This was now. “You got a lot more to learn, Minda. And I'm real glad to be your teacher.” He breathed the words just before his lips touched hers, reminding him he was a man who needed every kind of nourishment there was. Her arms came up around his neck, and he knew she stood on the tips of her toes. He bent to her mouth and tasted cherries warmed by Nebraska wind.
Chapter Seven
The twilight was hot and thick with dark gloomy clouds, and once in a while, thunder smacked the prairie miles away.
“I'll be sitting outside on the porch, Miz Haynes, lighting up this long-nine,” Brixton said after supper, wiggling a cigar at her, “unless of course you need me to help you some.”
Minda knew that little came between a man and his smoke, and he likely didn't mean the offer. But his assistance actually would be welcome. “Why, it'd be nice if you braided Katie's hair. We've just washed it, and she enjoys it so.”
“Sure thing,” he said, not without enthusiasm. But he didn't meet her eyes. Nor had he all through supper.
She sighed. He was back to using her formal name, too. His last kiss during their shooting lesson, the kiss that had taken all the power from her knees, had brought on her deepest fear. He truly was leaving. That was the farewell kiss he'd promised her.
Her heart paused for a second while her throat clenched.
Had he even told the children good-bye? He'd be gone by sunup.
Shaking her head with a strange sadness, Minda rinsed Priscilla in the washtub. Now all three had had their Saturday night baths. Maybe she could get her husband to sing the baby to sleep like he had last night. One last time. Neddie, too.
Neddie-boy drooped like a morning glory closing up until the next day, but still he fought sleep. In his arms, he held tight the foolish toy dog she'd tried to fashion out of Ida Lou's old brown shawl.
With his fingers gentle on Katie's hair, her husband sat in the rough X-shaped chair. He'd finally revealed to her that he'd made it himself years ago.
Well, he wouldn't be sitting in it much longer. Her heart hammered with a cruel disappointment. He hadn't been the husband she came for, so why was his departure so painful? Was it the humble lifestyle Norman Dale had left behind? The children she hadn't expected?
Or simply a woman's heart? Thinking of Brix's touch, his lips that seemed to give her life, the closeness where she felt the raging power between his legs ... No. He'd taken her to be the children's mother, nothing more. He was just a healthy man with masculine urges.
She tried to close off her unhappy thoughts. Priscilla fussed under the drying towel. Even though she'd eaten a bit at supper, her skin felt warm despite the cooling bath. And, Minda remembered with horror, she'd left the mercantile without the fever remedy she'd come for.
As she dressed the baby, her thoughts of the mercantile reminded her of Caldwell Hackett. Had he been impolite and indecent? And had she been demure enough? Whether she'd been tricked or not, she was a married woman.
But for how long? Did Brixton intend to hold her to her vows once her payback was done? Couldn't she seek an annulment if the marriage were never consummated?
Her cheeks burned. Caldwell Hackett had made it clear he never supported the subterfuge. That she had a friend. And as Brixton had ranted, more than a friend ... Did that mean Minda had a beau?
She certainly didn't have a husband.
“What's your brother got there?” Brix asked Katie, interrupting Minda's murky thoughts.
“Oh, it's a toy dog now, but it was a shawl before.” Katie giggled. “Mo ... Minda rolled it up and tied some ribbons here and there so he's got a head and ears. And some legs.”
Minda hid her warming face by tucking Priscilla into her little bed. It was a homely, amateur toy, and she didn't want her husband's ridicule. But Ned had fallen in love with it right away. Then, she made up her mind. She'd heard her husband refuse the children's request a number of times, but he was leaving. What did he care if the children had a dog or not?
“My sisters had a grand playful dog growing up, and I'm thinking of getting the children one,” she said.
Ned stirred long enough to cheer with his sister. Above Katie's lengthening braid, Brixton's eyes widened at Minda's defiance.
“She was a wonderful pal to them, and I loved Patches, too. Besides—” She stared unflinchingly back. “—she was a watchdog as well. Always set up a ruckus when strangers came to the door.”
There. That should do it. He was leaving them, alone and unprotected. Although she'd managed to hit five of the dozen cans he'd displayed during their lesson, it was luck, pure and simple. He may not care about her—other than stolen kisses—but a decent man ought to have a worry or two about his brother's children. His own blood.
