Mail Order Prairie Bride: (A Western Historical Romance) (Dodge City Brides Book 1) by Julianne MacLean Page A
Authors: Julianne MacLean
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barrel. “That should cool a few minutes before I cut you a slice. Can you wait?”
“Sure.”
“Are you certain you don’t want some coffee?” she asked, pouring herself a steaming cup.
The pleasant aroma floated to his nostrils and he found himself liking the idea of sitting at the table after dinner sipping coffee with his wife, a wife who suddenly seemed comfortable and confident in her surroundings. A wife who was making plans for the future, even if they were just plans about soap.
Would it really matter if a cup of coffee kept him up late? “Maybe I will have some,” he answered. She set a cup in front of him. “You ever milk a cow before?”
Sarah cleared her throat. “No. But Martha explained—”
“Did she show you?”
“Not exactly.” Sarah rose and touched the cake with her finger. She sliced a few pieces and set them down on the table. “I suppose you want to teach me.”
“You won’t learn if I don’t, and you’re gonna have to do it sooner or later.”
“I’m ready to learn as soon as you find the time to show me.”
He nodded. “I’ll wake you in the morning and show you how it’s done. At least that way you’ll be up at a decent hour.”
Sarah choked on her coffee. Her cheeks blushed like a couple of ripe tomatoes, and for the first time since he’d met her, Briggs laughed.
For a moment, Sarah looked mortified, her eyes wide, her brows perking up toward the ceiling. Then, as if she couldn’t fight it any longer, she burst into an infectious, cheek-splitting grin. “All right, so I slept in this morning. I promise it won’t happen again.”
Briggs nodded, smiling at her, wondering how it was possible that simple laughter could sweep so much tension out of a room.
* * *
Briggs rolled over in his bed of hay, scratching at his chest and arms and wondering in the darkness what time it was. Slowly, groggily, he sat up, unable to sleep with Maddie stomping in her stall next to him. She seemed restless. Must be morning.
He stood and stretched, tossed the blanket over the side of the stall, then picked some hay out of his hair and brushed some more off his shoulders. Was his wife up yet? He remembered his promise to teach her how to milk Maddie and supposed he should go to the house and wake her.
Faint traces of light brightened the sky as he crossed the yard, carrying a lamp, and entered the dark dugout. He descended the steps very quietly, which made no sense considering he was here to wake Sarah. But the silence of the dawn and the peaceful little house seemed too special to disturb.
Briggs held the lamp high and looked around the tidy kitchen. Then he turned his gaze toward the red blanket hung as a curtain. He could hear Sarah’s steady breathing behind it. Slowly, lightly, he made his way toward the curtain, remembering her sweet smile at the dinner table the night before. All night long, it had stuck in his mind like honey, and now, here he was, confused by a sense of anticipation filling his brain. Waking her seemed such an intimate thing to do. He found himself wanting to stall the milking and watch her sleep for a while.
Fighting that notion, he steeled himself and pushed the curtain aside.
There she was, laying on her side with the covers pulled up to her ear. He paused a moment to admire what he could see: her jet-black hair, her eyelids and long lashes, the curve of her hips and the trail of her legs beneath the blanket. As he watched her sleep, his body awakened in the most surprising way. He wanted to forget about the chores and crawl under the covers with her, wrap his arms around her and feel her warmth against his bare skin.
Letting that thought rest only briefly in his mind, he leaned forward to lay his hand on her shoulder to wake her, before his body convinced him to do what his heart was not yet ready for.
* * *
Still in a dreamy state, Sarah began to wake in time with the gentle swaying of her body. A hand was resting on her shoulder. She
“Sure.”
“Are you certain you don’t want some coffee?” she asked, pouring herself a steaming cup.
The pleasant aroma floated to his nostrils and he found himself liking the idea of sitting at the table after dinner sipping coffee with his wife, a wife who suddenly seemed comfortable and confident in her surroundings. A wife who was making plans for the future, even if they were just plans about soap.
Would it really matter if a cup of coffee kept him up late? “Maybe I will have some,” he answered. She set a cup in front of him. “You ever milk a cow before?”
Sarah cleared her throat. “No. But Martha explained—”
“Did she show you?”
“Not exactly.” Sarah rose and touched the cake with her finger. She sliced a few pieces and set them down on the table. “I suppose you want to teach me.”
“You won’t learn if I don’t, and you’re gonna have to do it sooner or later.”
“I’m ready to learn as soon as you find the time to show me.”
He nodded. “I’ll wake you in the morning and show you how it’s done. At least that way you’ll be up at a decent hour.”
Sarah choked on her coffee. Her cheeks blushed like a couple of ripe tomatoes, and for the first time since he’d met her, Briggs laughed.
For a moment, Sarah looked mortified, her eyes wide, her brows perking up toward the ceiling. Then, as if she couldn’t fight it any longer, she burst into an infectious, cheek-splitting grin. “All right, so I slept in this morning. I promise it won’t happen again.”
Briggs nodded, smiling at her, wondering how it was possible that simple laughter could sweep so much tension out of a room.
* * *
Briggs rolled over in his bed of hay, scratching at his chest and arms and wondering in the darkness what time it was. Slowly, groggily, he sat up, unable to sleep with Maddie stomping in her stall next to him. She seemed restless. Must be morning.
He stood and stretched, tossed the blanket over the side of the stall, then picked some hay out of his hair and brushed some more off his shoulders. Was his wife up yet? He remembered his promise to teach her how to milk Maddie and supposed he should go to the house and wake her.
Faint traces of light brightened the sky as he crossed the yard, carrying a lamp, and entered the dark dugout. He descended the steps very quietly, which made no sense considering he was here to wake Sarah. But the silence of the dawn and the peaceful little house seemed too special to disturb.
Briggs held the lamp high and looked around the tidy kitchen. Then he turned his gaze toward the red blanket hung as a curtain. He could hear Sarah’s steady breathing behind it. Slowly, lightly, he made his way toward the curtain, remembering her sweet smile at the dinner table the night before. All night long, it had stuck in his mind like honey, and now, here he was, confused by a sense of anticipation filling his brain. Waking her seemed such an intimate thing to do. He found himself wanting to stall the milking and watch her sleep for a while.
Fighting that notion, he steeled himself and pushed the curtain aside.
There she was, laying on her side with the covers pulled up to her ear. He paused a moment to admire what he could see: her jet-black hair, her eyelids and long lashes, the curve of her hips and the trail of her legs beneath the blanket. As he watched her sleep, his body awakened in the most surprising way. He wanted to forget about the chores and crawl under the covers with her, wrap his arms around her and feel her warmth against his bare skin.
Letting that thought rest only briefly in his mind, he leaned forward to lay his hand on her shoulder to wake her, before his body convinced him to do what his heart was not yet ready for.
* * *
Still in a dreamy state, Sarah began to wake in time with the gentle swaying of her body. A hand was resting on her shoulder. She
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