Chapter 5

5

I did it for Emma .

Edgar lay in his bedroll, wide awake when he should've been sleeping. Dawn was going to come early.

And he kept hearing Fran's soft-spoken words.

Did the woman never think about herself?

She'd babied her sister all day. He'd witnessed some of it himself, and Ricky had told him about what he'd missed.

His brother had also sung her praises. How she'd driven the wagon until just before they'd made camp for the night. How she was smart, and proper.

Then he'd watched her cooking supper, and though it hadn't been the best meal he'd ever had—it reminded him a bit of his ma before she'd really learned how to cook—he was reluctantly impressed that she'd made the effort.

And then she'd done the dishes.

He'd needed distance when they'd returned from washing the dishes, so he'd sent her to bed in the wagon with her sister. He wanted to like her—too much.

Fran reminded him of both his ma and his sister Breanna. Willing to work hard. Protective of her family.

But she was holding something back, too. He needed to remember that.

There was a reason he didn't trust women. Between his birth mother and the other woman who had lied to him, his whole life had changed at a young age. Penny had earned his trust with her steadfastness to Jonas and their mismatched family. And while he'd known Breanna since she was a tot, he'd seen her twist the truth to her own ends a time or two.

Women didn't play fair. And couldn't be trusted.

He'd done his best to stay away from Fran all day, riding as far away from the chuck wagon as he could manage.

And even so, he'd found himself constantly looking over his shoulder, finding her on the wagon seat next to Ricky. He'd stuck her with his brother all day, hoping she would succumb to Ricky's charm and give Edgar a reason to dislike her. At supper, she'd given his brother the same treatment she'd given everyone else, basic kindness.

Edgar didn't want to like her, but he did.

Movement in the grass between the bedroll where he'd bedded down and the snoring figure of Seb had Edgar turning his head slowly to one side.

What he saw froze him in place.

The dancing firelight glistened off the patterned back of a snake as it slithered between the brothers. In the cool evening air, the reptile probably sought the heat from the fire.

A very faint rattling noise told Edgar that the situation was dangerous. It was a rattlesnake.

If Seb rolled over in his sleep, the snake might decide to strike. And that could be deadly for his brother.

If Edgar tried to wake his brother, there was a chance Seb might move wrong and get bit.

And, less important but still a concern, where was that pup of Breanna's? He didn't need his sister's pet getting itself killed.

He couldn't trust that the reptile would keep moving.

But he could save his brother.

Edgar swung out his arm with a yell, sending the snake flying away into the darkness, but a sharp sting in his hand told him the move hadn't been entirely successful.

"Wha—" Seb woke with a confused yawn.

"Rattlesnake," Edgar bit out. He scooted closer to the fire, trying to see the puncture wounds in the meaty part of his palm, just below his thumb.

Seb came instantly awake, as did Chester, the hired cowpoke on his other side.

"Where?" Seb asked.

"What's going on?" Fran poked her head out of the back of the wagon.

"I tossed him back thataway." Edgar jerked his good thumb over his shoulder.

"I'll get him." Chester unsheathed a long, deadly-looking knife from its leather scabbard.

"Didn't know he was sleeping with that beneath his pillow," Seb muttered. He untangled himself from his bedroll and joined Edgar near the fire.

"Tossed who?" asked Fran. She sounded genuinely concerned.

"A rattlesnake." Seb leaned in close to Edgar's hand. "It don't look too bad."

"Well, it hurts something awful." Edgar thought his hand was swelling, and pain radiated up his arm.

"How bad is it?"

Edgar looked up. Blinked. The bite must be worse than he thought, because he was hallucinating that his pretty wife—the little liar—was kneeling at his side in her rumpled, ugly dress, her dark hair down around her shoulders.

With bare feet.

"Woman, didn't you hear him say ‘rattlesnake'? Put some boots on."

She furrowed her brows at him, managing to communicate displeasure, but it struck him as funny.

"We should put a tourniquet on," she murmured to Seb.

"I'll get some rope." Seb was off and running.

