Never Marry a Cowboy (20 page)

“Is that the reason you didn't want me to hold you last night, the reason you've been avoiding me?”

She licked her lips, tasting the lingering purity of the falls. She had so felt a need to be cleansed. “Did you kill her?” she dared to ask.

He sat back on his heels, his eyes hard, shuttering all emotion, hiding any thoughts. “What do you think?”

She felt a shiver slither along her spine. “I keep telling myself that you were delirious, that the bullet
knocked something loose in your head, that you would never commit such a vile act as murdering an innocent woman, regardless of the circumstances. I keep telling myself those things.”

“But you don't believe them.”

Her entire body tensed at the lack of emotion in his voice. “I don't know what to believe.”

“Yes, you do,” he said with certainty.

She wanted to run but his gaze pinned her to the spot, and the words she uttered caused the bile to rise in her throat. “You did kill her.”

“Yes, madam, I did. You married a murderer.”

C
hristopher walked out of Fortune's telegraph office not at all pleased with the latest bit of information he'd received. Could anything else go wrong?

“Marshal Montgomery!”

With a suppressed groan, Christopher recognized the termagant's voice. Calling upon every bit of gentlemanly resolve within his possession to hold his temper in check, he turned to face her.

Déjà vu slammed into him. She was again holding her daughter's arm and the young man's ear. Her daughter's face burned a bright red as she kept her gaze averted, but the young man didn't display any remorse.

“Madam—”

“He was doing it again. Unbuttoning my Lauren's bodice.”

His patience wearing thin, he glared at the lad. “I told you—”

“I turned sixteen today, and you said I could have a look-see if she was willing to take money. I give her two bits.”

Mrs. Fairfield's eyes narrowed with fury that was amazing to behold. “You told him he could unbutton my daughter's bodice if he paid her?”

“Not exactly. He misinterpreted my instructions,” Christopher tried to explain.

“You worthless son-of-a-bitch!” she yelled as she thrust the lad toward him. “I want him in jail, and you along with him. I'm going to the town council.”

He watched her march off, righteous indignation in every determined step. He shifted his gaze to the boy. “What's your name, lad?”

“Tommy.”

“Where in God's name are your parents?”

“Dead.”

Christopher sighed heavily. “Come with me.”

“I ain't afraid of jail.”

“I'm not taking you to jail.” Christopher walked along the boardwalk, his steps not quite as soft as they had been a week ago. If he stayed here another week, he'd no doubt be sending his feet through the planks. He shoved open the door to the saloon.

“You gonna lie and tell 'em I'm old enough to drink?” Tommy asked, hope clearly reflected in his voice.

Christopher gave him a steely glare.

Tommy shrugged. “I reckon you ain't.”

“Wyndhaven,” Harrison said as he walked over. “What have you got here?”

“A lad with no parents and too much time on his hands. What can I do with him?”

Harrison looked the boy over. “Know anything about cattle, lad?”

“I know it all,” Tommy said confidently.

“You don't know a bloody thing, you little liar,” Harrison said, “but you will before the month is out.”

“What are you going to do with him?” Christopher asked.

“Put him to work for the Texas Lady Cattle Venture. Let's go see Gray. We keep our cattle on his land.”

 

Christopher looked at the two-story clapboard house and the land that surrounded it. It was a far cry from the magnificence of Ravenleigh, yet it held a charm he couldn't quite explain. “How much land do you have?” he asked Grayson Rhodes.

“As far as you can see.”

He smiled with genuine gladness for Rhodes's success. “Your father is extremely proud, you know.”

“Surprised is probably more like it.”

Christopher turned to his brother's friend. “You'd think differently if you heard the way your father bandies your name about the gentlemen's clubs.”

He was astonished to see Rhodes blush.

“Come around to the back of the house. I want you to meet Abbie,” Grayson said.

With Harrison at his side, Christopher followed Grayson. A man named Magpie had taken Tommy off to introduce him to the cattle. Both Grayson and Harrison seemed to think Magpie would do right by the lad and teach him what he needed to know.

They rounded the corner and Christopher stumbled to a stop, shocked to see the termagant pacing back and forth in front of a woman with blond hair
and violet eyes. Upon closer inspection, he realized they looked very much alike.

“That man is a disgrace to this town,” Mrs. Fairfield said. “Telling that boy he could pay to look at a woman's body. I don't know what possessed the townspeople to make him marshal, but I dadgum guarantee that I'm going to see him run out on a rail—”

“Madam!” Christopher snapped sternly.

The woman spun around. “You lowdown skunk—”

“I take it you've met Elizabeth,” Grayson said quietly, humor laced in his voice.

“Unfortunately.”

She took a step toward him. “Unfortunately? I'm about to show you exactly how unfortunate you are. I told you to lock that boy away—”

“I might have if I'd had keys to the jail or if I
were
the marshal and had the authority to do so. As I've tried to tell you repeatedly whenever I could nudge a word in between your blathering, I am not Kit! I am his brother. Thank God. The very thought that he might chance running into you every time he stepped on the street is enough to make me wonder why he ever bothered to take up the position of marshal and risk his life for ungrateful wenches such as yourself. Now, if you'll excuse me, I must return to town.” He turned to Grayson and gave a curt nod. “Thank you for your help with the lad.”

As he walked away, he heard Harrison mumble behind him, “Since it's my carriage, I'd best go with you.”

 

Christopher carried the spoon of soup to the thin line of his father's lips. He sighed. “Father, I know you can open your mouth because I hear you cursing me through the night when you think I'm asleep.”

A knock sounded at the door.

“Not now, Mrs. Gurney!” he yelled. The woman was the only one to know that his father was here. She came in every day to straighten the room and change the sheets on the two beds.

