The Bride Backfire (19 page)

Step, sway. Step, sway. One foot exactly in front of the other. Don't look down any more than absolutely necessary. Shoulders back. Stomach in. Step, sway...

Opal kept the litany in her head, wondering whether she'd hear Midge's voice every time she took a step for the rest of the day. Or longer. Oh, she'd laughed when her friend told her she needed to learn to walk. Hadn't she been walking since her first birthday?

Yes, Midge explained. Opal could walk. Serviceably. Which, obviously, would never do. Mules and boots strived to be serviceable. Women needed to embody seduction. At least, Opal did. For now.

Because, Opal vowed, as she placed one foot in front of the other as though walking atop a log, she couldn't manage this seduction business for very long. The very mechanics of it were liable to kill her.

For example, when she stepped forward with her right foot, moving it in front of her left foot, her natural inclination seemed to be to have her hips follow toward the left. But nooooo. Midge instructed that when she stepped across the left, her hip pushed to the
right.
Her friend said it exaggerated the curve and increased the sway of her skirts.

Opal said it increased her chances of falling flat on her face. Although, she couldn't argue with Midge that this gait did make her skirts swing in a saucy fashion she'd never managed before. Between that and holding her shoulders even farther back, the new stride almost lent her a feeling of power.

At least, it would if she weren't afraid of ruining it. She shoved the doubts aside, refusing to let them trip her up—in her thoughts or in reality—and kept on toward where she knew Adam mended fences that afternoon. Yes, he mended fences because fertilizer was setting into the fields, and the smell hardly made for romance, but Opal couldn't afford to be choosy about timing. She could catch him alone now.

There.
Not too far away, he bent low, resting on his heels, mending a joint in a fence. No sound alerted him to her arrival. No inexplicable sense of her presence like some couples shared made him look up and send a smile her way.
Because we aren't really a couple. We share no connection save a willingness to pretend at love to save our families.

She shook off the defeatist attitude, heading toward the first clump of plants that were her pretext for coming here. Opal stooped at the knees, reaching for the bright yellow flowers that already began to close in the afternoon sunlight. Squash blossoms bloomed wide open in the morning and shriveled up as the day wore on—almost the way she felt as she spent time with Lucinda.

Opal plucked the majority of the flowers, leaving enough not to strip the plants, and straightened. A quick glance around showed that Adam moved slightly closer but demonstrated no awareness of her. She took a deep breath and used her new walk to mince toward the next grouping of blossoms, closing even more of the distance between them. She began to stoop and suddenly remembered Midge shaking her head.

“Ladies bend at the knees to retrieve something. It's as demure as a woman can be. Holds all the parts of the body tight together, puts nothing on display, practically begs everyone not to notice that you're there. When you are around your husband, Opal, you don't want him to think of you as a lady. You need him to see you as a woman.”

Heat crept up her throat and suffused Opal's cheeks as she realized what she needed to do. Thankful Adam hadn't yet looked up, she slowly bent at the waist, poking her bottom into the air in a shameful manner and stretching her arm out so she could reach the flowers. The first time, she straightened up so fast her head rushed a little.

“If you go up again too fast, the effect is wasted.”
The caution sprang to her memory a moment too late.
“You lose the appearance of grace and have to start all over.”

She peeked to see whether her husband noted her presence yet. No. Opal breathed a sigh of relief that her clumsy attempt escaped a witness, used her new walk to move on, and tried again.

This time, she decided to get into the spirit of the thing. She put one foot in front of the other—the better to exaggerate any curves—and leaned down with her arm extended as elegantly as possible. After plucking several blossoms, she snagged a final one and, pleased with her success, gave it a celebratory swirl as she gracefully began to rise.

“Opal?” The deep voice right in her ear startled the poise right out of her, making her jump.

Unfortunately, when one leg is crossed over the other and a body is half bent over, jumping is a bad idea.
The only thing I can say for the whole mess,
Opal decided,
is that at least I didn't have far to fall.

An abrupt movement to the right caught Adam's eye. He reached for his gun and pivoted in one smooth motion to get a clearer view of the threat. Instead, he saw a woman.

Slightly backlit by the afternoon sun, her face obscured by her bonnet, she floated toward him. The vision of femininity swayed a few steps before stopping. Only then did awareness frisson up his spine.
Opal?
Were it not for the calico dress she wore, he wouldn't have recognized his wife.

