“But you got them, just the same, no matter how far away you go. Your home's here.” Jake leaned forward to grab Brix's arm.
“Norman Dale's home, you mean.”
“No,
Minda
. She's your home, just like Gracey's mine. Unless, of course...” Jake paused for effect, just like he did during his orations. “Unless Minda takes that reward money and leaves Paradise.”
Brix stiffened and Strawberry's gait quickened. He slowed the horse, waited for Jake to catch up, and shrugged. “Well, it's her money. But she said she won't leave the kids.”
Jake shrugged back with that wise look he got when instructing the Commandments. “For now. But later on, you already know folks around here will take them in.”
Brix bit his tongue. “Listen, preacherman, I got no time for this. I got a race to win.”
Kneeing his horse onward to the starting line, he tried to pay Jake's sermon no heed. The idea had come to him, maybe working in the Sand Hills, but it didn't seem right.
That forty dollar prize. Jake might not know that fine sum could get a farmer four improved acres.
Or buy a cattleman five healthy beeves, a fair start to a herd.
But Brix knew it. Right now, though, he had to keep his mind on one important thing—getting back to town first.
There was no set course for the race, so long as a man left the starting line at the pistol shot, retrieved the bonnet he'd declared at the start, and ended up at the finish line past the cemetery.
A man could take his horse up through the creek or through a fallow field, in between cornstalks or thickets, or overland on the main road. Brix hadn't had a chance to map his course. But Caldwell Hackett had, and made no secret of his many practice runs.
In case Brix didn't have enough on his mind, his foot and thigh throbbed, reminding him only of weakness.
A weakness he could not cave in to.
At least thirty men, either on horseback or leading their mounts, had gathered at the fence line of the Lewis farm. And damn, Hackett had already lined up, looking spiffy in denims from his ma's stockpile that likely had never been washed.
“Morning, Brix,” he called out cheerily, “I've just declared Mrs. Haynes's hat, which is totally within the rules.”
Hooves shuffled and men smirked, enjoying the taunt.
Brix shrugged, trying to appear indifferent. “You haven't even seen it.”
Caldwell Hackett made a point of checking his spurs and stretching his broad shoulders. “It won't matter. It'll be the most beautiful hat there. Besides,” he said, meeting Brix's angry gaze with a downright dare, “my mother described the materials Mrs. Haynes purchased.”
“Men, mount your horses and get to the starting line,” Sheriff Pelton yelled. “Drew it myself right over here.”
Dust clouded the creekside as the contenders obeyed.
“On your mark. Set.” The sheriff's gunshot smacked the prairie wind.
Brix took off, realizing Strawberry knew the terrain better than he did. He'd trust him. Hooves clattered around him and dust blew through the air like little tornadoes, but he had one goal. Get Minda's hat.
Something from his boyhood niggled, and he recalled a footpath he'd snuck down many times to get to the homestead when he was running late after fishing. Might still be there. It was, somewhat overgrown, but Strawberry's nimble feet gave it no nevermind at all. Nobody followed behind or hindered him up ahead.
He stormed a thicket. Brambles caught, but couldn't pierce, his denims, and the gelding's nostrils flared. Fording the creek at its narrowest, outside Ben Pickler's place, saved them half a mile. He forgot his throbbing thigh.
Minda. Minda. Minda. Her name echoed in every hoof beat.
Sweat from the hot morning sun trickled down his face, reminding him of the liveliness he felt cutting cattle, but the wind cooled him down. By the time he reached the last stretch to merge with the main road to town, he peered to his right and saw a clump of riders in the distance. They'd never meet up with him. But the medicine hat mustang outrunning all of them just might.
Gaining speed, Brix lay low on the horse's neck, urging him on. Strawberry's grunts of effort and the puffs of wind rang in his ears. Against his body, hoof beats throbbed. Driven by speed and wind, his hat, linked by ties, fell back to his neck, and his breath hurled from his lungs.
Town was in sight up ahead, but he felt, rather than heard, Caldwell Hackett breaking ground, closing the gap behind him.
Frippery waving on the fence posts past the cemetery meant only one thing—the display of bonnets. Brix didn't have much farther to go. Minda's pretty plum-colored thing screamed his name.
The horses were nose to nose. He gave Hackett a sideways glare. Getting there first was one thing. Grabbing Minda's hat was another.
