Marrying Minda Read Online Free Page A

preacher's wife,” she said, eyes and voice soft. “What a tragedy, meeting Norman Dale the first time from beyond the grave.”
    “Well, it appears he made other arrangements.” Minda tried to keep a sweet tone. This healthy, sun-kissed young woman seemed pleasant enough. Maybe they could be friends. Minda sent her a bright smile.
    For a flash, Gracey's smile and golden hair reminded Minda of her youngest sister. She recalled the lovely Easter bonnet she'd made for Libby. The low-crowned straw “flat” topped with silk cornflowers and tied with blue satin would sit just as fine atop Gracey's braids, the wide brim an umbrella against the bright Nebraska sun. The poor dear needed a new hat badly.
    “This is little Silly,” Gracey said, with shy but troubled eyes. “Jake—the reverend—is yonder, dishing up for the rest.”
    Silly? Priscilla? Minda's smile vanished. “Little Silly” was an infant? So that's why she was content with a full belly and clean britches. And the rest? Her husband had mentioned other kids, too. Just how many more were there? Her eyes narrowed.
    What other lies had Norman Dale told her?
    “Now, sugarplum,” Gracey crooned, “it seems this nice lady's your new ma, and your uncle Brixton's your new pa.”
    Brixton. So that was her scoundrel-husband's name. As furious as she was, she liked the silent ripple his name made against her tongue. But new ma? New pa? Things would need to change and quick.
    The baby was beyond precious, but Minda didn't dare humiliate herself by inquiring about the rest. She'd seem a simpleton, expecting one nearly-grown girl when there was a slew of little ones underfoot. No one would insult a dead man by believing he'd lied to her.
    “There's been a lot to think about on this day, Gracey,” Minda said instead.
    “Truth to tell, Brix's a fine man to take you on.”
    Minda harrumphed to herself and tossed the wedding bouquet on the grave. She caught the scent of her husband—Brixton—before she heard his footsteps. In spite of the heat, he smelled wonderful, clean and outdoorsy both.
    He nodded at them. “Afternoon, Gracey. Miz Haynes, you sure look like you could use a long tall drink...”
    “Why, how dare you, Mr. Haynes?” Minda said with an aggrieved sputter. “I need no such thing!”
    “Of lemonade ,” he finished.
    She hoped the big trees hid her blush. “Of course.”
    For a moment, Brixton Haynes stood tall as a tree and still as a pond like he had something more to say. Then Gracey thrust Priscilla in Brixton's stiff arms. He acted like the baby burned him, and Minda hid a smile.
    The child wore a beautiful white linsey dress trimmed with tatted lace, pin tucks, and delicate satin ribbons. Her tiny black leather boots gleamed. Minda knew quality. It was indeed the proper outfit for the daughter of a successful farmer. About thirteen, fourteen months of age, she guessed, stifling new ire against the dead man.
    This girl was supposed to be fourteen years old.
    “Silly,” Gracey cooed, “Uncle Brix's your new pa.”
    In the hot wind, tree branches rasped against each other like ripping silk. A meadowlark sang, but to Minda, it sounded like squawking. New pa? Minda snuck a peek at Brixton.
    Her husband moved his face awkwardly from the searching fingers of the baby's left hand. Priscilla's dark eyes matched her uncle's, and curls as black as his tufted her little skull. It was a charming sight, until Minda reminded herself just how this man had tricked her.
    Just then, Priscilla squirmed and stretched restlessly, knocking Brixton's big-brimmed black hat to the mercy of the wind.
    “Damn!”
    Gracey's eyes widened in horror, and little Silly's face crinkled with oncoming tears.
    Instantly, Minda took the baby from him and soothed the chubby face into a bright pink smile. Priscilla laughed outright as she grabbed a lock of Minda's loosened hair.
    Minda couldn't resist kissing the tiny hand, then turned to Brixton as he bent to retrieve his