The Wedding Kiss Read online

  Keara had seen the expression of longing more than once when Susanna caught sight or sound of the children or heard mention of them.

  There’d been very little time to cook since Monday, but the partiers had left enough beef, pork, and various side dishes and desserts to last the family a week. Now that Susanna’s temperature seemed to be lingering near normal, Keara felt the urge to do something besides make tea and poultices in the kitchen.

  After cutting stale bread into squares, she spread them into a buttered pan and prepared the spiced egg and milk, raisin, and nut blend to pour over it. She put it in the oven to bake then pulled out the big cast iron skillet to fry the freshly butchered chicken Penelope had sent home with Elam and the children earlier today.

  The bread pudding was just ready to come out of the oven, its vanilla-cinnamon aroma filling the house, when Keara turned to find Susanna sitting on a step halfway down the staircase. Her black hair had been combed, and she’d changed into Gloria’s dressing gown the color of a field of new wheat. The sight of her in the gown was startling.

  “I couldn’t stay in bed.” Susanna’s voice was stronger than it had been earlier, her eyes clear. “The children are better medicine than whiskey. You’ll find the glass as you left it. Britte combed my hair for me and brought me some of her mother’s clothes.”

  “You look better.” Keara glanced up the stairwell past Susanna. “The children?”

  Susanna had a smile that showed straight, white teeth and revealed the immediate affection she had developed for her niece and nephews. “All three of them fell asleep while I was telling them about my travels with Nathaniel.”

  “I’d like to hear about your travels too, but I’m not sure you’re ready to be up and around. I’ve noticed you tend to push yourself a little hard. Seems to be a family trait.”

  “It is. You’d have made a good doctor. You’re bossy enough.”

  Once again, with the light just right and Gloria’s gown fitting her sister so perfectly and the warm tone in Susanna’s robust voice, Keara felt as if time had shifted back a year. Then Susanna tried to stand. She swayed and grasped the railing, and the image of strength dissolved.

  Again, Keara found herself rushing up the steps to steady her. “Why don’t you come downstairs for a spell and lay on the sofa? I’ll get a quilt.”

  Susanna grimaced. “After all my study and all my travels with Nathaniel, it took getting shot myself to realize how helpless my patients sometimes feel. I don’t like it.”

  “It’s never convenient to be sick or injured—not for hardworking, industrious people like you,” Keara said, “but you know better than I that if you don’t take it easy, things will become even less convenient.”

  “And yet I’ve found that the sooner a person gets back to work, the faster that person will heal. Within reason, of course.”

  Keara guided Susanna across the room to the sofa and pulled the curtains, just in case someone should ride past the house…just in case the marshal should ride back with Elam.

  “You treated a lot of people with gunshot wounds?” she asked Susanna.

  “It was Nathaniel’s habit to treat anyone who walked through our office door, and ask no questions. I found it interesting that those men who were notorious outlaws tended to pay more. I told Nathaniel they were buying his silence, and he would be sorry for it someday.”

  When Keara returned with a quilt and a pillow, she rested her hand on Susanna’s forehead. “How does the goose egg feel?”

  “Sore.”

  “Shoulder?”

  “Like there’s a razor blade digging into it.”

  “I’m going to raise your head and shoulders and slide this pillow under them,” Keara said. This proved to be more difficult than she expected, since Susanna was lying with her wounded left shoulder outward. Once she was situated, her breathing grew shallow.

  “Hurting worse now?”

  Susanna nodded.

  “I’ll change your poultice and get you more tea.”

  “Add whiskey,” Susanna murmured.

  By the time Keara had Susanna’s pain under control, Britte came downstairs with Cash, her face imprinted with sleep. Without complaint, she went to the little table and changed her baby brother.

  “Didn’t get much sleep at your cousins’?” Keara asked.

  Britte gave her a mischievous smile. “Katie and I sneaked out to the barn after everybody went to bed.”

  “Did you sleep there?”

