into the wagon. He tried to shield her from the ugly scene, but he was too late.
Brianna couldn’t take her eyes off the couple inside the wagon, lying in their own filth, so helpless, and so humiliatingly exposed. This was what Julia suffered, she thought with a horror that threatened her hard-won control.
Columbus drew her away. For one second she lifted her horror-stricken eyes to his. Then she shoved him aside and ran several feet before bending over to empty her stomach. When she tried to stand up after it was over, she grew dizzy. Columbus carried her to the buggy, then went to find someone to take care of the little girl. He came back with a kind but exhausted looking woman and a bottle of brandy, three-quarters empty. He insisted Briana take several sips of the fiery liquid. Halfway back to town, she nodded off, leaning against his shoulder. He eased her down with her head in his lap and let her sleep.
***
The following morning Brianna awoke to the scent of apple trees and a soft scraping sound. A long way away a dog was barking and she heard the muffled sounds of voices. Through the blanket she could feel the firm warmth of Shakespeare curled up beside her. For a long time, she kept her eyes shut, reluctant to leave the safe world of slumber, though she didn’t know why. Then reality struck.
Julia was dead.
Brianna moaned, her head rolling back and forth on the pillow.
Her eyes flew open as fingers touched her face. The hand was callused, as rough as pine bark, yet gentle. She opened her eyes to see Columbus Nigh gazing down at her, tenderness softening his eyes.
“Julia,” she whispered, her throat constricting as she tried to block the tears. The grief she had been unable to give vent to the previous day now filled her whole being. Despite her effort to contain them, the sobs escaped her in choking ga sps while tears laved her face.
Without a word Nigh gathered her into his arms. Trying to calm her was like trying to stop a waterfall with only a hand.
“Oh God, why?” Brianna said, brokenly. “She was all the kin I had left in the world. Now there’s no one. I’ve nowhere to turn. What’s going to happen to me?”
“Shh. It’ll be all right,” Nigh crooned, his face buried in her loose hair. She wore only drawers and a thin chemise with a low, gathered neck. Beneath his hands as he held her, her skin was soft and smooth and smelled faintly of roses.
Brianna put her hands on his arms and drew away from him. “John, and the children . . . I don’t remember. Were they there, too?”
He shook his head. “I spoke to the sheriff. He’s tried to keep a record of those who’ve died. Your brother-in-law recovered and took the children home to his family in Louisville a few days ago.”
Though calmer, Brianna felt little comforted. As she lay back down, she realized she was practically naked. Worse, she was alone in a hotel room with a man. A man who had kissed her. Two bright spots of rose colored her cheeks as she yanked the covers up to her chin.
“How did I . . . get undressed?”
“You fell asleep on the way back last night. Hotel clerk sent for a doctor. He said you were in shock and just needed rest. It’s mornin’ now. You slept through the night.”
Nigh let her assume it was the doctor who had disrobed her. But he couldn’t prevent the heat that speared his groin at the memory of his hands removing her clothing and bathing her skin with cool water. She was sapling-thin, so thin he could count her ribs. He could also have counted scars, had he a notion to do so—pale blemishes that read like the trail of a wounded deer, of the beatings she must have suffered at the hands of her supposedly dead husband.
Her husband. God, how Nigh hoped the man were still alive as he had begun to suspect he was, so Nigh could kill him with his own bare hands.
The only thing that pained him more was the thought of the bastard touching her intimately, touching those places Nigh so longed to
Brianna couldn’t take her eyes off the couple inside the wagon, lying in their own filth, so helpless, and so humiliatingly exposed. This was what Julia suffered, she thought with a horror that threatened her hard-won control.
Columbus drew her away. For one second she lifted her horror-stricken eyes to his. Then she shoved him aside and ran several feet before bending over to empty her stomach. When she tried to stand up after it was over, she grew dizzy. Columbus carried her to the buggy, then went to find someone to take care of the little girl. He came back with a kind but exhausted looking woman and a bottle of brandy, three-quarters empty. He insisted Briana take several sips of the fiery liquid. Halfway back to town, she nodded off, leaning against his shoulder. He eased her down with her head in his lap and let her sleep.
***
The following morning Brianna awoke to the scent of apple trees and a soft scraping sound. A long way away a dog was barking and she heard the muffled sounds of voices. Through the blanket she could feel the firm warmth of Shakespeare curled up beside her. For a long time, she kept her eyes shut, reluctant to leave the safe world of slumber, though she didn’t know why. Then reality struck.
Julia was dead.
Brianna moaned, her head rolling back and forth on the pillow.
Her eyes flew open as fingers touched her face. The hand was callused, as rough as pine bark, yet gentle. She opened her eyes to see Columbus Nigh gazing down at her, tenderness softening his eyes.
“Julia,” she whispered, her throat constricting as she tried to block the tears. The grief she had been unable to give vent to the previous day now filled her whole being. Despite her effort to contain them, the sobs escaped her in choking ga sps while tears laved her face.
Without a word Nigh gathered her into his arms. Trying to calm her was like trying to stop a waterfall with only a hand.
“Oh God, why?” Brianna said, brokenly. “She was all the kin I had left in the world. Now there’s no one. I’ve nowhere to turn. What’s going to happen to me?”
“Shh. It’ll be all right,” Nigh crooned, his face buried in her loose hair. She wore only drawers and a thin chemise with a low, gathered neck. Beneath his hands as he held her, her skin was soft and smooth and smelled faintly of roses.
Brianna put her hands on his arms and drew away from him. “John, and the children . . . I don’t remember. Were they there, too?”
He shook his head. “I spoke to the sheriff. He’s tried to keep a record of those who’ve died. Your brother-in-law recovered and took the children home to his family in Louisville a few days ago.”
Though calmer, Brianna felt little comforted. As she lay back down, she realized she was practically naked. Worse, she was alone in a hotel room with a man. A man who had kissed her. Two bright spots of rose colored her cheeks as she yanked the covers up to her chin.
“How did I . . . get undressed?”
“You fell asleep on the way back last night. Hotel clerk sent for a doctor. He said you were in shock and just needed rest. It’s mornin’ now. You slept through the night.”
Nigh let her assume it was the doctor who had disrobed her. But he couldn’t prevent the heat that speared his groin at the memory of his hands removing her clothing and bathing her skin with cool water. She was sapling-thin, so thin he could count her ribs. He could also have counted scars, had he a notion to do so—pale blemishes that read like the trail of a wounded deer, of the beatings she must have suffered at the hands of her supposedly dead husband.
Her husband. God, how Nigh hoped the man were still alive as he had begun to suspect he was, so Nigh could kill him with his own bare hands.
The only thing that pained him more was the thought of the bastard touching her intimately, touching those places Nigh so longed to
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