Mail Order Prairie Bride: (A Western Historical Romance) (Dodge City Brides Book 1) (19 page)

“Play ‘Jimmy Crack Corn’!” Frank suggested, when the first tune came to an end. Howard quickly drew bow to strings again and started anew. Mollie giggled and leaped onto Briggs’s lap, and he promptly squeezed her with a bear hug, growling at the same time.

Frank reached for Sarah’s hand. “Come dance with me, Mrs. Brigman!”

Without waiting for an answer, he pulled her out of her chair and looped his arm through hers. Briggs watched his wife skip around in circles with young Frank, her face alight with joy, her skirts flapping as her feet came off the ground. Despite everything, how could Briggs help but smile, too?

When the song finally ended, Sarah flopped into her chair, panting and laughing at the same time. “That was wonderful!” she said to Frank, who stood in front of her, still holding her hand, waiting for the next song to begin.

“Come and sit with me, Frank,” Martha said. “Give Mrs. Brigman a chance to catch her breath.” Frank went obediently to his mother and climbed onto her lap.

“How about something for the newlyweds?” Howard suggested, rubbing his chin.

He began to play ‘Lorena,’ a haunting ballad, and Martha began to sing, her voice as deep and rich as the dark sky above. The sounds floated upward with the crackling sparks from the fire.

Briggs whispered into Mollie’s ear and gently set her onto the ground.

He stood and held his hand out to his wife. She looked up at him, hesitated briefly, then allowed him to help her rise. Briggs led her away from the fire, slid his hand around her waist, and stepped into a fluid waltz. The night closed in around them, drowning out the fears locked in his heart, while only the sad sound of the fiddle and Martha’s voice remained. Briggs squeezed Sarah’s hand gently while he led her through the dance, admiring her lightness as she followed without falter.

When the last note floated up to the stars, Briggs reluctantly stepped back. He still held Sarah’s hands, however, and they stood facing each other, staring into each other’s eyes.

“Play something good now, Pa!” Frank called out.

Briggs let go of Sarah’s hand. She lowered her gaze to the ground and sat down.

Within seconds, lively fiddle music struck a new mood and the children leaped up to dance. Briggs, all too aware of the melancholy place he’d just been, sought to pull himself out of it by tugging Martha out of her chair. Sarah clapped her hands while the rest of them danced around the fire.

They laughed and hooted, but for the remainder of the evening, Briggs never quite recovered from the affection he’d felt while dancing with his wife.

When midnight came, Mollie fell asleep in Martha’s arms. “It’s time to go,” she whispered to Howard, touching his hand, preventing him from lowering the fiddle bow for another song.

Howard rubbed his chin. “I suppose you’re right. My arm’s about to fall off.”

Everyone giggled. “Thank you so much for calling on us,” Sarah said, rising. “I can’t remember ever having so much fun. We must do it again soon.”

“We will.” They exchanged hugs and goodbyes. After loading their family and belongings into the wagon, the Whitikers left Sarah and Briggs standing outside their door, waving as their neighbors drove off, into the night.

Soon all was quiet. Briggs was finally alone with Sarah.

“Shall we go in?” he suggested, letting his hand rest on the small of her back.

She glanced up at him, all smiles gone. “You go ahead. I’ll put out the fire.”

“I’ll do it.”

“Don’t be silly. You worked hard today. I’ll make sure it’s out.” She reached forward and brushed his hair away from his forehead.

They stared into each other’s eyes in the dark until Sarah swept her lashes downward, then she walked toward the roaring bonfire. Briggs watched her go. He had the most uneasy feeling, but wanted more than anything to trust her.

After hesitating for a moment, he turned and went inside.

Chapter Eighteen

Sarah sat down in front of the bonfire and felt inside her pocket. The letter was still there, and she reconsidered what she was about to do. If she burned it, wouldn’t Briggs wonder why? Paper was a valuable commodity on the prairie, and for her to be so wasteful….

Oh, if only Martha hadn’t mentioned it!

She sat in the chair, staring at the yellow flames, wondering if it would be better to simply tell Briggs the letter was from Garrison. Then she could rip it up in front of him to prove she didn’t want to go back.

But what if he asked to read it?
I know you love me. You said so in your vows.

Dear Lord, she would have to confess everything.

She looked at the house with growing dread. She hated keeping all these secrets from Briggs, but she couldn’t put him in danger either.

Besides that, what would it do to him if he knew? Their relationship had come such a long way in the past few weeks, but not far enough to handle anything like this. He would be angry and probably devastated. She couldn’t bear to think of it.

Oh, if only they had been married longer. Surely, in time, when their rocky beginning was a more distant memory, Briggs would be more forgiving. She would tell him one day, she promised herself, when Garrison was no longer a threat.

But not now. Not until Garrison was in jail.

Sarah looked up at the black sky and made up her mind. She would burn the letter. Now. If Briggs asked to see it, she would tell him that she’d used it to light the stove and foolishly hadn’t considered keeping the paper for future use.

* * *

Sitting at the table and fiddling with a spoon, Briggs didn’t like what he was thinking. He just couldn’t stop being suspicious, could he? Why had Sarah been so bent on putting out that fire?

Growing more impatient with every passing second, he went to the dark window and cupped his hands to the cool, clean pane. Sarah was sitting in one of the chairs, staring up at the sky.

It shamed him not to trust her, but he had to know what she was doing. He crossed the room, climbed the steps and pushed open the door. Its creaky hinges drew Sarah’s attention. The fire illuminated her face, and he saw a flash of panic. She quickly dropped what must have been the letter into the fire. It sparked and crackled, then disappeared.