"Where's Ricky?" she asked, holding on to his wrist. Her hands were soft and cool against his skin.

"Out with the cattle. Him and Jack and Matty. Why?" Pain was traveling all the way up his arm now. He gritted his teeth against it, a metallic tang filling his mouth.

A loose lock of hair fell across her cheek. He was mesmerized by how it danced there in the slight breeze.

"Here's the rope." Seb skidded to a halt beside him, dirt and grass dusting up beneath his feet. He held out a coil.

"If ya ain't gonna put manure on it, need ta suck out the poison," Chester said.

She looked up to the other two men standing nearby. "Shouldn't someone be saddling up? Will you take him to the doctor?"

"Not if they value their horse, they won't. You see any gas lamps to light the way?"

She looked up at him, perturbed, then around them, taking in the darkness surrounding their little beacon of light, the campfire.

"You need a doctor," she said.

"Well, I ain't gonna have one. In case you forgot, town's a half-day ride for a fast horse."

She took the coil of rope from Seb and made a loop under his armpit and to the top of his shoulder. Her hands were shaking, her movements jerky and angry, but she didn't tighten it too much.

"In the morning—" she started.

"In the morning, we're moving out," he interrupted her. "We've got a buyer waiting."

He could see from the set of her chin that she wasn't happy with that answer.

Someone threw a log on the fire, sending sparks flying with a whoosh. He jumped, heart pounding. Through the haze of his pain, the sparks seemed to dance against the backdrop of the night sky.

He felt hot all of a sudden and might've swooned a bit, losing focus for a moment. He heard her voice, maybe talking to the two others, but he couldn't make out the words.

Someone settled him back in his bedroll. He thought to protest that it was too hot near the fire, but then the soft, cool brush of his wife's fingers against his brow brought his focus back in close, to her face. He realized he'd ended up with his head in Fran's lap.

She was mad. Fightin' mad. Her eyes sparked down on him. He let his gaze travel over her features, something he hadn't allowed up until now.

"You've got freckles across your nose," he said in a whisper.

She scrunched said feature at him.

She said something to someone standing off to the side, but he was dizzy and couldn't make out the words. All he knew was that she kept that cool, small hand pressed against his forehead.

And it made him feel better.

And that made him mad, too.

She could be widowed by morning.

The realization didn't sit well as Fran dipped a cloth into a pail of water she'd made Seb fetch from the stream.

She wasn't going anywhere in the dark by herself. A rattlesnake!

"I thought you said there wasn't anything dangerous in the woods," she said.

But she forced her hands to be gentle as she wiped the sweat beading on his brow.

"Did not," he mumbled. "I said there weren't any bears or cougars."

She wanted to thump the man, she really did, but she refrained. Barely.

Why was he so stubborn? He could've sent one of the others for the doctor. Surely, it couldn't be that dangerous to ride at night.

But looking at the moonless, star-filled sky, she knew he was likely putting the protection of his hands above his own welfare. Stubborn man.

"How bad is the pain?" she asked.

"Pretty bad. But it seems to be localized."

Was that a good thing? She didn't know.

When she and Seb had bent over and examined the wound, there had been no visible puncture marks, only a furrow where the snake's fang might've scratched through Edgar's skin. Perhaps it would be worse if the fangs had punctured directly?

"Where's my brother? I don't need to be babied."

"I believe he's gone back to his bedroll," she snapped. Seb had first ridden out to the other brothers, relaying Edgar's wishes. Then he'd only gone back to sleep after her insistence that she would care for Edgar in the night. After seeing how long a day the cowboys had had in the saddle, if her stubborn husband insisted they move on in the morning, all the men needed as much rest as they could get.

Edgar struggled to his elbows, but the effort cost him. His face went pale above his beard.

"Why don't you go back to bed," he ordered her weakly. But then he lay his head back down in her lap.

And began to shiver.

She pulled the bedroll up around his shoulders, being careful of his injured hand.

She stopped bathing his face as the chills racked his body, then started back up again a few minutes later as he began to sweat again.

Thankfully, Emma had never woken. Fran didn't want to give her sister something else to fear out here.

