat. I’ll just have to make sure she doesn’t get too close to the fireplace.”

  “We’ll both keep an eye on her,” Culver said, as he set the baby on the blanket. Kezia gave her the rattle Culver made and the baby shook it enthusiastically, chortling at the sound it made.

  “That should keep her busy for a minute or two.” Kezia resumed her seat. To her surprise, Culver shifted to the chair beside hers so he could also keep an eye on Jemimah.

  Unsettled by his warmth and masculine presence so near, she nervously placed three meat pies on a plate and handed it to him. “I hope you like these. I didn’t have a lot of time or ingredients.”

  Culver bit into one of the meat pies and closed his eyes as he enjoyed the savory treat. “This might be the best thing I’ve eaten since I left Denver.”

  Kezia grinned and reached for the pickle jar, prepared to open it. Culver took it from her and removed the lid with a quick twist of his big hand. She glimpsed the muscles in his arm and felt her mouth go dry. Why, oh why, did this man have to be the one she promised to wed? She’d have been better off with some old man too worn out to demand more of her than clean clothes and decent meals.

  No, she had to commit to marrying a young man. Not just any young man, but one of the biggest, most muscular men she’d ever encountered. How would it feel to have those powerful arms holding her close or to rest against the wall of his firm chest?

  Flustered, she drank from the glass of water he’d set near her plate while she was gone to retrieve the pickles.

  To hide her emotional turmoil, she glanced at Culver as he finished his second meat pie and started on the third.

  “You mentioned Denver. Is that where you grew up?” she asked.

  He shook his head and swallowed the bite in his mouth before he spoke. “No. I lived there for a while before I decided to move to Noelle. I was born and raised on a small farm in Missouri. My parents wanted a large family, but none of the babies born after me lived very long. Then the war came along and my father went off to fight for the Confederates.”

  He leaned back in his chair. A look of such loss and sadness filled his face, Kezia’s own heart pinched with pain. She reached out a hand and placed it over his where it rested beside his plate.

  “What happened?” she asked in a quiet voice.

  “My mother and I kept things going as best we could. Mama died a year later and that’s when I ran off and joined the Union Army. I padded my age a bit, but I looked full-grown and no one ever questioned my right to be there. The anger I felt toward my father for leaving us and the farm drove me through many dark days. I wanted to fight against him and that’s why I joined the Yankees. It was childish and stupid of me, but I blamed him for my mother’s death. The doctor said she died of a heart problem, but at the time I thought he meant from my father breaking it with his departure.”

  “Oh, Culver, that’s terrible,” Kezia said, squeezing his hand reassuringly when he turned his over so their palms connected.

  “It was terrible. The war was a horrible time for everyone. My father had taught me basic blacksmithing skills and that’s what I found myself doing for the most part during the war. I was good at it and could handle the horses better than many. I saw my share of fighting and it’s not something I ever want to do again.”

  “Did you ever return to the farm?” she asked when Culver remained silent, lost in his past.

  “I did. When the war ended, I returned only to discover my father had died during the war. I tried to stay there, to farm, but there were too many memories, both good and bad. I sold it, packed up a few things, and headed off with no destination in mind. I ended up in Denver and worked for a blacksmith there for a while. When I heard about Noelle, I decided it was time to open my own business. And here I am.”

  Kezia gave his hand another squeeze, before pulling hers back to her lap. “I’m sorry you had so many losses, Culver. Were you close to your parents before the war?”

  “I was. My mother had a tendency to baby me, since I was her only surviving child. My father and I had some good times. We both liked to fish, hunt, and ride. He taught me everything he knew about farming and horses and being a good man. When he joined the fighting, it left such a hole in my life and my heart.”

  He released a long breath and ran a hand across the back of his neck. “I’m sorry. That’s not exactly a cheerful conversation to have with someone you barely know, particularly over a fine Christmas meal.”

  “I don’t mind, Culver. I like knowing more about you.” Kezia did want to know more about him. He fascinated her in a way no other man ever had.

  “What about you?” he asked, biting into a crunchy pickle. “Where were you born?”

