To his amazement, Brianna said nothing. Not one word. David was wondering about that when he realized her reticence was probably due to Daphne’s presence. She didn’t want to upset the child. David took his cue from her. He had a few things he wanted to say as well, foremost that Brianna had failed to voice to the judge the one objection that might have rung true—that she couldn’t possibly agree to this marriage because to do so would be bigamous. In David’s estimation, her failure to mention that was the strongest evidence yet that there was no other David Paxton and that she’d never been married until a couple of minutes ago.
So now what? David had the oddest feeling that he’d stepped over an invisible line, leaving reality behind. Legal or not, the marriage would be filed as such, giving him inalienable rights, not only as Daphne’s father, but also as Brianna’s husband. As badly as he felt about how it had all come to pass, he couldn’t very well argue with the outcome. He’d set out to get custody of his daughter, and now he had it.
Brianna felt like a bug trapped in a jar gone wet inside with condensation. Her whole body dripped sweat. She wanted to rail at David Paxton, or whatever his name truly was, and then rip his hair from his head. But every word that tried to push up her throat was far too ugly to voice in front of Daphne. As soon as the child was no longer present, she would let the scoundrel have it, though. She could barely wait to tell him just how lowdown and unethical she believed he was.
“Mama?” Daphne said plaintively. “Does this mean I don’t get to be in my recital?”
The question jerked Brianna back to the moment. The recital. She’d forgotten all about it. “No, darling, no!” she crooned, holding her arms out to her daughter. “We’ll hurry to the dress shop and get you in fine form posthaste!”
“I’ll carry her,” Paxton said. “You look ready to drop in your tracks.”
Brianna wanted to jerk the child away from him. The satisfied curve of his lips told her that he believed he had won and now had complete control, not only of Daphne, but of her as well. Ha! This matter wasn’t finished yet.
Feeling as if her throat might rupture with pressure from all the words she kept swallowing back, Brianna followed the blasted man back across the street to the dress shop. Once inside, Paxton helped tidy Daphne’s hair and clothing while Brianna fetched the child’s supper from a cloth sack in the trunk.
Paxton set Daphne on the sewing chair, pushed Mrs. Pauder’s dress out of the way, and arranged what there was of the pathetic meal on the machine table. Then he plucked the half-finished bottle of sarsaparilla from the windowsill and set it beside the food. “There you go. Lay back your ears and dig in, sweetheart.” He chucked the child under the chin. “Time’s wasting. You can’t be late for your recital.”
As Brianna stepped from the cubicle, Paxton’s spurs chinking in her wake, the door to the rear living quarters flew open and Abigail hove into view, her white apron smeared with food stains and the bib askew on her flat chest. “A half hour, you said! You were gone far longer than that!”
Before Brianna could speak, Paxton’s voice, deep, resonant, and dripping charm, rang out from behind her. “Miss Abigail, I’m so delighted to see you. I figured that you had already retired for the night.”
Abigail parted her pale lips to lace into Brianna again, but Paxton cut her off. “I’m so glad you’re still awake. I wanted to tell you how deeply I admire your generous spirit.”
Abigail blinked, clearly as bewildered as Brianna by that assessment of her character. “My what?”
“Modesty is becoming,” Paxton said with a smile in his tone, “but in this instance, your kindness is so amazing that I can’t help but marvel.” He stepped abreast of Brianna. “Why I’m amazed, I have no idea. I knew the first instant I met you that a very tender heart rested under that pretty brooch you’re wearing. Most employers would refuse to allow Mrs. Paxton time off this evening to attend the recital, but oh, no, not you. You understand how important things like this are to a little girl.”
Abigail touched fluttering fingertips to the brooch, which was partly covered by an apron strap. “I was a child myself not so very long ago.” She batted her lashes and blushed. “Naturally I have encouraged Mrs. Paxton to attend the performance.”
“Even though the stop in production will affect your bottom line?” He shook his head. “That is beyond admirable, the mark of a truly fine lady. I only wish there were more like you in the world. It would be a better place.”
If the events of the day hadn’t been so horrid, Brianna might have laughed. This situation went beyond ludicrous, yet Abigail soaked up the praise like a thirsty sponge.
