Give Me A Texan

“Just hold me,” she whispered, molding against him.

Briar’s body hardened as if bracing for the blast of a furnace. Her touch stirred sensations in him that were almost too overwhelming to contain. His knees threatened to buckle. “I need to take you inside.”

“Aye,” she breathed.

One hand locked beneath her arm, while the other lifted her into his embrace. Her breath fanned his neck with its ebb and flow while the scent of something floral drifted from her hair. She’d obviously borrowed some of Violet’s lavender soap. The image of her bathing in their tub coursed blood to every part of him.

Sanity intruded, reminding him that he’d known her less than a day and he wasn’t the kind of man who took advantage of a woman’s vulnerability. Thankfully, she had left the door ajar. He nudged it open, searched the dark for one of the kitchen chairs, then sat. Mina continued to cry softly against him, her tears feeling like dew upon his chest.

Finally, she stopped and unlinked her arms from around his neck. Her body jutted backward as she silently insisted upon standing. He gently released her. “Care to tell me what this is all about?”

She stared at her bare feet, then back up at him in that disconcerting way she had of looking at him. “’Tis cry I do, when happiness fills me.”

“Happiness?” If he lived to be a hundred years old, he’d never understand women. “You were crying because you’re happy?”

She nodded and twirled around, opening her palms. “I have a job, a wee lass to take care of, and now this. A roof…walls…a home…if only for a while. A home has got to be the best place on earth, wouldn’t ye agree?”

“Are you homeless, Miss McCoy?” Briar finally asked the one question he’d not quite found the nerve to bring up in their earlier conversations.

“Mina,” she reminded. “Aye, that I am, sir. Does that make a difference to ye now? I would think ye’d expect anyone who hired on in such a capacity to be unattached to a dwelling.”

“It makes no difference to me, Mina,” he assured her, though his mind was now made up about something else. He would not spend any more time looking for her a room. She would live in his home until Nathaniel returned.

Nathaniel had telegraphed that he would be home tomorrow, but he often didn’t keep his word. And for the first time in months, he hoped Nathaniel didn’t hurry back.

Chapter 6

The scent of fresh, clean linen and the sound of a soft sigh woke Mina. The feel of the strong arms in her dream drifted away as if it were smoke carried on the wind. She wanted to chase after it, catch it, hold it to her as she did the keepsakes she often found along the roadway, but sleep spirited the treasure away into the saffron glow of dawn.

The reality of a tinier, softer body nestling against Mina quelled the disturbing thoughts of just whose arms she’d been dreaming. She would leave that mulling for later, when she was alone.

’Tis not alone I am. The words sank in, filling her with a joy that warmed the tips of her toes and stretched her lips into a grin. She had slept in a comfortable bed, in a real home, and with no concern whatsoever to danger. Best of all, there was someone to wake up to. There could be no finer morning than this.

Sometime during the night Violet had climbed under the covers alongside her. The sigh that Mina had thought was her own came from the child curled against her. She gently pressed a kiss atop the tiny head.

“Am I awake, angel?” whispered Violet.

“Not quite, lass.” Mina raised the lass’s chin to study her face. That poor little eye barely peeped open amid its circular bruise. “But ye’re working on it, ’tis certain.”

“I just might have some trouble doing it right this morning.” Violet snuggled deeper into the covers.

“And I think ye will not.” Mina threw back the quilt and tickled the child until Violet erupted into a fit of giggles. “Because I plan to help ye wake up. We have things to do, people to meet, and places to go. What do ye say to getting dressed and having some breakfast?”

“I can help cook. Daddy lets me sometimes.” Violet unfurled and stood. “I’m pretty good at biscuits.”

“I just bet ye are.” Images of the possible volatile combination of Violet, lard, and flour propelled Mina to stand, though she wished nothing more than to linger in the comfort of the bed. She needed to dress and arrive in the kitchen way ahead of little Miss Helper. “Do ye know what ye want to wear to church,” she urged, “or am I to make the choice for ye?”

“You mean you’re gonna let me choose?” Excitement filled Violet’s tone as she rushed from the room.

“Ye’re the one wearing the clothes, are ye not?” After all, her father had allowed her to dress herself for bed. Mina followed to make sure Violet did not venture toward the kitchen first.

“I sure am. I knew an angel would understand.” Violet disappeared into her bedroom and shut the door.

The child was up to something. Mina needed no celestial wisdom to understand that much.

An hour and a half later, she was wishing for some heavenly intervention. But, of its own volition, her head kept turning to view Briar sitting beside her in the pew. Light shining through the stained glass windows made her aware of how he filled the church with his presence. The pews were packed, causing everyone to squeeze in closer to allow for the influx of visitors. His shoulders and thighs touched hers, making it difficult for Mina to concentrate, much less listen to the sermon. He seemed to sense the exact moments she could not resist the impulse to look at him, his eyes mesmerizing her with their intensity as they turned to share those glances with her.

Allowing Violet to choose her own church clothes was the first transgression she’d made this morning. But now it seemed she’d made yet another. A congregant with a broach-studded hat kept openly glaring at Mina. She most likely would not have noticed the woman’s glare, but the lady had no eyebrows. Had they been burned off and never grown back? Twin broaches amid a spray of silk chiffon garnished the hat’s brim, looking like pearl-studded substitutes for the missing brows.

Mina wondered if she had committed some unknown sin that would cause the woman to want to exorcise her from the sanctuary.

Mina didn’t plan on staying in Amarillo long enough to let anyone, much less High-Brow, intimidate her, for whatever reason. So when the woman thrust her double chins upward and looked disapprovingly at Mina again, Mina just smiled in return. It was far from the first time she’d been looked upon with disapproval. It certainly wouldn’t be the last time. Wonder what would happen if she informed everyone that the woman had obviously used some of that new French Harmless Hair Wave to curl and color her hair? The price paid for such a bougainvillea- colored nest of curls would feed an overcrowded orphanage for six months or more. Could anything she have committed be worse than spending more than a thousand dollars on a permanent wave? High-Brow best loosen her curls a wee bit, if she knew what was good for her.

Finally, the service ended. With relief Mina stood, glad to put distance between herself and Briar. Waking up in his room and knowing he usually slept in the bed she’d found so appealing had been difficult enough to forget. Remembering how it felt in his arms last night and touching his thigh during the service had only kindled the fire of attraction that skittered along her senses like she was taking on a second skin. Mina gently reached for Violet’s hand, but the lass pulled away instantly and tugged on her father’s pant leg.

“Daddy, can we go now, please? I really need to go. Now.”

“Hold your britches, pumpkin,” he announced then shot Mina a stern expression. “Seems kind of appropriate, doesn’t it, Miss McCoy?”

Mina shrugged, glad she’d chosen to wear her riding skirt rather than her trousers. “’Tis sorry I am, if I may say it again. She wanted to dress herself and ye let her do so for bed. I saw no wrong in allowing Violet to do the same a second time.”

Briar took his daughter’s hand. “I can’t blame you too much, I suppose, when it’s my own fault that I indulge her. If it hadn’t taken so long waiting for the surrey, I could have picked you up sooner and given her time to change.”

“The britches will go back in the drawer…unless ye say they can come out again. True, lass?”