  Britte nodded. “I’d never slept in a barn before. The baby pigs were noisy. One of them nestled under my chin and went to sleep, but it pooped on my blanket and we had to clean it. We weren’t supposed to let the piglets sleep with us.”

  “Sometimes I used to sleep in the barn with the babies if they were struggling.” Keara spooned lard into the skillet and watched it melt as she coated pieces of chicken with flour and seasonings. The children loved fried chicken. It was Elam’s favorite.

  She glanced out the window, wondering how much longer he would be. He said he’d be home in time for supper.

  “You could stand a change of clothes.” Susanna’s voice from the sofa was slightly slurred, but she sounded as if the pain had eased. “Make him glad he came home. You’ve got horsehair on your backside from riding bareback. Put your hair up. Your face could use a little color.”

  Keara smiled at Susanna and shook her head. “I’ve got food to cook, and if Elam doesn’t return soon, I’ll have stock to see to.”

  “He’ll return soon.”

  Keara tasted the bread pudding to make sure she’d sweetened it enough. It was perfect. That was what would please Elam. He hadn’t married her for the color of clothing she wore or the way her hair looked.

  And yet, he was a man…

  She’d noticed enough over the years to realize a man did appreciate a pretty woman who kept herself up. Elam had often remarked on Gloria’s beauty, and Gloria took pains to wear dresses that would appeal to him. Keara knew this because she’d gone shopping with Gloria to the dry goods store to purchase material for new dresses.

  Gloria had told Keara that Elam never failed to notice and appreciate a new dress, and he never denied Gloria the cost of a new outfit. Elam Jensen’s generosity was legendary, and no one had appreciated it more than his wife.

  When the lard sizzled with a droplet of water, Keara placed the chicken pieces into the hot grease and wondered what Elam’s reaction would be if she were to take Susanna’s advice and start paying more attention to her reflection in the mirror.

  While Britte played with Cash, Keara looked down at her stained work dress then looked at the clock. She went to the west-facing window and checked the wagon track Elam and the others had taken. The sun would be setting in another couple of hours. If all went well, he’d surely be back before it got too dark to see.

  She went upstairs and changed into a pretty periwinkle-blue dress Gloria had made for her two years ago. She’d always loved the dress, but the lines followed her figure a little closely, and the neck showed a little too much of her chest—nothing indecent, of course, but enough to make her look…different when she looked in the mirror. A bolder woman—almost a stranger—stared back at her. She suspected that had been Gloria’s intention when giving her the dress.

  The scent of frying chicken hurried her movements, and she feared waking Rolfe, but she took the time to comb her hair and pull it away from her face with a ribbon. She did look like a different woman.

  Would Elam see that woman?

  The direction of her thoughts disturbed her so that she nearly changed back into the work dress, but there was no time. The chicken would burn. A burned dinner wouldn’t put a man in a good mood, no matter how good the dress looked on her.

  She pulled on an apron—something she seldom felt the need to do—before she rushed downstairs in time to turn the chicken, feeling foolish to even consider such silliness. Of course Elam wouldn’t notice her dress. He wouldn’t notice her. He’d taken
her in because he was an honorable man who did the right thing, and she’d best continue to keep that in mind.

  She went to the cellar for a jar of green beans she and Gloria had canned with ham bones last year. She prepared them for heating then mixed up a batch of cornbread batter, flavored with the molasses she always used. Tonight, dinner was going to be good.

  All the time she worked, she listened for the sound of hoofbeats outside, casting nervous glances toward Susanna as she slept on the sofa, and smiling as Britte and Cash played in the corner of the kitchen. Cash’s giggles and cries of delight didn’t seem to disturb Susanna. In fact, there was a slight smile on her face too, as if she enjoyed the sound of a child’s laughter even in sleep.

  How sad that Susanna and Nathaniel had never had children.

  That thought led to another. If Keara hadn’t begged Elam to rescue her from homelessness, then in time it might have turned out that Susanna would have been raising her niece and nephews, whom she obviously loved. Susanna was the type of woman Elam preferred—tall and bold and black haired, refined and graceful, like her sister had been.

