The next thing he knew, he lay sprawled in the damp sand. For a stunned instant, he couldn’t think what had happened. Then, as his senses cleared, he realized she had slapped his face. Only
slap
didn’t begin to describe the force she’d put behind the blow. Even hunkered down on his heels, it took a lot to throw David off balance, much less knock him flat.
Face still smarting, he rose to his feet and glared down at her. He couldn’t quite believe she’d struck him with that much strength, and yet his scrambled brain told him that she had. Schooled from childhood not to hit back when he dealt with a female, David jammed his hands into his back pockets. Were there no limits to what this woman would dream up to get rid of him?
“Well, now, that’s quite a right hook. Next time, double your fist, and maybe you’ll give me a bit of a jolt.”
Instead of retreating, she leaped to her feet, clutching a handful of sand and pebbles. She threw it at him, and her
voice held a thread of hysteria under the wild anger that throbbed through it.
“Damn you to eternal
hell
, Mr. Paxton. I’ve told you the truth, a truth I’ve never told
anyone
, and every word was wrenched from my heart. Yet you stand there and
mock
me? A
curse
on you!” She actually swept up her right arm and pointed a rigid finger at his temple. “May God strike you dead!”
U
Every step she took seemed to be a struggle. She obviously needed to use the liniment. But, oh, no, she was too stubborn by half—and a gifted liar, to boot. Disheartened, David crouched by the water. It wouldn’t do for him to return to camp just yet. He couldn’t trust himself to hold his tongue in front of Daphne.
The tale Brianna had just entertained him with was the most inventive she’d spun so far. He could believe that she and her sister had been raised in an orphanage. Well, it was a stretch, but he could reconcile it in his mind, at least. And he could have swallowed that her sister had died in childbirth, leaving Brianna to raise Daphne as her own. Shit like that happened. Hell, a variation thereof had occurred in his own family when his father had been wrongfully hanged, leaving Ace, the oldest boy, to support his mother and three half siblings, with Eden, yet another mouth to feed, on the way.
Where David dug in his heels with Brianna’s story was Daphne’s undeniable resemblance to him and his mother. He also found it difficult, if not impossible, to believe that she’d supposedly, quite by accident, chosen David Paxton as the name of her dreamed-up husband and placed him in Denver.
That
was completely incredible. David was a common name, but Paxton wasn’t. No, sir, he didn’t buy that little twist. It gave the word
coincidence
a whole new meaning.
He’d definitely done the deed with her and gotten her with child. So why did she so obstinately resist working out some kind of arrangement with him? She and the little girl had been living in penury. David offered her an escape from that. He’d also treated her kindly. Unlike a lot of men might, he hadn’t tried to take liberties, as was his husbandly right. Most females would find that reassuring and come to respect him for it, if only a little. But not her. It seemed to him that the farther they got from Glory Ridge, the more panicky she became. Maybe her experiences with other males had been so horrific that she simply couldn’t bring herself to take him at face value and accept the circumstances.
Well, he wasn’t exactly happy about them, either. He could have stayed in No Name and married Hazel Wright, who at least found him pleasing and looked forward to spending her life with him. He’d said good-bye to that plan with only mild regret, and he’d stepped forward to shoulder his responsibilities. The least he deserved out of this unexpected union was a wife who bore him some measure of respect and affection. Granted, he’d made a bad mistake, and both Brianna and Daphne had suffered for it. But there wasn’t a person alive who didn’t mess up at some point, and at least he was trying to make amends. Why couldn’t she see her way clear to do as he was, accepting the situation and trying to make the best of it for their daughter’s sake? It wasn’t as if he’d gotten himself a prize for a wife. Not only was she the human equivalent of a prickly pear, but she was also the most straitlaced female he’d ever come across. How could a man make headway with her? With his cheek still smarting from the slap of her hand, he wasn’t even sure he wanted to try.
