Okay, David sensed where this was going. She was going to tell him she’d gotten pregnant with another guy who had blond hair and blue eyes. Likely, wasn’t it? In the first place the story was too pat, and in the second place he couldn’t imagine Brianna responding to advances with anything but a well-placed kick.
Even so, he listened without reaction, letting her spin her latest yarn.
“Being the unruly one, I said yes.” She bent her head, and David actually saw tears drip to the dirt. “To my eternal regret, I said yes.” Her shoulders jerked. “After that, I met him in the garden several times. Nothing improper happened. Not that he didn’t want it to. I flirted, dodged his advances, and had great fun. To me, it was only a game. He’d try, and I’d keep just out of reach. Sometimes he got angry, but for me that was part of the fun. I knew he had the—the potential to try force, but it never occurred to me, truly it didn’t, that a well-raised young man would ever go that far. But the slight chance of danger was exciting. I teased him out of his pouts and looked forward to sneaking off to meet him again.”
David scuffed at the grass with his bootheel. “Okay, so get on with it. I’m presuming there’s an end to this story and a reason you’re telling it to me.”
Her green eyes looked bruised and hurt. He searched them deeply and refused to let himself believe what he saw there. She’d lied through her teeth yesterday, fighting him tooth and nail before the judge. At this point, he had no idea what confounded claim she might make next, but punctuating her tale with tears and sniffles wasn’t going to induce him to believe a word of it.
“Go on. I meant for this to be a rest break, not a grand stage production.”
She flinched as if he’d slapped her, and her gaze slid away. Aha. He had her.
“So one day,” he continued for her, “you met the jackass in the garden, and his potential for violence became a reality, right? He threw you down, forced his oafish self upon you, and got you pregnant.” He paused for effect. “How am I doing so far?”
A shudder ripped through her and she sank down on the boulder beside the stream. Clutching her elbows with her hands, she doubled over as if in pain. Slowly, she wagged her head from side to side. David’s eyes narrowed slightly. Either he was underestimating her acting ability, or she was really having a rough time with this. He strongly suspected the former.
“No,” she whispered, so low that he could barely hear her.
He hunkered down beside her and saw the tears hanging on her lashes. She kept her gaze fixed on the ground. He was familiar with that tactic. When people lied, they never wanted to look him in the eye.
“One afternoon, Moira was asked to prune the rosebushes in the garden and collect bouquets for the dining tables. He—he found her out there and mistook her for me. Moira knew I’d been meeting him. She’d never had a beau. She thought it would be fun to trick him into thinking she was me, like we had once done with the nuns. That afternoon—” Brianna put a hand to her throat. “Unlike me, my sweet sister didn’t know how to dance away or tease him out of his sulk, so he dragged her into the conservatory and he—” She gulped. Her knuckles went white with the force of her grip on her skirt.
“He what?”
She shivered again, though the day wasn’t cold. “Oh, God, can’t you guess? He raped her. She fought him. He beat her and choked her and left her for dead.”
Before he could speak, she rushed on. “You have to believe me, Mr. Paxton. I’m telling the truth. Daphne isn’t your child. She isn’t even mine.” The words were pouring out of her now. “The nuns pressed charges, but the boy came from a good family. It was his word against Moira’s. He denied any wrongdoing, and his father, who believed him, hired a lawyer and prepared for a fight. The sisters tried to raise money to engage him in court, but they couldn’t get their hands on enough. In the end, that young man got off scot-free.
“The sisters couldn’t have a pregnant girl at the orphanage, not because they didn’t love and want to support Moira, but because it would have made tongues wag. They had to think of the other children and the reputation of the institution. The homes for unwed mothers were full. Moira was sick right from the start, bleeding if she was on her feet for too long, so the nuns did everything they could to keep her with them so they could care for her. They got her on a waiting list at three homes for unmarried mothers, praying that an opening would come available before her condition began to show. It didn’t happen, but still the sisters allowed her to stay, tucking her out of sight when ladies from the parish or other outsiders visited. I thought for a time that Moira might be able to have her baby there, but when she was about six months along, a deliveryman came unannounced, and his eyebrows went up when he saw Moira in the kitchen. He left the orphanage and immediately started blabbing his mouth.
