The Bride Backfire (2 page)

“What did you see, Pete?” Opal fought to keep her voice steady when she tracked down her younger brother.

“When?” At fifteen, Pete had shot up to top her by a solid two inches, his limbs long and coltish as he turned to face her.

“Whenever it was you saw Grogan on our land.” Opal chose her words carefully. As of now, all she knew was Pete had seen Larry skulking around this week and diligently reported it to Pa, who'd gone over to Grogan land this afternoon to address the issue. Her heart skittered at the thought of Pa and Elroy riding onto Grogan lands for any kind of confrontation, but since she'd only found out after they returned home safe and sound, there were more urgent things to focus on.

Like whether Pete had seen Larry following her or had heard their exchange by the clearing that morning. If so, why he hadn't told Pa about it?
And how can I keep it that way?

But these were questions Opal couldn't fire at her brother outright—not if all Pete had seen were glimpses of Larry hanging around. As long as none of the Speck men knew the real reason for Larry Grogan's visits, she could keep their blood safely in their bodies. So she didn't say another word, just waited for Pete to spill what he'd seen and what he'd said about it.

“Two days past I saw someone in the brush bordering the southeast field but couldn't make him out. He beat it too fast for me to get a good look, but this morning I saw him again.” Pete's young face hardened, making him look older. “Caught a glimpse of his face, and it was Larry Grogan. Like I told Pa, I could tell he was spoiling for a fight and he'd made it past the meadow.”

He followed me.
Opal sucked in a sharp breath, drawing an approving nod from her younger brother.

“He turned back when he saw my gun, but that's too close to the house.” Pete jerked his chin toward their soddy. “We don't want the likes of Larry Grogan getting anywhere near you, Opal.”

A humorless rasp of laughter scraped her throat.
He doesn't know. They can stay safe as long as I don't tell them.
She closed her eyes for a precious second as the knowledge flowed over her.
Thank You, Father, for protecting them. Thank You, too, for having Pete see just enough of Larry to make Pa warn him away....

“You did well to put a stop to it.” She stretched out to net Pete in a swift hug before he squirmed free. “I'm so relieved Diggory and Larry didn't try to start something when Pa and Elroy went over to discuss it.” Another not-so-minor miracle to add to her praise list that night.

“You and me, both.” The martial light in her brother's eyes took her aback for a moment. “I didn't like it when Pa told me to stay home in case things went sour. If it wasn't for him saying he needed to know one of us was here to protect you, I would've followed 'em.”

I can take care of myself!
The fierce need to make the men in her life understand she didn't need their protection—particularly not when it endangered them—welled up with such force she choked on the resentment before she could say so. Another blessing.

“Thank you.” Opal said the words so Pete could hear, but in her heart they went to God. The important thing was Pete stayed home when he could have been in danger. She'd swallow every ounce of pride she possessed in exchange for his safety.
But what a pass we've come to, when we're all so busy protecting each other we don't talk about it first.

The familiar wash of regret pulled at her, almost making her miss Pete saying the Grogan men hadn't been on the farm.

“What do you mean Diggory and Larry weren't there?”

“We figure they must've been out hunting or something.” Pete shrugged. “Course, now the problem is once they hear that Pa and Elroy went over and gave that warning, they might get furious enough to make everything worse.”

Cold swept from Opal's ears to her fingertips, making even her lips numb as she registered the danger. “Tell me they didn't speak to Lucinda!” Surely Pa knew better than to deliver bad news to Mrs. Grogan in the absence of her husband—any harsh words had to be spoken among men. “You know the Grogan men would take that as a threat to their women!”

“I dunno. She's Larry's ma and should keep him in line.” Pete's sudden, mischievous grin dissolved when he saw the look on her face. “Naw, don't fret, Opal. Everyone knows this is a matter among men. They talked with Adam.”

“Adam,” she whispered his name. Her blood started moving again, warming her cheeks, making her lips tingle. It was a mark of how distressed she'd been that she could ever have forgotten about Adam Grogan.

Memories of murky darkness, crackling heat muffled by thick smoke, the acrid tinge of burnt wood creeping into her nose rose before her as if it were yesterday. Half-asleep from the morphine Dr. Reed had given her for her toothache, limbs heavy and eyes refusing to open, she'd never even registered Clara's attempts to pull her from the burning house two years ago. Even now, the recollections of smothering soot were hazy at best.

