Why did I not think to bring a frying pan? She’d procured plenty of food but nothing to cook it in. The oversight might have been laughable if it hadn’t been so indicative of her rattled thought processes while she prepared to run. Even worse, the fabulous aromas drifting from Paxton’s fire made her mouth water. He’d killed a rabbit shortly after sunrise, and now he was frying it while roots and God only knew what else boiled in a pot. He made meal preparation out on the prairie seem effortless.
Recalling her first weeks at Ricker’s, when learning to cook on a woodstove had nearly gotten the better of her, Brianna felt sure she could master almost anything if she set her mind to it. Just then, a huff of wind blew out her fire, and she almost cursed. She stared gloomily at the half-raw bacon and belatedly decided that she and Daphne would fare well enough with hunks of bread and cheese. At least she’d had the presence of mind last night to bring along some fare she didn’t have to cook.
Daphne settled in beside Brianna to eat, her small face drawn into a scowl. “I have to eat this every single day,” she complained. “I hardly ever get vegetables.”
Brianna, who’d been going without food as much as she could, thought the cheese and bread were delightful. She took a sip of water from the dented tin cup—another thing she’d had to borrow—and sighed. Her belly, so long deprived, already felt full, but she determinedly sank her teeth into the bread again. She needed to regain her strength. Even at her best, she’d be no match for Paxton physically. She would have to depend on her wits, and without nourishment, her brain had grown sluggish. The smell of the frying rabbit called to her. How long had it been since she’d eaten meat?
“Mama,” Daphne said, shooting her a sweet smile. “Papa is eating all the plants we found, and he isn’t getting sick. Won’t you please let me have some?”
Brianna stared at Paxton. He was wolfing down food from a tin plate balanced on his knees. Plates were yet another thing she hadn’t thought to bring. Not that the restaurant had tin ones, but she might have grabbed some china and protected it in the folds of their blankets. She’d forgotten forks and spoons as well. Her mouth spurting saliva, Brianna watched him go after a rabbit leg. She wanted some so much that she couldn’t blame Daphne for feeling the same way.
“All right,” she relented. “But you can only have some meat, none of the other stuff.”
Daphne shot to her feet. Brianna grabbed her arm. “Look at me.”
The child dragged her gaze from the rabbit to focus on her mother.
“You will do as I say. There are all manner of poisonous plants on the prairie. Mr. Paxton may believe he knows what is safe to eat, but there’s every chance that he’s wrong. You may have some of the rabbit and nothing else.”
Daphne wrinkled her nose. “Mama, why do you call Papa Mr. Paxton? Myrna Hepplewhite’s mother calls Myrna’s daddy James.”
Caught off guard, Brianna couldn’t think how to answer. “You just do as I say, young lady, and eat only some rabbit.” She released her hold on her daughter’s arm. “Your promise, Daphne, or I shan’t allow you to go.”
Daphne released a theatrical sigh. “All right, Mama, I promise. But if he doesn’t sicken before supper, can I have some of his rabbit stew?”
Brianna considered the question for a second. “If he remains well until suppertime, yes, I’ll let you have some stew.”
Daphne left the remainder of her bread and cheese on the napkin Brianna had spread between them, the one useful thing she had thought to bring. Bouncing away to the other fire, she cried, “Papa, Mama says I can have some of your rabbit!”
Paxton handed the child a plate, forked her up some meat, hooked a hand behind her neck to kiss her on the forehead, and said, “Lay back your ears, darlin’, and dig in.”
As Daphne did just that, Brianna settled a thoughtful gaze on Paxton. The events of yesterday had cemented into her mind that he was up to no good, but his actual words and manner didn’t support that. When he looked at Daphne, his chiseled features softened with affection. He touched her with incredible gentleness.
Though it unsettled her and made her question her sanity, Brianna had to wonder if he wasn’t precisely what he said he was, a small-town marshal named David Paxton.
Poppycock. The smell of his fried rabbit was addling her brains.