The fire began to die down again. Gradually she could see less and less detail in the wagon and bedrolls, their little camp.

And still the prone man struggled. Should she call for Seb? But what could the younger man do? There was no doctor nearby, no help.

"What will they do if you die?" she asked quietly. Because she didn't dare ask, what will I do if you die?

"Not gonna die," came his slightly slurred response. "Seen someone bit by a rattlesnake before. If I was gonna die, it would've already happened."

Well, that was a relief.

"Might get infected, could lose the arm, but…" he trailed off as if he'd forgotten what he was talking about.

His pain was obviously affecting his responses. He'd hardly spoken to her before this, except at their abbreviated wedding. She should have compassion on him.

But she couldn't waste this opportunity to find out a bit more about the man she'd married.

"Why is it so important for you to get the cattle where they're going?"

"Promised my pa," he mumbled.

"Surely he would understand if you had to delay in order to save your arm."

He smiled, eyes closed. "Pa would." Then his lips turned down in a frown. "My own pride wouldn't. I owe it to him."

"Why?"

His eyes still closed, he didn't respond for a long time. Then, quietly, "He took me in when no one else wanted me."

She'd known he was an orphan, of course. The latent pain still in his voice, emotion that she somehow knew this man rarely shared….

"Bear Creek was the last stop on a long orphan train. I was ten."

Her breath caught. She hadn't known they'd shared a similar experience. Was that why he'd been so offended that she'd lied about her age and taken advantage?

"How long ago?"

"Almost fifteen years now." So he was almost twenty-five. Six years her senior.

"What kind of man is your father? And your mother?" She couldn't picture the people who would take in so many orphans.

"Jonas took us in before Penny ever came along. Seven of us boys and Breanna."

How extraordinary.

His tremors began to ease and so did the tension etched in the lines of his face.

She ran her fingers through his long hair. The water from her ministrations had loosened some of the trail dust, and in the dying firelight, the clean locks shone gold.

Her touch seemed to comfort him.

"That's nice," he mumbled.

She did it again.

"Do you remember your mama rocking you? When you were little?" His soft question sent her heart up into her throat.

"No," she whispered, somehow knowing this connection between them was fragile. Not wanting to break it.

Emma had been a baby in most of Fran's earliest memories, her mother busy tending to chores required to care for an infant.

"I do," he said. There was a long pause. "This feels like that."

He drifted off, the final lines above his brow smoothing.

Leaving her with more questions than ever about this enigmatic cowboy.

Edgar woke completely disoriented, with a throbbing pain in his favored hand.

He was outdoors. The sky was dark, but the eastern horizon was turning gray.

It only took a moment for memories to rush in.

The snake.

The bite.

Passing the night with his pretty little wife. The liar.

His head felt stuffed with cotton, pillowed on the same. He was unbearably warm, which was unusual for this time of year when the nights still got cool. Then he realized she was sorta…wrapped around him. His head rested on her folded knees, she was stretched beside him, her head resting on his shoulder.

She'd stayed with him all night?

The warmth that expanded his chest was uncomfortably new. How long had it been since someone had cared for him like that?

Maybe never.

The question was: Why had she done it? Out of some sense of duty since he'd married her?

He couldn't imagine another reason.

And he didn't like it anyway.

And then he started to remember her soft questions in the middle of the night. What was she trying to accomplish, pushing him for information? He didn't like her questions about his family. Was she trying to find a soft spot? To what purpose?

"Lemme up," he grumbled, shifting her and jostling her head.

She bolted up, the movement sliding her knees out from beneath his head. Without the support, his head clunked against the ground. He growled.

"Oh, I'm sorry." She knelt at his shoulder and slid those slim cool hands into his hair and around the back of his head. What was her angle?

"Help me get up," he gruffed. He pushed to his elbow, and his head only spun a little. He took it as a good sign.

"How is he?" asked another voice. Ricky. With Matty rushing right on his tail, looking concerned. Seb and Chester must've relieved them in the night, just like they were supposed to do.

