Julianne MacLean Read online

  Sarah set down her cup, suddenly more curious than she cared to admit. “Really? How’s that?”

  “He was all alone. Life out here isn’t easy for a loner. In fact, it’s darn near impossible. He traded work for a meal or a loaf of bread and came by often. That’s why he was so desperate for a wife. He’d get behind in his own work, coming here to help us. He didn’t have time to do what a woman would have done for him. Make no mistake about it, you’ll work just as hard as he does. But you’ll make a good life, I know you will.”

  Sarah felt her optimism returning. It wasn’t like her to give up, yet last night, when her husband had walked out the door, she’d come close. “It just seems like there’s so much to learn. I thought I was all alone until Briggs suggested I come here and talk to you.”

  “I told him to send you over the moment you arrived. I said, ‘Don’t let her lift a finger before she talks to me.”’

  “Well, he did let me lift a finger. In fact, he enjoyed watching me agonize over every little thing from lighting the fire to hauling water from the creek.”

  Martha reached across the table and touched Sarah’s hand. “Don’t be too hard on him. He’s had a rough time of it.”

  She drew her eyebrows together in confusion.

  “You don’t know?” Martha asked, sitting back. “Perhaps I shouldn’t have said anything.”

  “Please, tell me,” Sarah implored, wishing she had known more about her husband before their wedding night. She might have handled things differently.

  “It really isn’t my place to say.”

  “Martha, please, it might help if I knew. Otherwise, this marriage is going to last about as long as a snowman in July.”

  Sarah watched her neighbor shift uncomfortably in her chair. “We can’t have that, now. Briggs couldn’t handle another heartbreak like the first one.”

  Sarah tensed. “Heartbreak?”

  “Worst thing I’ve ever seen.”

  Astonished, Sarah couldn’t imagine Briggs feeling so deeply for anyone, much less admitting to it.

  “Oh, dear,” Martha remarked. “I knew I shouldn’t have said anything. Howard told me not to.”

  “Of course you should have. I need to know. It will help me understand what’s going on. What happened? Who was she?”

  “It was a terrible thing.” Martha stood and refilled Sarah’s cup with more hot coffee. “Briggs came here last year from Nebraska after his family died—”

  “His family died?” Why hadn’t he said anything?

  “Consumption. Every last one of them except for George, who had moved to Dodge to open his law office the year before. Briggs lost his parents, his younger brother, his three young sisters. After all that, he just couldn’t stay there. He wanted to start fresh somewhere else. So he sold everything and came to Dodge to be near George and buy some land. Then he met Isabelle in town. Her father is the reverend. Very friendly fellow.”

  “Isabelle…”

  Martha nodded. “Yes, she’s the one.”

  The one. So, Briggs wasn’t so innocent himself.

  “But Isabelle wasn’t exactly suited to the plains,” Martha went on. “She was a beauty though, and that made Briggs a little foolish in the head, I think. He spent most of his savings on an engagement gift—a necklace. I suppose he wanted to make sure she didn’t change her mind.”

  Martha paused. “So Briggs built his little dugout and brought her out to see it, promising he’d build her a real house the following year. She took one look at that place and said she’d have to rethink their engagement. Not a week later, she ran off with another man—a rich one. It was the betrayal that broke Briggy’s heart. He said nothing was more important than trust, and that he’d never fall for a beautiful woman again because other men would always be trying to woo her away.”

  Martha seemed to jolt back to the present, then squirmed in her chair as she looked into Sarah’s eyes. Sarah had the distinct feeling Martha suddenly wanted to eat her words. “I’m sure he’s over that now, though,” she added.

  But when Sarah remembered the expression on Briggs’s face when he first saw her, she doubted it. She understood now that he had wanted someone plain. “How long ago did this happen?”

  “It’s been about three months.”

  Sarah stood and crossed to the window, wishing she had known about this sooner. Because of what happened to Briggs, keeping quiet about her past was a worse mistake than confessing would have been.