Chapter Nine
A
fter the breakfast mess was cleaned up and the bedding was repacked, Paxton fetched the horses and mule, which he had left where the grazing was better. Standing a few feet away, Brianna pretended to watch Daphne as she gathered flowers, but she was actually observing Paxton as he saddled the geldings. It was a task never required of her at Ricker’s ranch, and just in case Paxton had nefarious plans, she’d need to know how to do it in order to get Daphne away from him.
She thought she was displaying just the right amount of disinterest when, toward the end of the process, he flashed a grin at her over the bay’s saddle and touched the brim of his hat. “Did you get that? Or should I unsaddle them and start over?”
A flush of embarrassment flooded her cheeks. Did the wretched man miss nothing?
“I’d be happy to teach you how to saddle a horse. There’s no need to stand back and pretend you’re not watching. It’s a skill everyone in this country should have.”
For the second time that morning, Brianna wondered if the man had bats in his belfry. He had to know she was desperate to get away, and here he was offering to teach her a skill that might enable her to do that. Of course, he could have an ulterior motive. Was he planning to take off with Daphne and had conscience enough to make sure Brianna could get back to civilization safely?
She wasn’t taking any chances where Daphne was concerned. He wouldn’t wiggle an eyebrow today without her noticing.
“Come on,” he said, when it became evident she wasn’t going to answer him. “Let’s go. We’ve got a lot of ground to cover today.”
Brianna stepped to the bay’s side, ignoring Paxton’s outstretched hand, and took hold of the saddle. Hoisting a foot, she aimed for the stirrup and succeeded only in jabbing the horse in the stomach. The animal turned its head and looked at her in mild protest. She tried again. She couldn’t get her left foot high enough to reach the stirrup.
Paxton watched her hop beside the horse for another try or two, then he gave her a crooked smile that lent his rugged features a boyish appeal. “I’ll give you a boost up if you’d like.”
I’ll just bet you would. She wasn’t sure if his offer was only an excuse to get his hands on a female, or if he truly wanted to help. She didn’t care. The bottom line was that she needed to learn how to mount by herself. “I can manage quite well, thank you.”
Turning so that her backside was away from Paxton’s gaze, Brianna tried again. She’d been taught to be grateful for the gifts God gave her, but she’d never wished more than now that those gifts had included a few extra inches. Her foot grazed the edge of the stirrup and jabbed the horse again. The animal heaved a patient sigh. Glancing up from the bedraggled bouquet in her hand, Daphne gave Brianna a curious look, then returned her attention to a clump of pink flowers.
“This is ridiculous,” Paxton said after Brianna had bounced about several more times. “When we get to my ranch, I’ll build you a mounting block, but for now, you’ll have to settle for using a rock or my hands. I see no rocks, Shamrock, so you’re stuck with me.” He laced his fingers and stepped forward. “Come on. A lot of people aren’t long enough in the leg to mount without an aid. It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”
Brianna sent him a look that she hoped made his ears burn. A gentleman never referred to a lady’s lower appendages or called them by name.
Still offering her the cradle of his locked fingers, he said, “Stop being so prideful, Shamrock. God made you a little on the small side, but so what? You’re put together right fine. Better than fine, actually.”
Brianna gasped. “Were you born and raised in a barn, sir?”
Frowning
slightly, he straightened and settled his hands on his lean hips. “What have I said wrong this time?”
“You refer to my lower appendages, assess and comment on my person, address me with a rude name, and you can still ask that question?”
He chuckled and shook his head. With sunlight playing over his chiseled face, she had to admit he was an exceptionally handsome man. “Don’t tell me you’re one of those prudish types who thinks every piano should be skirted so its legs won’t show.”
Brianna couldn’t see the humor. “It is not prudish to have good manners, sir, and it is not mannerly to mention a lady’s body parts. I am not a piano!”
Paxton looked her up and down in a way that made her skin burn. “No, ma’am, I can see that. I meant no offense. Where I come from, it’s okay to recognize that women have legs, just like men, and a lady is flattered when she receives a compliment. And just for the record, I was born on a gorgeous plantation in Virginia.”
“Really?” Brianna edged the question with a dubious note.
