Lucky Penny (16 page)

“It’s a photograph of my mother,” Paxton said.

Daphne awakened just then. “Mama? Papa?” She sat up and rubbed her eyes. “Why is everyone yelling?”

Before Brianna could react, Paxton collected Daphne from the bench. Perching the child on his hip, he retraced his steps to the desk. To the judge, he said in a taut voice, “You say I have no proof? Look at her, Your Honor. Then look at me. Can you deny the family resemblance?”

The judge did as requested and then turned an unfocused, heavy-lidded gaze on Brianna. “The child does bear a remarkable likeness to him, and even more so to the woman in that phonograph.” He took another swig of liquor. “In fact, the child looks more like him than she does you. How can you explain that?”

Oh, God. The judge was so intoxicated he couldn’t formulate words, let alone rational thoughts. Brianna wanted to shout that any little girl with blond hair and delicate features might resemble an older woman with similar coloring and composition of countenance. But now that Daphne was awake, Brianna felt as if her tongue had been shackled. Her daughter wasn’t yet old enough to understand precisely how babies were made, and Brianna didn’t want her to be swiftly educated by two drunks and a lunatic. “The resemblance is a fluke, Your Honor.”

“A
fluke
?” Paxton stepped closer to the judge and lifted Daphne’s golden curls to expose the side of her neck. “Do you see this pink splotch, Your Honor? It’s a birthmark that runs in my family. Practically every child is born with it.” He jerked at the front of his duster and drew down his own collar. “
I
was born with it.” He leaned over so the judge could inspect the evidence. “Mine’s gone dark from the sun, right along with my skin, but it’s still visible.” He shot Brianna a searing glance. “Explain that, Mrs. Paxton. How is it that this child is the spitting image of my mother and has the same mark on her neck as I do on
mine
?”

Brianna wanted to examine Paxton’s mark more closely. It was dark, just as he claimed, and could be nothing more than a stain he had applied to his skin after seeing Daphne’s strawberry splotch. This man was a schemer and clever beyond words. Even if he didn’t plan to take Daphne over the Mexican border, he was up to no good. He had to be.

“Your Honor, that isn’t a birthmark on my daughter’s neck,” Brianna lied. “She was splattered with hot grease as a baby. It’s a scar, nothing more, and I suggest to you the very real possibility that this man duplicated it on his own neck with a smear of boot polish!”

Paxton rolled his eyes. “Where’s some soap and water?” He met Brianna’s gaze with smoldering intensity. “Or for that matter, a bleaching agent. I’ll happily submit to a scouring. If you can remove this mark from my neck, I’ll eat my hat.”

Brianna wanted to jerk the filthy thing from his head and shove it down his throat. The tide was turning against her. She felt the shift and in rising panic cried, “Your Honor, I request that you withhold judgment until morning when you’ve slept on it and can think more clearly.”

The judge sat more erect. “Are you suggesting that I’m intoxicated, Mrs. Paxton?”

“No.
Yes.
” Brianna gestured at his glass. “You
are
drinking, sir. And quite heavily, I might add.”

“I am still in possession of all my facilities.” He paused, crinkled his forehead, and said, “Faculties, I mean.”

“Then I beg your pardon, sir. But out of consideration for my child, I do submit to you that this meeting should adjourn and commence again when she is not present. There is subject content that is too mature for her tender ears.”

“My ears aren’t tender, Mama,” Daphne chimed in. “I’ve never even had an earache.”

Afton flapped his hand. At that point, Brianna knew that she was about to lose this battle of words and almost blurted out the truth. Terror held her tongue. As it stood, she still had maternal rights, and she wasn’t sure she would retain them if she confessed that she was only the child’s aunt. Besides, if they refused to accept that she wasn’t married
to this silver-tongued devil, why would they believe the real truth, which sounded so improbable even to her? Even if she could convince the judge of it and Paxton was sent packing, Brianna would be left to deal with the result: a town full of holier-than-thou people who were all too ready to stand in judgment of others. Her life would be a living hell, and so would Daphne’s.

Her mind swimming with disjointed thoughts, she decided that her wisest course was to stick with her original story—that she was married to another man named David Paxton. “Maybe,” she cried, “my husband died, Your Honor, and I was never notified. Things like that do happen. Maybe he was killed in a mining accident quite some time ago! That would explain why
this
Mr. Paxton and the Denver sheriff can find no proof of his existence.”

