A Bride in the Bargain Part 10

The wagon rolled and swayed, jostling Anna on the seat. Mr. Denton had not said so much as a word to her since leaving the confectionery. He had simply made arrangements with a dentist to have some teeth made for Mrs. Wrenne, walked them back to the Occidental, then propelled Anna out to his wagon.

They'd been on the crude road for almost an hour and he still hadn't said anything. Perhaps they would make it all the way to his lumber camp in peace and quiet.

"Judge Rountree holds half my property in the palm of his hand." Denton's growl broke the silence. "I'd appreciate it if you didn't insult him at all, much less in his own home."

So much for peace and quiet.

"He named his children One, Two, Three, and Four," she said. "He deserves to be insulted."

"That's not the point. The point is I can't afford to alienate him and now that you are my responsibility, I can't have you offending him either."

"Well, who would have thought someone would do that to his own children? I thought the boy was lying, for heaven's sake."

"Well, he wasn't. O.B. hates his name, and rather than saddling his kids with a name they hate, he decided to let them pick their own."

"So he calls them One, Two, Three, and Four? That's his solution to giving them names they won't hate?"

"They're temporary."

"They're preposterous."

"Are you listening to me, Anna? I won't have you insulting him."

The outrage she felt on the children's behalf continued to brew inside her. "Oh dear," she said, affecting a pout. "Are we habing our foist fight?"

He yanked the horses to a stop. She'd have flown right off the seat if he hadn't grabbed her and jerked her around to face him.

"Mrs. Wrenne is the woman I'm going to marry and I won't tolerate you or anyone else making fun of her. You understand me, missy?"

She immediately felt contrite. She hadn't meant to say that, but she was just so blame mad. And it wasn't only because of the children. She narrowed her eyes. "How dare you lecture me when you're marrying her only as a means to an end?"

He gave her a shake. "I won't have you making fun of her. Do you understand?"

Wrenching herself from his hold, she straightened her backbone, refusing to be cowed by him. "Those are awfully strong words from a man who is using her."

"No more than she's using me." He s.n.a.t.c.hed up the reins.

All the starch wilted from her. "But aren't you ashamed?"

"You're the one who ought to be ashamed. Making fun of her lisp like that."

"I am. I'm sorry I did it and I won't do again." She glared at him. "And you? Are you ashamed?"

He flicked the ribbons, causing the horse to pick up some speed. "Not one single bit."

The rain started less than an hour later. The wagon's canopy offered little protection from the moisture blowing in from the sides. It didn't take long to penetrate Anna's clothing, and try as she might, she couldn't keep her shivers at bay.

Joe shrugged off his jacket and tossed it on her lap. "Didn't it occur to you to bring a coat?"

She shoved his jacket back at him, pressing it against his side. "I don't have one."

"I thought it got cold in Ma.s.sachusetts."

"It does."

He hesitated. "Well, put that one on, then."

"I don't want it."

"Put it on."

"I don't want it."

"Put. It. On."

"No."

He turned to look at her. Slowly, slowly. He really was a large man.

"Don't make me stop the wagon again."

"Will you hit me?"

His mouth fell open. "Will I hit you?"

"Well? Will you?"

His horrified expression was better than any answer he could have given. Still, she refused to be the first to break eye contact.

"For the love of the saints, Anna." The edge in his voice dissipated. "Put the stupid thing on."

A breeze cut straight through her wet clothing. Lifting her chin, she tucked the jacket over her shoulders. Warmth immediately encompa.s.sed her along with the now-familiar smell of cedar. He plucked off his hat and stuffed it onto her head. It fell clear to her nose.

Pushing it up she looked at him, then jerked herself straight when a rivulet of water poured off its rim and down her back.

The rain continued, saturating his shirt, his trousers, his hair, his skin. He never said a word. Never so much as wiped his face.

The farther they went, the thicker the forest became on either side of the road. Never in her life had she seen so many trees. Tall ones. Short ones. Skinny ones. Fat ones.

"The evergreens here look different than the ones at home."

He continued to stare straight ahead, moisture collecting on his lashes.

She picked up a fallen twig from the wagon floor. "They're a darker green. And the needles are different, too. Rounder. Fatter."

The horse's hooves made a suctioning noise in the mud.

"What's your horse's name?"

A gust of wind blew the hat from her head. He caught it one-handed, then slapped it back on her.

"Shakespeare."

Shakespeare? Adjusting the hat, she studied the st.u.r.dy animal of a nondescript brown and wondered what the famous playwright would think about having a horse named after him.