Until Adam. Even drugged by the doctor and half-choked by the thick blanket of smoke, Opal's awareness of Adam Grogan's deep voice calling her name had been clear as spring water on a sunny day. Not even the wearing of time had dimmed her memory of his cradling her against a solid chest as he swept her into strong arms she knew would carry her to safety.

“They talked with Adam,” she repeated, relief leaving her knees weakened. “He'll talk with Larry, then. Adam will make it right.”

“Yeah, Adam's always been the one with a level head.” Pete rubbed the back of his neck. “If he weren't a Grogan, I'd even say I liked him.”

“Me, too.”

Pete raised a brow at her quick agreement.

“I mean, if he weren't a Grogan.”

“Grogans don't stand for this kind of disrespect!” Larry's roar the next morning could've deafened an elephant. In Africa.

“We sure don't.” Anger lined Pa's jaw, making Adam's gut churn.

But now wasn't the time to protest. Not until he heard Pa's line of thinking so he could reason him right back out of it.

“Specks coming onto our land...” Larry's words came fast and furious as he paced the small room he shared with Adam. “They got no right. If they think they can just push their way over where they don't belong and ain't wanted, they need to be taught a lesson.”

“Agreed.” Pa's outstretched arm brought Larry to a halt. “Any man who trespasses is asking for trouble.”

“So what are we waitin' for?” Shifting his weight from one foot to the other, Larry glanced at Adam from the corner of his eye. “They've brought this on themselves. Let's take care of those Specks once and for all!”

“Thing of it is,” Adam spoke slowly, careful to keep his voice thoughtful and free of force so as not to encroach on his father's position, “that the Specks have never come here before. Even today, they never raised their guns—just made it clear that it's best all around that we respect the boundaries.”

“And that's what's troubling me.” Pa swiped his hat across his brow. “I've known Murphy Speck my whole life. I don't like him, don't agree with the man, and wouldn't trust him as far as I could toss our heaviest draft horse. But he's never crossed our lines without cause. No matter how I try to avoid it, him bothering to come today means something stuck in his craw.”

“And that something is me?” Disbelief, heavy and false, rang in his younger brother's voice, confirming Adam's suspicion that Larry had, indeed, breached boundaries on Speck land and brought this upon them.

“That's what they say.” Adam struggled to keep his voice nonaccusatory. Setting up Larry's back any more than it already was would only worsen things. And it looked like his younger brother was bent on doing his crooked best to stir up more trouble than any of them could handle.

“Were you over there, son?” Pa's eyes narrowed. “Much as I can't abide the thought of Specks on Grogan land, they're more than within their rights if they caught you.”

If they caught him, not just if he was over there.
Adam shut his eyes at his father's logic. To Pa, the problem didn't lie in breaking trust; it lay squarely in being found out. With that kind of creaking foundation, it wouldn't be long before the tenuous peace they'd built with the Specks came crumbling around their ears.

“Has anyone thought about what those no-good Specks are trying to do here?” Larry's demand conveniently neglected to provide an answer to the question at hand. “We all know Murphy's eldest is coming back here—failed at the mines, didn't he? So now he'll be wanting some good farmland close to home, and what's better than ours? They're laying the groundwork to get rid of us, and we shouldn't let them get one step closer!”

“Ben's coming back?” A flash of fear struck against the flint of his father's eyes. “With Ben home, they outnumber us.”

“Hardly.” Shaking his head, Adam tried to calm the storm. “Pete doesn't make much of a man yet. If anything, Ben just evens things up again.”

“The odds are still better for us now.” Larry kept on pressing. “And even a stupid Speck can count high enough to see it. That's why they didn't man up and do anything today.”

“Makes sense.”

“No, it doesn't.” His disagreement came out too blunt, so Adam took another track. “It would make sense if you, Larry, and I had all been here. Instead, with just one, they would have been fools not to pick me off while they had no other opposition. If Diggory Speck wanted to end this feud once and for all, that would have been the strategy to use.”

“No one ever said the Specks were smart.” Larry's sneer didn't have Adam doubting anyone's intelligence but that of his brother.