  “Are you all right, my dear? Was I wrong to tell you?”

  Sarah faced her neighbor. “No, you were right. I think I understand now, why he’s been so cold.”

  “I hope I haven’t interfered. But you should know that it’s nothing you’ve done. He’ll warm up soon, I know he will.”

  Sarah looked out the window. Nothing I’ve done. If only it could be so.

  When Sarah turned around again, Martha was folding the tablecloth. She set it on a shelf and carried the chicken to the table. “You don’t mind if I pluck while we talk, do you? If I can get this into the oven as soon as the bread comes out, I’ll be able to send you home with some fresh cooked meat for that hungry man of yours. That’ll help him forget about Isabelle.”

  Sarah smiled, thinking Martha was going to be a good friend.

  “Now, sit down,” she said, “and I’ll tell you everything there is to know about being a prairie wife. Briggs will think he’s struck gold when he sees how useful you’ll be to him.”

  Sarah had to admit she wanted nothing more.

  Chapter Nine

  Briggs watched the pink sun sink into the horizon as he unhitched the team in the barnyard. He glanced at his little house, saw smoke rising from the narrow chimney poking out of the grass roof, and felt a confusing wave of emotions wash over him. Part of him saw that smoke as a dream come true. What he’d always wanted had finally become a reality. He had a companion now, a partner, the beginnings of a family.

  A family.

  Something inside him shook. It hadn’t occurred to him before, but what if Sarah had been desperate to get married because she was already with child?

  He dropped the leather harness strap he’d been holding and rubbed a hand over Gem’s warm muzzle. There was so much about Sarah that he did not know. Was this why she had been so quick to answer his ad?

  That was probably not the case, he told himself, taking his time unhitching the team and getting the horses into the barn. He was simply overreacting to everything he’d learned about her yesterday.

  A few minutes later, he closed the barn door and secured the latch. He sauntered across the yard toward the door, his heartbeat quickening with every slow step. Why was he feeling this way? It didn’t matter if Sarah loved someone else, he told himself. She’d get over this man in time, and if she was expecting, that was okay, too, just as long as she stayed. Part of the reason he wanted a wife was to have children. It just might be sooner than he’d expected, that’s all. But another man’s child? How would he feel about that?

  He reached the house and went inside. A delicious aroma hit him like a prairie wind. It was hard to believe a simple scent could soothe his concerns and make him feel so calm, considering what he’d just been thinking about.

  How long had it been since he’d smelled anything like that? What was it? Cookies? A cake?

  He walked down the steps to find the house warm and flickering with golden light from the kerosene lamp. He petted Shadow who had come to greet him.

  Something was different. Everything was different. A red blanket had been fashioned as a wall, hung from the ceiling and dividing the sleep area from the eating area. The table was covered by a white cloth, but as he looked closer, he realized it was an old flour sack cut to fit. Again, fresh wildflowers stood in a cup in the center.

  He removed his coat and turned to hang it on the hook by the door, but noticed a yellow calico sun bonnet hanging there. Where had she found that? The only thing he’d seen her wear on her head was that rid
iculous purple thing.

  Just then, the blanket shuddered and Sarah stepped out from behind it. He found himself staring at her. Wondering…

  “You’re back,” she said, her tone cheerful. “How was your day?”

  Even if the cheeriness was an act, it was welcoming, just the same. “Fine. I’m catching up.” He glanced around again. “You’ve been busy.”

  Sarah crossed to the stove and Shadow settled down next to her feet. “I went to the Whitikers’ place today.”

  “I figured as much. You weren’t here when I came back midday.”

  She whirled around. “You came back?”

  “A man’s gotta eat.”

  Her face grew pale. “I’m sorry…I should have prepared something for you before I left.”

  Briggs wondered why she was so apologetic all of a sudden, like she thought he was going to blow a gasket. “Forget it. I’ve been getting by on my own for the past year. What’s one more day?”

  She stared at him for a moment, squeezing the fabric of her skirt, then seemed relieved and turned back to the stove.