With outlaws like Ahab Perkins and his miserable cohorts roughing up the countryside. Her flesh goosed.
“Pups are a ton of work,” Brixton said, his eyes deep black holes in the lantern light.
“We don't mind a grown-up dog,” Neddie said, but then his face paled, Katie's too. The pulsing sound of hoof beats coming up the drive had Minda's skin crawling, her heart thumping.
Katie and Ned looked at her, then out toward their uncle, their little faces white with dread.
After glancing at his gun belt hung high out of the children's reach, Brix got up to peer out the window. The overall tension alarmed her. Obviously, around here night visitors never brought good news. Neddie came to Minda and wrapped himself around her legs.
Or was it somebody even worse, like outlaws?
Nervously, she combed her fingers through Ned's little thatch of pale brown hair that she'd trimmed just this morning.
“Looks like the Blacks,” Brixton said, and Minda relaxed somewhat, recalling the neighbors. Boots clumped on the wooden porch steps, and Brixton let in their callers, making hasty introductions.
Monty Black tipped his hat to her. “Sorry to barge in, ma'am. We just come from Skinny Hank's. Sheriff Pelton got word the Perkins gang hit a place over in Platte Center last night. Lute Mohlman lost four pretty fillies. Took ‘em right out of his corral during supper. Weren't even all the way dark yet.”
“Damn shame.” Brixton shook his head, and Minda didn't chide him for his language. She didn't know where Platte Center was, but from her husband's tense face, she figured it wasn't all that far away.
“Lute all right?” Brixton asked.
Monty shook his head. “Perkins shot him in the knee when he came after ‘em. He'll live, but won't be walking until doomsday.”
“Damn worse,” Brixton muttered. “Gang's getting bolder and meaner.”
Minda shivered, and wished she'd covered Ned's ears, and not because of the curse.
Clem tipped his hat now. “We got a few places up ahead to warn, so we'll be on our way. Lock up tight, you hear?”
Closing the door after them, Brixton raised his eyebrows like he might be concluding something important. Maybe it meant he was going to stay.
“You'll be safe, children,” Minda said. “Uncle Brix will see to it.”
“Did you shut up the barn tight?” His eyes were almost accusing.
“Certainly,” she said, somewhat annoyed. “After you went back to the fields, Katie and I fed the horses. Ned took care of the cows. And I locked the barn door tight when we were done.”
Minda pointed to the key hanging by the back door. The lock was so rusted she'd been surprised the contraption worked at all. Next time she was in town, she'd barter for a new lock and key.
“So there's outlaws?” Katie's little voice shook. “That's why you locked the barn?” She looked at Minda first, then addressed her uncle. “We told her around here nobody locks up tight.”
“Well, Firefly, sometimes we just need to,” Brixton said, laying his left hand on Katie's shoulder. Minda was struck that he'd noticed the little endearment she'd come to using for the girl. “Besides, I'll be sleeping out there.”
“Could I sleep in the barn?” Ned asked.
“You'll be all right in here, tucked safe in your bed.”
“Uncle Brix, no. No.
No
. Don't leave us alone.” Katie's eyes were wide, and Minda's heart ached. The young girl was old enough to understand the seriousness of the situation, and had already experienced so much trouble in her short life.
“I'm scared.” Neddie switched from Minda's legs to his uncle's. Brixton didn't seem to mind, laid his big hands on the small brown head.
“Please, stay inside with us, Uncle Brix,” Katie said. “Papa used to sleep with Mama.”
“In the same bed, too.” Neddie's hair bounced.
Katie nodded, a bit calmer. “And I think he liked it fine. Sometimes he'd keep the door shut and tell us he'd licorice-whip us if we bothered them.”
Minda almost smiled. It hadn't occurred to her that the children would find their odd sleeping arrangement, well, odd. What would it be like, sharing a bed with her rough-hewn husband?
A delicious tremble danced up her spine.
“And Miss Gracey sleeps with the reverend,” Ned said. “Seen ‘em when we stayed over with Philip and Martin at Eastertime.”
Katie nodded. “We spent the night to be in town already for sunrise service. And the egg hunt.”
“I found three eggs,” Neddie said.
It was certainly time to end the children's prattle about sleeping arrangements. Despite her wonder and the lingering amazement of their last kiss, Minda knew sharing a bed with her husband would be intensely unwise. And from his reddened cheeks, clearly Brixton thought so, too.
