His Brother's Bride (4 page)

For the first time, it occurred to her that if there were no intimacy, there would be no child. She would never feel a baby kick her from within. She would never bring her own child into the world. She would never hold a suckling babe in her arms. Her throat constricted with the pain of it.

Oh no, Lord Jesus, what have I done?
In marrying Cade, she'd given up her one true desire, and there was no treasure in the world worth that.

Four

Dear Uncle Stewart,

I'm sorry it has taken so long to write. There have been some changes you need to be aware of. When I arrived in Cedar Springs, I found, to my sorrow, that Thomas had recently perished in an accident. Before you get riled up, I will tell you that I have married his brother, Cade. I am living in his grandfather's farmhouse, so I have been looking diligently for the map these past three weeks.

I have many other responsibilities as well. Cade has a five-year-old son I am looking out for.

Emily paused, her hand steadied over the paper, and watched Adam out the window playing with a pail beside a pile of dirt. She wanted to tell her uncle how sweet and precocious the boy was and how much his presence warmed her heart. But her uncle would not care about that. She continued.

In addition, there are animals to feed and care for, a garden to start, and all the household chores. I spend every spare moment looking for the map. Cade plows the fields from sunup to sundown, so I am able to do so without suspicion.

Emily cringed even as she wrote the words. Guilt had built up within her more each day. It felt wrong to search through Cade's private things.
Well, isn't it wrong of him to deny me of my own children?
She would never realize her dream because of his decision. Was it so wrong of her to help Nana? Her gaze focused on the paper.

I have asked Cade some questions about his grandfather, but he doesn't seem to know anything about the robbery. He describes his great-grandfather Quincy as a “scoundrel” and says he disappeared one summer day and was never heard from again. This must have been the day he and my great-grandfather stole the coins. Cade doesn't seem to know Quincy and Great-grandpapa stole the gold or that they were hung for it the following week.

Emily rubbed her hands over her face. She hated thinking about the past and her involvement in this mess. She sighed and began writing again.

How is Nana? Does she still lie awake singing “Listen to the Mockingbird”? Please tell her hello and let her know I'm thinking of her.

She closed her eyes against the sting. Uncle Stewart would do no such thing; she could almost guarantee it. Was he making sure she was eating properly? Was he being kind to her? She knew better than to ask.

I promise to let you know as soon as I find the map. Until then, please take good care of Nana.

Sincerely,

Emily

She looked over the last line and knew she was pushing things. He didn't like to be told what to do. But she was keeping her end of the bargain, and it was only fair that he did as well. She folded the note, tucked it into an envelope, and addressed it. Now she had only to take it to the post office.

As she and Adam rode to town on the wagon, they sang songs together. She taught him “Camptown Races” and “Pop Goes the Weasel.” He had his pa's dark hair and coloring, but his eyes were clear blue, and she wondered if they were like his ma's.

Once they arrived in town, she parked the wagon outside the mercantile and went to post her letter in the adjacent building. She left Adam on the porch with another boy while she entered the mercantile for a few things. It was not her first trip to the store, but she still felt like a stranger in town.

There were a few women in the store, two she recognized from church.

“Emily.” One of those women set down the bolt of fabric she'd been eyeing and approached. “Good afternoon. I'm Mara, we met at church.”

“Of course.” Emily smiled, and wished she'd taken time to fix herself up. She must look a mess after gardening this morning.

“I'm glad to see you. I've been wanting to invite you over to tea one morning.”

“That would be delightful.”

They set a time for the next day, and Emily finished her shopping. It wasn't until Mara had extended the invitation that Emily had realized she was lonely for adult company. A friendship would be like a balm to her soul.

That next week, Emily finished up the supper dishes while Cade repaired a chair on the sitting room floor. She could hear him driving in nails and knew Adam was probably sitting beside him, taking in everything Cade did. She admired the relationship between Cade and Adam. The boy watched his pa so closely and imitated everything he did.