“They're smart enough for that, or Pa wouldn't waste the effort worrying over what they might plan.” When Pa's eyebrows went up, Adam knew he'd scored a point. “Grogans don't concern themselves with unworthy adversaries—especially not for generations.”

“Adam's right.” Pa plunked his hat back on his head. “You should know that, Larry. The Specks are just canny enough to be a threat.”

“If you say so, Pa.”

“I say so, all right. And, son?”

“Yeah?”

“
I'm
canny enough to know that you not answering about being on Speck lands means they were right.” Pa's observation had Adam biting back a grin. “Which makes you the stupidest in the whole lot of us. Stay away from the Specks, son, or Murphy will have every right to make good on his threat. Trespassin's a shooting offense.”

Adam started to breathe a prayer of gratitude that Pa wouldn't be deciding to saddle up with guns blazing anytime soon when Larry's mutter floated past him.

“Next time, I'll make sure they don't see me.”

“I see you!” Opal swooped to the floor, nudging her face close to the baby's. “You're such a pretty girl, Matilda.” She crooned to keep the ten-month-old from crawling away with the surprisingly quick speed she'd developed.

“Got her, did you?” Clara laughed when Opal, Matilda snug in her arms, settled onto the parlor sofa.

“For now.” Opal ducked her head, pressing her cheek against the downy softness of the baby's hair. The gesture hid a sudden tug of sadness at the thought she wasn't anywhere close to having a child of her own. She breathed deep of Matilda's sweet, powdery scent. “You'll make me give her back, won't you?”

“Eventually, though I find most folks more than willing to return the loan without any urging when she needs changing.” Leaning closer, Clara lowered her voice. “What I long for is conversation.”

“You can converse with just about anyone.” Snuggling the baby a bit tighter, Opal kept the accompanying thought to herself.
Someone to cuddle, now that's a different matter!

“I know, but Saul is kept busy with his doctoring calls, and Josiah doesn't need me at the store these days. In any case, it seems all my time gets taken up keeping things in order around here.” Clara cast a satisfied look around her newly rebuilt house. After the fire two years ago, the Reeds had recreated it as both a home and doctor's office for her husband. “That's part of why I'm always so glad to see you visit! I know Midge will be disappointed she missed it.”

The mention of Midge, an irrepressible fifteen-year-old Saul had adopted just before coming to Buttonwood a few years ago, where he met his match in Clara, doused Opal's gloom. She'd held a particular fondness for Midge ever since the younger girl brought down her most prized possession—the old honeycomb-patterned quilt the women of the town had worked to restore in preparation for Midge's arrival—to comfort Opal during the treatment for her toothache.

When Clara realized the house had caught fire and that Opal, largely unconscious, couldn't leave under her own steam, she laid out Midge's quilt as a makeshift travois and dragged Opal toward the door. She owed her life to Midge's generosity and Clara's determination every bit as much as Adam Grogan's remarkable bravery.

“Where is Midge today?”

“At the Warren place, making candles.” As she spoke, Clara wrinkled her nose and waggled her brows, eliciting a giggle from her little daughter. So the sudden seriousness of her next expression warned Opal the next thing her friend said would be important. “She and Alyssa are turning into quite the young women, and the boys in town are starting to notice.”

“Pete stands straighter when they walk by.” Opal didn't bother to repress a little snort. “And he's not yet sixteen!”

“But Midge is—and looks every bit as old as Alyssa, who boasts sixteen. It's something for us to keep an eye on.” A burp cloth appeared as if out of thin air to be dabbed against Maddie's chin. “Thought I'd mention it while you were here, but what I really want to talk about...”

Opal tensed as her friend leaned back in a pose of relaxation, her pale eyes snapping with mischief. Clara looked far too pleased with herself for anyone else in the vicinity to be comfortable.

“Who's been chasing after you, Opal Speck? Shame on you for not telling me what was going on!”

“How did you know?” Somehow, she worked the words around the lump in her throat. Pete hadn't known Larry was chasing after her that day, and she wouldn't breathe a word to any soul, so there could only be one explanation.
How can I control the damage if Larry's spreading rumors?

“Buttonwood doesn't rank as anything but a small town, Opal. Folks watch carefully and talk about what they see. You didn't expect to keep his interest a secret?”

“I hoped to.” A snuffly wail penetrated her preoccupation, alerting Opal that she'd clutched baby Maddie too tightly.