  Kezia fluttered her eyelashes at him and tossed her hair, hoping it would distract him as it had hundreds of men before him. Anytime a man asked her something she didn’t want to answer, she’d learned to turn his thoughts to something else. It had worked with everyone except her husband. “Let’s talk more about you.”

  Culver leaned forward, not swayed by her attempts at directing the conversation elsewhere. “No, let’s talk about you. I won’t marry a woman who won’t at least tell me where she came from.”

  She tossed her hair again and offered him a stunning smile.

  Culver shook his head. “I might be under your spell, Kezia Mirga, but not enough I don’t realize you’re trying to hoodwink me. Now, talk.”

  Chapter Eight

  Culver watched emotions thunder across Kezia’s face before she brought them under control and tossed him a carefree and entirely fake smile.

  He might be any number of things, but stupid wasn’t one of them. She’d been hiding things from him since the moment he met her yesterday. “Go on, Kezia. I want to hear your story. How did you end up with Mrs. Walters’ group? What happened to your husband? Why were you in Denver?”

  “There’s not much to tell. My husband died, I needed a job, so I took one in Denver. It didn’t give me much time for spending with Jem, so I sought something better.” She shrugged. “That’s about it.”

  Culver’s gaze narrowed. “I’m not sure how dumb you think I am, but there is a whole lot more to your story than that. Let’s try again. Where were you born?”

  “New Jersey.”

  He kept his expression impassive. At least he’d gotten something out of her. “Where in New Jersey?”

  “I have no idea.” Kezia toyed with her fork, refusing to meet his gaze. “My parents were gypsies, traveling with their clan. From what I know, I was born in our wagon on the side of the road. My birth killed my mother and my father never forgave me for taking the one thing in this world he loved more than his vices.”

  “I’m sorry, Zee. Did you grow up living on the road?”

  “For the most part. When my father wasn’t too drunk to travel with the others, we joined them. Other times, we’d camp somewhere he could steal either money or whiskey. If he became truly desperate for the booze, he’d work just enough to pay for the next bottle.”

  Uncertain what to say, Culver remained silent. He reached out and took the fork from Kezia’s fingers, then held her hand in his, wanting to offer her comfort.

  When she continued staring at her plate instead of talk
ing, Culver felt the need to speak. “How long did that go on?”

  “Until my father sold me to my despicable husband.”

  Stunned, Culver tightened his grip on her hand. “He… he what?”

  “My father, he always drank excessively on my birthday. He called it remembering the worst day of his life.” Kezia glanced at Culver and the hurt haunting her eyes made him grieve the childhood she never had, the love she’d never known.

  “So he was drunk when he sold you to someone?”

  She shook her head. “No more than usual. We’d stopped for the night near a circus. Several of the performers wandered over to see our wagons and one of the men, Bavel Mirga, noticed me. My father forced me to sing for them. Bavel offered five dollars for me and my father greedily took it. An older woman we sometimes traveled with insisted Bavel marry me or my clan wouldn’t let me go. So that’s how I went from being the daughter of a drunken madman to marrying an abusive beast. Bavel beat me that first night until I couldn’t stand upright. From then on, I learned to do as he pleased or be beaten into submission.”

  Kezia pulled aside her hair and tugged the neck of her blouse down slightly, showing Culver a jagged scar that ran from her collarbone downward. “That was when I refused to let him rent me to a group of men who didn’t want to bother finding a brothel.”

  Culver was glad her husband was dead or he might have sought him out just to strangle him with his bare hands. Before he could offer a word of comfort or pity, Kezia continued.

  “Bavel made me part of his act in the circus. He taught me how to walk the tightrope and to climb the silk ropes. Singing, I already knew, but the circus used my skill to increase their coffers in spite of how much I hated performing like that. People would come from miles around to see me in a gilded birdcage hoisted high in the air where I’d sit on a swing and sing to the crowds. Bavel was paid well for our performances. He made sure I had clothes befitting a star performer, but I never saw a penny of the money he earned. If he’d given any to me, I would have run away. Not that I didn’t try many times, but the beatings got worse, so I gave up and stayed.”