* * *
Brianna made it to her fire and sat gingerly beside it, locking her arms around her shaking knees. David Paxton was, hands down, the most infuriating man she’d ever met. He’d
mocked
her. Telling him the real story about Daphne’s birth had been one of the hardest things she’d ever done. With every word, she’d felt as if her heart were being lacerated with sharp knives. How could he fail to believe her when she’d so obviously been telling him the truth? Even more humiliating, he’d cut her off short, rejecting her account with that sarcastic crack about devoting her life to Daphne and living like a saint. Oh, how she
hated
him. Maybe her curse would work, and God would send a lightning bolt from the sky to strike him dead.
Daphne stirred and got up from the pallet. When she dashed away to meet Paxton at the stream, Brianna couldn’t gather the energy to call her back. The prairie wind caught her hair and whipped it across her eyes. She stared through the auburn blur, her shoulders leaden with defeat. She’d been so hopeful that Paxton was on the level, a misguided marshal with only good intentions. Ha! She wouldn’t be foolish enough to skip down that merry path again. He’d just proven to her, beyond any reasonable doubt, that he was up to no good.
Misguided, my foot.
He knew precisely what he was doing. He’d come to Glory Ridge with a plan to gain control of Daphne. Now he had it, and all Brianna could do was pray that she got an opportunity to get her daughter away from him before he made his next move.
Brianna rested her chin on her knees to collect her composure and organize her thoughts. Her only hope lay in using her head and beating Paxton at his own game. In the book she’d read, it said slave traders usually worked in teams. Was that why Paxton was avoiding civilization, because he had arranged to meet his partners somewhere out here? Then what? Maybe his job had been only to procure and deliver Daphne, and he would be paid for his efforts when he handed her over to the other men, who would then transport her south.
Brianna’s heart picked up speed. That made perfect sense, and Paxton’s apparent lack of hurry played into that
scenario. He planned to meet his cohorts to deliver the goods. She’d seen that wad of money in his pocket clip. Well, no honest marshal drew enough in monthly wages to carry around that much loot. Paxton was on the fiddle, no question about it. It was the only conclusion that made any sense. A man didn’t get that rich by keeping the peace in a small town and raising a few scrawny cattle.
With a sickening squeeze of her stomach, Brianna decided she needed a plan, only she couldn’t think of one. Maybe once the day waned and after Paxton fell asleep, she could quietly saddle a horse, collect Daphne and some food, and make a getaway. She had no idea which direction to go, but she’d worry about that when the time came. Until then, she would pray that Paxton’s meeting with his partners wasn’t to take place until tomorrow.
But what if the assignation is scheduled for today?
The ham Brianna had eaten tried to come back up her throat. In that event, both she and Daphne would be in terrible danger. Brianna doubted that they would take the child and kill the mother simply to get her out of the way. At twenty-six, Brianna knew she was no longer young and fresh, but she was still a female and halfway acceptable in appearance. Perhaps it was Paxton’s plan to sell her as well. Thinking of what the future might hold for her and Daphne increased Brianna’s nausea. She held it at bay by glaring at David Paxton and wishing him dead.
David was jerked from his musings by the approach of his daughter. The wind snapped the skirt of her green play frock around her thin legs. Her white stockings were streaked with dirt and grass stains. She planted a tiny hand atop her head to anchor her ribbon, her flying hair shimmering around her like spun gold.
David dredged up a smile for her, determined to protect her from all the ugliness transpiring between him and her mother. “Hey, pumpkin, I thought you were sleeping.”
She shrugged. “I wasn’t tired.” She thrust her fist at him. “Will you take our lucky penny for safekeeping? I’m afraid I might lose it when I’m asleep.”
David tucked the coin into his shirt pocket. “When we
get home, I’ll drill a hole in it and get a chain from the jeweler. Then you’ll be able to keep it all the time.”
“It’s half yours, so get a chain long enough for you to wear.”
“Good idea. Every once in a while, I could do with a little luck.”
Her brows drew together in a frown so reminiscent of his mother’s that his heart caught. She nibbled her lip the same way Dory did when she was choosing her words carefully. “Papa, I have something of a delicate nature to discuss with you.”