“The sisters had no choice then. Tongues would wag, and they had to get Moira out of there. I understood but I couldn’t let her go alone. I was the strong one. I was the responsible one. It was my fault. What happened to my sister was my fault!” She practically screamed the words, then caught herself, took a shaky breath, and continued in a more controlled voice. “The nuns gave us our things and all the personal money they had. Sadly, they take vows of poverty, and their small monthly stipends often don’t cover their own needs. They promised us more the next month by unanimously voting to cut their food budget by going without breakfasts and lunches. Even so, we left with our clothing and little else. I was the only one who could work. I found a small room in a tenement building and turned my hand to any toil I could find to keep food in Moira’s mouth.”
David had heard enough. It was a touching story. Under other circumstances, he might have gone for the bait. But as convincing as Brianna had been, Daphne’s physical appearance trumped her mother’s acting ability. Her sweet little face. The birthmark. The slight frowns that pleated her forehead. Dear God, the girl was the very picture of his mother. He couldn’t deny what his own eyes told him, damn it. The child was his.
He shifted his weight onto one bootheel. The emotion that twisted Brianna’s delicate features looked like grief, but it could just as well be guilt for piling lie upon lie.
“Ah,” he said. “So the rest of this story is that poor little Moira died in childbirth. Right? And you have devoted all of your life since to being a saint, fabricating a make-believe husband, finding a position in Colorado, and raising her daughter as your own. That means Daphne isn’t my child. She’s the daughter of some nameless bully who can’t be located to verify the story. Convenient. That lets me off the hook and gives you your out. Gotcha.”
The next thing he knew, he lay sprawled in the damp sand. For a stunned instant, he couldn’t think what had happened. Then, as his senses cleared, he realized she had slapped his face. Only slap didn’t begin to describe the force she’d put behind the blow. Even hunkered down on his heels, it took a lot to throw David off balance, much less knock him flat.
Face still smarting, he rose to his feet and glared down at her. He couldn’t quite believe she’d struck him with that much strength, and yet his scrambled brain told him that she had. Schooled from childhood not to hit back when he dealt with a female, David jammed his hands into his back pockets. Were there no limits to what this woman would dream up to get rid of him?
“Well, now, that’s quite a right hook. Next time, double your fist, and maybe you’ll give me a bit of a jolt.”
Instead of retreating, she leaped to her feet, clutching a handful of sand and pebbles. She threw it at him, and her voice held a thread of hysteria under the wild anger that throbbed through it.
“Damn you to eternal hell, Mr. Paxton. I’ve told you the truth, a truth I’ve never told anyone, and every word was wrenched from my heart. Yet you stand there and mock me? A curse on you!” She actually swept up her right arm and pointed a rigid finger at his temple. “May God strike you dead!”
Chapter Ten
U
ncertain whether to laugh or kick dirt, David w
atched Brianna limp away. To calm his temper, he took a deep breath of the prairie air. The noon sunlight bore down on his fleeing bride, gilding her and the grassland in shimmering gold. In the bright light, her dark hair flashed fiery red. He could almost picture her in her Irish homeland, a youngster skipping over the moors, lighthearted, carefree, and lovely beyond measure. Sadly, he’d never seen her happy-go-lucky. She’d either been born with a dash too much vinegar in her veins, or life had kicked her in the teeth too many times.
Every step she took seemed to be a struggle. She obviously needed to use the liniment. But, oh, no, she was too stubborn by half—and a gifted liar, to boot. Disheartened, David crouched by the water. It wouldn’t do for him to return to camp just yet. He couldn’t trust himself to hold his tongue in front of Daphne.