Reaching down, he untied the leather strap that held his lariat to the saddle.
* * * *
“There's two, neck and neck. Too far off to tell just who yet,” Nathan, Gracey's brother, yelled from behind an old fashioned spyglass. He was perched high on a structure off-center from the jailhouse that Minda suspected might be a leftover gallows. The crowd in the street below cheered and strained to see.
Some folks lined the road, but Gracey had explained the best fun was watching the snatching of the bonnets. With the race about to conclude, folks made their way toward the gauntlet of old posts past the graveyard.
Minda had hung her bonnet halfway from either end. It seemed the fairest place.
Her heart pounded all the way from the arches of her feet to her eardrums. Was Brixton one of the two?
“Gracey, what if...” she whispered, hardly bearing the thought. “What if Caldwell finds my hat and wins the race?”
Dragging Minda out of the crush of people lining the street, Gracey faced her, quiet but stern. “Minda, I don't think there's but a slim chance Caldwell will win. I admit he's a fine horseman, but he is a schoolteacher these days while Brix spends his life on a horse.” She reached for Minda's arm, gently but firmly. “But if Caldwell does succeed, why, you give him a lady-like kiss, and he gets forty dollars. That's all. Like I once said, it's all in good fun.”
Fun for whom? Minda wanted to mope, but she hadn't allowed her heavy heart to ruin even one second of her day. The race would be as it was. Resolute, she followed Gracey to the field past the graveyard. Back home, Minda had never had time for a fair, but today she'd tried to forget yesterday and feel the same glee as Katie and Ned. Paradise was filled to the edges with friendly people, booths for silly games, and long plank tables laden with good things to eat.
She had a bit of freedom, too. Watching a group of boys play mumblety-peg, Ned waved to her with a hearty laugh. Katie and a chum pushed their baby sisters along in a bassinet-perambulator Geraldine Hackett had loaned from the inventory at the mercantile.
All that was missing was Brixton. The thought made Minda's skin tingle in ways both bad and good. Last night had been the closest to heaven she'd get to in this life. But Brixton wouldn't be around to give her more of those miracles. She couldn't see the horsemen yet, but arranged herself on a stack of hay bales to get a good view of the bonnets.
Gracey followed, plumping her skirts delicately. “I can't wait to get my bonnet back.” She giggled, batting her eyelashes. “Or to share my secret.”
“And what secret's that?”
“The Lord's sending us another child,” Gracey whispered.
“Oh, for joy! Have you told Jake?” Minda's heart swelled with happiness. At the same time her own distinct emptiness quavered inside. She'd come to Paradise for children of her own. Brixton had made it clear to Ned he wouldn't be getting a baby brother.
But what if, last night? Or the night on Brixton's bedroll? How many times might it take?
Gracey's blonde braids gleamed in the hot sunshine. “We've been suspecting, but Doc Viessman just told me this morning for sure. Jake was already gone, distracted by this race.”
Just as they hugged, Nathan yelled from his observation point down the street.
“It's Brix Haynes and Caldwell Hackett! Neck and neck! Nose to nose!”
Taller men in the crowd who could strain to see agreed, setting up shouts and much commotion. “It'll be up to whoever grabs the bonnet he declared,” someone shouted.
Minda's heart stopped completely. Both men wanted her hat. Resisting the trembling in her knees, she climbed atop the hay bale to improve her view. Rounding a stand of box elder trees, the riders came into sight, and Minda couldn't hold down her sigh. Brixton was music and magic all at once, racing like he and Strawberry were fused together.
The glance she stole at Caldwell proved him experienced and expert, but he lacked Brixton's poise and grace even at the end of a grueling endeavor. But, she remembered, it didn't matter which man reached the finish line past the graveyard if he hadn't retrieved the right hat beforehand.
Almost as one, the crowd held its breath. They didn't have but thirty feet to go, and a gentleman would slow down to protect the row of hats.
Except Brixton. Mortified, Minda watched Caldwell begin his approach with finesse, forcing his mustang to mincing steps. But something snaked from Strawberry's side as Brixton sailed toward the finish without slowing at all.
He'd roped her lovely bonnet. The crowd went wild. As he reined in Strawberry at the finish line, he drew his prize to his side in a smashed heap, then held it high over his head in victory.