  As Keara was taking the chicken from the skillet, Britte picked up Cash and lugged him over to Keara. “Auntie Keara, what should we call you now?”

  Keara turned off the burner and placed the chicken in the oven to keep it warm. “What do you mean, honey?”

  “You’re not really our aunt, but Ma always told us to call you that. But now you’re our ma.”

  “I’m the same to you I’ve always been, don’t you think?”

  A movement behind Keara drew her attention to the stairs, and she saw Rolfe creeping down to sit at eye level with her. Both children watched her, waiting. This was obviously a subject they’d discussed.

  “Did someone tell you that you had to call me by a different name?” Keara asked.

  Rolfe nodded. “Hutch and Leland both said we have to call you Ma now.”

  “How would Hutch and Leland feel if they were you? You still have your ma. She’s in heaven, but she’s always going to be your ma.” Keara brushed the hair from Britte’s face and reached through the railing to squeeze Rolfe’s arm. “I’m going to love you two and Cash as if you were my own, but your ma could have taught you things I can’t teach you, like culture and refinement that will help you in life. She was special, and we all need to remember that, not just replace her as if she’d never been.”

  “What’s culture and refinerment?” Rolfe asked.

  “Refinement,” Britte said. “It’s a way of knowing how to live in town and be fancy.”

  Keara chuckled. “Your mother was smart about a lot of things besides work on a ranch. Culture helps you socialize with others of polite society, and travel like your auntie Susanna and uncle Nathaniel did. Your aunt has a good education. She’s a sophisticated lady who could dine comfortably with kings and queens and presidents. She’s a doctor who knows so much more than I do about caring for patients. She can afford nicer things for herself than I ever could.”

  “But why would we want to move to town?” Britte asked.

  “I don’t want to be a doctor,” Rolfe said.

  Keara sighed. “The point is having the chance if you change your mind later, but I guess none of this has to do with whether you call me Auntie Keara or Mother or Ma, does it?”

  “Well, you’re not a wicked stepmother,” Rolfe said. “We can’t call you that.”

  Keara laughed. “I should never have read you those stories, should I?”

  Rolfe shook his head and scooted closer to the railing until his face was within inches of hers. “You’re a good mother.”

  When Keara was a little girl, she used to dream of having a wonderful husband and lots of children. She’d even dreamed about what she’d want her children to call her. “How about Mama?”

  Britte and Rolfe looked at each other, then Britte scrunched her face, obviously thinking about it. “Brian and David Jr. call Auntie Pen that.”

  “Your first ma will always be Ma,” Keara said, “and we will always love her. But I’m your second ma.”

  “Ma-ma,” Britte said, testing it. “I like it. But I might slip and still call you Auntie Keara.”

  “That’s fine, honey.” Keara kissed her darling new stepdaughter’s forehead and then reached over the railing and lifted Rolfe into her arms. “I’m going to love you two and Cash no matter what you call me.”

  “Oh, uh, Mama…?” This voice, tinged with wry amusement, came from the sofa, and Keara looked over her shoulder to find that Susanna was awake and watching them. How long had she been listening? “I think you look beautiful in that dress, but you should take off the apron. I think I heard the sound of horse hooves in the distance.”

  Keara placed Rolfe on his feet and rushed to help Susanna from the sofa. “Kids, we need to get Auntie Susanna back up to Britte’s room, and I want you to stay with her up there.”

  “But why?” Rolfe asked.

  “Just help me up the stairs, sweetheart,” Susanna said, “and I’ll tell you all about it.” She nodded to Keara. “Probably Elam. We can only hope.” She was slightly wobbly, and her breath smelled of whiskey, but her color was better for now.

  Keara did as she was told, removing the apron and straightening her dress.

  Susanna nodded with approval. “You could still use a little more color in your cheeks and a different hairstyle, but your face is clean. Go on out. The kids will take good care of me.”