“Yes, really,” he replied drily. “My father, Joseph Paxton Sr., was a Southern gentleman of some wealth. In addition to raising crops, he bred fine horses. During the war, he lost almost everything. With the little he had left, he purchased some land outside No Name, pulled up stakes, and moved us west. Right off, he learned the land sale was a swindle and his deed of ownership wasn’t worth the paper it was written on. It’s a long story, and we need to be on our way, so I’ll just say he ended up swinging from the limb of a big oak tree on that land, punished for a murder he didn’t commit, and thereafter it was up to my mother and my older brother, Ace, to raise me and my siblings. Maybe you don’t think they did a good job, but I sure as hell do.”
It sounded like a plausible story. Many well-heeled Southerners had lost everything during the War between the States. Brianna felt a twinge of guilt for having blistered his ears. Not everyone had grown up in a convent as she had. Perhaps he was right, and she was a bit of a prude. It was just that nearly every word out of his mouth shocked her. Was that because of her upbringing, or simply because she couldn’t stand the man? Everything he said or did irritated or alarmed her, or both.
She finally had no choice but to accept his offer of a leg up to mount the horse, and the instant her nether regions settled on the saddle, she whimpered, unable to gulp back the sound. Little wonder she’d hurt all over when she first stirred awake and had barely been able to walk. She felt bruised and rubbed raw in places that, until this moment, she hadn’t even realized she possessed.
“You saddle sore, darlin’?”
With a supreme effort of will, Brianna straightened and gathered the reins. Darlin’? The man defined the word audacious.
“I’ve got some liniment in the packs that’ll take care of it right quick,” he informed her. “If you’ve got sore spots you can’t reach, I’ll happily rub you down.”
Cows with angel wings would appear in the sky before she accepted that offer. “I am perfectly fit, sir. Let us be on our way.”
Once again, Daphne rode with Paxton, chattering almost nonstop. It was a bright, sunny morning, and Brianna yearned to shed the jacket, but given the man’s comments about her threadbare gown and how revealing it was, she decided she’d rather be hot than take off the coat. Paxton would get no more free shows from her.
Riding two lengths behind the mule, Lucy, Brianna could hear little of what was said between her daughter and Paxton, but judging by Daphne’s chortles of laughter, she was greatly enjoying the exchange and falling head over heels in love with her papa. Anxiety mounted within Brianna. Nothing good could come of this. If Paxton was actually on the level and believed he was Daphne’s sire, he was bound to learn the truth sooner or later, and at that point, he would renounce the child, just as any man in his right mind would. Daphne might never get over the heartbreak.
Every few minutes, Paxton stopped the horses to dismount and collect vegetation. After going to great lengths to inform Daphne of each plant’s common name, its medicinal properties or lack of them, and how it could be cooked, he stuffed the find into a drawstring canvas bag that dangled from his saddle horn. Brianna caught only snatches of the dialogue, which frustrated her no end. Did the man know what he was about, or was he filling her daughter’s head with a bunch of nonsense that could very well end in her death?
Worse, simply sitting there with nothing to distract her but miles of grassland in all directions, Brianna found her gaze drawn repeatedly to Paxton’s lean, muscular frame. He moved with an easy grace for such a powerfully built man, swinging effortlessly into a crouch and then pushing erect, and exhibiting speedy reflexes that she found altogether unsettling. Determined not to watch him, she gazed off across the prairie.
On this rolling terrain, she supposed there might be railroad tracks out there somewhere, but thus far they hadn’t come across any. That struck her as odd. They’d ridden a good distance, though probably not as far as her aching backside indicated, yet she hadn’t seen a sign of civilization. Was Paxton deliberately avoiding people? She suspected he was. He’d made it clear last night that he would not use public transportation until she came to accept this situation.
But what if he had some other reason for avoiding people? Suspicion gnawed at her again. The man had her teetering back and forth like a seesaw.
