Carolyn Davidson (23 page)

“Sounds like she did,” the sheriff said mildly.

“I expect she’ll tell you all about it later,” Clara interjected. “Right now she needs to talk to the marshal. Let’s the rest of us go sit down somewhere.”

“No place to sit but in the cell, Clara,” Carl told her bluntly. “You girls should have stayed back at the farm.”

“Well, we’ll just go sit in the cell, then,” Louise said firmly. “Long as you don’t lock us in.”

“Nobody’s getting locked up tonight,” the marshal told them. “And this won’t take long. I’ll need a couple of witnesses, one besides you, Carl.”

“I’ll sign anything you want. Just get moving so we can get back to the party,” Clara announced.

The three women sat together on the bed in the cell, watching as Cassie spoke to the marshal, haltingly at first, then more firmly. His pen moved quickly over the paper, his upraised hand stopping her several times as he scribbled to keep up with her words.

Hardly had she told the brief tale when the office door opened and Will crossed the threshold. “What the hell’s goin’ on here?” He stood before the sheriff with anger and exasperation alive on his face.

Turning to where Cassie stood by the desk, pen in hand as she prepared to affix her signature to the document before her, he shook his head. “Don’t you sign anything, hear me, Cass?”

“I have to, Will.” Her head bent as she wrote her name, Will snatching the pen from her fingers as the last letter was barely written.

‘I’ll witness it,” Clara said from the jail cell.

“What are you doin’ in there?” Will asked with a shout, his gaze swinging from Cassie to his mother, and then his eyes registering disbelief as he saw the three women sharing the edge of the bed. “What the hell…”

“We came along to be with Cassie,” Louise said firmly.

“In jail?” Will’s roar was enough to raise the roof, Cassie thought as she reached for his hand.

“It’s all right,” she told him.

“Hell if it is!” He grasped her by the shoulders and shook her, not as gently as he might. “What are you signin’, Cass?”

“A confession.” Her chin rose, and her eyes met his with more than a trace of fear in their depths.

“More like a statement, I’d say,” Carl Mosley said soothingly.

“A confession of what?” His voice a whisper, Will looked at his wife. “Is this what I think it is, Cassie?”

“If you think it’s about Remus Chandler, you’re right,” she answered, her voice shaking just a bit. “I killed him, Will. I didn’t just run off like I told you I did. I stabbed him with that knife and left him dead on the floor. He was going to…you know…” Her teeth gritted together as she fought the sobs that would have blurred her words.

“Why didn’t you tell me before?” Will’s hands eased their grip and he stepped back from her, his eyes flat and lifeless.

“I wanted to. I tried to, a lot of times. This morning, even. I was going to tell you tonight, after everyone was gone.”

He shook his head. “Were you?”

Clara bustled out of the cell. “Where do I sign that thing, Carl?” Her gaze was troubled as she glanced at her son. “This girl’s had about all she can take for one night. We need to get her home.”

Her eyes were piercing as she turned to Cassie, her arms reaching to hug her tightly. “I know you didn’t do anything wrong, Cassie. It will all turn out all right.”

“You can say that again,” Elizabeth said, her arm around Louise’s waist as they rose from the cot to join the group. “From what I heard, Cassie was within her rights.”

“That’ll be up to the judge in Loco Junction to decide,” the marshal put in with a warning look. “I can’t second-guess
him any more than you can, ma’am.” He turned to Cassie and his smile was kind. “You’ll be hearing from me, young lady. You won’t be going anywhere, will you?”

“Just home, I hope,” she whispered, her face pale in the lamplight.

“Damn right!” Will took her arm. “Let’s go.”

“Got room on that horse for the rest of us?” his mother asked smartly.

“You got here on your own. You can get back the same way,” he told her, anger alive on the lean contours of his face. He paused to look at Clara for a moment. “You knew, didn’t you?”

