Angel and the Texan From County Cork (The Brides of Texas Code Series Book 3) (4 page)

Sparks flew when his lips touched hers. An unexpected, yet not unpleasant, warmth spread from her mouth to her toes. She'd never felt such a sensation before from either of her other husbands when they’d kissed her. But when she realized she was enjoying Jamey’s kiss, a mixture of surprise and then anger coursed through her, chasing away the unexpected warmth from his kiss. Suddenly, shivering from the cold and the unexpected awareness of his touch, she pushed away from him and bolted for the house.

He didn't follow after her this time, but she pulled the dresser over in front of the bedroom door just in case. She closed the window she’d left open before they’d taken Will’s body to the root cellar. Chilled, she wrapped her arms around her middle and paced the width of the room. Somehow, she had to figure out a plan, some way to make sense of the last few days and move forward with her life. The life she now shared with her third husband, a stranger, Jamey O'Donnell.

She imagined her father, Johan Clemens, cursing in heaven at this most recent development. He’d had no respect for the Irish, or the English for that matter, which was why, when he'd known he was dying, he'd given her in marriage to his friend and fellow countryman, Helmut Brunner. The same age as her father, Helmut died the day they'd crossed the Red River leaving her alone and destitute in the strange country of Texas.

A month later, she'd met Will who'd needed a working companion for his ranch, the Double R. Now, once again, she'd been placed in a desperate situation with no recourse to make her own decisions. The hopelessness of her life overwhelmed her and she threw herself on the bed in a fit of tears.

Angel stirred a short while later when a soft knock on the door woke her from a dream filled sleep. She sat up, straightened her dress, and rubbed her eyes. In the silence that followed, she wondered if she'd dreamed the sound but then, Mr. O'Donnell – no, Jamey, her husband, knocked again.

“Angel, are ye all right?”

“Yes.”

“Can I get ye anythin'? Are ye hungry?”

“No.”

“Will ye open the door?”

“No.”

“Fine. Then I'll be goin' out to take care of the animals for the night and bring in more fire wood.”

The scrape and clomp of his boots on the wood floor grew fainter and then melted away when he closed the door. The wind rattled the one bedroom window and howled relentlessly, so strong at times that she marveled the glass in the windows didn't shatter into a million pieces.

She should go out to help him make sure everything was battened down, but she couldn't make herself move. Tomorrow. She'd help him tomorrow. For the rest of the night, she wanted to finish being a widow. Wanted to be by herself, with no ties. Just for a little while, she wanted to be Angel Clemens again. Before life had dealt her its series of ugly blows.

She laid her head on the icy pillow and pulled the quilts up to her chin in an effort to ward off the chill of the room.

Tomorrow, she'd be a wife.

Tomorrow, she'd be Mrs. Jamey O'Donnell.

Angel awoke from the depths of sleep to chickens clucking outside her window and Bitty's woeful cry. The cow needed to be milked and eggs needed to be gathered.

She didn't want to be responsible yet. She was toasty warm here under the cocoon of blankets and the thought of climbing out into the cold was enough to keep her burrowed in until spring. That enticing idea lasted maybe a minute before the urge to visit the privy took its place.

Stretching out the kinks, she scratched her nose then threw off the covers. Braced for the chill, her eyes popped open at the warmth that greeted her along with the smell of bacon frying on the stove. She sat upright noticing the chest had been moved sometime while she slept and the door stood wide open. The crackling sounds of the fireplace greeted her from the other room along with the unmistakable clink of skillet and utensils.

She slipped behind the privacy screen to use the chamber pot and then, still dressed in her calico from yesterday, she tiptoed to the doorway. The man she'd married stood over the stove scrambling eggs. He turned the strips of bacon then opened the oven and pulled out a pan of biscuits. They were the prettiest things she'd ever seen. She moved closer and jumped when he spoke to her without turning around.

“Ye didn't eat last night, I thought ye'd be hungry this morning.” He filled a plate, set it on the table for her and then filled one for himself. “Have a seat.”

Angel might have denied his statement if her stomach hadn't growled loudly in response. Her face and neck heated uncomfortably and she smiled. “Thank you. It looks and smells delicious.”

“Ye're welcome.”

* * *

Jamey drained his coffee cup and then set his dishes in the dishpan in the last of the hot water. He reached for Angel's plate as she scooped up the last bite of egg.

“Thank you for cooking this morning.”

“I figured it was the only way I'd get fed.” He gave her a grin over his shoulder.

“Oh, well . . . it's just that—”

“Don't worry about it.” He braced his hips against the counter edge and dried his hands on a towel. “I've learned how to take care of myself through the years.”

She did that thing she'd done the first day he'd met her of tracing flowers on the tablecloth. He didn't know if that was her way of thinking or if she was trying to block him out but, like it or not, he had questions that needed asking.

“Is there anythin’ I should know before I meet Moran at the bank?”

“Not that I'm aware of, why?”

“I try to know what's goin’ on in any situation so I don't walk into a hornet's nest.” He reached across the table to still her hands. When she looked at him, he appealed to her. “Angel, I need to know anything you can tell me about Moran. What can I expect? What do I look out for?”

She straightened in her chair, reclaimed her hands, and appeared to give his plea serious thought. “Cleveland Moran is the richest man in three counties. He runs or tries to run the town and his influence in state government is well known.

“I believe he wants to own all the land around here and that he'll accomplish that in any way possible. He’s acquired almost every ranch around here. The only ones standing in his way are Ollie Henderson and now you.”

“Where's the deed to your land?”