Paxton snorted, his expression heavy with scathing contempt. “Excuse me, but only a few minutes ago, you said you recently received a letter from the man. How does a dead person put pen to paper?”

David was fed up. He wanted to stuff cotton in his daughter’s ears so she would hear nothing more. Better yet, he yearned to storm out with her and head directly for the stable to get his horse and mule, devil take the consequences. Let them come after him. He didn’t give a shit. Any men who volunteered to form a posse would probably be drunk. Now the fool woman was claiming that her husband was dead? She couldn’t keep her story straight. Over the years as a lawman, he had seen others get caught up in their own lies, but this lady took the prize for inconsistency.

David was about to act on his impulse to skedaddle when the judge pounded his gavel on the desk, startling David and frightening Daphne so that she jerked.

“Enough of this poppycock!” he roared. “It is clear to me that no other David Paxton exists anywhere near Denver, and that being the case, the matter is simple enough to resolve.
This
David Paxton is clearly the father of the child. Since Mrs. Paxton has failed to produce marriage documents to the contrary, I will make an honest woman of her and be done with it so I can enjoy my poker night.”

David still stood half-turned to leave. Those words snapped him back around. He stared incredulously at the judge. The inebriated fool roared, “By the power vested in me by the state of Colorado, I hereby pronounce you man and wife.”

David couldn’t quite credit his ears. Surely a judge couldn’t slap his gavel on a desk and marry people.

“This is a farce!” Brianna cried. “And it isn’t legal! I have not agreed to this, and I did
not
say ‘I do’!”

The judge took another swallow of booze. “It’s obvious to me, young woman, that you did more than say ‘I do’ at some point in time.” Casting a meaningful glance at Daphne, he thrust out a hand to Bingham. “I need paper, Barton.”

The marshal produced two pieces of parchment. The judge scribbled out a makeshift marriage document on each. When he finished writing, he shoved them toward both David and Brianna, saying, “Sign the damn things.”

“Does that paper say I’m married to that—miscreant?” Brianna stabbed a finger at David. “I absolutely will
not
!”

“Wait just a second, Judge,” David inserted. “As much as I want my daughter, there are certain laws we can’t ignore. I think clear heads are called for here.”

“Sign, I said!” The judge slapped the paper. “Refuse and I will find you both in contempt of court.”

Brianna’s mouth worked like that of a landed fish. “What
court
?”

The judge sneered. “
I
am the court, good lady, and I’m weary of this nonsense. You’ll either sign or spend some time in jail.”

“How
much
time?” she asked.

Afton grinned, his lips twisting lopsidedly. “That will depend upon my mood.”

“You’ll put us both in jail for refusing to agree to a marriage neither of us wants?”

“It’s you who doesn’t seem to want it, Mrs. Paxton,” the judge replied. “I’m betting Mr. Paxton will agree to sign. If he does, and you persist in these theatrics, I’ll lock you up and give him leave to depart for No Name with his child while you’re behind bars.”

David opened his mouth to protest. He shut it again.
The judge had in effect ruled in his favor. It just bothered him that Brianna was right. This wasn’t legal. He hadn’t set out to force her to marry him. He’d only wanted to be a part of his daughter’s life and make sure both mother and child were cared for properly.

Before David could decide what to do, Brianna stepped to the desk, snatched up the pen, and furiously signed her name at the bottom of each document. As she straightened, she shot David a look so searing it could have ignited waterlogged wood. David hesitated for only an instant, and then, shifting Daphne on his hip, bent to affix his signature below hers. Bingham added his John Hancock as a witness. The judge rolled his brass stamp over the pad and pressed the state seal onto both papers, making the union official. Then he signed as well. His plump jowls curving in a satisfied grin, he waved the documents to dry the ink, folded them, and handed one to David.

“For safekeeping, Mr. Paxton,” he said with a rolling belch. “I suggest you guard it well. If Mrs. Paxton gets her hands on it, she will most likely destroy it.” He fixed a narrowed eye on Brianna. “That would be folly, madam, for the marriage will become a matter of court record the first thing Monday morning.” He tucked his copy inside his suit jacket. “You are rightly and truly married to the man now. All mistakes of the past are wiped clean. Rejoice in the fact that this upstanding gentleman has made an honest woman of you.”