He opened his mouth to call to her then closed it again. What would he say? More importantly, when would he have the opportunity to observe her when she thought herself completely alone? Adam thumbed back his hat for an unobstructed view as she moved once more, this time the shift so subtle it might not have caught his eye.

A basket half-filled with yellow flowers dangled from one of her arms as she bent to gather more. But she didn't bend as he'd ever seen her. No. This secret Opal, the surprise bride who thought herself far removed from any eyes watching her, moved freely. She folded at the waist, her backside a shapely curve extending into the air. She reached toward the flowers in a smooth motion, long and lithe as she stretched.

He sucked in a sharp breath and found himself at her side before he decided to take so much as a step. From the closer vantage point, he could smell the lingering trace of honey that always clung to her, see small wisps of the red-gold hair that escaped her bonnet to dance in the breeze.

“Opal.” This time, he said it aloud.

She offered no soft smile in response. No, this vision of grace, so imbued with the innate allure of woman, gave a strangled shriek and some sort of aborted hop ... just before she fell right on those curves he'd admired moments before. Which might have done him a great favor and lessened her appeal. If, that is, he hadn't tried to catch her and she hadn't fallen into his knees, knocking him down along with her. They ended in a tangled tumble, her bonnet dangling by its strings, his hat knocked away.

Immediate awareness hit Adam harder than the impact. He lay half atop her, his chest pressed to the softness of hers as she struggled to draw breath. It was her gasp that brought him to his senses. He levered himself onto his forearms, putting some distance between them.

Not enough. Opal's eyes went wide in surprise, her lips parted in an attempt to catch her breath. One of her hands clutched his bicep, another lay flat against his shoulder, but she made no move to push him away. Her warmth seeped into his shirt, beckoning him closer.

“Opal,” he murmured her name this time, a one-word question if she was all right.

“Adam?” She tilted her chin slightly, just enough to bring her lips closer. An invitation no man could resist.

He dipped his head to taste her. Softness swept against him, yielding and sweet.
She is mine. My wife.

She pressed upward, sending heat surging through him, demanding...

More.
He pulled her bonnet away and sank one hand into the silky strands of her hair.
More.
Adam urged closer, tracing her lips with his.
More.

“Baby.” He no sooner uttered the endearment than he pulled away.
The baby. How could I forget?
He moved back, bent almost double in an effort to keep away from her.

“Adam?” Confusion dampened the dreaminess of her gaze. Her lips full and rosy from his kisses, her hair mussed from his caress, she looked the very image of a woman who'd been thoroughly kissed. And wanted more.

It was enough to drive a man mad.

“Get up.” Harsh, shallow breaths made the words rough, but so be it. He gained another measure of control when she sat up and smoothed the wrinkles from her dress, restoring some appearance of propriety.

“I'm sorry.” Her lips—still invitingly pink—must have bothered her as much as they did him because she raised her fingertips to them and pulled her hand away as though burned. “I didn't mean to be so clumsy.”

“Doesn't matter.” The thought she found his kiss distasteful soured his stomach.
What? For a moment did she forget it was me? Did she think it was the real father of her child?
If blood could boil within a man, surely it did now. He thought of the way she'd moved when she'd thought she was alone.

I was wrong. She didn't move in freedom, away from prying eyes. Those were the motions of a woman putting on a performance. Only her imagined audience is long gone, and she's dissatisfied with her substitute.

“It matters to me.” Her words verified his thoughts. Of course it mattered to her that she'd fallen into his arms when it was the last place she wanted to be.

“Fine. But I say you can be as clumsy as you like.” Adam snatched his hat from where it had fallen and turned away. “So long as you remember not to do it with any other men.”

Danger.
Lucinda's hands shook as she washed the dinner dishes. Dishes used by too few that morning, as Willa abandoned her to join Opal at the Speck place.

Danger surrounded her family, creeping closer every moment. Closing off any means of escape. Tightening the noose. Specks were their greatest enemies ... always had been. Ever since the greedy gudgeons dared try to claim land Diggory's father staked out.

As though their protests that no markers meant no claim mattered. Everyone knew the land between two runoffs of the Platte could flood. No, instead there'd been bitter battles. Blood and bruises on both sides over a scrap of earth where they'd all end up buried because the Specks wouldn't be honorable.

