Marrying Minda Read Online Free Page B

hat.
    “Watch your mouth, Mr. Haynes. Even little ones have ears.”
    “Don't you tell me what to do,” he growled, but conceded, “I do beg pardon, ladies.”
    She tried to return the glower he gave her on his way back to standing upright, tried to ignore her confusion, the unsuitable attraction for a husband she hadn't chosen. At least he returned her scowl. She needed a firm reason to forget that gentle touch upon her cheek. Sighing, Minda wanted Gracey to leave. Then she and Brixton could discuss the outrageous situation in which they found themselves.
    In which she found herself, that is. He'd plotted it all along, all the while blaming her for his brother's death.
    His accusations pounded again in her mind and she frowned at the unfairness. In front of them, Gracey's shoes shifted under her pink calico skirts, somewhat awkwardly, like she didn't really want to leave. “Um ... Minda? Brix?”
    The reverend's wife looked down at her toes for another moment.
    “Yes, Gracey? What is it?” Minda said.
    “Well, Brix, you always said you're no family man. And you two being newlyweds, well, it'd be hard taking on a baby right away. Jake and I, well, we'd like to take little Silly home. Raise her as our own.” She glanced at Minda, and just as quickly, looked away. Sadness softened her words. “Our baby girl, Ruthie, why, she became an angel last fall from that scarlet fever. We miss her something awful.”
    Minda felt a stab in her heart as Gracey's eyes filled with tears.
    “Just Silly?” Brixton said. “Not the others?”
    “With our own three boys, we got no room for more than a baby, Brix. You know that already.” Gracey looked away. “Much as I love ‘em all, other folks will take ‘em off your hands. There's already talk.”
    “I heard some talk, but it don't seem right, Grace. You know my brother would never stand for it.” Brixton straightened, taller than ever.
    “Well, he's dead and gone. But you and Minda might as well think about it. Less things to worry about.”
    “Children aren't things, Gracey,” Brixton said, his voice a growl, “and it won't happen.”
    Without saying another word, Gracey grabbed little Priscilla from Minda's arms, held her tight, and ran off.
    Take Priscilla from her siblings? An old pain filled Minda's heart. She had spent her girlhood keeping her sisters together. Whatever Minda had expected, it hadn't been the break-up of a family. She peered at her husband who stood grim and stalwart, his jaw clenched, staring at Norman Dale's grave. Not a family man? He'd come all the way home for a wedding? Come from where? Who and what was he?
    He must have borrowed that poor-fitting coat. Any decent man possessed his own Sunday best. And that vest of many pockets. Hmm. He probably had a Peacemaker or other weapon hidden inside, and a flask of whiskey, too. She'd read a dime novel on the long train ride.
    A bounty hunter? Or ... her eyes narrowed. Or worse, an outlaw. How could any feeling person leave a man like that in charge of innocent children?
    Once again she heard her mama's dying request that Minda keep her sisters all together, under one roof, no matter what the cost. At not quite fourteen, she'd taken the commitment to heart. Of course it had been difficult, sometimes downright backbreaking, but she had learned first-hand what family meant.
    But this wasn't her family, was it? Not if she'd been tricked into it.
    “Who are the others, Brixton?” It was the first time she said his name aloud.
    “Katie and Neddie-boy. And you can call me Brix. Little Paul's over there.” His voice slowed as he pointed near Norman Dale's grave. “Asleep in his ma's arms. Six years old he was. They both died from the scarlet fever last fall.” His gravel voice softened. “I best see to some gravestones now. My brother didn't get to it.”
    Minda held her hand against her throbbing throat. Both parents dead, and a small brother, too. The surviving youngsters had suffered terrible loss,