She nodded, her mouth set in a mutinous line. “She didn’t have to hide from me, Will. I didn’t make so much fuss about being all open and aboveboard as you did. Honesty’s a fine thing, but when harpin’ on it makes a woman afraid of spilling her soul out before you, it’s gone too far.”

His glare spoke volumes as the angry man lifted his wife into his arms. Cassie’s arm snaked around his neck and she buried her face in his throat as he stalked through the doorway with her.

“I reckon we can use the surrey for a return trip, ladies,” Carl said, his eyes on Clara. “You’ll sit up front with me,” he told her firmly.

It was a silent ride, the stallion settling into an easy lope as Will let him have his head. He held Cassie across his lap, nestled against his thighs. Even in his anger he was aroused by the movement of her bottom against him, and that fact added flame to the fire. Blasted woman, managing to worm her way into his life, all bedraggled and forlorn.

That he had taken hold of her life, blending it with his own, unheeding of anything but his need of this wonderful woman, was the farthest thought from his mind. Only the
fact of her failure to confide in him gripped him now. Gripped him with the tenacious hold of a bulldog, blinding him to all but the one fault he found in her.

“Will, please let me…” Her whispered plea brought only fresh determination to his heart and he subdued her with a firmer grip upon her body.

“Not another word, Cass. I don’t want to hear it.”

She shivered in his embrace, and he glanced down at her pinched features. She ought to be afraid. Telling everyone in sight the sorry tale she’d kept from him. And after he’d asked her point-blank almost the first thing. Had she ever given him a straight answer?

His mind recalled the sodden heap of female he’d fished from the stream, the fearful look in her eyes, the courageous tilt of her chin as she told him to leave her behind, told him she didn’t need tending. And all along he’d wanted nothing more than to care for her, yearned to keep her close, hungered for the warmth of her body.

He blinked against the image. She’d lied. After all the times he’d told her how important honesty was in his book, she’d lied. Perhaps not lied, his memory urged, but she’d hidden the truth.

The farmhouse appeared as a shadow on the horizon, limned against the bright light coming from the barn. The faint sound of the fiddle caught the air, and Will was struck by the irony of the sound. The happy tune was so at odds with the dearth of melody in his heart, he could have wept. And that fact alone was enough to spur his anger to greater heights.

Jeremiah met him at the barn door, taking charge of the big stallion as Cassie was swept from the saddle to be carried toward the house. “Your womenfolk will be here directly,” Will called over his shoulder at his assembled brothers. “They’ll tell you the whole story.”

The dancers had retreated to the sides of the barn, settling down on benches and chairs as the fiddle and accordion tapered off to silence.

“Do you suppose we ought to chase everyone out?” Eben asked Samuel.

“Naw, let’s have another dance. The preacher won’t care if folks fall asleep during his sermon in the morning. In fact, he looks to me as if he’d like to swing his wife around the floor another time or two.” Samuel stepped to the small platform and addressed the neighbors cheerfully.

“Come on, folks, let’s form another square. We’ve got time for another dance or two.” Stepping down, he grasped Dorinda Bartlett by the hand and motioned to his brother to find a partner. The fiddle twanged once and the caller began to count out the time.

She was sprawled on the bed where he’d placed her without a trace of care. Her dress caught above her knees, tangled around her so that she could barely move, she lay silent, watching.

Will paced to the window and back, his mind at odds with the need of his body. How any man could be so angry and yet yearn so to touch the object of his anger was a puzzle he didn’t seem able to solve. He drew a deep breath, aware of the lure of the woman before him, only too conscious of the fury that still rode him with thorns of pride.

“And there you lie, like I’m supposed to just say ‘forget the whole thing.’ Like I’m not supposed to be mad about it.”

Cassie scooted up against the headboard. “I never said that. I never even thought it. I don’t blame you for being mad. I just hope it doesn’t last longer than time for the baby to be born.”