Paxton reached into his pocket and withdrew a silver money clip that sported a gold horseshoe on its front. Within its clasp was a thick fold of bills, more money than Brianna had ever seen in anyone’s pocket, the uppermost a ten, with the corners of two twenties also showing.
“I would never intentionally offend a lady with your tender sensibilities, Miss Abigail. But such generosity must be compensated. I won’t sleep well tonight, knowing that your shop profit will suffer because of Mrs. Paxton’s absences today, let alone tonight.”
He caught Abigail’s hand, closed her fingers around a substantial offering, and then lifted her bony knuckles to his lips. Brianna feared her boss might swoon on the spot.
“Please accept this token of my regard in the spirit it is given,” Paxton insisted.
“Oh, no, I couldn’t possibly,” Abigail said, gaping at the money on her palm. “A lady cannot accept monetary gifts from a gentleman, sir. It’s inappropriate.”
“Not a gift. Consider it to be compensation. Not many bosses are so kind. Besides, no one beyond this room will ever hear of it. I understand that a much-sought-after lady such as yourself has to guard her reputation. You must have countless admirers vying for your favor.”
Abigail stuffed the money in an apron pocket and flattened a hand over her chest. “Not that many. It is a small town.”
“With every available bachelor standing at your door?”
Abigail laughed and angled him a shy smile, looking almost pretty for the first time in Brianna’s memory. “I don’t suppose you are free tomorrow for supper, Mr. Paxton? I am renowned for my rack of lamb, and I would so enjoy your company for the meal, the most succulent lamb imaginable, with all the trimmings.”
At that, Brianna truly did almost laugh. Judging by Paxton’s expression, he’d just realized that he’d charmed his way into a very sticky corner and was rapidly searching his brain for a polite way out. “That sounds fabulous. I do have some appointments for tomorrow that may conflict, much to my regret.”
“We can dine late,” Abigail replied. “Say at six, after business hours?”
Brianna saw his Adam’s apple bob. “That would be great. Like I said, though, I do have some stuff to take care of. If I don’t stop by the shop by noon to confirm, please don’t count on me.”
“I do hope you’ll endeavor to conclude your business well before six.”
Flashing a sultry smile, Abigail executed a sweeping turn with a twitch of her narrow hips that was clearly meant to be seductive but instead put one more in mind of a scarlet-draped broom twisting in the wind.
When the door closed, Paxton said softly, “Well, I just saved your job.”
Brianna pitched her voice low to spare Daphne’s ears. “And what of the rent next week? I must work all the hours I can to meet my expenses! Not to mention that when you fail to show up tomorrow night, she’ll be sure to blame me.”
He had the audacity to wink at her. “If you have any sense at all, you’ll be well away from here by then and headed to No Name with me and our daughter.”
“Pigs will fly first!”
Moving to a display case at the far end of the shop, Brianna waited for Paxton to close the distance between them, as she knew he would. There was nothing tentative about the man. When she heard his spurs chink to a stop behind her, she straightened her shoulders and dir
ected her low-pitched words to him over her shoulder.
“I will despise you with a virulence to last a lifetime for your testimony against me tonight. You have destroyed my reputation. You’ve led two men who once respected me to think of me as a trollop. You’ve also cast into doubt the legitimacy of my daughter’s birth. I will never forgive you for that, nor shall I ever forget.”
Brianna wasn’t sure how she expected him to respond. Certainly not with an apology, but as low as her opinion of him was, he still managed to shock her.
“Well, now, darlin’, that should keep our marriage interesting. At least I know right up front that I’ll never get bored.”
Chapter Six
D
uring the brief walk to the church, Brianna maintained a frigid silence she hoped David Paxton would notice. Unfortunately, he probably didn’t get the chance because Daphne, perched on his hip, chattered like a magpie, clearly nervous about her forthcoming performance. As upset as Brianna was, she sent up a quick prayer that the child wouldn’t get tongue-tied or forget her lines. Tutored at Charles Ricker’s home by Brianna until February, Daphne had been totally unprepared for the cruelties inflicted upon her by other children when she was thrust into a classroom environment so late in the school year. The girls her age had already formed tight friendships, and Daphne, in her patched dresses, had made a perfect target for teasing. The torment had abated now that Daphne wore prettier frocks, but being ostracized for so long had damaged her self-esteem. Doing well tonight would go a long way toward rebuilding her confidence.