The tale Brianna had just entertained him with was the most inventive she’d spun so far. He could believe that she and her sister had been raised in an orphanage. Well, it was a stretch, but he could reconcile it in his mind, at least. And he could have swallowed that her sister had died in childbirth, leaving Brianna to raise Daphne as her own. Shit like that happened. Hell, a variation thereof had occurred in his own family when his father had been wrongfully hanged, leaving Ace, the oldest boy, to support his mother and three half siblings, with Eden, yet another mouth to feed, on the way.
Where David dug in his heels with Brianna’s story was Daphne’s undeniable resemblance to him and his mother. He also found it difficult, if not impossible, to believe that she’d supposedly, quite by accident, chosen David Paxton as the name of her dreamed-up husband and placed him in Denver. That was completely incredible. David was a common name, but Paxton wasn’t. No, sir, he didn’t buy that little twist. It gave the word coincidence a whole new meaning.
He’d definitely done the deed with her and gotten her with child. So why did she so obstinately resist working out some kind of arrangement with him? She and the little girl had been living in penury. David offered her an escape from that. He’d also treated her kindly. Unlike a lot of men might, he hadn’t tried to take liberties, as was his husbandly right. Most females would find that reassuring and come to respect him for it, if only a little. But not her. It seemed to him that the farther they got from Glory Ridge, the more panicky she became. Maybe her experiences with other males had been so horrific that she simply couldn’t bring herself to take him at face value and accept the circumstances.
Well, he wasn’t exactly happy about them, either. He could have stayed in No Name and married Hazel Wright, who at least found him pleasing and looked forward to spending her life with him. He’d said good-bye to that plan with only mild regret, and he’d stepped forward to shoulder his responsibilities. The least he deserved out of this unexpected union was a wife who bore him some measure of respect and affection. Granted, he’d made a bad mistake, and both Brianna and Daphne had suffered for it. But there wasn’t a person alive who didn’t mess up at some point, and at least he was trying to make amends. Why couldn’t she see her way clear to do as he was, accepting the situation and trying to make the best of it for their daughter’s sake? It wasn’t as if he’d gotten himself a prize for a wife. Not only was she the human equivalent of a prickly pear, but she was also the most straitlaced female he’d ever come across. How could a man make headway with her? With his cheek still smarting from the slap of her hand, he wasn’t even sure he wanted to try.
* * *
Brianna made it to her fire and sat gingerly beside it, locking her arms around her shaking knees. David Paxton was, hands down, the most infuriating man she’d ever met. He’d mocked her. Telling him the real story about Daphne’s birth had been one of the hardest things she’d ever done. With every word, she’d felt as if her heart were being lacerated with sharp knives. How could he fail to believe her when she’d so obviously been telling him the truth? Even more humiliating, he’d cut her off short, rejecting her account with that sarcastic crack about devoting her life to Daphne and living like a saint. Oh, how she hated him. Maybe her curse would work, and God would send a lightning bolt from the sky to strike him dead.
Daphne stirred and got up from the pallet. When she dashed away to meet Paxton at the stream, Brianna couldn’t gather the energy to call her back. The prairie wind caught her hair and whipped it across her eyes. She stared through the auburn blur, her shoulders leaden with defeat. She’d been so hopeful that Paxton was on the level, a misguided marshal with only good intentions. Ha! She wouldn’t be foolish enough to skip down that merry path again. He’d just proven to her, beyond any reasonable doubt, that he was up to no good. Misguided, my foot. He knew precisely what he was doing. He’d come to Glory Ridge with a plan to gain control of Daphne. Now he had it, and all Brianna could do was pray that she got an opportunity to get her daughter away from him before he made his next move.
Brianna rested her chin on her knees to collect her composure and organize her thoughts. Her only hope lay in using her head and beating Paxton at his own game. In the book she’d read, it said slave traders usually worked in teams. Was that why Paxton was avoiding civilization, because he had arranged to meet his partners somewhere out here? Then what? Maybe his job had been only to procure and deliver Daphne, and he would be paid for his efforts when he handed her over to the other men, who would then transport her south.