“I don't know, but there are no papers here that I’m aware of. Will may have them in a box at the bank.”

“I guess we'll find out when we get to town.”

“You're taking me with you?”

“Yes, we need to stop by the marshal's office so ye can give him all the information ye have about Will's death. We'll also have to alert the authorities about our marriage. I'm anticipating the need for a lawyer before the bank will make any changes.

“Also," he said, making sure he had her attention. “I haven't buried anyone since I lived in California a few years ago but I believe Texas laws are different. The doctor will probably have to verify the cause of death.”

He followed her line of sight as she glanced out the window.

“Poor Will. After that, we’ll be able to bury him?”

“Yes. Just as soon as the law says we can.”

“Good.” Changing the subject, she asked, “Can we get some supplies while we're there?”

“Yes, whatever ye need.” He stood and started to prepare the fireplace for their absence. “As soon as ye're ready, we better get a move on. It's going to be a long day.”

CHAPTER FIVE

Jamey sat beside Angel in front of the marshal's desk as the lawman filled out the report for Will's death.

Marshal Jase Handley was an imposing man. An inch or two above six feet, he had an air of authority that commanded respect with a dose of fear. “So you say Will showed back up at the house?”

“Yes,” Angel answered. “I found him between the barn and the house. He'd been shot.”

“You didn't see anyone else? Where was his horse?”

“No one, and Bull was nowhere in sight.”

The marshal finished writing and then stroked his handlebar mustache in thought. “That's surprising,” he said. “Even if they were separated, his horse should've made his way back to the barn.”

“I thought that odd, myself.” Jamey leaned forward resting his elbows on his knees. “A horse knows where he belongs.”

“Is there anything else you can think of, Mrs. Rivers?”

“I-I'm not—” Angel covered her face with her hands.

Jamey spoke up when he realized their situation was overwhelming her.

“Mrs. Rivers and I were married yesterday.”

“That so?” He jotted something in the margin. “Anything else, Mrs. O'Donnell?”

“Yes, Marshal.” She glanced over as if seeking Jamey’s permission. He nodded his head in agreement for her to tell the marshal of the suspicions they’d discussed on their ride into town. “I believe Will was murdered and I'd like you to investigate.”

“What you’ve already told me sounds suspicious enough for me to do some digging around, even if it wasn't required by law. I don't think Will would shoot himself.” He leaned back in his chair, its front legs off the floor, leveled his gaze on Jamey and, with the calm of an experienced investigator, he asked, “Mind tellin' me why the rushed nuptials?”

Jamey recognized the technique. He'd seen his brother-in-law, Ian, a lawyer and former Texas Ranger, use it many times when dealing with problems on their cattle drives. He hesitated sharing more until he knew who he could trust, until he knew who might or might not be in Cleve Moran's pocket.

“That’s between my wife and me. We have an agreement.”

“Now, you see, that just makes me more than a little suspicious. I don't know you, Mr. O'Donnell.” The legs of his chair bumped the floor as he righted it to its original position. “Will Rivers was a good friend of mine and, up here in this neck of the woods, we look out for our own.”

“It doesn't seem so in this case.”

“Care to explain that remark?”

Jamey took the letter from Will out of his pocket and handed it to the marshal. “I received this about a month ago. When I got here day before yesterday, he was dead.”

The marshal read the letter and then folded and returned it. “I knew something was going on with him but tried not to pry. A man's got a right to his privacy.”

“True.” Jamey stood. “Does that thought extend to me as well?”

“I'd say so until I find out different. You understand I'll be doing some checking on you?”

“I wouldn't think much of ye if ye didn't.” Jamey rested his hand beneath Angel's elbow when she joined him. “We'll be talking to ye, Marshal.”

“Yep. As soon as Doc gets into town from his rounds, we'll head out to your place so he can make his official report.”

Jamey felt the marshal's eyes on them as they crossed the street for the bank. He'd gotten a good first impression about Jase Handley. His instincts told him the man truly cared about his friends and the law, and his instincts were rarely that far off.

Just like his feelings about Cleve Moran. The scoundrel needed watching. Jamey didn't trust that one as far as he could throw him.

* * *

The banker they needed to talk to had gone home for lunch and wouldn't be in for an hour. So when Jamey had suggested they go on over to the General Store, Angel had jumped at the chance to take in the colorful sights. She hadn't been here in a long time to shop and the thought of being able to purchase anything at all made her giddy. She'd placed several items in the basket she carried and was eyeing a particular bolt of fabric when Mr. Krutchmeyer, the owner, came up beside her.

“I'm sorry Mrs. Rivers, but I can't sell to you today.”

“But I—”

“No, not today or any other day until you pay your outstanding balance.” His glance darted to his wife who stood behind the cash register.

Two women an aisle over whipped around and Angel thought she might incinerate on the spot, such was the heat from her embarrassment. One of the women was Mr. Krutchmeyer's spinster sister-in-law and the other a railroad official's wife, very prominent in town circles with a tongue that could shred a leather barber's strap.

Jamey stood at the back counter chatting up Mrs. Krutchmeyer. He was supposed to be opening an account, but the way she blushed and tittered at their conversation told Angel he was easily charming the skin off the woman who had the personality of a disgruntled rattlesnake.

“I told your husband his last trip in, Mrs. Rivers,” the store keeper continued. “There's no more credit.”

“I'm sorry, I didn't know we owed you money. As soon as I can, I'll settle the accounts.” She noticed again his glance toward his wife as he took the basket from her. The woman crossed her arms beneath her small bosoms and pursed her lips like she'd eaten a persimmon.