Читать книгу Cowboy Seeks a Bride - Louise M. Gouge - Страница 11

Chapter Two

“Shall we go?” Rand held out his arm and Marybeth set a hand on it.

Once again she could feel his muscles rippling through his fine cotton shirt. How nice it would be to depend upon such a strong man. But Da had also been strong before his final drink-induced illness, and his excellent physique had housed a deceitful soul. In fact, Marybeth had met few men, sturdy or weak, who kept their word. Was Jimmy any different, or had he become like Da? She’d prayed for years he hadn’t fallen into such sinful ways, but she didn’t hold out too much hope. After all, the American West was known for its lawlessness. Maybe Jimmy had chosen that path.

Even if he had, she was determined to find him and make him hand over the silver locket. Mam had told her it contained the key to a treasure that would take care of Marybeth all her life. Although Jimmy probably didn’t know what lay hidden behind the tintype picture of their family, the locket still belonged to Marybeth. Of course she would share the fortune with him. Too bad Mam hadn’t claimed the treasure herself and used it to escape Da and his abuse. Knowing him, he would have found her and forced her to turn over the money so he could gamble it away or use it in one of his get-rich schemes that always failed. The man had never known how to tell the truth or make a wise decision, other than marrying a good woman like Mam.

“It’s not far, just six blocks.” Rand glanced down at her high-top shoes, already covered with dust from the unpaved street. “But we can get a buggy if it’s too far for you to walk.”

His thoughtful gesture threatened to weaken her, so Marybeth forced her defenses back in place. “The wind has died down and it’s a lovely day. Let’s walk.” She punctuated her cheerful tone with a bright smile. “Besides, Boston’s a very hilly city and I walked everywhere there. This flat town is no challenge.”

He chuckled—a pleasant, throaty sound. “If you’re used to hills, I’ll have to take you up in the mountains for a hike. That sure would challenge you.” His teasing tone was accompanied by quick grin before a frown darted over his tanned face. “Of course we’d take a suitable chaperone.” His hastily spoken addition showed once again his eagerness to please her.

Oh, how she longed to trust him. Yet how could she dare to when he hadn’t even told her about that deadly gunfight Maisie was so proud of? When Marybeth spoke of delaying their marriage, his hurt feelings and disappointment had been obvious. Shouldn’t he have bragged about the killing, assuming she’d regard him as a hero and change her mind? She’d been honest with him about her family, at least as close to honest as she’d dared to be, but he was hiding a very significant happening in his life.

“This is the street.”

Rand steered her down a row of attractive two-story houses, several of which rivaled some of Boston’s finer clapboard homes. One redbrick structure reminded her of Boston’s older Federal-style mansions. Numerous houses were in varying stages of completion, adding to the picture of the growing community about which Colonel and Mrs. Northam had told Marybeth. Young cottonwood and elm trees lined the street, and several fenced-in yards boasted a variety of shrubbery and colorful flowers in the last blooms of summer.

“What a pretty town.” Her words came out on a sigh.

“We like it.” Rand smiled his appreciation of her compliment, and her heart lifted unexpectedly.

Peace hung in the air like a warm mantle, belying the town’s Wild West location. Maybe Esperanza would be a good place to call home after she found Jimmy. It all depended upon the people and whether or not she fit into the community.

“Here’s Mrs. Foster’s house.” Rand indicated a pretty brown house with a white picket fence, a stone foundation, a wide front porch whose roof was supported by slender columns, and gabled windows jutting out from the second floor.

A slender, gray-haired woman with a slightly bent posture bustled out of the front door. “Oh, here you are at last. Welcome, welcome.” She descended the steps, holding the railing beside them, and pulled Marybeth into a warm embrace. “I’m so glad to meet you, Miss O’Brien. Welcome to Esperanza. Welcome to my home.”

Tears flooded Marybeth’s eyes. She hadn’t been held in a maternal embrace in the four long years since Mam died, and oh, how she’d missed it. No formal introduction could have moved Marybeth as this lady’s greeting did. She obviously possessed an open heart and generous spirit, just like some of the older ladies at her Boston church. “I’m so pleased to meet you, too, Mrs. Foster.”

“Hello, Rand.” The lady embraced him briefly and then looped an arm in Marybeth’s and propelled her toward the stairs. “Come along, my dear. Tolley brought your trunk and carried it up to your room. If you need help unpacking, I’ll be happy to assist you.”

“Thank you.” Marybeth glanced over her shoulder. Da never let Mam have friends, but Rand seemed pleased by Mrs. Foster’s warm welcome.

Inside the cozy, well-furnished parlor, Mrs. Foster seated Marybeth on a comfortable green-brocade settee, waving Rand to the spot beside her. “You two sit right here, and I’ll bring tea.” She left the room humming.

“I sure am glad to see her so happy.” Rand had removed his hat and placed it on a nearby chair. He brushed a hand through his dark brown hair and smoothed out the hat line. “She’s been grieving for a long time. Probably will for the rest of her life.” The hint of emotion in his voice revealed genuine compassion. “Having you stay here will be good for her.”