The whoops and applause were deafening.
Minda gasped, but Gracey consoled her. “Now, Minda, it shan't take you long at all to make another beautiful thing.”
What was left of Minda's heart fell past her feet and shattered . She needed a place for a private cry.
It wasn't just the hat. Gracey was right. Making hats was what Minda did. Making another one was something else she'd been called to do.
What mattered was that Brixton hadn't won the glorious race because he considered himself her sweetheart.
She sniffed, and Gracey heard her over the throng. “Why, Minda love, he didn't mean it. It was the energy of the race. You can repair it right fine. Let's get back to the parsonage, if you need a place to tidy yourself for the kiss. Jake won't be along for an hour or more.”
Merciful heavens. The kiss. The public kiss. Horror wracked Minda's nerves. “No, I'm fine, Gracey,” she said dully. “Let's just go get it over with.”
Gracey chuckled, but in a comforting way. “Why, Minda, it's just a little thing to tide the winner over. Brix will get the money and Strawberry his wreath of flowers later when all the ribbons and prizes are awarded.”
A little thing to tide him over, something that could send her to heaven and back? The money didn't matter anyway. She had cash of her own now, and more to come. A glimpse ahead showed Brixton waiting at the bottom of the tower where Nathan had kept watch. He had never looked more beautiful, hair awry and flushed with triumph. She could either acquiesce or make a scene.
She longed for another encounter with his soft lips, no matter what the reason. If this was expected of the winner's sweetheart, she could bear it. She'd borne far worse.
Their eyes met. The lightning strike that had let Buttermilk escape was but a firefly compared to this. He held out his hand.
For this moment, they were the only people in the world. The crowd parted, like Moses had commanded the Red Sea, and she found her fingers reaching for her husband's. He led her up the steps to the top. The town alderman announced the kiss like Brixton was some king getting his crown.
Brixton bent down to her. For a flash, she remembered their public wedding kiss, the stunning kiss at the riverside before he pushed her away. For the third time, their lips met in front of other people.
The third time compared to no other. Men's jeers and women's coos faded off into another world. Her arms came around her husband for all the world to see. His lips tasted of triumph and the future and everything in between. If this was love, and for her it was, she wanted to proclaim it outright.
“My goodness, Mr. and Mrs. Haynes.” The alderman coughed as delicate as an affronted spinster. They pulled apart, Brixton as flushed as her hot face felt.
“Looks like you'll be staying on then, Brix,” came a voice from below.
“What man could leave that behind?” someone else goaded.
Brixton didn't look at her now, flexing his shoulders and addressing the throng of admirers below. He thrust his hands deep in his pockets and bowed first to her, then the onlookers.
“Minda, I'm honored to have represented your hat. But don't get me wrong, folks. I'm leaving for Texas soon's I can. Never said anything different.”
Skinny Hank called out, “Join me, all you gents. Drinks on the house. Get down here, Brix.” Her husband gave her a perfunctory parting peck on the cheek and descended, riding a sea of shoulders down the street.
Bravely, Minda threw a gracious smile to the crowd. After all, she did have the children to think of. Then she slunk down the steps unbeknownst, into Caldwell Hackett's waiting arms.
Although startled, she gathered grace enough to wiggle free and find her tongue. “Congratulations, Caldwell. Why, I hardly recognize you without your spectacles.”
He frowned. “They fell off my face jumping a fence at the Boldren place. Thank God I made all those practice runs and knew where to head next.”
“Well, spectacles or not, yours was some grand riding.”
The throng around them began to disperse, to greet the other returning racers or to enjoy the festivities and displays.
“But not the outcome I wanted.” He looked at her with clear brave eyes. “Walk with me?”
“Well,” she said, “I suppose you're welcome to come along while I check on the children.”
There was no reason to embarrass either of them by snubbing him, although she kept her arms at her side. A chat would keep her mind off her husband. It wasn't Brixton's leaving her side right now for the accolades of his peers that mattered. That was manly and expected.
It was his leaving her at all that did.
“Caldwell, please,” she said by the lemonade stand. “It was a race for my hat, not my heart. You do understand that, don't you?” Her voice was serious, but she managed to toss a gay smile at Deborah Kelley, who had ordered a hat not long ago.