He and Daphne finally mounted back up, and they were off again. How, Brianna asked herself, did Paxton know which way to go? The prairie all looked the same to her. She’d never had a good sense of direction. She knew that the sun rose in the east and set in the west, but right now it was almost overhead, which told her nothing. And she had no idea how to find her way after dark. As a youngster, she’d studied the constellations and how to use the North Star to navigate, but she’d long since forgotten how to find it in the sky. Such knowledge had not been necessary at the convent orphanage. The dear, wonderful nuns who’d raised her never left the convent grounds because it was a rule of their order to remain cloistered. As a result, Brianna had spent much of her life behind the convent walls, her only outings chaperoned by responsible ladies of the parish who volunteered to organize day trips for the children. Brianna had enjoyed those brief glimpses of the outside world, but they’d been rare, and the women driving the buggies had found their way through the city using street signs.
On the high prairie there were no signs. With a sinking sensation in the pit of her stomach, she had to accept that she had no idea where they were. Was Glory Ridge behind them or off to her left? She felt almost certain the town lay on this side of the stream, but she wasn’t sure. She’d been so exhausted during the ride last night that Paxton might have crossed it with her none the wiser. It was terrifying to swivel her head in all directions with no idea which way to go if she decided to run.
When the sun was high overhead, Paxton stopped along the stream for lunch. Brianna barely managed to keep her feet when she slid off the horse. Paxton unsaddled the geldings and relieved Lucy of her packs. Then, to Brianna’s acute dismay, the man engaged Daphne in gathering handfuls of grass with which to rub the animals down. Brianna knew a single kick from one of those powerful beasts might seriously injure or kill her child. She limped—yes, limped, because every part of her lower body was afire with pain from riding for so long—over to the horses to voice her objections.
“I do not want my daughter near these unpredictable creatures, Mr. Paxton!”
Daphne left off rubbing Lucy’s flank, which was as high as she could reach. “But, Mama, they’re sweet. Come see. Papa is teaching me how to be safe around them.”
Papa. If she heard her child utter that title one more time, she was going to tear at her hair and shriek. “As nice as they may seem, Daphne, each of them weighs a thousand pounds or more. If one steps wrong, even by accident, your foot could be injured.” Brianna glanced at the child’s patent leather slippers, which were too insubstantial to protect her feet. They were also nearly ruined now. She needed some thick, sturdy
boots—preferably reinforced with steel in the toes. Brianna wished now that she’d thought last night to exchange the cute shoes for Daphne’s sturdier play footwear.
Paxton paused in grooming Blue. Meeting Brianna’s gaze for a tension-packed instant, he said, “You heard your mama, Daphne. If she doesn’t want you messing with the horses, her word is the law. Maybe over time, she’ll relax a bit and lift the ruling.”
Brianna shot him a startled look. He was always in control, never giving away an inch of his authority, and yet he relinquished it now. He met her gaze with a humorless glint in his. Had she ever seen eyes that blue? Yes. Daphne had his eyes—a deep, summer-sky azure. The mental comparison had Brianna doubling back. Daphne did not have his eyes. What was she thinking?
Paxton turned his preparation of the noon meal into an occasion. Daphne joined him at the creek to wash their finds from the morning ride. He referred to their search as a “trip to God’s general store,” which delighted the child. She hung on his every word about the fabulous foods their Maker had provided for them.
“I travel light on the trail,” he told Daphne as they crouched near the fire. “I bring some staples so I can make flatbread, corn cakes, or flapjacks. A little salt, sugar, and bacon are always nice to have. But I’m not like many men I’ve met who carry eggs in bags filled with sawdust and load their poor mules down with all manner of canned goods. If I get a hankering for eggs, I go out to find them if the season is right. If not, I do without. As for canned goods, I’ve got no use for them. The world around us is filled with the makings for salad, soups, and stews if you know how to find them.”
“And I’m learning how. Right, Papa?”
Brianna swung away, wincing at the pain radiating from her hips to her toes. As she walked, searching for bits of wood and those revolting dry cow patties to fuel her own fire, she nearly groaned. Her rump felt as if she’d bounced repeatedly on a boulder. Her inner thighs burned. The least movement made her leg muscles scream in protest.