The strain of the last few days coupled with the rocking wagon began to pull at her. Her eyes grew heavy. She allowed herself to close them for just a minute, then jerked her head up when her chin bounced.

After the third time, Denton pulled her against his shoulder. "Here."

She stiffened.

He held her in place. "You're going to tumble right off the wagon. Just close your eyes and see if you can get some sleep. We're still a long way from home."

A long way from home? She almost scoffed, but tears stacked up in her throat, blocking the sound. She wasn't a long way from home. She was an entire continent away from home.

Her body warmth felt good. She felt good. When was the last time he had a woman this close? Eleven years? No. More like twelve.

He'd forgotten what it was like. How good it felt. Her head lolled back. Glancing down, he allowed himself a small smile. She slept with her mouth open. Now, why didn't that surprise him?

The rain began again in earnest. He pulled his jacket more securely over her shoulders, then tucked her under his arm, shielding as much of her as he could with his body.

She sure was a pretty little thing. He looked down again. And that waspish tongue of hers would help her hold her own with the boys.

He sighed. They were sure going to rib him about his choice of bride. It was just as well he was marrying the old woman, though. Wouldn't be hard to maintain a chaste relationship with her. Wouldn't have been near so easy if he'd married this one.

He tightened his grip some. He'd have to lay down the law with the boys. Make sure they didn't bother her. She obviously had some aversion to getting married, so he'd make sure they kept their distance.

She snorted, smacked her lips, then snuggled further into his side, smashing his hat between them.

Who'd hit her? he wondered. A relation? A guardian?

From the condition of her clothing and the spa.r.s.eness of her bag, she'd clearly stumbled upon hard times. To think she didn't even have a coat, just a raggedy cape that served no purpose whatsoever.

Still, she was articulate. Well-spoken. At some point or other, she'd been looked after by someone with an education.

He shook his head. Was she running from something? From someone?

Tugging his hat free, he set it on top of his head, then pulled her face against his chest and allowed himself to enjoy the chance to hold her. It'd most likely be the last time he ever would.

He smoothed the hair off her face, then took a fortifying breath. He'd make certain it was the last time.

Leon's paper soldiers faced each other across the dark wood of the kitchen table. . . .

"Hold your fire, men," he said, pushing forward a soldier he'd named after one of the town's local officers. "Wait until the enemy gets close, then aim low."

The rebel line advanced. When all were in position, Leon picked up his drum and tapped out a slow beat.

"Steady . . . steady . . . and FIRE!"

The drumsticks thundered on the snare as he sucked in his breath and blew down the entire rebel line.

"Victory!" he shouted.

Anna slammed both hands down on the table, tumbling two of the Union soldiers. "Would you please stop that infernal drumming and help me?"

"Hey! Look what you did. You knocked down Charlie Church and Marvin Onerdonk."

"I'm going to wipe out the entire regiment if you don't put that stupid drum away."

Leon rose to his full height-all four feet of it-then proceeded to march around the kitchen singing, "We'll Hang Jeff Davis on a Sour Apple Tree," keeping time with his drum.

"Mama!" Anna hollered into the parlor, where their mother sewed for hours every day. "Leon won't help me pick lint."

He pounded harder. "Picking lint is for girls."

"It's for bandaging the soldiers and it's your duty to help."

"My duty is to be a drummer for the troops and I can't do that unless I practice."

"You're never going to be a drummer, Leon. Papa has forbidden it. Now, if you don't stop your pounding and help me, I'm going to . . . I'm going to knock over your soldiers."

"You better not."

She raised her hand. "Then stop. I mean it. Stop drumming right now or else."

Leon doubled his tempo.

She swept her arm across the table, sending the soldiers in all directions.

"Nooooo!" He dropped his sticks. "That was everybody we know."

"It's not either, and you're nothing but a big baby crying over a bunch of paper nothings."

"I'm not crying!" Wrenching the drum from his shoulders, he dropped it to the floor and charged.

Anna screamed as Leon brought her to the floor, scattering her pile of lint. She kicked and shoved, but even though she was fifteen to his ten, she could not overcome the combination of wiry muscles and indignation.

Mama came from around the corner. "Anna. Leon. Stop it. Stop it at once. Both of you."

They ignored her, of course. Mama reached for Leon just as Anna swung out her fist, catching her mother on the chin. Mama staggered back, falling against the wall, then crumpled to the floor.

"Look what you did!" Leon jumped up, a look of horror on his face. "I hate you, Anna! I hate you! And I'm not staying here another minute. I'm joining the war." He grabbed his drum, then ran from the room and out the screen door.

"Leon!" she cried. Yet she didn't run after him. She couldn't. Not with Mama hurt and on the floor.