Brianna’s heart picked up speed. That made perfect sense, and Paxton’s apparent lack of hurry played into that scenario. He planned to meet his cohorts to deliver the goods. She’d seen that wad of money in his pocket clip. Well, no honest marshal drew enough in monthly wages to carry around that much loot. Paxton was on the fiddle, no question about it. It was the only conclusion that made any sense. A man didn’t get that rich by keeping the peace in a small town and raising a few scrawny cattle.
With a sickening squeeze of her stomach, Brianna decided she needed a plan, only she couldn’t think of one. Maybe once the day waned and after Paxton fell asleep, she could quietly saddle a horse, collect Daphne and some food, and make a getaway. She had no idea which direction to go, but she’d worry about that when the time came. Until then, she would pray that Paxton’s meeting with his partners wasn’t to take place until tomorrow.
But what if the assignation is scheduled for today? The ham Brianna had eaten tried to come back up her throat. In that event, both she and Daphne would be in terrible danger. Brianna doubted that they would take the child and kill the mother simply to get her out of the way. At twenty-six, Brianna knew she was no longer young and fresh, but she was still a female and halfway acceptable in appearance. Perhaps it was Paxton’s plan to sell her as well. Thinking of what the future might hold for her and Daphne increased Brianna’s nausea. She held it at bay by glaring at David Paxton and wishing him dead.
David was jerked from his musings by the approach of his daughter. The wind snapped the skirt of her green play frock around her thin legs. Her white stockings were streaked with dirt and grass stains. She planted a tiny hand atop her head to anchor her ribbon, her flying hair shimmering around her like spun gold.
David dredged up a smile for her, determined to protect her from all the ugliness transpiring between him and her mother. “Hey, pumpkin, I thought you were sleeping.”
She shrugged. “I wasn’t tired.” She thrust her fist at him. “Will you take our lucky penny for safekeeping? I’m afraid I might lose it when I’m asleep.”
David tucked the coin into his shirt pocket. “When we get home, I’ll drill a hole in it and get a chain from the jeweler. Then you’ll be able to keep it all the time.”
“It’s half yours, so get a chain long enough for you to wear.”
“Good idea. Every once in a while, I could do with a little luck.”
Her brows drew together in a frown so reminiscent of his mother’s that his heart caught. She nibbled her lip the same way Dory did when she was choosing her words carefully. “Papa, I have something of a delicate nature to discuss with you.”
David�
��s forced smile deepened into a real one. No other six-year-old he’d ever met talked quite the way Daphne did. He supposed it came from being around Brianna. The woman could wrap her tongue around a fence post and still waggle it at both ends.
“Shoot,” he said.
Daphne’s frown grew more pronounced. “I beg your pardon?”
David chuckled and hooked an arm around the child to pull her onto his knee. “Shoot,” he repeated. “That means go ahead and spit it out.”
Daphne still looked bewildered. “I’ve nothing in my mouth to spit out, Papa.”
David rested his cheek against her flyaway curls. They felt as fine as silk against his jaw. “You’ve got words in there, don’t you? Spit those out.”
She giggled, burrowed closer, and hugged him. Her arms were a hair too short to encircle him, but it was still one of the best hugs he’d ever received. “I want to offer you something on loan,” she said hesitantly, “but I’m afraid it will hurt your feelings.”
It was David’s turn to frown. “My feelings aren’t all that easy to hurt, darlin’. Shoot.”
He felt her lips curve against his shirt and knew she was smiling. “You talk funny, Papa. Are you aware of that?”
“Where I come from, I talk normal. You’ll be the one who talks a little funny there.”
“Truly? Will the other children tease me, do you think?”
David hoped not. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to stop himself from knocking pint-size heads together. “Nope. By the time we get home, I’ll have you trained to talk normal, just like me.”