The Bride Backfire (9 page)

“Oh, yeah.” He covered his irritation by moving to a new row. “I'm a real charmer.”
Can't even get my own wife to tell me the name of her baby's father.

“Must've been more charming than your brother. He's had his nose out of joint since you brought her back.”

But what if I didn't? What if Larry got to her first, and I just stumbled into a wedding?
His mouth went so dry, he drained his canteen. It didn't help.

“Of course, that spunk of hers is going to cause problems. She and your ma are going to butt heads like two old goats.”

“My thoughts exactly.” Adam seized the opportunity. “Ma and Opal will be at each other's throats as long as they live under the same roof.”

“We'll manage.” Pa gave the refuse a particularly vicious jab. “Somehow.”

“I'll need to build us a home. Wood's too scarce, so it'll be a soddy or dugout. The question is where?”

“Your inheritance, you mean?” Pa propped himself up on his rake. “As the oldest, you're supposed to inherit the house. But I'm a long way from kicking the bucket, so you'll need a place to set up for your own.”

“Yes. I was thinking the southeast meadow. Make a dugout from that knoll. It'd be the quickest way.” Adam laid out his plan. “I wouldn't neglect my responsibilities on the farm.”

“Never thought you would.” Pa fingered his beard, an avaricious light entering his gaze. “You think we could get the delta land out of Murphy as Opal's dowry?”

“Her apiary is her dowry.” He could scarcely get the words out fast enough. The land that birthed the feud would have no part in his marriage. “It's part of why I said the southeast meadow—the far end of it would be a good place to move her bees. The conditions seem about the same.”

“Bees?” Pa's swarthy skin lost some of its sun-fed color. “She's bringing her bees to our farm?”

“Yep.” Adam appealed to the one thing he knew outweighed Pa's hesitation over the insects—his practicality. “The hives and honey they produce are valuable—good income even when crops fail. And real beeswax candles are a luxury out here, too.”

“Once you're situated, just keep them—and your wife—as far from the homestead as possible.”

“Midge!” Opal gasped at the audacity of such a statement, but a smile snuck toward the corners of her mouth.

“Ah, there it is.” Midge pointed, completely unrepentant. “The hint of a smile. That's what I hoped for!”

“Trickster.” Her reprimand held no heat. “I should tell you that's no excuse for being so outrageous, but since it worked that would make me a hypocrite.”

Hypocrite.
The reminder stole away what little merriment Midge brought.
Liar. And so many other things I never would have wanted.

“I know you're going to feel bad about giving Mr. Grogan what for,” her friend's voice called back her attention, “but he had no right—and no cause—to accuse you of tricking his son into marriage with another man's child.”

“Didn't he?”
I did trick him. And Adam knows full well I'm not carrying his child. So do I have just cause for my indignation?
“I mean, he doesn't know me.” She tacked on this last to deflect Midge's curious glance.

“That's not what you meant.”

“Oh?”

“No.” Midge shifted, resting back on her knees to look her in the eye. “You meant that Diggory hit closer to the truth than he knew, because you aren't carrying Adam's child.”

“How can you say that?” Something tore inside her at her friend's casual dismissal. “I thought you said they were featherbrains for believing that!”

“Listen better. I said they're featherbrains for thinking you might be carrying another man's child.” A pause. “Not that they were knocked in the noggins for thinking you didn't have Adam's.”

“Oh.” The astuteness of Midge's assessment stunned her into silence for a precious moment before she rallied. “Well, that's what they think!”

“Forget what they think. You're trying to distract me from what I know.” The younger girl settled back on her heels and crossed her arms. “And doing a poor job of it.”

“What makes you think I'm not carrying Adam's babe?” Anger pulsed through Opal. “If you didn't believe it, why didn't you object at the wedding?”

“I didn't know until after, what with the pair of you all set to say ‘I do.'” Midge shrugged. “Besides, there was the small matter of four Speck shotguns trained on Adam's head and other vitals. I figured you made up the whole thing to save his life.”