“Come on now, kids.” He touched Katie's braid. “You all get in bed now and start your prayers. Be along in a sec to tuck you in.”
“Then will you tell us another story, Uncle Brix? About that magic cow that talks on Christmas Eve?”
“Maybe.”
They scampered off, Ned's toy dog firm in his arms.
Minda's surprise must have shown on her face, for Brixton met her eyes again.
“What? Who you think tucked ‘em in before you got here?”
She heard prayers and Brix's soft mumbles before he came out from behind the children's sleeping curtain.
“I'm going out for that long-nine, now,” he said, scooting his old chair behind him. Tossing her a grin, he remarked, “That storytelling wears me out.”
While she cut up material for Katie's bonnet, Minda stole a glance at him from time to time through the open curtains. In the dark, the tip of his cigar danced like a firefly. But she didn't see any real fireflies skipping around the pasture. She knew a storm was likely, figured the creatures had taken shelter. She wondered if outlaws did the same, or if they preyed and prowled no matter the weather?
Her heart skipped unhappily in her chest. She felt safe tonight, but what about tomorrow after he was gone? She said a quick, fervent prayer for poor Lute Mohlman and his crippled knee. Taking to the upholstered wing chair, she calmed herself by designing Katie's hat. Priscilla's little snuffles and snores comforted her. Hopefully the little one was finally well.
It was almost like they were a regular family, but Minda knew better.
Brixton came inside about an hour later. “Starting to rain,” he said. He had his bedroll in one arm and a wooden contrivance in the other. Tossing the bedroll in a corner, he looked at her straight on. “I'll be hunkering down here unless you agree with the kids. About you and me sharing a bed, that is. During our lesson today, I figured you might be interested.” His eyebrow rose in such a rakish way her stomach tumbled.
But she ignored him with an eye roll. “What's that in your hand?”
Her husband shrugged. “Neddie got a toy. Seemed right to make one for Katie.” Seeming shy, he held out his hand. It was a beautiful wood insect with whirligig wings and a carved opening in its abdomen. “And when she's grown too old for toys, this hole's a place where she can set a candle.”
“It's a firefly,” Minda said. “Oh, Brixton, it's lovely. She'll be delighted.”
“Back to using my first name again?” His mouth twitched in what was certainly a tease.
She ignored that, too. “And you made it just now?”
Brixton nodded. “I whittle fast. Night watch on the trail bores me silly. Got to keep my hands busy.” He reached in his pocket for his knife and made one last quick smoothing motion with his left hand.
“Why, I didn't realize you're left-handed. I'm all but certain Priscilla is, too.”
Once again, he shrugged away her words. She continued, “I made Ned the dog because I'm making Katie a new bonnet.”
“Then I'll whittle him a whistle soon's I can. Each will have something from both of us that way.”
Somehow his voice had taken a sad tone. She figured that meant he'd carve it his next lonely night on the trail. “You're leaving then, like you planned,” she said dully. “Our lesson. That was your good-bye kiss.”
He looked down at her long and leisurely, making her body tingle and shimmy again. Remembering the last kiss, she put down her needle and placed her fingers on her lips, wishing he'd do the same with his mouth. But all he did was breathe out loudly.
“Ah, Minda. You claim to be a fast learner, but I haven't taught you near what you need to know. ‘Night now.”
He nodded politely and hunkered down to pull off his boots. Then the bedroll rustled beneath him. Hearing the sound had Minda's mind roil with the memories of his kisses and caresses on that very same bedroll on their wedding night. Sighing, she dimmed the lantern and headed for the bedroom, her mind awhirl, her womanhood alive.
Braids and lullabies. Bedtime prayers and stories. Whirligigs and whistles. And Brixton Haynes didn't consider himself a family man?
* * * *
After Minda shut Norman Dale's bedroom door, she left behind a scent of roses floating on the night air. Brix imagined her, fragrant and drowsy, tumbled in the covers of a bed big enough for both of them.
He sighed, deep. His wife's kisses told him she just might be willing to share it with him. And for the first time he could remember, he found himself liking rain falling on a roof better than dripping down his brim.
And he didn't like that a bit.
Beneath his bedroll, the plank floor wasn't any harder than the packed dirt of West Texas, but tonight he longed for a real bed and a real wife in it. Likely she might even welcome him, especially if he told her what decision he'd come to.