“You worried about forgetting your lines?” Paxton asked the child.
“A little bit,” Daphne confessed. “But not as much as I would be if you and Mama weren’t going to be there.”
“We wouldn’t miss it for anything,” he replied. Then, angling a pointed look at Brianna, he added, “Would we, darling?”
Oh, how Brianna yearned to smack him. Her mouth was so dry that she couldn’t have spat if someone yelled, “Fire!” But for Daphne’s sake, she managed to push out, “No, I absolutely wouldn’t! It’s not every day that I get to watch my beautiful little girl give a solo recitation.”
When they entered the church, Brianna drew to a stop beside Paxton. The dais at the front of the cavernous room where the pulpit normally sat had been transformed to serve as a stage and was brightly illuminated by strategically placed lanterns. Children stood off to each side, bunched into groups according to grade. Very few lamps had been spared for the rear of the church, where bisected rows of pews stretched back to the entranceway. Even in the dimness, Brianna determined quickly that every spot had already been taken. She saw the plump Mrs. Pauder sitting in a center aisle seat beside her gangly husband, Mike. Two rows ahead, the Wilson family took up nearly an entire bench, Charlotte looking pathetically thin next to her brawny husband, Mac.
“I’m late!” Daphne squeaked.
Paxton put the child down, tugged off her cloak, and licked his forefinger to wipe a smear of cheese from the corner of her mouth. “They haven’t started yet, so you’re only fashionably late,” he said in a low voice as he straightened her hair ribbon. “All beautiful ladies try to be a tad late so every eye will turn to them as they make a grand entrance.”
Daphne glanced behind her. “Does that mean everybody will stare at me?”
“Yep, but only because they’ll be thinking you’re the prettiest girl they’ve ever seen,” he said. “Now, listen, okay? Don’t run or let on that you’re flustered. Walk like your mama does, slowly and gracefully, with your head high and your shoulders back.”
Daphne nodded and cast Brianna a terrified look. “I can’t remember my lines.”
Determined to push from her mind all her worries about David Paxton, Brianna crouched down to take Daphne’s small face between her hands. “You truly are the prettiest girl in town, dear heart. And you’ll remember your lines when your turn comes. You’ve practiced and practiced. Mrs. Walton will be standing nearby, and she’ll whisper reminders, too. You’re going to do fine, I promise.”
“What if I don’t?” Panic tightened the child’s expression.
Brianna saw Paxton fishing in a pocket of Daphne’s cloak. He withdrew a shiny-bright copper penny, which he tucked into the child’s right hand. “For luck,” he whispered. “It’s magic, remember.”
Daphne grinned, pressed her fist to her heart, and nodded before tucking the coin into her skirt pocket. “It is magic. I forgot I had it!”
Daphne braced her thin shoulders and spun away, a swirl of multihued pink even in the dimness at the back of the church. Tears stung Brianna’s eyes as she watched her daughter walk slowly up the aisle, clutching her skirt in one hand to mimic her mama even though the hem of her dress reached only to her shins. There was an innate dignity and grace about the child. Oh, how Brianna wished Moira could be there.
“Standing room only,” Paxton said softly. He guided her to the left of the doorway, where they could watch with their backs to the wall. “Jesus. Are you as nervous as I am? She’s placing way too much importance on this. It’s only a recital, for Christ’s sake.”
“You are in a church, sir. Watch your filthy mouth.”
He laughed softly. “Why bother when you watch it so good for me?”
She jerked with a start when he looped an arm across her shoulders in an unmistakably proprietary fashion. She looked up at him, drawing a hissing breath as his gaze sharpened on hers, warning her without words not to protest. As if she would dream of it. Pulling away from him in public would cause even more talk than standing there with his arm around her. She could see heads turning and heard a low-pitched buzz of conversation. She knew who was being discussed, and it wasn’t Mrs. Walton, the teacher and mistress of ceremonies, now walking to center stage.