Emily dumped the dishwater behind the house and gathered up her sewing. Even as she dropped into the sitting room chair, her eyes felt heavy with weariness. Her busy days were catching up with her. Trying to run the house, look after Adam, and search for the map were taking their toll. She'd barely gotten started on the garden, and she knew she'd have to focus her efforts on that soon.

She threaded the needle and grabbed a shirt of Cade's from the little pile.

In front of her, Cade drove a nail into the arm of the chair.

“Can I try, Pa?”

Cade shook the arm to test its strength then turned the chair. “Here, hold the nail like this.”

Emily peeked up from her stitching. Cade molded the boy's fingers around the nail's body then picked up the hammer. “Put your other hand here.” Adam put his hand on the hammer, though Cade didn't let go. Together, they drove the nail into the wood.

“I did it!” Adam said.

Cade set down the hammer and squeezed his shoulder. “I reckon you did.”

“Look, Emily, I did it,” Adam said.

Emily smiled. “You're growing up. Before you know it, you'll be as big as your pa.”

The proud smile on the boy's face was a picture that made Emily want to chuckle. Her gaze found Cade's, and they exchanged a smile. He looked away before she had time to enjoy the private moment. It was the most attention he'd given her since that fateful first night of their marriage.

She poked the needle through the fabric and pulled it out the other side. It was strange, their relationship. Cade cared for Adam and gave him affection, and the boy clearly adored his pa. And Emily had grown to care for Adam even in the short time she'd known him. Adam was starting to return her hugs and search her out when he did something he was proud of.

But Cade and Emily—their relationship was hardly a relationship at all. It was more as if they were acquaintances who shared a house. They said “good morning” and “pass the potatoes” and “good night” and little else. And yet, they were husband and wife.

Each night as she lay in bed waiting for sleep to come, she thought of Thomas and how different her life would be if he were still alive. They'd have shared their lives in a way that she and Cade hadn't. He would've shared her bed and given her a passel of children.

Stop it, Emily, it does no good to think of what cannot be changed.

“Why you making a chair, Pa? We have enough already.”

Adam leaned over Cade's shoulder, almost smothering him with his closeness. Most men, she suspected, would have nudged him back. Cade just kept working as if it didn't bother him.

“It's for Mr. and Mrs. Stedman. They need another chair, and I remembered we had one in the attic just needed a little fixin'.”

The attic. Why didn't I think of that?
Emily had searched all over the house for the map, and she'd come up with nothing. But the attic would be the perfect place to look. Didn't folks keep things from past generations in attics? There were probably trunks of old things up there, and surely she'd find the map among the relics.

“—over there, did you?”

Emily felt Cade's gaze on her and raised hers to meet it. She'd not been paying a lick of attention. “I'm sorry, what did you say?”

“Adam said you went over to the Stedmans' the other day.”

“Yes, Mara had us over for tea.”

He nodded and talked around the nail in his mouth. “Glad you're making yourself some friends.”

Emily was glad too. She and Mara had struck up an easy friendship, and the afternoon had sailed by before she'd known it. Afterward, she'd felt guilty that she'd been making small talk with a neighbor instead of doing her work or looking for the map. But she'd needed someone to talk to; she hadn't realized the depths of her loneliness until she'd started talking to Mara.

Cade set the chair upright and gave it a shake. “That should do it.” He grabbed Adam and tickled him, then swung him up in his arms. Adam's belly laughs filled the room. “All right, Mister, it's time for bed.”

“Aww.”

Another round of tickling quickly put an end to the complaint.

Five

Emily tossed aside an old quilt, and a cloud of dust rolled up around her like a prairie storm. She coughed as the dust settled on her damp skin, clinging to her and making her itch. She'd already searched through three trunks in this stuffy old attic, and there was so much more to go through. So far, her search had turned up no map, but the historian in her wanted to go slowly through each batch of letters and box of collectibles.

There was no time for that, though. Already, she was putting off much-needed garden work. The laundry, too, awaited her, and the downstairs was in dire need of a good sweeping.

She constantly worried that Cade would notice her neglect of other chores. So far, he hadn't said a word, but she knew by looking at her neighbors' gardens that she was behind.