“Nap time.” Clara swept her daughter into her arms and bustled up the stairs, dispelling Opal's hopes that time would stop long enough for her to figure out a solution to the problem before her.

She returned to the parlor as swiftly as she'd left. “Opal?” Clara's brow furrowed as she sat down. “You don't look at all well. Saul should be back any time now. We'll have him take a look at you.”

“No, thank you.”
The doctor can't fix what's wrong. No one can.
Tears burned behind Opal's eyes, the first of many she'd feel before this all ended. She had no way out. Unless Larry was saying his intentions were honorable—then she'd have a choice: Refuse, and spark the feud to slaughter her family, or marry Larry Grogan, tying herself to him for life.

It wasn't much of a choice, but she'd marry the lout before she let him destroy her family. If that was Larry's plan, she needed to find out.
Now.
“Why did he tell you, Clara?”

“He didn't say anything!” Her friend seemed taken aback, though whether it was the question or the desperation with which she asked it, Opal couldn't tell. “Like I said, there's plenty to see if you watch.”

“So he hasn't said anything? It's just what you think you've seen?” Hope, tantalizing and intoxicating, made her head light. “Do you think anyone else noticed anything?”

“Observant as I am, it's possible I'm the only one to have marked his attention.” Clara's brow furrowed. “I take it you don't want to encourage him, then?”

“Of course not! I want nothing to do with the man!” Opal twisted her hands in her lap. “And so long as you're the only one who suspects, we can stop it before it becomes a real problem.”

“I never thought you'd feel this way.” Her friend shook her head as though puzzling over something she'd never understand. “What did Brett Burn ever do to make you dislike him so?”

“Brett Burn!” Now Opal stared in confusion. “Who's talking about the blacksmith?”

“Me.” Straightening her skirts, Clara leaned closer. “At least, I thought I was. Opal Speck, are you trying to tell me there are two men looking your way and you never breathed a word of it? Who's the objectionable one, then, if you're not talking about Brett?”

“Erm...” The way her head spun, Opal was starting to wonder whether maybe she shouldn't have Dr. Reed take a look at her after all. “That's not important, since the entire point is to ignore him.” Outrage and obstinacy melded in her friend's face, calling for immediate diversion. “Now, what is it you were saying about Brett?” She injected a measure of wistfulness into her tone. “I hadn't noticed any partiality.”

“Don't think I'm finished asking about the mystery man, but you know I've always preferred to deal with possibilities instead of closed doors.” Clara tucked her feet up under her and proceeded to recall all the times she'd—supposedly—seen the youngest of the Burn blacksmiths mooning over Opal.

“I don't have eyes in the back of my skull, so I'll have to take your word for it if he's sneaking glances during church.” In spite of herself, Opal began to entertain the notion. “He never talks to me or walks me home or brings me tokens or anything to indicate he'd be interested in courting me, though.”

“He asks about your beekeeping, Opal! And you ask about his work, too.” Clara's list grew. “Maybe he's just waiting for a sign you'd be happy to accept his attentions.”

“I ask about his work because he mends our tools and knows the latest advancements to help on the farm,” Opal defended. “That's not talking; that's business.”

“When your father and brothers talk with him, it's business.” The correction came soft but firm. “And when he talks with you about your hives, that's not even a valid excuse. Those bee boxes of yours are made of wood!”

“There's such a thing as just being friendly.”

“Even to a good-looking, hardworking bachelor the same age as you?” With romance on the brain, Clara drove her point home. “Don't you think you might make a good couple?”

“Never thought about it.” Opal chewed on the inside of her lip and looked at her now-empty arms.
But I'm going to.

“I can't think what happened to all my baking soda.” Ma's fretting made Adam bolt his dinner.

“Done.” He pushed back his plate. “I'll drop by the general store and pick some up for you, Ma.”

“Thank you, son.” Lucinda Grogan sent her eldest a fond smile. “But I can walk over there as well as anyone, and I know you've plenty to do in the fields.”

But I used your baking soda on a sick cow and forgot to replace it.
“I need to head into town anyway. Dusty's picked up a rock and bent one of his shoes something awful. One of the Burns will need to have a look at it.”

“We'll go together.” Ma beamed. “Willa can pick out whichever flour bags she likes best for her next dress.”