  “What smells so good?” Briggs asked, all too aware of her tiny waist and curvy backside. She certainly didn’t look like she was in the family way, though it may be too soon to tell, he knew.

  “I baked a cake. I collected the eggs today and Martha gave me a little sugar. She said it was a welcoming gift. She also gave me a bonnet and that blanket over there.”

  “That was mighty neighborly.”

  “She’s a lovely person.”

  Sarah flitted around the stove a little longer while Briggs sat back in his chair and watched her. Her graceful movements, mixed with the velvety texture of her voice as she hummed a sweet melody, were enchanting. Almost enough to make him forget the things he’d been thinking. She lifted the pot’s lid with a towel wrapped in one hand and tipped her face over the rising steam to take a whiff.

  A few minutes later, she turned around with a steaming plate of food and set it down in front of him. Briggs found himself wondering where his thoughts had been the past few seconds—in some other heavenly world, he guessed, a place where nothing but the present mattered.

  “Is this chicken?” he asked, unable to mask his surprise. She hadn’t gone out and shot herself a bird, too, had she?

  “Yes. Courtesy of the Whitikers.”

  His new wife must have made quite an impression on them, he thought, his mouth watering.

  When Sarah finally sat down, they said a quick prayer, then began the meal. They ate in silence, partly because Briggs didn’t know what to say and partly because he was too hungry to talk between mouthfuls.

  When they finished eating, Sarah began to clear the table. “I learned a lot today. I think I’m going to manage just fine when I settle in and start a routine.”

  She planned on staying….

  “I’m going to try my hand at making soap before winter,” she continued. “I’ve started saving ashes from the stove. Martha said we can do it together after the pigs are slaughtered.”

  Briggs stared at the back of her slender, pale neck as she rinsed the plates in a bucket. She actually seemed to be enjoying herself. “Watch your eyes around the lye when you make that soap,” he told her. “The fumes can sting.”

  “I’ll be careful.”

  She bent forward to open the stove. Her behind jutted out close enough for him to lay his hand on—if he was so inclined—but he fought the urge and concentrated on the wonderful smell of baked cake.

  Sarah removed it from the oven and set it on an upturned barrel. “That should cool a few minutes before I cut you a slice. Can you wait?”

  “Sure.”

  “Are you certain you don’t want some coffee?” she asked, pouring herself a steaming cup.

  The pleasant aroma floated to his nostrils and he found himself liking the idea of sitting at the table after dinner sipping coffee with his wife, who suddenly seemed comfortable and confident in her surroundings. A wife who was making plans for the future, even if they were just plans about soap.

  Would it really matter if a cup of coffee kept him up late? “Maybe I will have some,” he answered. She set a cup in front of him. “You ever milk a cow before?”

  Sarah cleared her throat. “No. But Martha explained—”

  “Did she show you?”

  “Not exactly.” Sarah rose and touched the cake with her finger. She sliced a few pieces and set them down on the table. “I suppose you want to teach me.”

  “You won’t learn if I don’t, and you’re gonna have to do it sooner or later.”

  “I’m ready to learn as soon as you find the time to show me.”

  “I’ll wake you in the morning and show you how it’s done. At least that way you’ll be up at a decent hour.”

  Sarah choked on her coffee. Her cheeks blushed like a couple of ripe tomatoes, and for the first time since he’d met her, Briggs laughed.

  For a moment, Sarah looked mortified, her eyes wide, her eyebrows perking up toward the ceiling. Then, as if she couldn’t fight it any longer, she burst into an infectious, cheek-splitting grin. “All right, so I slept late this morning. It won’t happen again.”

  Briggs nodded, smiling at her, wondering how it was possible that simple laughter could sweep so much joy through a room.

  Briggs rolled over in his bed of hay, scratching at his chest and arms and wondering in the darkness what time it was. Slowly, groggily, he sat up, unable to sleep with Maddie stomping in her stall next to him. She seemed restless. Must be morning.