  Despite what Susanna said, Keara waited until the children had Susanna out of sight upstairs, and the door closed firmly behind them.

  Sixteen

  The sun was still bright when Elam rode Moondance through the tunnel of trees at the edge of his ranch. If he listened hard enough, he could imagine he heard the rushing gurgle of Sweet Water Creek as it ran into White River up ahead. He could see the peak of the house and smoke drifting from the kitchen chimney as he neared the pasture clearing.

  Most times, Elam considered himself a good judge of character, but today he doubted that ability. US Marshal Driscoll Frey had thrown him, and that was disturbing. Usually, if he was able to read a person, he could predict future actions. Timothy was easy to read. He was a farm boy who only wanted to get home.

  Frey, however, was a different story. Would he even release the kid? What part of his talk today was lying and what was truth? Elam knew he was lying about Susanna being a killer, but how far had he taken those lies?

  Elam patted Moondance’s sweaty neck and gave him his lead, knowing the stallion would head straight for the barn, where he would expect a good combing and an extra portion of oats and molasses.

  When he reached the top of the ridge and started down toward the house, a woman in a blue dress stepped off the porch and across the yard, shading her eyes from the late evening sun. Keara.

  As if sensing his master’s eagerness to get home, Moondance broke into a trot and then eased into a ground-covering canter. The closer Elam drew to the house, the more he liked what he saw.

  Keara carried a dress well. Her pale gold hair was tied back from her face, revealing the high cheekbones, pointed chin, and enchanting golden-brown eyes. This woman—his friend, his occasional farmhand, who roughhoused with the kids and had been known to snort like a foal—could also be a lady. He’d discovered that on their wedding day, but he’d expected her to revert to her old self after the festivities were over.

  He’d never seen her in that dress before, and he’d never seen so much of her skin. Beautiful, creamy-looking skin without a flaw.

  He couldn’t stop looking at her, and as he rode into the barnyard, he slowed so the dust wouldn’t cover her and then stopped in front of her. The creamy skin turned rosy.

  “Ready for supper?” she asked.

  He grinned. Keara was always practical. “Did you get word to Timothy’s folks?”

  “Jael was saddling up when I left their house. The Skerits are likely on their way to Cassville by now.”

  “Good
job. I wish I’d had time to explain.”

  “I understood well enough.”

  He slid from the saddle. “I can smell the fried chicken from here.”

  “And bread pudding, green beans, cornbread.”

  His smile widened. “All my favorites.” He turned and looked down into her face, which held a blush as well as her body held a dress.

  “I figured Susanna could use a solid meal now that her fever’s gone.” Keara reached for Moondance’s reins and started to lead him toward the barn. “Get washed up and I’ll get this saddle off—”

  He took the reins from her hand. “Not in that dress, you won’t. Let me do the outside chores today so you can stay pretty for a little while, okay?”

  She blinked up at him as if flustered.

  “Susanna’s better?” he asked. “That was fast.”

  “I don’t trust it to last, of course. There’s always a setback when a person refuses to rest.” Keara followed him into the barn with her hand on Moondance’s sweaty rump. “She’s weak, but she’s showing signs of impatience already. It could get her in trouble if she’s not careful.”

  “Which goes to show you have more doctor sense than a sick doctor. We’ll have to watch her closely.”

  “I have been.”

  He looked over his shoulder at Keara. “Gloria did that kind of thing, you know. She was always impatient with her own illnesses.”

  “She sure was. I could never get her to slow down when she had a goal to reach, and she always had a goal to reach.” Keara hesitated. “I don’t mean to be disrespectful of the dead.”

  “It’s not disrespectful to recognize the truth.” He uncinched the straps of the saddle and glanced at Keara as he bared Moondance’s back. She was staring into the deepening shadows of the barn, her eyes darkened, her small teeth worrying her lower lip as if the memories of Gloria continued to haunt her.

  Keara lifted the lid from the bin of oats and reached inside, obviously unaware that she was likely to get molasses on her sleeve.