* * *

Sarah stared at Briggs from across the yard. Seconds passed. All she could do was wait for the other shoe to drop.

He walked toward her, his face tense with anger. Or was it disappointment?

“What did you burn?” he asked. “The letter Martha brought?”

Sarah nodded, her heart sinking.

“It wasn’t from your employer, was it,” he said.

“No,” she answered, truthfully.

She saw his jaw clench. “Why did you burn it? Weren’t you going to tell me who it was from?”

“I thought you’d be angry.”

“Should I be? You didn’t encourage him to write, did you?”

“No.”

Briggs glanced at the fire, still crackling loudly, the flames quivering in the wind. “What did he write that you didn’t want me to see?”

Sarah paused and took a deep breath.

“He wants me to come back,” she replied. “That’s why I burned it—because I have no intention of ever leaving you.”

Briggs glared uncertainly at her.

She stood and moved toward him, but he stepped back. She halted, then breached the space he’d tried to keep as his own. “I had to wait for Howard and Martha to leave before I could tell you about it.”

He considered her answer, then kicked dirt over the fire and smothered the flames. “You say he wants you back. Doesn’t he care that you’re another man’s wife?”

Sarah regarded him steadily. “He doesn’t know about you. I left Boston without telling him anything. I didn’t even say good-bye.”

Briggs grabbed hold of her arm and squeezed. “Are you telling me the truth, Sarah?”

Fear rioted within her. Briggs had never been rough with her, not even on their wedding night, but she’d seen enough in life to know where a man’s anger could lead. She frantically nodded.

Briggs let go of her arm and turned away. He kicked more dirt onto the dying fire.

“Well. I hope, if you decide to put an end to our arrangement here, you’ll at least tell me when you’re planning to go.”

Her stomach dropped, and her heart throbbed painfully in her chest. “I told you, Briggs, I have no intention of leaving.”

His eyes met hers. “You haven’t given me much reason to believe you, burning that letter without letting me see it for myself.”

He turned away from her and walked back to the house. Desperate to make things right, Sarah picked up her skirts and followed. Once inside, Briggs sat down at the table and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“What do you want to do?” she asked, her voice quavering.

“The question is, what do
you
want to do?”

“I’ve already told you, I want to stay here. With you.”

“Why?” he asked with a frown. “You have a lover back in Boston who wants you back. If you want to go to him, I’ll survive. I only wanted help around here anyway. I can find someone else.”

He may as well have punched her in the stomach. “You have no right to say such a thing to me. And I was going to tell you about the letter. I just didn’t get the chance.”

“But I’ll never know for sure, will I?”

Sarah knelt before his chair. “Please, Briggs, I know it’s hard for you to believe in me, after what happened with….” She stopped herself.

“After what happened with what?” he asked, his tone accusing.

“After what happened with Isabelle.”

Briggs sat back, staring at her as if she had slapped him.

“Just because she left you doesn’t mean I’m going to leave you, too,” Sarah said.

Briggs frowned at her and scoffed. “Who told you about that? Martha?”

Sarah nodded. “She
had
to tell me. I needed to know why you were so angry with me, why you were so determined not to care for me.”

“I thought you knew why. Because you married me while you already had a man in Boston. Did you tell her about
that
? Did you tell her how you’d kept that from me?

“No.”

Briggs looked away. “I didn’t think so.”

Sarah sat back on her heels, feeling suddenly defensive. “I’m not the only one keeping secrets, Briggs.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about the trinket under our bed.”

“What trinket?”

She could tell by the look in his eyes that he knew exactly what she was referring to. “I found the necklace that you said you sold.”

All the color drained from his face. He glanced at the bed, as if he were trying to imagine her moving it aside in order to search through his private belongings. “When?”

“Today.”

He let out a breath of frustration. “Sarah, that necklace doesn’t mean anything.”

“Then why did you lie to Martha about selling it?”

It seemed as if he didn’t have an answer to give.

“The worst part of it all,” Sarah went on, “is that you were going to let me sell my mother’s pearls to get us through the winter, while you didn’t even mention that you had something worth far more. You were going to find work somewhere in Nebraska, and leave me here all alone. Why?”

He reached out to grasp her hand. “I was never going to let you sell those pearls. And I wasn’t aware that you knew about Isabelle.”

“Well.” She leaned back. “I do.”

“Sarah,” he tried to explain. “I was ready to
marry
her. I never took the way I felt about her lightly. That’s why I couldn’t sell the necklace right away. Then you came, and things got busy, and…” He looked at her, his eyes accusing. “Maybe
you
could stop loving someone on a whim, but I couldn’t.”

Sarah shook her head in exasperation. “Why would you say something like that to me? You have no idea how my heart works, or what I’ve been through. You seem to think that because you couldn’t let go of Isabelle, I shouldn’t have been able to let go of Garrison. Yes—that’s his name.
Garrison
. And you don’t know why I left him, or what happened before I came to you. You have no idea.”

Briggs sat forward. “Then why don’t you tell me.”

Chapter Nineteen

Sarah stared at the dark window, wondering how much of the truth she could reveal without destroying everything.

“I don’t love him, Briggs. I thought I did at first, but I was naïve and felt very alone.” She shook her head solemnly. “He wasn’t what I thought he was.”

“And what was that?”

Sarah had to consider it a moment. “I thought he was decent.”

Like you.

Briggs shifted in his chair but his expression remained untouched. She wondered if he was believing any of what she was saying. “What are you trying to tell me?” he asked.

“I’m trying to tell you that I made a mistake. After my parents died I was suddenly on my own. I was very close to them and I was devastated.”