  He stood and stretched, tossed the blanket over the side of the stall, then picked some hay out of his hair and brushed some more off his shoulders. Was his wife up yet? he wondered. He remembered his promise to teach her how to milk Maddie and supposed he should go into the house and wake her.

  Faint traces of light brightened the sky as he crossed the yard and entered the dark house. He moved directly to the lantern to light it, but for some reason he winced when he struck the match. He was trying to be quiet, which made no sense considering he’d come here to wake Sarah. The silence of the dawn and the peaceful little house seemed too special to disturb.

  When the room brightened, Briggs turned his gaze toward the red blanket hung as a curtain. He could hear Sarah’s steady breathing behind it. Slowly, lightly, he made his way toward the curtain, remembering her sweet smile at the dinner table the night before. All night long, it had stuck in his mind like honey, and now, here he was, confused by the thrill of anticipation sneaking up his spine. Waking her seemed such an intimate thing to do. He found himself simply wanting to watch her slumber for a while.

  Fighting that notion, he steeled himself and pushed the curtain aside.

  There she was, lying on her side with the covers pulled up to her ear. He paused for a moment to admire what he could see: her coal-black hair, her eyelids and long lashes, the curves of her hips and the trail of her legs beneath the blanket. As he watched her sleep, his body awakened in the most surprising way. He wanted to forget about the chores and crawl under the covers with her, wrap his arms around her and feel her warmth against his bare skin.

  Letting that thought rest only briefly in his mind, he leaned forward to lay his hand on her shoulder to wake her, before his body convinced him to do what his heart was not ready for.

  Still in a dreamy state, Sarah began to awaken in time with the gentle swaying of her body. A hand was resting on her shoulder. She sighed, then gazed sleepily into a pair of green eyes. As she recovered consciousness, she realized it was her husband kneeling in front of her, waiting for her to say something.

  “Is it morning already?” she asked, her voice breathy.

  “Yes. Maddie’s waiting.”

  “Maddie,” she repeated, trying to make sense of the word while she sat up. Her blanket fell away to reveal the top of her nightdress, which was unbuttoned at the neck, and she noticed Briggs avert his gaze.

  Her heart lurched and she wondered if he’d eve
r forgive her enough to look at her again—to see her as a woman, to desire her. She had hoped it would not matter, but strangely, this morning, it mattered more than she cared to admit.

  “I’ll wait for you in the barn,” he said, rising to go.

  “What about breakfast?”

  “After we get the milk and collect the eggs.”

  Sarah listened to his boots tap up the steps, then lowered her bare feet to the cold floor. She tried to cling to a hope that one day, things would be different. They would have to be, if he ever wanted children, assuming, of course, she wasn’t already with child. But Garrison had told her there was only a short time each month when a woman could conceive, and he’d assured her it didn’t happen as easily as most women thought.

  If there was any truth to that, she may never find herself in the family way. Not with a husband who insisted on sleeping in the barn.

  She dressed quickly, pulled her shawl around her shoulders, and hurried outside. Cool air struck her cheeks as she crossed the yard, her footsteps light over the dewy ground. She stepped through the barn door to the now familiar smells of horse and hay. By the light of a lantern, Briggs was shoveling dung out from under Maddie, dropping it into a wheelbarrow. The fringe on his leather coat swung back and forth with each toss. Sarah stood in the doorway, pulling her shawl tighter around her shoulders, waiting for some instruction.

  “You might want to shovel out some of the mess before you start each morning,” he told her. “You can add it to your fuel store.” He pushed the wheelbarrow past her. “I see you started one outside.”

  A few moments later, he returned and pulled a small stool up beside the cow. He reached for a bucket and set it down with a clunk. Sarah, still standing by the door and feeling rather daft, swallowed when he leaned out of the stall and looked at her, his golden hair falling forward onto his face. “Coming?”

  She nodded, then moved toward him. “Where do you want me?”

  He placed his large hand at the small of her back, guiding her to the stool. “Have a seat right there. Maddie, be still.”