David’s forced smile deepened into a real one. No other six-year-old he’d ever met talked quite the way Daphne did. He supposed it came from being around Brianna. The woman could wrap her tongue around a fence post and still waggle it at both ends.
“Shoot,” he said.
Daphne’s frown grew more pronounced. “I beg your pardon?”
David chuckled and hooked an arm around the child to pull her onto his knee. “Shoot,” he repeated. “That means go ahead and spit it out.”
Daphne still looked bewildered. “I’ve nothing in my mouth to spit out, Papa.”
David rested his cheek against her flyaway curls. They felt as fine as silk against his jaw. “You’ve got words in there, don’t you? Spit those out.”
She giggled, burrowed closer, and hugged him. Her arms were a hair too short to encircle him, but it was still one of the best hugs he’d ever received. “I want to offer you something on loan,” she said hesitantly, “but I’m afraid it will hurt your feelings.”
It was David’s turn to frown. “My feelings aren’t all that easy to hurt, darlin’. Shoot.”
He felt her lips curve against his shirt and knew she was smiling. “You talk funny, Papa. Are you aware of that?”
“Where I come from, I talk normal. You’ll be the one who talks a little funny there.”
“Truly? Will the other children tease me, do you think?”
David hoped not. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to stop
himself from knocking pint-size heads together. “Nope. By the time we get home, I’ll have you trained to talk normal, just like me.”
Daphne giggled again, then sighed. “Are you sure your feelings aren’t easily hurt?”
“Positive. What is it you’d like to lend me?”
“My toothbrush. It’s almost new, and we can take turns using it if we each wash it good when we’re done.”
David hadn’t seen this one coming. A toothbrush? He owned one and used it morning and night. He tongued his front teeth to check and felt no film on his pearly whites. Did he have bad breath, maybe? “I have my own toothbrush, pumpkin. Thanks for offering me the use of yours, but I really don’t need to take you up on it.”
“Hmm.” Her murmur was laced with concern. “If that’s the case, then perhaps you should use yours more.”
David tongued his teeth again. He’d eaten salad for dinner. Did he have greens caught between his chompers?
“It isn’t that
I
think you need to. It’s just—well, Mama says you have the filthiest mouth she’s ever seen, and maybe she’ll like you better if you brush more often.”
It was all David could do not to snort with laughter. Brianna had been complaining about his filthy mouth, had she? His amusement flashed out. He’d made a special effort all morning not to use coarse language. He hadn’t used his favorite phrase,
son of a bitch
, even once. What had he said now to get her bloomers all in a twist?
To Daphne, he said, “Thanks for the tip, pumpkin. From now on, I’ll go after cleaning my teeth like I’m killing snakes.”
“Up and down. That’s the most efficient way to brush, according to Mama.”
David had always brushed up and down, the way his own mother had taught him, but from now on, he’d go back and forth just to spite the woman.
Late that afternoon, as the sunlight began to wane, Brianna began keeping her eyes peeled for a large boulder near the stream they were following to use as a mounting block.
She’d seen several earlier in the day and kept her fingers crossed that she’d see another one soon. How she meant to induce Paxton to camp by it, she didn’t know. Given the tension between them, he’d probably find it highly suspect if she suddenly displayed friendliness or any level of enthusiasm. Ah, well, she’d think of something when the moment came.
Crossing one’s fingers didn’t work much better for her than praying had recently. Just as full dusk descended, Paxton brought his gelding to a sudden stop and said, “Low and behold, Daphne, do you see what I see?”
Brianna saw nothing to be excited about, but Paxton swung off his horse, lifted Daphne down, and led her to a patch of green growth at a bend in the stream. Dismounting with painful care, Brianna inched closer to see what the fuss was all about.
“Normally they haven’t come up this early in the year,” she heard Paxton say. “This is one of the best times to eat them, when the shoots are young and tender.” He turned to inform Brianna, “This is where we’ll stop for the night. There’s no way I’m passing up a spring crop of broadleaf cattails. They taste so good my eyes roll back in my head.”