“I'm thirsty, Emily.” Adam looked up from his spot on the floor. His eyes peeked out from under an old beehive bonnet that was perched on his head. An old Prince Albert overcoat swallowed his body. She nearly laughed.

“I see you've found some new clothes.”

“These ain't new, Emily, they's got too much dust on 'em for that.”

“These
aren't
new,” she corrected.

“I know, that's what I said. Can I have a drink now?”

Emily drew in a deep breath, then coughed at the dust she sucked in. She could use a break herself, but she wanted to finish this one trunk before she started supper.

“Tell you what. Do you think you could get your own glass of water if I let you go down to the kitchen by yourself?”

Adam stood up and the bonnet fell off. “Yes Ma'am!”

“All right then, let's get you out of here.” She helped him over all the piles of relics, then went back to work.

She felt like she was getting to know Cade's ancestors just by going through their things. The clothes were mostly homespun. Trousers and linsey-woolsey for the males and calico for the females.

She'd come across old bank papers and coins, simple jewelry, and an old Bible. She'd found a lamp that was perfectly good and decided she'd take it downstairs. Cade had complained the sitting room was too dark.

By the time she finished going through the trunk, she sat back on her heels and sighed. Would she never find it? The faded remnant of the map Uncle Stewart found in his father's things said the more detailed map was hidden in this house. It was the only way he'd known there was hope for finding the gold. And her uncle's map indicated the gold was buried on the Manning property. But it would be impossible to find it among the miles of hills and caves that encompassed the property. Why, the gold could be buried anywhere.

She looked around the dark room. The lantern she'd hung from a nail shed dim, yellow light on the stuffy space. There were a few little tables to look through and still a couple trunks she'd yet to open, but those would have to wait until tomorrow. It was getting late, and she needed to get supper on.

She began putting things back into the empty trunk, taking care not to rip the fragile fabrics. She'd just stuffed the last gown on top when a sound at the door reminded her she'd forgotten about Adam.

“Did you get your drink of water without spilling?” she asked, tucking the clothing into the trunk.

“What are you doing?” The voice was no young boy's.

Her gaze swung to the doorway. Cade's large frame filled it, his face washed in a glow of lantern light. A frown puckered his brows.

Emily's mouth felt as dry as the dirt that coated her gown. “Cade, I—why, you're back early, I don't even have supper on yet.”

He looked around the room as if to make sure everything was still there. She felt her face flush.

“Adam said you were up here.”

“Yes, I–I wanted to sort through things.” Her mind fished for a plausible excuse. Why hadn't she thought of this before? “I found a lamp for the sitting room.” She held it up by the metal handle, but she felt the smile on her lips wobble.

He nodded, but the frown remained. She knew she must look a sight, evidence she'd been up here far too long to justify the finding of a single lamp.

“Well, I'd best get supper on.” She began to rise, but her feet had fallen asleep and refused to support her. She reached out to grab hold of something, but there was nothing but air. She tried to take a step toward the wall, but her foot connected with something, and she tripped.

Cade stepped forward and caught her as she fell into his arms. Her hands found the hard flesh of his arms. His chest was a rock-hard wall against the softness of her cheek. Her pulse skittered.

He felt warm against her already heated body. She pulled back and realized his hands encompassed her waist. The glow of the lantern light flickered over his face, revealing something new in his expression. Her mind was too befuddled to put a word to it.

Her thoughts swirled in her mind in a heated frenzy. She felt his hands tighten on her waist, and it brought the oddest of sensations to the pit of her stomach. Her heart, too, reacted to Cade's nearness
.

As his gaze roamed over her face, she became aware of how she must look. Dust and cobwebs probably coated her hair. She wondered if there were streaks on her face where drops of sweat made trails through the dirt.

She looked down, and her gaze locked on a button on his shirt. She felt his hands leave her waist, felt him pull back, both physically and emotionally.

Whatever she had seen on his face before was certainly gone now.