Lucinda put away another dish and reached for the next. Her mind worked in tandem with her hands, scrubbing circles into the problem in an attempt to shine up a solution. Hadn't Diggory's pa tried to stop the madness? Hadn't he come up with a plan to send a little warning to the Specks to make them see reason and end the fighting once and for all?

Instead Opal's grandma bid her bees to punish him.
Lucinda bore the knowledge deep in her heart.
Moving one hive wouldn't kill a man. She must've used some pagan ways to summon the bees from other hives to do him in. I saw it.

What other explanation for how she'd found her adopted father in that field? When he didn't come back after their secret plan, she'd gone in search of him. And found the horrible truth obvious in his body.

The hives covering every inch of his hands, arms, face, and neck. The terrible way his eyelids puffed up and out. The horror of his swollen mouth and protruding tongue as though screaming even from death for her to run...

And so I ran, and never let on that I'd seen. But I didn't forget. I seen the evidence of murder that day, and I won't let it near my family again.

Lucinda looked down when she realized she'd been groping for the next dish for a while. With none left to clean, she hefted the basin of rinse water outside. A few steps around the house brought her to Willa's flower garden, and she flung the water across the carefully cultivated expanse.

Ephemeral bluebells rose to dangle their buds in the breeze, ranging from soft pink to bluish violet. A white blanket of low larkspur provided lovely contrast until the red flowers and notched leaves of bloodroot made an appearance. Star-shaped spring beauties basked alongside white-and-purple shooting stars, the drops of water she'd flung on them catching the sun in a kaleidoscope of colors.

“Too bad Willa's not here to see that.” Larry gestured toward the garden of wildflowers. “But it's even worse she's missing it because she's on the Speck farm.”

“This will be the last time.” Lucinda knew she'd erred in not specifically forbidding her daughter to return, but typically one hint of displeasure sent Willa scurrying in the proper direction. “If it weren't for the influence of that girl, Willa wouldn't have gone today.”

“Probably has more to do with Opal's brother.” Her son's gaze all but snapped his irritation. “You know how Ben looks at our Willa. It can't go on.”

“It won't.” Her jaw ached from clenching her teeth.

“She needs to learn she can't disregard the wishes of the family and put her safety at risk, Ma.” Larry's expression changed to one of deep concern. He reached out and fingered a damp bluebell. “So many risks around here.”

“You know better than to mess with Willa's garden.” Some things were sacred, after all.

“She knows better than to consort with Specks.” Larry straightened. “Willa's been making those choices, Ma. Choosing the Specks ... and their bees.”

Her throat went dry at the reminder that the hives currently rested on Grogan land, inching ever closer. Making it easier to kill them all.

“Ma, do you know that bees are attracted to flowers?”

“What?” Her eyes fell on the colorful garden she'd been admiring moments before. “No. These are far away.”

“Not far enough. I've been reading up.” He plucked the bluebell and crushed it between thumb and forefinger. “These could bring the bees. Just like Willa brings Benjamin. And, given a choice, she'd keep things that way.”

“Then she doesn't get a choice.” Lucinda fell to her knees, blindly reaching among the colorful petals and yanking plants out of the ground in heaping handfuls.

She'll understand someday, my Willa,
Lucinda promised herself.
But first, I have to protect her. I have to protect her, so she can learn.

“So old Grogan did mean to set fire to one of the hives.” Opal could hardly believe what Willa told her as they headed back from the Speck farm. “All that claptrap about Specks dragging him to be attacked by bees ... Diggory knew the truth all along?”

“Papa had to protect his pa's memory,” Willa said by way of explanation. “He knew Grandpa would turn in his grave if Specks got that land, and Papa wouldn't let him die in vain, so...”

“So he's ruined all of our lives, caused bitterness and false enmity for decades?” Anger almost choked the words before Opal forced them out. “Blackened my family's name? Where is the honor in that, Willa?”

“I'm sorry. You know the rest of us only discovered the truth days ago.”

“Days ago.”
But Adam didn't tell me. Was he afraid I'd be so foolish as to tell Pa? I know better than to give him any more cause to resume hostilities when things are going well!
“And none of you trusted me enough to share this information.”

“I thought you should know. I thought...” Willa trailed off, and Opal knew her friend was thinking that Adam should have been the one to tell her.