“The baby.” He halted his pacing to stare at her. “The
baby!” His steps took him to the side of the bed and he sat on the edge. “I forgot the baby. I was so damn mad, I forgot the baby. Oh, God! Did I hurt you, Cass? Did I do anything to hurt the baby?”

In a tentative move his hand reached for her, resting on the curve of her belly, and his fingers spread, encompassing the swell of the child within. He bent his head and closed his eyes, moving his palm over the hard rise of her pregnancy, his fingers taut against her flesh through the layers of fabric.

“It’s all right, Will. I’m not hurt. You wouldn’t do anything to hurt me.”

He opened his eyes, and in the stream of pale moonglow he sought her gaze. His voice was strained, his mouth drawn into a narrow line. “You have a lot of faith in me, Cassie.”

“I know you care for me,” she said.

“Care for you!” The mediocrity of the word was like a spur and his voice rose on each syllable. “Damn it, woman, I love you! I was so worried about you, I could hardly stand it. I watched the sheriff and that damn lawman with him haul you away, and I didn’t know what I’d have to do to get you out of that jail when I got there. And there those women were, the three of them sitting in the cell like they were having a tea party, and you there, signing your name to a paper I hadn’t even read. You might have signed your life away, and I wasn’t even there to stop you.”

Her smile was a welcome he could not resist and he bent to cover her with his body, his head against her breast.

“I’m so sorry, Will.” It was a whisper, a plea, a cry for forgiveness. “I didn’t want to lose you. I meant to say the words…a hundred times I tried. But I was so afraid you wouldn’t care enough about me to forgive me for not telling the truth at first.”

Her hands pressed his head against the firm cushion of her bosom and she ran her fingers through the dark strands of his hair, clenching them against his head. “At first I was afraid you’d turn me over to the nearest sheriff. Then when you told that lawman I was your wife, the second day we were together, I knew you’d hate me for causing you to tell such a story, and I didn’t know what to do.”

He was silent, inhaling the sweet scent of her body, his arms edging their way beneath her so that he could enclose her in his embrace. For long moments he held her, and then his head rose and he reached to brush a soft kiss across her mouth.

“I never got this mad at another living soul in my whole life, Cassie. You can make me happier and angrier than anyone else in the world. And at the same time. I don’t know how you do it!”

“You’re still angry?” Her voice was hopeful, as if she ached for a denial of her query.

“Hell, no, I’m not angry. I’m just nursing hurt feelings.”

“I’ll never keep anything from you again, Will. I promise.” With barely a quaver, her words breathed the sound of relief.

“Nothing important, anyway,” he prompted. “I suspect there are things that womenfolk talk about that men don’t have to hear. But anything that concerns you and me and our children, those things I have to know. You understand me?”

She nodded eagerly. “I promise, Will.” Bending forward, she kissed him again, a warm, damp caress that offered much. “Will? Can you tell me again? And say it nicely this time, not just hollering at me.”

“Say what?” His voice muffled against her, he searched for the words she would have him speak.

“Will!” It was a plaintive cry, and he sat erect.

“What!”

“You told me you loved me, and you practically shouted it, like you didn’t want to say the words.”

“I did?” He thought a moment. “Yeah, I guess I did, didn’t I?” His grin was spontaneous. “How about that? And I didn’t even know I was going to tell you.”

She retreated imperceptibly against the pillow. “Did you mean it?”

He swooped over her, his hands cradling her face, and his mouth pressed hot kisses against hers, punctuated with a series of words. “I…” He took her mouth slowly. “Love…” He nudged her lips apart. “You…” His words were lost in the sweetness of her mouth, and she seized him with eager fingers, her nails biting through the cotton material of his shirt.

“I love you, Will Tolliver. I love you. I love you.”

“You haven’t told me that in a long time,” he whispered after a moment.

“You’ll get tired of me saying it.” She rubbed her nose against his, a slow, sensuous movement.

“Don’t count on it, lady,” he murmured as he settled himself on the bed, pulling her down to nestle in his arms. “Don’t count on it.”