"About as cranky as a bear," came her quick answer. But she didn't let go of his elbow until he was all the way upright.

"So, back to normal, then?" Matty said.

And Edgar's wife beamed a smile at the other man.

It rubbed him the wrong way. "I'm right here," he growled.

And that set the three of them laughing.

He started to stomp off—more like limp off—but Matty stopped him. "Let's have a look at the hand, you old grizzly."

Edgar reluctantly held up his mitt for inspection. It was colorful and grotesque, swollen yellow and purple. The skin around the bite was pink and puffy but there were no red streaks going up his arm that might indicate poison.

"Looks like I ain't gonna make you a widow yet," Edgar said.

She frowned at him, and he remembered her worrying over him in the darkest part of the night.

"You wanna ride back to town and see the doc?" Ricky asked grudgingly.

"I want to go visit the woods and then get saddled up." He limped off because he couldn't stomp the way he wanted.

And by the time he'd done his private business in the woods, he knew he wasn't riding anywhere that day. Except in the front of the wagon.

His legs were trembling, his equilibrium was off, and he only had the use of one hand. He was sweaty and weak, a feeling he hated.

It made him cranky when he walked back to camp and saw one of the cowhands bent close and saying something to Fran.

"Make sure the cookfire's out," he barked. "Don't need a prairie fire chasing our flank."

She glared at him but went back to the smoking ashes.

Ricky waited near his saddled horse. It was obvious Edgar's brother had something to say. He tried to beat him to it. "You look exhausted."

"Bet I look better'n you do. Guess you're in the wagon today, huh?" But the lines around his brother's mouth didn't lift in a smile.

"Trouble sleeping in your bedroll after the snake incident?"

"Somethin' like that." But the shadows in Ricky's eyes remained.

Edgar needed to get these cattle to sale. He knew there was something eatin' his brother, but if the other man wasn't offering it up, what was he to do? They weren't women, who could share gossip and hurt feelings. If Ricky wanted help, he'd ask for it.

"Go easy on her," Ricky said. "Seems she and the sister have had a rough time of it."

Edgar's temper flared. But before he could get into it with Ricky, the other man swung up into his saddle and spurred his horse.

Finally, Edgar approached the chuck wagon. Wary, like a man should be when facing an unknown predator.

She met him with a cup of coffee. He took it.

"Thanks." His ma would skin him if he didn't practice basic politeness.

"You're welcome," she said a little too sweetly. She brushed a hank of hair out of her face. The sleeves and skirt of her dress were soaked like she'd carried several pails of water up to douse the fire.

"This the cup from the bottom of the creek?" After the hullabaloo with the snake, their moment of closeness the night before seemed a long way off.

"Um hmm." She loaded up a last crate in the back of the wagon.

He choked on the first sip of the sludge. "Tastes like you didn't wash the sediment out of it."

She looked at him with wide, innocent eyes. "Might serve you right after the way you've been barking at me all morning."

Then she laughed, a tingling, full sound with her head thrown back and the pale skin of her throat exposed.

And if it didn't beat all, he found a smile wanting to curl up the edges of his mouth.

He turned away and climbed into the wagon instead.

He knew she hadn't put anything in the coffee—it was just awful on its own, probably the last of the pot. But that was just the kind of prank his old self would have pulled. Right now he was too worried about getting the cattle sold and untangling the mess she'd made for him to do something like that.

And why did she have him thinking about pranks anyway? They had a job to do.

He gritted his teeth as she climbed onto the bench beside him.

Fran had a brother. And though Daniel was much older, she knew that when men were injured or sick, they tended to be a mite grumpy.

But her husband took the cake.

He'd allowed her to drive the wagon. Probably because his right hand was pretty worthless.

Riding on the bench seat beside him, she barely had room to move.

And he hadn't spoken all morning, except to grunt one-syllable responses.

She was getting tired of it.

Emma had elected to walk, and was trailing the wagon, but not by much. Fran knew, because she couldn't quell the urge to keep looking back and checking on her sister.