David collected his other papers from the desk and tucked the lot, along with the marriage document and photograph, into his bag. He moved Daphne to his opposite hip and draped the leather pouches over his shoulder. Before he and Brianna could turn from the desk, the judge sloshed more whiskey into his glass and invited the marshal to join him in a few more hands of poker.

David couldn’t quite wrap his mind around what had just happened. In a haze of disbelief, he escorted his bride from the marshal’s office. Deep twilight had descended. As they gained the boardwalk, a chuff of icy air buffeted them, making Daphne shiver in her cloak. Brianna drew her shawl close, her shoulders rigid, her face stark white in the
faint light. David expected her to turn on him and let fly with furious accusations. He’d heard some pretty crazy stories about rigged hearings, but he’d never heard of any judge pronouncing a marriage valid without even performing a ceremony. Surely the union was illegal. Hell, Afton hadn’t even bothered to call in a second witness off the street. But he wasn’t about to tell Brianna that.

To his amazement, Brianna said nothing. Not one word. David was wondering about that when he realized her reticence was probably due to Daphne’s presence. She didn’t want to upset the child. David took his cue from her. He had a few things he wanted to say as well, foremost that Brianna had failed to voice to the judge the one objection that might have rung true—that she couldn’t possibly agree to this marriage because to do so would be bigamous. In David’s estimation, her failure to mention that was the strongest evidence yet that there was no other David Paxton and that she’d never been married until a couple of minutes ago.

So now what? David had the oddest feeling that he’d stepped over an invisible line, leaving reality behind. Legal or not, the marriage would be filed as such, giving him inalienable rights, not only as Daphne’s father, but also as Brianna’s husband. As badly as he felt about how it had all come to pass, he couldn’t very well argue with the outcome. He’d set out to get custody of his daughter, and now he had it.

Brianna felt like a bug trapped in a jar gone wet inside with condensation. Her whole body dripped sweat. She wanted to rail at David Paxton, or whatever his name truly was, and then rip his hair from his head. But every word that tried to push up her throat was far too ugly to voice in front of Daphne. As soon as the child was no longer present, she would let the scoundrel have it, though. She could barely wait to tell him just how lowdown and unethical she believed he was.

“Mama?” Daphne said plaintively. “Does this mean I don’t get to be in my recital?”

The question jerked Brianna back to the moment.
The
recital.
She’d forgotten all about it. “No, darling, no!” she crooned, holding her arms out to her daughter. “We’ll hurry to the dress shop and get you in fine form posthaste!”

“I’ll carry her,” Paxton said. “You look ready to drop in your tracks.”

Brianna wanted to jerk the child away from him. The satisfied curve of his lips told her that he believed he had won and now had complete control, not only of Daphne, but of her as well. Ha! This matter wasn’t finished yet.

Feeling as if her throat might rupture with pressure from all the words she kept swallowing back, Brianna followed the blasted man back across the street to the dress shop. Once inside, Paxton helped tidy Daphne’s hair and clothing while Brianna fetched the child’s supper from a cloth sack in the trunk.

Paxton set Daphne on the sewing chair, pushed Mrs. Pauder’s dress out of the way, and arranged what there was of the pathetic meal on the machine table. Then he plucked the half-finished bottle of sarsaparilla from the windowsill and set it beside the food. “There you go. Lay back your ears and dig in, sweetheart.” He chucked the child under the chin. “Time’s wasting. You can’t be late for your recital.”

As Brianna stepped from the cubicle, Paxton’s spurs chinking in her wake, the door to the rear living quarters flew open and Abigail hove into view, her white apron smeared with food stains and the bib askew on her flat chest. “A half hour, you said! You were gone far longer than that!”

Before Brianna could speak, Paxton’s voice, deep, resonant, and dripping charm, rang out from behind her. “Miss Abigail, I’m so delighted to see you. I figured that you had already retired for the night.”

Abigail parted her pale lips to lace into Brianna again, but Paxton cut her off. “I’m so glad you’re still awake. I wanted to tell you how deeply I admire your generous spirit.”