“It wasn't fair of me to expect you to try and stop it.” Opal rubbed a hand over her eyes, not sure whether to be glad someone saw her good intentions for what they were or be even more sorrowful it hadn't been Adam. “Wait. What do you mean you didn't know until after?”

“The kiss.”

“It's normal for a groom to kiss his bride.” Opal ignored the heat in her cheeks, focusing instead on the prickle of the prairie grass poking against her skirts. She shifted, trying to evade the discomfort.

“Nothing about that wedding came within an acre of normal. And there you go again, blushing just like yesterday. You looked so flustered at having his arms around you, I'd say it's a minor miracle no one else figured out that you two couldn't be lovers.”

“What?”
Adam didn't notice my innocence. Why would anyone else?

“You're my friend, and you're in trouble.” Midge narrowed her eyes. “So stop beating around the bush and admit you're as pure as fresh cream butter.”

“Midge!”

“All right, all right.” Her friend held up her hands, palms out. “At least you were at your wedding yesterday, even if you're a fully married woman now.”

“Stop it.” Opal looked away.
Adam didn't want me because he thinks I'm used. And he knows I lied to him, even though he doesn't know which lie.
“Just stop it.”

“If you and Adam both agree to say the same thing”—Midge let loose a
whoosh
of breath Opal couldn't miss—“it's not too late to have this thing annulled. People twist the truth all the time for worse reasons. Even if last night—”

“No!” Opal's head snapped back to her friend so fast she heard a faint popping sound. “If we annul the marriage, our families will kill each other. Pa won't take the slur to my honor, and the Grogans will be up in arms over my lying about Adam's character. It's too late to make things right.”

Not even Midge had anything to say to that. An uncharacteristic silence fell between them, Opal pondering the impossible situation once more and coming up with nothing new.

“So what's Adam say about this whole mess?”

“Don't ask.”

“Too late. I asked.” Midge's eyes narrowed. “I'll even ask again, if you make me.”

“Adam...” Opal couldn't really find the words.
How does a woman tastefully say that her husband thinks she's hoodwinked him into raising another man's illegitimate offspring?
She gave up. “Adam wants me to tell him who the father really is.”

“What!” Midge sprang to her feet. “But Opal, this changes
everything!
”

Silence, Midge felt fairly certain, didn't register on that roster of virtues. Good thing, too, because when she got excited, her mind started going a mile a minute. It only seemed natural that her mouth tried its best to keep up.

Like now.

“Of all the addlepated mistakes!” Trampling the earth between the rows of hives set loose an ominous hum, so she forced herself to slow down. “But there's your solution. All you have to do is tell Adam that you made the whole thing up to save his life, and you'll have the makings of a fine marriage. Most women would jump at the chance to have a grateful husband!”

“I can't.” The muffled tones of her friend's voice made Midge turn around to see Opal's legs drawn to her chest, her forehead resting on her knees. “Adam took me as his bride, but he hasn't made me his wife.”

“Obviously.” Midge flopped down next to her friend. “Otherwise there wouldn't be a snowman's chance on a sunny day he'd still think you carried any man's child.”

Her friend's ears, the only part of her visible, turned scarlet.

Midge knew from past observation the color stained Opal's cheeks, as well. Another option occurred to her. “Opal, when I said before that you and Adam could get an annulment if you just said the same thing, it's true. You wouldn't even have to tell a falsehood.” The rush of possibility carried her away again. “If you're unhappy about this whole thing, I'll never breathe a word. You can prove that the marriage wasn't consummated, and Parson Carter will dissolve it. And you know that for as nice as he is, his liver's whiter than a lily. He won't cross your family or the Grogans. It can be like that wedding never even happened, if that's what you want!”

“No!” When Opal yanked on her wrist, Midge realized she'd started heading toward town. “It won't happen like that. The Grogans will challenge Pa for slandering Adam's good name on my say-so. Not to mention threatening to kill him. The whole thing will backfire.”

“And it hasn't already?” Midge shook loose. “You're stuck over there with no one to help you. I always thought Adam was the Grogan with enough brain between his ears to make a respectable rattle, but with him foolish enough to think you're expecting, I'm revising my opinion.”

