Not another word is said, and the men start to walk away.
“Sold to the Beast!”
The man who’s been holding me on top of this wagon leans down. “You poor child, death would have been preferable to the fate that has played out today. I regret my part in it now as I fear I’ll have your blood on my hands. I’ll pray for you since you’ll not be the first to die in his arms. That beast will split you in half when he mounts you.”
I hear Oren’s laughter echoing all around me just as a massive set of hands surrounds my waist. All I see before blacking out from the pain in my ribs is a hairy face with black eyes.
CHAPTER 2
GRANT
Gathering her in my arms, I ignore the snickers that surround me when the girl passes out simply from the touch of my hands. I don’t know what possessed me to stop on the walkway in front of the saloon. I’ve never cared about things like this before, but there was just something about her small, beaten form standing in the back of that wagon, barely holding herself together, that I just couldn’t walk away from.
Pulling her close, I let them talk. Their words mean nothing to me; never have, never will. I am gently laying her in the back of the wagon when I hear someone clear their throat behind me. I turn with a snarl on my lips, only to find the local clergyman wringing his hands nervously.
“What?”
“Mr. Hanes … even though I do not agree with these types of proceedings, there is little I can do to change the rules of this heathen land. Nevertheless, I can still protect that child’s soul. You will not take her with you without marrying her first.”
Growling, I point at her unconscious form.
“I am well aware of her current state of unconsciousness, Mr. Hanes. Now that her husband has discarded her and with no family to take her in, you have become her legal guardian. All I need is an X here on this line. I don’t need her actual signature; yours will do. It must be recorded so that she will still be permitted into the church and accepted by the local community. Women have very few rights and if this divorce is not remedied, she will be barred from most establishments.” He hands me a piece of paper, and I quickly scribble my name on the bottom of it. “Do you know her name?”
“Lauren Lieber, but I don’t know her maiden name. Because I have direct control over the marriage licenses in this area, I will fill that part in myself, but I must inform you that none of these proceedings are legally valid or sanctioned by the church. Once she is well, it would do both of you good to renew your vows. I will erase her original marriage license to Oren from the church records and replace it with yours. It’s the best I can do under the circumstances. I have prayed on this and in my heart, I believe things happen just the way they are supposed to.” His eyes glance down at the wagon, and I see him shake his head before turning away, saying. “May the Lord heal your heart along with those wounds, child.”
Running my dirty hands through my long, unruly hair, I wonder how I managed to get myself into this mess. Reaching up under her slight frame, I lift her further into the wagon, trying to make her more comfortable before pulling the only thing I have with me, an old horse blanket, up over her.
This is not the first time we’ve crossed paths, even though she probably didn’t notice, as she never lifts her head. I’d come to town for supplies and was walking into the general store when she ran right into my chest. I remember grabbing her smallarms, steadying her as the smell of lavender surrounded me. She whispered, ‘Forgive me,’ and practically ran out the door when I let go.
Old man Harvey was stocking a shelf and saw the entire thing. “Don’t take it personally, Grant. Lauren is scared of her own shadow, the poor girl. That Lieber fella is cruel, and you can’t walk past their front door that you don’t hear him screaming at her. I’ve yet to see her without a bruise and she seems like a sweet kid, too. It’s a shame.”
For some reason, that encounter haunted my thoughts for several days afterward. Doesn’t make you much of a man if the only way you can feel bigger is to harm those who are smaller than you. Weaklings only prey upon the weak, or the ones who can’t speak up for themselves. But because of the way those men were talking to and about her while she stood there helplessly, I just couldn’t stay out of it, and now I’m standing here staring down at what is apparently my new wife.
Sighing, I close the tailgate and after making sure all my supplies are secure, I climb onto the front bench. “Ya!” I click the reins, and my two Clydesdales start the long trek home. Being several miles out of town, these trips usually take a few hours. Normally, the sound of the horse’s hooves, the warm sun on my face, and the hint of spring surrounding me settles my mind. But today, I notice every bump and rock in the road as I try to maneuver around anything I think will jostle her around in the back.
She’ll never receive another bruise under my care if I can help it. Glancing back several times, I look to see if she’s awakened, only to find her lying in the same position. The trip seems to take forever, and I’m glad when I see smoke coming from my chimney up ahead. Now that I am home, I’m not sure how to proceed. I don’t deal well with people in general, and I’ve livedout here on my own for so long … well, it’s going to be an adjustment for both of us, that’s for sure.
Pulling up to the house, I climb down and open the tailgate, half expecting her to jump up and run while trying to scratch my eyes out. Instead, all I see is confusion on her face. Reaching in, I lift her slight form and she pulls away from me, terror in her eyes as I set her on her feet. She stumbles back a few steps, looking around.
“Can you walk?”
She flinches at the roughness of my words, and it’s not the first time I curse my huge size or the raw sound of my unused voice. I motion toward the house. “Go on, warm yourself by the fire. Once I get the wagon unloaded, I need to unhook the horses, wipe them down, and then feed the chickens. After that, I’ll be in to tend to your wounds.”
She doesn’t say a word, simply stands there, her hazel eyes huge in her small, delicate face. I decide not to push her; let her stand there if it makes her feel better. Turing away, I grab Bolt’s halter, leading him and Star toward the back of the house so that I don’t have to pack everything up the hill.
Fighting the urge to see what she’s doing, I unload my supplies into the back room and then maneuver the horses and the wagon down to the barn. Bolt’s large head pushes against me when he sees me walk past the feed bin, and Star stomps her massive hooves … wanting to be let out into the outer corral, as she always has more energy than Bolt.
“Hold on, pretty girl, let’s get you rubbed down, then you can go out. Bolt, you behave and I’ll get you some extra oats.”
I know I’m stalling going back to the house, and I shouldn’t be because the girl needs to be tended to, but it’s the fear in her eyes that cuts me in half. I know my size is a lot for some, but unless pushed, I tend to keep to myself. Harming others is not something I enjoy, but she doesn’t know that. Unlocking the chicken’s pen, Blue, my rooster, is strutting around enjoying all the hens, while I throw their food out. Blue pecks on my foot when Lucy comes closer to me, and I push him away gently. “Quit showing off for the girls, Blue.”
Finally, when I can’t put it off any longer, I wash my hands in the rain barrel and walk up to the house, wondering if she’ll be inside or if she’s run off. Opening the back door, I shrug off my flannel jacket and look around only to be greeted by the usual silence, but this time it’s carrying the faint scent of lavender. Trying to lighten my steps, I walk into the main living area, looking at my home with another’s eyes, and flinch when I realize what a mess everything is.
I don’t know who’s more shocked, her watching as I walk toward her or me finding her doing exactly as I said — standing in front of the fireplace. The fire I banked before I left is almost out, but the room is still warm and comfortable. The smell of the stew I left cooking in the Dutch oven wafts through the air around us. Moving behind her, I make sure not to bump her accidentally as I throw a few logs on the fire. Grabbing a rag, I pick up the lid, glad to see that the stew is almost ready. Pushing the pot crane over the fire a little further, I stand and face the girl, not having a clue what to do now.
She doesn’t say anything, simply stands there with her eyes down, trembling all over. Normally, I don’t like anyone in my space, but for some reason, it’s not bothering me that she’s here. Deciding I have to start somewhere, I make myself speak up.
“My name is Grant. I know you’re scared and I understand you didn’t want any of this, but we will make the best of this situation. I will not ask more from you than you can do. As you can clearly see, I need help around here. Someone to assist with the house and chores would be nice, but I will never force anything upon you, and that includes myself.”
