Please don’t hurt me.
Just as quickly, my face falls. Maybe she’ll be okay with Pop as long as my momma’s with him. And maybe I’d better keep Dalton away from her for now.
My friend whistles and steps closer to inspect the cradle, nudging it with a boot to make it rock. “Well, well, well. Only been married a short while and already got the missus in the family way, you son of a gun. Must be quick on the draw in more ways than one, eh?” He jabs an elbow into myside, but it’s his sly tone that has me cutting a sharp glance to him as I lower to my haunches.
“Watch your words. That’s my wife you’re talking about. And keep your filthy boots off my baby’s cradle.” The dirty mark comes off easily enough, but I still scowl at him as I raise up. Just because we grew up close as brothers doesn’t mean he can joke about my woman like that. “Besides, the baby’s already here.”
His mouth drops at the same time I smugly add, “A girl.”
“The hell you say!” Dalton slaps his hat against his knee. “Who’s the lucky gal? And where is she? Wait…don’t tell me—you steal Old Widow Hester away in the night and sneak her into the hayloft?”
He can’t dodge my swift punch any better than my laughter hides my grimace.
“How’d you get those knobby old knees of hers up the ladder?” he wheezes, clutching his stomach. “Bet you musta been a real gentleman and slung her over your shoulder to carry her up.”
“Shut up.” I smother another laugh as I swing again, but Dalton dances away. Damn him for being so lean.
“C’meeere, Warren!” Only a fool would think his caterwauling screech sounded like an old woman. “Gimme a little kiss.”
“You son of a bitch.” Both our hats go flying as I tackle him to the ground and rear a fist back. “Kiss this.”
He blocks my arm and pouts. “That’s no way to court a lady.”
“The ugliest lady I ever did see,” I grunt, shoving my free hand against his face as his lips pucker together. “Oh, hell no—don’t even think about it!” Our strength is almost matched despite him being so wiry, but no way in hell is he getting close to my face.
“Jush…a lil’…kish.” His words are muffled by the pressure of my hand to his chin, but that doesn’t stop him from grinning like the devil and straining upward. That does it. All hell breaks loose as we tumble and scuffle across the barn floor.
“Saints preserve us, Cornelius. If our youngest sons don’t turn their wives into widows, it’ll be a blessed miracle from the good Lord above.”
My parents. That was a quick five minutes.
“Help—” Unable to keep a straight face, Dalton clears his throat and tries again in his normal voice. “Help me, Mrs. Shay! Warren’s gonna kill me.” A fistful of straw in his mouth shuts him up for a few more seconds.
“What did you do to my son this time?” my short little mother scolds. “Never mind. Warren, leave him alone before he chokes and we all have to dig out our mourning clothes. Come kiss me hello.”
A kiss. I ignore Dalton’s stifled chuckle at the irony and push off of him. Momma may be small, but we all know what she says is law. And if I give my friend a quick knee to the stomach to make him gag on that laugh as he spits out bits of straw? Well, even Momma understands he deserved it.
“Your dress is pretty.” The light blue brings out the silvered strands in her brown bun. “D’you get some of that fancy fabric down at the general store?” I dutifully press my lips to her cheek, and she hums in happiness before frowning at me.
“Yes, but don’t you change the subject. Are you trying to make your parents bury you before you give us grandchildren? What with you and Jedidiah going off on your own and chasing down ruffians without even telling your father or the sheriff, and now you rolling about as if you didn’thave a head wound that I had to learn about from your brother. Tell him, Cornelius.”
Beneath the brim of his hat, Pop squints at me with brown eyes a few shades darker than mine, searching for any subtle hints of injury, but when I shake my head, his shoulders relax a bit. “Now, Eleanor,” he begins, “you know they did what they had to do.”
Momma presses a hand to my father’s chest. “Tell him not to worry his poor mother so.”
His graying mustache twitches in resignation. “Son, don’t make your mother fret. You know how tetchy it makes her. A lot.” Pop mouths the last words, spreading his hands above her head to show just how much. Good thing she’s too busy pulling my head down by my ears to notice his teasing.
“My head’s fine, Momma…it’s been almost a week. The fair was too crowded to try tracking anyone down, and we had to go after Dove and the kid before they got too far ahead. And besides…” I sheepishly rub the back of my neck. “If I hadn’t gone, I wouldn’t have found my own woman.”
“The woman you saved. My son, how proud you and your brother make me and your father. Don’t they, Cornelius?” She grabs my face as if I were a little boy again, and I’ll be damned if my cheeks don’t burn with a mix of pride and embarrassment. “Dove told me a little bit about her. Mara, is it? What does she look like?”
Just hearing my wife’s name makes something in my chest tighten. I don’t want to reveal too much of her past, but they need to know why she might be standoffish. “Yep. And she’s beautiful, Momma…so beautiful. Long black hair and pretty blue eyes with the weight of the world inside them. But she’s real thin like she hasn’t eaten in a good while, and she’s been hurt bad for far too long. You know how cruel some people can be to Indians.”
Dalton and Pop stiffen as my mother presses a hand to her mouth. I know them well enough to realize their reactions aren’t because of the revelation of Mara being an Indian but because of the abuse she’s suffered.
“No, the poor, poor dear. Have you been feeding her enough?”
“Every damn chance I get.” I wince at my language. “Sorry, Momma.”