“The hatred between our families ends one way or another, Willa. Pa wouldn't react well to this information, even if Diggory apologized now. It's best to let things gradually mend, as it's begun. With you and Adam reaching out to the Specks, things are bound to keep improving.”
I hope.

“Surely mercy and goodness shall follow us,” Willa paraphrased the Psalm with a smile, only to pull up short with a gasp. The smile shrank from her face as she stared before them.

Opal followed her gaze and let out a cry of her own. There, where that morning had stood Willa's beautiful flower garden, sat a bare patch of earth. Completely denuded of its colorful carpet, bald dirt turned raw by the careless piles of uprooted plants scattered around, the sight made her want to weep.

Even worse were the silent tears rolling down Willa's cheeks. Her friend's mouth hung agape, but no sound emerged. It was as though the new confidence and vitality she'd found had been ruthlessly cut off along with her flowers.

“Now you see?” Lucinda's sharp voice pierced the air. “You see what your new friend did to you?”

She's blaming me.
Disbelief washed over Opal.
Just like with the mattress.

“How could you?” Willa didn't turn, simply kept staring at the destruction of the love she'd lavished on those blossoms.

“Well, Opal?” Her mother-in-law's demand inspired an urge to do bodily harm.

“What's going on?” Adam sauntered around the side of the soddy to get his first look at the damage.

“Look at the trouble your wife caused now!” Lucinda clawed at her son's arm, dragging him farther away from Opal than ever before.

“Opal didn't do this.” Adam took one look at the garden and shook his head. “She helped Willa tend it.”

“How could you?” Still not facing anyone, Willa stooped to lovingly gather the limp plants into one pile.

“Willa, I didn't.” Opal knelt beside the woman who'd become her friend and sister and wanted to weep. “I'll help you replant, I promise. Anything to make it better.”

“You can't make it better.” The hiss of a snake. “You've made things worse since the moment you married my son.”

“Stop, Mama.” Willa stood, her arms full of desecrated plants. She extended the corpses of her beloved flowers toward her mother, tears still streaming down her face. “How could you?”

“It's her fault!”

“No, Mama. You did this. Opal and I left and spent the whole day together.”

“Why?” Adam put his hands on his mother's shoulders. “Why would you do such a thing, Ma?”

“It
is
her fault! If it wasn't for her bees, I wouldn't have to get rid of the flowers. Flowers bring bees, Adam.” Fear filled the older woman's voice. “I had to protect us all. And Willa has to learn the Specks are dangerous. Don't you see?”

“No.” Diggory strode onto the scene and took Lucinda away from Adam. His gestures remained controlled, but that very control bespoke great anger. “You don't punish my little girl like that without my say-so, woman.”

“She's consorting with that Benjamin, Diggory.”

“Not anymore.” Diggory glared at the daughter he'd championed scant seconds before. “Willa, you're not to talk to that boy again, do you hear me?” He didn't even wait for a response before pulling his wife toward the house.

Adam went to put his arm around Willa, leaving Opal reluctant to intrude just to get to the room she shared with her sister-in-law. Instead, she turned and headed toward the barn. The smell of hay and horse never failed to soothe her.

She opened the door and took a deep breath, feeling the weight of sorrow start to ebb. But peace didn't take its place. Instead, a sort of energy crackled, making the hairs on the back of her neck stand up.
Danger.
Opal turned to leave.

Too late.

“Hello, Opal.” Larry lounged between her and the door. “Rare to catch you alone these days.”

“I'm just heading back.” She made as though to step around him, but he blocked her.

“Of course. After we settle a little business between us.” He straightened, his body too close to hers.

“We have no business, Larry. I'm Adam's wife.”

“Only because of the child.” Fury distorted his features. “But if there were no babe, you wouldn't be tied to Adam. Isn't that right?”

“Larry,” she could scarcely squeak his name past the terror in her throat.
He can't know. Oh Lord, please don't let him know!
Then the world narrowed to a pinpoint and she doubled over, gasping. Larry pulled his fist from her middle and pushed back her shoulder while she fought to draw breath, desperate for air. He drew back and slammed another punch to her stomach, this time letting her collapse on the floor while he stood over her.

“We can be together now.” The smile on his face made her blood run cold. “That should have finished the brat.”