“So long as Pa and my brothers stay alive, I can live with the Grogans.” Determination glinted in Opal's blue eyes. “It's more than worth the trade.”

“Do you think they'd agree?”

“Pa, Ben, Elroy, and Pete will never find out.” The barest breath of a pause. “And I don't care whether most of the Grogans would agree. Adam's alive, and I'll be as good a wife to him as I can—even though he doesn't want me.”

“Don't be so sure.” Memories of Adam cradling Opal to his chest for a beat too long after carrying her from the fire surged to the front of Midge's mind. “He saved you once, too.”

“Because he's a good man.” Sadness covered her friend's face like a thick blanket. “He deserves better.”

“Good gravy and grits, it must be something catching!” She waved a hand before Opal's eyes as though to test her focus. “One day at the Grogan farm and your wits went dull.”

“Stop it.” The chide couldn't mask a quick grin.

“There is no better than you, Opal. Adam's a lucky man. He'll figure it out sooner or later, but the sooner the better.”

“Any way to help hasten the realization? I'm out of ideas.” Her friend gave a gusty sigh. “Though considering my ideas so far, that may be a blessing.”

“You'll balk at it.”

“After yesterday, you'd be surprised.”

“All right.” Midge tilted her head so she could see Opal's reaction. “Even if you're not going to go to Parson Carter, why don't you tell Adam the truth about your ... er, status? My guess is he'll be real glad to hear it, and maybe you two could have a long and happy marriage....”

Midge's voice trailed off as Opal shook her head faster and harder until her bonnet went flying right off. “Impossible!” she gasped. “I can't tell Adam I've never been with a man!”

“Don't get missish on me now.” A thump on her friend's back stopped her gasping and started up some spluttering. “It can't be harder to tell your husband you're a good woman than to have him thinking you're some sort of Jezebel.”

Midge went quiet after that. Memories of her own past cut off her words like a knife to the throat. Luckily, Opal'd found her ability to speak again.

“I don't mean because it would be awkward!” Her face, a pinkish scarlet, clashed terribly with the fiery wisps of hair dancing around her face. “Even if it would be the most embarrassing thing on earth—and I'm sure it would—I'd get through it if I thought it would make things better. But if I tell Adam I'm still pure, he'll be the one to call for Parson Carter quicker than I can blink!”

“No he won't. He married you and didn't tell his family that the child he thinks you're carrying isn't his. He won't start the bloodbath for the opposite reason.”

“You'd think so.” Opal buried her face in her sodden hanky. “But he told me on the way to meet his family he'd already considered an annulment, but it wasn't possible without proof.”

“So you can't tell him you have proof.”

“Never.”

At least, that's what Midge assumed Opal meant. Things went pretty watery again. Well then, an indelicate question couldn't make things any worse. “Do you know when he plans to take his wedding night?”

“Yes.” A mighty sniff and a few bleary blinks, then Opal got to the crux of the problem. “Adam says he won't make it a real marriage until after I trust him enough to tell him the name of the father.”

Well, that's a fine mess.

“And you can't make up a name because it was winter, and there was no one around but the people in town.” She turned the problem around in her head. “So you can't tell him the truth, and you can't make up a lie....”

“I'm stuck, all right.” Opal patted her apron pockets for another hanky, accepting the one Midge passed her. “And it's only a matter of time before Lucinda, for one, realizes I'm not showing.”

“Hmmmm.” Midge flipped the problem over and looked underneath for any hidden solutions. There, in the shadows of her past—the knowledge no proper young lady should have—lurked the germ of an idea. “Opal?” She considered how best to suggest the unthinkable.

“What?” A miserable, wet
honk
punctuated the question.

“You only have one option left.”

“There's another option?” Opal's eyes widened. “If it's not annulment and it's not slandering the name of an innocent townsman, I'll do whatever I have to do.”

Oh, how easily the innocent are led astray ... but that's exactly what we'll be counting on.

“Neither of those.” Midge took a deep breath and summoned a confident smile. “You're just going to seduce your husband.”