Marybeth could not discern any ulterior motive in his words or demeanor. Once again she was confounded. Why would a gunslinger care about an old widow? “I’ll be glad to help in any way I can.” She eyed the piano. “That’s a beautiful instrument. Do you suppose she would let me play it?” When Da wasn’t around, Mam had taught Marybeth to play, using the piano in a neighborhood church. She’d gone to practice as often as she could, first to escape Da’s anger, later for the sheer enjoyment of playing.

“I think she’d be pleased to hear you.” Rand moved a hand closer to Marybeth’s but pulled it back before he made contact, apparently rethinking the gesture. “I’d like to hear you play, too.”

The intensity of his gaze stirred an unfamiliar sensation in her chest. Was it admiration? Oddly, traitorously, she hoped he did admire her. What girl didn’t want to be appreciated?

“Well, I’d need to practice first. It’s been a while since I played.”

He seemed about to respond, but Mrs. Foster entered the room carrying a black-lacquered tray filled with all the necessities for a lovely tea. Rand stood, as any true gentleman would, until Mrs. Foster reclaimed her seat.

“Oh, my.” He looked hungrily at the cake, the look every cook hoped for. “It’s a good thing we didn’t have any dessert at the café.”

“The café!” Mrs. Foster blustered in an amiable way. “Why, I can outcook that Pam Williams any day.” She raised her dark gray eyebrows and stared at Rand expectantly.

“Now, Mrs. Foster.” He held up his hands in a gesture of surrender. “There’s a reason I never volunteer to judge the Harvest Home baking contest or any other one. As a bachelor, I don’t want to get in trouble with any of the many fine cooks we’re so fortunate to have here in Esperanza. You don’t know how much we depend on your good graces to have a decent meal from time to time.”

He waggled his eyebrows at Marybeth and she bit back a laugh. It was their first moment of camaraderie, and it felt...right. Very much so. Oh, Lord, hold on to my heart. Please don’t let me fall in love with this man.

* * *

“Humph.” Mrs. Foster poured tea and passed it to her guests. If Rand weren’t so used to Mother’s Wedgwood china, he’d worry about breaking the delicate cup that was too small for his large hands.

Mrs. Foster served the cake and then focused on Rand. “Well, young man, you won’t be a bachelor for much longer. Have you chosen your wedding date?”

He did his best not to choke on his tea. Mrs. Foster’s question was understandable, but he hadn’t had time to figure out how to tell folks the wedding was off. Besides, his family should hear it first and from him. The way gossip both good and bad traveled through the community, he’d get home and find out Nate and Susanna had heard all about the “postponed” wedding.

“I’m sure everyone knows how much planning a wedding requires.” Marybeth sipped from her cup. “In fact, Maisie Henshaw tells me the church is planning to build an addition right after harvest, one that would accommodate large parties such as wedding receptions.” She took a bite of cake. “Oh, my, this certainly is an award-winning recipe.”

The smile she gave Mrs. Foster was utterly guileless, but Rand’s chest tightened. Marybeth hadn’t lied, but she hadn’t told the whole truth, either. Of course, he still had some truth-telling to do, as well, so he mustn’t judge her too harshly.

He noticed that Mrs. Foster’s eyes narrowed briefly, as though maybe she hadn’t been fooled by Marybeth’s little diversion from answering the question. She didn’t comment, however, just took a bite of cake. Food always provided a handy excuse for not saying something. Rand often used that ploy himself.

They passed several more minutes trading mundane information, as folks do when first meeting. Rand already knew everything Marybeth told Mrs. Foster, because she’d written it all in her letters. Too bad she hadn’t felt inclined to warn him about her plans to postpone the wedding until she found her brother. Guilt smote him again. He should have written to her about the gunfight. Should have anticipated someone else bringing it up. He couldn’t get over the idea that she already knew and that Maisie had told her. But what exactly did she know? What did she really think? These were things they needed to settle between the two of them, so he sure couldn’t ask her those questions in front of Mrs. Foster. The dear old lady never hesitated to give her opinion on any topic under discussion.

Marybeth seemed weary from her travels, so Rand took his leave, promising to visit the next day.

As he walked toward town to see if Tolley was still around, a dull ache settled into his chest, replacing the growing joy he’d felt for weeks in anticipation of meeting and marrying Marybeth. This was no more than he deserved. What lady from back East would understand what he’d done? He didn’t even understand it himself. Only his friends and neighbors proclaimed him a hero; only his younger brother wanted to copy his actions. He hated every memory of that fateful day and all he’d done that led up to it.

Shoving away those thoughts, he started his search for Tolley at Mrs. Winsted’s general store. He remembered to pick up a packet of cumin and spool of white thread his sister-in-law, Susanna, had asked for, but didn’t find his brother. Back out in the sunshine, he headed toward the livery and caught Tolley leading his saddled horse out of the stable.