After only a couple hours behind the reins, her shoulders protested all the driving she'd done the day before. She tried to shift her shoulders unobtrusively, but she caught her husband's sideways glance.

He still didn't speak.

"Are you ever going to say anything?" she blurted.

Now he gave her a long look with those blue eyes. "You want to talk?" he asked. And his wolfish smile had her shifting uncomfortably on the hard bench seat. "Seems you do owe me some answers after interrogating me last night."

Heat scorched her cheeks. So he had remembered her impertinent questions. But if he thought she would be embarrassed, he was wrong. "I suppose it's only fair," she offered.

Their eyes held, his challenging, hers steady.

"What happened to your parents? How did you end up?—"

"At the orphanage?" she finished for him.

He had the grace to look slightly abashed at the probing question. She answered anyway.

"My parents were affluent." She said it simply. "There were several farms passed down through the generations—cotton and corn, mostly. Tennessee is very fertile. But we lived in the city. I was sent to a finishing school when I was fourteen, just like my mother before me. I got to see my family on holidays. I remember our last Christmas together. We had a roast goose, and my brother gave me the most beautiful calligraphy set…"

She shook herself out of the happy memory. "But that isn't what you asked."

He pointed to a depression in the prairie, and she did her best to guide the horses around it.

"Emma joined me at the school when she was fourteen. Shortly after her arrival, we were pulled into the headmistress's parlor, where we received the news in a letter from our brother, Daniel. Our parents had died. A fever of some kind."

She took a moment to steady her breathing, blink back the tears. It had happened two years before, but it still hit her hard.

"Daniel is ten years my senior. He was an attorney in Nashville. He wanted Emma and I to continue our schooling until he could settle things with our parents' probate. Things were all right for a month or so, but our tuition came due. I had my eighteenth birthday, but couldn't reach Dan, though both the headmistress and myself sent several letters. The headmistress allowed me to stay on and work in exchange for board, but Emma's tuition remained unpaid. Finally, the headmistress was notified that no one by the name of Daniel Morris resided at the boarding house where he had previously stayed. He was gone. Disappeared."

She stared out over the gently flowing grasses to the cattle well ahead of them, small black and red specks in the distance. Ah, there was a rider, kicking up a plume of dust.

"He just left you there?" Edgar prompted. "Abandoned you?"

Her eyes stung and she sniffed, squinting in the sunlight. She shrugged. "I don't know what happened to him. I can't countenance that he would've just left us without any correspondence. We weren't close, but…he wouldn't have just forgotten his responsibility to us."

"So you think something happened to him?"

"I don't know. Our grandparents were already gone, and there was no other family to contact. I tried contacting my papa's business associates, tried writing our old neighbors. Someone told me there had been loans taken against our family home—that they defaulted with my papa's death. The house and its contents were sold at auction by the bank."

Tears burned behind her eyes at the remembrance. Not only had Daniel disappeared, but the house she'd grown up in had been lost to her. There had been no money, no support, nothing.

She'd lost everything.

She looked over her shoulder again, through the back flap of the wagon, ostensibly to check on Emma again, but really to try and escape the painful conversation. Emma dawdled behind the wagon with the white dog. With the wide prairie behind her, Fran should be able to see any approaching threat. But the relative security of the prairie didn't remove her unease, her sense that something—someone—was still coming for them.

"Emma!" she called. "Come into the wagon for a while. You'll burn under the sun."

Emma waved. Whether that meant she was coming, Fran couldn't tell.

"You coddle her," Edgar said.

"Don't you spoil your younger sister?" she asked.

She felt his gaze on her as she focused on navigating what must've once been a dry creekbed.

"Breanna has chores like the rest of us." He paused a moment, as if considering. "She does have an independent spirit."

"And seven older brothers."

That won a smile. It was a small smile, but she counted it as a victory.

"All young women should be spoiled and pampered by those who love them," she said. She turned once more, to see Emma approaching the wagon.

"And you?" he asked.

She purposely misunderstood him. With Daniel gone, she was not likely to be spoiled or pampered. And she had Emma's safety to think of.

"I'm all she has left," she murmured.