Daphne’s group would perform fifth. The first skits were a blur to Brianna. She was mainly conscious of the weight of Paxton’s arm and the rigid pressure of his sidearm against her hip. The older children sang a patriotic song she’d memorized as a child. All through the group recitation of the Declaration of Independence, her thoughts scurried about like a mouse in a rabbit warren. She had to think of a way to get away from this man. She could only pray that Daphne’s remaining dress money would provide her with the means to hire a horse, reach the nearest railway, and purchase tickets to some town where she and her daughter could vanish like puffs of smoke.
Brianna mulled over the possibility that acting acquiescent might lull Paxton into a false sense of security. She would have to steal a good bit of food from the restaurant so she and Daphne would have something to eat while they traveled. Brianna detested having to pilfer bread and cheese. She left money on the counter to pay for it whenever she could, but this situation called for a complete lack of conscience.
She snapped to attention when two older boys on the stage erected a Maypole with colored streamers. Daphne’s turn was coming. All the children danced around the staff, singing songs, and then Daphne came out onto the dais. An angel in pink, she searched the crowd with anxious blue eyes, finally spotted Brianna and Paxton, and blew them a kiss. Then she stepped forward.
In a tremulous voice, which she projected with a push of her thin shoulders, she said, “I am to recite to you ‘Old Mother Mitten.’”
Brianna’s heart caught, and she sent up a silent Hail Mary, crossed her fingers, and then unsuccessfully tried to do the same with her toes. She felt Paxton stiffen beside her, which gave her cause to wonder if he actually was nervous. Pshaw. She’d seen how easily he charmed Abigail. The man had missed his calling to the stage.
“‘Old Mother Mitten and her pretty kitten took supper one night rather late. But they sat down to tea, and the dog came to see Pussy cut the meat up on her plate.’”
Daphne reached into her skirt pocket, undoubtedly to touch that blasted penny, which Brianna didn’t believe was special in any way. Even so, the child’s voice steadied. Brianna saw her release a breath and drag in another. She kne
w then that Daphne had overcome her fright and would recite her lines perfectly.
“She’s amazing,” Paxton whispered. “Such a beautiful, smart little girl. You’ve done a good job with her.”
Brianna wanted to stay focused on Daphne’s recitation, but that comment heated her blood. “Aside from feeding her from trash barrels, of course.”
“Yeah, well, that isn’t your fault. It’s mine.”
Applause broke out, and Brianna realized Daphne’s performance had ended, apparently with a flawless presentation, judging by the enthusiastic clap of hands. She blocked out Paxton and watched Daphne step forward, as was her due as the soloist, and curtsy with her skirt held out at each side. Then the child straightened, beamed another smile, and said, “I have an important announcement to make! After a very long time mining in Denver, my papa finally came to see us today! Then tonight he and Mama visited Judge Afton and got married! Isn’t that grand? I am ever so happy!”
For a horrible instant, Brianna thought she might faint. Though she grabbed for breath, her lungs refused to inflate. A collective gasp rose from the crowded pews, and a hum of censorious conversation ensued. Paxton snapped taut, withdrew his arm from around Brianna’s shoulders, and said, “Christ on crutches!”
Before Brianna could guess what he meant to do, he handed her Daphne’s cloak, shoved away from the wall, and strode up the center aisle, his greasy-looking duster flapping behind him. In this setting, he was like a weevil in the flour bin, a disreputable man in a building filled with pious, respectably garbed parents and grandparents. Brianna cringed and wanted to close her eyes, but morbid fascination kept them open.
He made short work of closing the distance to Daphne. Once he gained the dais, he swept the child up into his arms and turned to face the audience. “Good evening to all of you,” he said in a booming voice. “I’m David Paxton, Daphne’s father. After our marriage several years ago, her mother and me were separated.” He made a circular motion near his temple. “I guess you could say I lost my mind. I definitely got a maggot in my brain about striking it rich in the Denver area, and it took me a spell to get my head on straight and come here to collect my family. To celebrate our reunion, my wife and me decided to repeat our wedding vows. Judge Afton was happy to oblige.” He stepped down from the dais. “This is a fabulous recital. I hope all of you enjoy the rest of it.”