Her gaze darted to his, and she saw her suspicions confirmed. A deep shadow had settled into the plane of his jaw and shifted as his muscles twitched. His eyes too had grown distant, hard.

The silence swelled around them, and she wished he would say something, anything. Because she couldn't seem to form a rational thought.

She backed away a step, and her foot connected with something on the floor. She caught herself quickly.

“Pa,” Adam called from somewhere downstairs.

Cade glanced at the door, then back to Emily. “Be right there,” he called to Adam. His voice sounded loud in the confinement of the attic. He cleared his throat. His posture was stiff, his gaze harsh. She wondered what had caused him to go from warm and pliable moments before to rigid and withdrawn.

“I told him I'd take him for a ride while you get supper on.” His voice was clipped.

Emily nodded, her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth.

He started for the door, and Emily felt a physical relief that he was leaving. Before the breath she'd inhaled found release, he turned.

In the shadows, his expression was unreadable. “In the future, you might spend more time tending the garden than sorting through junk.”

The words hit their mark. Her face went hot and her skin
prickled. She heard his heavy boots thudding down the stairs
and thought her heart must surely be as loud. Shame uncoiled in the pit of her stomach and snaked through every part of her. He
had
wondered why she was up here sorting through his things. She looked down at the floor where the silly lamp sat. Her excuse for being up here seemed absurd. The garden lay outside barely touched, and she was in here going through old relics.

He must think her lazy or incompetent or daft. Why else would she let chores go undone while she snooped about in an attic? And all for nothing, too, since she'd come up empty-handed.

She heard the front door slam and was relieved he was out of the house. A quick glance of the room reminded her there were still trunks to go through. And like it or not, she would have to go through them.

But first, she had to get cleaned up and get supper fixed.
And if it killed her, she would get it done before Cade
returned.

❧

Cade balanced Adam in front of him and kicked Sutter into motion. His heart still thudded heavily in his chest even while guilt flooded his soul. He relived the moment in the attic, then shook his head as if to dislodge the thoughts. Never in his wildest dreams would he have thought he was capable of those feelings again. It was wrong.

But it had felt so right for just those few moments. Right and good.

Stop it, Manning.
He clenched his teeth and kicked Sutter into a gallop. Adam laughed as the wind hit their faces.

But it
had
felt right and good. When Emily's eyes had widened in the glow of the lamplight, his gut clamped down hard. Her dirt-streaked face had looked adorable, had reminded him of the first time he'd seen her, getting off the stage.

Then Ingrid's face had come into his thoughts. Her golden hair and sad blue eyes. Sad because he'd been thinking of Emily in the way a man thinks of a woman.

She's my wife.

In name only,
his spirit rebutted. What would Ingrid think of him now? She'd loved him and given birth to their precious son. What right did Cade have to carry on with another woman when his wife had lost her life bearing him a son?

“Faster, Pa, faster!” Adam's voice mingled with the wind.

“This is fast enough.” Cade held his son close to him and allowed himself to enjoy the softness of his little body. Before he knew it, Adam would be too big to ride tandem with him. One day, he would leave home and go off on his own. The thought tugged at his heart. And then where would Cade be?

Emily will still be with you.

Yes, she would still be here, Lord willing, but they would be like brother and sister sharing a house. His heart denied the idea. When they were in the attic awhile ago, she hadn't felt like any sister he'd known. No, your skin didn't flush and prickle when you held a sister in your arms.

He shifted in the saddle, feeling suddenly discomfited. She didn't feel like a sister at all, but more like a—

Wife.

His mind rejected the thought. No matter that his heart
had felt alive for the first time since Ingrid had died—
he would not let himself fall for Emily. Hadn't he loved Ingrid well, and what had that gotten him? A broken heart. He'd grieved for months like he hadn't thought possible. He'd never imagined such pain as he felt when he'd lain his head on her pillow and smelled her lilac soap. Or held his baby in his arms, knowing Ingrid would never have that chance.

He didn't want to feel that way again. Ever. No amount of pleasure was worth that, and if necessary, he would put up walls twenty feet high around his heart to keep her out.