Adam smothered a groan as his sister perked up. Who knew how long it would take the women if the trip involved more than staples? He'd planned on keeping a sharp eye on Larry for a good while yet, but that wouldn't be happening this afternoon.

It was worse than he thought. By the time Adam dropped the women off at Josiah Reed's General Store and headed toward Burn's Blacksmithing, he could've finished the entire trip alone twice over. With time to spare.

“Afternoon, Adam.” Matthew Burn came up to greet him, his father and younger brother working at the forge.

“Good to see you, Matthew.” Adam tilted his head back toward the massive draft horse he was leading. “Dusty here ran into a rock this morning and bent his shoe. I was hoping one of you Burn men could take a look.”

“Sure thing.” Taking the lead from Adam's hand, Matthew led Dusty into the stable enclosure attached to the smithy. He patted the horse's shoulders, murmuring softly to soothe him. Even the most placid horse disliked the noise, heat, and smell of a smithy, so putting the large creatures at ease came as part and parcel of the job before a smart smith would go anywhere near a set of massive hooves.

Some folks held the opinion that three blacksmiths in one small—though growing—town ranked as excess if not downright foolishness. At least, that was the argument every Burn—and whatever townsman happened to be within hearing range—had ignored from almost every wagon train to pass through Buttonwood. No one blamed the pioneers for trying to secure a skilled blacksmith for their new homes, but Adam often had reason to be glad the Burns stayed in Buttonwood. There probably wasn't another town within a thousand miles where he could've gone to get Dusty taken care of that same afternoon—even if he lived there.

With Matthew fully engrossed inspecting Dusty's hooves—which he and Adam both agreed were due for a fresh shoeing anyway—not much chitchat went back and forth. That they held no penchant for gossip or babbling ranked as another reason Adam liked the Burn men. In a town as small as Buttonwood, most people made it their business to know everyone else's.

Ma sure does.
Adam stifled the thought but didn't dispute the truth of it. If he walked over to the general store this minute, he'd find Ma talking up a storm at anyone who walked inside. Between Ma's surplus of talk over at the Reed store and Matthew's lack of it at the Burn smithy, Adam had plenty of time on his hands.

Too much time, for a man accustomed to seeing daylight hours as a commodity every bit as valuable as a good horse or plow. Spring days, when the earth smelled rich with sprouting green shoots and the sun shone brightly without the punishing heat of summer, called to the farmer in him. Back home, fields waited to be cleared, ploughed, harrowed, and sown.

Unable to stay still, Adam wandered closer to the smithy to exchange greetings with Kevin, Matthew's father. The older blacksmith didn't hear him as he continued shaping red-hot iron. Metal on metal produced a rhythmic
clang,
the craftsman carefully bending what should have been impossible to his will.

If only forging a lasting peace with the Specks were so easy.
The thought of Larry's escapade sparked a heat that had nothing to do with the smithy and everything to do with anger.
Pity you can't actually pound good sense into someone.
But Larry was too blind to see the danger he should keep away from.

A prickling at the back of his neck made Adam turn toward the entrance, where a woman stood backlit by the sun, her face hidden in shadow. It didn't matter. Wisps of soft hair teased away from her bonnet to catch the sun behind her and glints from the forge before her, giving her a burnished crown. Opal's fiery locks proclaimed her identity as surely as though she wore a sign saying “Speck.”

Adam's mouth went dry as she stepped into the shop, lissome and lively. With her pale yellow dress and red hair, she could have been a sunbeam sprung to life. As it had for years now, reminding himself of the danger she presented took more of an effort than Adam would like to admit.

Fire proved a worthy association for Opal, and not just because of her hair. How many times had Adam witnessed her fiercely protecting her family by trying to avoid violence? The warmth of her spirit reflected in the smile she gave readily to everyone else. Still he'd kept a distance, knowing he shouldn't notice her.

Until the day a real fire threatened to extinguish her life.

When Saul Reed raced for his house, yelling that Clara and Opal were inside the burning building, Adam didn't think twice. He didn't regret saving the girl he'd never managed to think of as his enemy, but the action still carried a heavy toll.

The feel of cradling her close as he swept Opal away from the house was seared into his memory like a brand. It served to reaffirm what he'd always suspected—Specks were trouble, but Opal was downright dangerous.