“Say, shouldn’t you be over at Mrs. Foster’s wooing your pretty little bride-to-be?” Tolley’s impish expression made Rand want to tweak his nose, as he used to when they were scrappy little boys.

“She’s pretty tired from her travels.” Rand tried to sound cheerful so Tolley wouldn’t ask any more questions. “Did you order the rope from the hardware store?”

Tolley chortled. “Don’t change the subject. Tell me—”

“Northam!” A well-dressed, black-clad man, gun strapped to his leg, stepped off the boardwalk and strode toward them. “Randall Northam.”

Rand felt his dinner and Mrs. Foster’s cake rise up in his gullet. Another gunslinger out to prove himself. Didn’t he know better than to face two men? Tolley might be young and hotheaded, but he was a fast-drawing crack shot. Lord, please don’t let my brother get shot.

He sighed. “I’m Randall Northam. What can I do for you, Mr.—?”

A sly smile crept across the man’s face but his eyes remained as cold and deadly as a rattlesnake’s. And surprisingly familiar. “Name’s Hardison. Dathan Hardison. I believe you met my cousin Cole Lyndon about three years ago.”

Rand went cold all over. Frozen cold in spite of the sunshine beaming down on his shoulders and the warm summer breeze fanning over him. If the man drew on him, he wouldn’t be able to get his hand halfway to his holster. Somehow he managed to keep all emotion out of his face, a seasoned gambler’s ploy. Except he wasn’t a gambler. Not anymore. Nor was he a gunfighter, despite the gun at his side. But what could he say to the kin of the man he’d killed? Lord, help me.

“Yes, I ‘met’ Cole Lyndon. I’m sorry to say it was an unfortunate meeting.” On the other hand, the no-good horse thief had robbed and beaten Susanna’s father, leaving him for dead. The sheriff in Del Norte had said Cole had left a string of robberies and murders behind him. But no matter how often his friends called Rand a hero for outdrawing the wicked man, he’d never aspired to be an executioner. Never aspired to have every gunslinger from Montana to El Paso come gunning for him, risking his family and his town. So far he’d been able to talk himself out of another fight with humor or appeals to their better nature, even making a few friends of those who’d intended to face off with him. But revenge for injury to a man’s family was entirely different. Trouble was, Rand knew he’d take it badly if anyone hurt Nate or Tolley. Especially Tolley, whose heavy breathing gave evidence of his rising temper.

“Unfortunate meeting. Is that what you call it?” Hardison’s deadly cold tone hinted at imminent repayment for Rand’s crime. The man glanced over his shoulder toward the Friday-afternoon crowds meandering along Main Street. He rolled his head and gave an unpleasant laugh. “Just wanted to let you know I’m in town.” He slowly reached up to touch the brim of his hat in a mock salute, made as if to turn away and instead turned back. “Speaking of meeting, I almost had the pleasure of meeting a certain young lady from Boston on the train, but that sissified doctor and his cowgirl wife were playing nursemaid. I’ll be looking for an opportunity to introduce myself to her.”

Despite the horrifying pictures Hardison’s words conjured, despite the sick feeling in Rand’s gut, he sent up a prayer for grace. If this man hurt Marybeth... No, he wouldn’t let Hardison rile him. “You’ll find your sort of woman farther west, Hardison. Why don’t you get back on the train tomorrow and head that way?”

He snorted and gave Rand a nasty grin. “Watch your back, Northam. We’ll meet again.”

“Yeah, well, you’d just better watch your back, mister.” Tolley stepped slightly in front of Rand, his right hand poised to draw. “Why don’t we settle this here and now?”

“Now, now, young’un.” Hardison carelessly spat on the ground, but his right hand twitched. “Why don’t you go home to Mama and let the men handle this?”

“Forget it, Tolley. Don’t answer him.” Rand half faced his brother but kept one eye on the gunslinger. “Don’t say another word.” He recognized the signs. Hardison had no plan to draw. At least not now. Part of his fun was stalking his prey to make them nervous.

“I’ll be seeing you.” Again Hardison touched the brim of his hat, turned his back on them and strode away.

“Why didn’t you take him down?” Tolley pulled off his hat and slapped it against his leg, causing his horse to sidestep in alarm. “You’re going to have to sooner or later.”

“No.” Rand gripped his brother’s shoulder. “I made a deal with the Lord that I won’t kill another man like I did Cole Lyndon.” He’d do whatever was needed to protect his family and Marybeth, but never again would he kill someone to save his own life. Never again would he stare into the eyes of a man on his way to eternity, hopeless and without Jesus Christ because of him.

“Well, I didn’t make that deal.” Tolley glared after Hardison.

Rand swallowed hard as fear from his little brother gripped his belly. Why couldn’t Tolley understand? He’d told him all about his guilt, about the horror he’d faced watching a man die by his hand. And now here was another consequence of his actions. Tolley just might get himself killed copying what Rand had done, maybe trying to protect him. No matter what it took, Rand had to keep his little brother—and Marybeth—out of trouble.