Sunset Embrace by Sandra Brown Page B

for hand-to-hand combat. "You shut up, you foulmouthed sonofabitch!" he shouted.
    Luke only laughed and danced away from his brother, shadowboxing to egg him on. "Can't help but look at 'em, can you? 'Course a body would think you'd have your eyes full after gawkin' at Priscilla Watkins's all the time. Hers are pretty big. I seen the way she pushes 'em out every time you ride by their wagon, which is about as often as you can. You're about the randiest billygoat I ever did see."
    Bubba lunged at his brother and managed to connect his flying fist with Lukes jaw. Luke fell back onto the ground, but he wasn't subdued by any means. He grabbed Bubba around the ankle, hauled him down, and a battle royal ensued. Ross came upon them moments later, grappling and rolling and slugging in the dirt.
    "What's going on here?" he bellowed. He grabbed the top one, which at the moment happened to be Luke, by the collar of his shirt and hauled him to his feet. Bubba came to his feet of his own volition. They were heaving from exertion and bleeding from noses, mouths, and various scratches. "Is this all you two have to do?" Ross demanded.
    He knew what came of fighting. First with fists, then with guns. It became a vicious cycle to see who you could best. If someone had curbed him when he was a youngster, maybe things wouldn't have gone the way they had. But by the time he was Bubba's age, he had already developed an awesome talent with a pistol.
    "Bubba, I thought you were going to help me shoe that horse,"
    Bubba dabbed at his rapidly swelling lip. "Sure, Ross."
    "Luke," Ross barked. "Fetch some water to my wagon. Lydia has some clothes to rinse out." He didn't stop to consider how easily her name had come to his lips. "But shake hands with your brother first."
    The boys grudgingly did as he instructed. They were both dreading having to explain their bloody, swollen faces to their ma. It would be hell to pay.
    * * *
    Lydia was enjoying herself. She never knew folks could be so cordial. "Neighbors" stopped by to meet her. Some were openly curious, some were cautious, and she knew she wouldn't have been nearly so well accepted had it not been for the Langstons. Because Ma approved of her, everyone else felt obliged to. It was an unspoken fact that Ma governed much of what went on in the insulated community. Almost as much as Mr. Grayson did. Her maternal instincts carried over to all members of the train. She adored and admonished each one, no matter how old or young, with the freedom she did her own children.
    Lydia tried to remember names and put the right children with the correct parents. There were the Sims with their two shy little girls, the Rigsbys with two boys and a baby girl. Lydia met the woman with the twins. They were almost a year old. One was beginning to take tentative steps, invariably in the direction of the campfire. Other names became familiar. Cox, Norwood, Appleton, Greer, Lawson. Everyone ogled Lee Coleman, who slept through most of it.
    Mrs. Greer offered her the use of some baby dothes. "My boy has grown out of them. Ain't no sense in them going to waste." Such kindness was unheard of to Lydia, who had seen life as one scraping effort to survive. What one had, one kept and selfishly guarded.
    Before Lydia returned to Mr. Coleman's wagon, Ma gave her one of Luke's shirts and an old skirt of Anabeth's. "They ain't as attractive as the dress, and Lord knows it ain't nothin' fancy, but they'll be a sight more comfortable, I 'spect."
    Lydia carried Lee back to her own camp and was surprised to find Luke stretching a cord between the slender trunks of two nearby post oaks. He spotted her and averted his head. "Mr. Coleman told me to fix this here so you could hang them clothes up."
    "Thank you, Luke," she said quietly. She didn't comment on his bruised, distorted face, sensing his self-consciousness over it,
    When all the clothes were hanging on the line, she wearily climbed into the wagon. The camp had grown quiet and dark.