The knock came again.

“Please come back later!”

Another knock.

“Bloody hell.” He tossed the spoon into the bowl, sending soup splattering over the dresser. He resisted the incredibly strong urge to dump the bowl over his father's head.

He rose, stalked across the room, and flung open the door. “Mrs. Gurney—”

He stopped as he stared into Elizabeth Fairfield's blue eyes.

“Mr. Montgomery—”

He held up a hand. “Mrs. Fairfield, I apologize profusely for my earlier words. They were totally uncalled for and quite unlike me, actually. You disparaged my brother, and I took offense because I feel you've misjudged him. But those feelings aside, I did not act as a gentleman, and I beg your forgiveness. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'll bid you good day.”

He started to close the door, and she placed her hand on it.

“I'm the one who should apologize,” she said softly.

He forced himself to smile benignly. “I assure you, Mrs. Fairfield, no apology is necessary.”

He closed the door another inch before she stopped him.

“Mr. Montgomery—”

“Mrs. Fairfield, now is not a good time. My patience is frayed. My father will not open his mouth to eat, even though he slings curses at me all night. My brother left Galveston several days ago to take his wife to Dallas. The stagecoach was apparently attacked by a band of outlaws. Three men were killed. There is no sign of my brother or his wife, so God only knows where they are. I've hired men to search for them, praying every moment that they are not dead. People continue to confuse me with Kit and ask me to handle matters over which I not only have no authority but I have no knowledge. The heat is unbearable. There are no theaters to offer an evening's respite from the worries—”

“Come have dinner at my house.”

He knew his mouth was agape and that he must look like a bloody fool. “I beg your pardon?”

“When your brother and his friends first arrived, I scolded Abbie for not giving them a proper Texas welcome, and here, I've done the same thing with you that my sister did. I'd like to make amends. I've got no theater to offer you, but I have a piano and my girls can sing.”

Sadly, he shook his head and spoke in a low voice. “My father has suffered a stroke. I promised him I would not let anyone know he was here save Mrs. Gurney, and here I've blurted out his presence to you.
I hope you will keep my lapse of judgment to yourself.”

“I won't tell anyone he's here.”

“Thank you. However, since you do know of his condition, you must realize I cannot accept your invitation. I dare not leave him.”

She gave him a beautiful smile. “Mrs. Gurney can watch him. Besides, you'll probably both benefit from an evening apart.” She handed him a slip of paper. “I took the liberty of drawing you up a map. I serve dinner at six. Be there.”

She began to walk away.

“I can't promise.”

She glanced over her shoulder. “Didn't ask for your promise, only your presence.”

He closed the door and looked at the map. What a splendid calling card.

 

With a sigh of wonder and a stomach fuller than he'd ever known, Christopher sat in the rocking chair on Elizabeth Fairfield's front porch and watched the sun hover at the edge of the horizon, painting the sky in brilliant hues of orange and violet and pink. How could he have been here a week and failed to notice the sunset?

Beside him, Elizabeth sat in a rocker and her three daughters—mirror images of their mother—sat on the front steps. Elizabeth's house was not grand, but it filled him with peace. He thought of the contentment reflected on both Harrison's and Grayson's faces. Would he see the same on Kit's?

And if he did, what then? Should he reveal the truth he'd discovered?

“I love watching the sunset,” Elizabeth said softly. “Daniel and I never had much money for fancy things. He used to say that was the reason God gave us sunsets so we could always have something pretty in our lives that didn't cost us anything.”

“Was Daniel your husband?”

She nodded and slid her gaze toward him, sadness in her eyes. “He was killed during the War Between the States.”

“I'm incredibly sorry,” he said quietly.

“I might not have minded so much if we'd won the war.” She released a small chuckle. “Nah, I still would have minded. Loved him something fierce.” She returned her attention to the horizon. “Grayson said you're a widower.”

“Yes, my wife took ill and died shortly before Kit and his friends ventured over here.”

She glanced at him. “Do you still miss her?”

He gave her a sorrowful smile. “Every day.”

She nodded as though with understanding. “I keep staring down that road expecting to see Daniel walking up it some evening. My head knows he won't, but my heart hopes.”

“It must be hard on a woman who is alone,” he said.

“Don't imagine it's any harder on a woman than it is on a man.”

“But there are times when a woman would require a man's physical strength to get a job accomplished.”

She peered at him with a glint in her eye. “And there are times when a man requires a woman's compassion to see him through the turmoil of life.”

“You're quite right. I think I miss most having someone with whom I may share my troubles.”

“Have you got a lot of troubles?”

He shook his head slightly. “Not really. Others are far worse off than I am.”

A companionable silence surrounded them as the final rays of the sun disappeared over the horizon.

“Girls, you need to say goodnight to Mr. Montgomery before you get yourselves to bed,” Elizabeth said as the darkness moved in.

He considered correcting her on exactly how he should be addressed, but decided it was of no importance here. The girls, ages fourteen, twelve, and ten, gave him a shy goodnight before hurrying into the house.

“I'm just going to tuck them in,” Elizabeth said, “then I'll be back out.”

He sat on the porch alone, knowing he should leave soon, but loathing the idea of returning to the room he shared with his father. When he wasn't cursing, the man snored. Christopher had always known that burdens came with being the heir apparent. He'd simply never realized how difficult they would be to carry.

A shadow crossing the threshold caught his eye. He glanced up and smiled at Elizabeth. “I should be leaving.”

“Stay a little longer,” she said quietly. “I haven't had a man sit on my front porch in a long time. I've missed it.”

“Have you always lived here?” he asked.

“Not in this house, but in this area. I was born in a house just up the road. My brother lives there now with his family. This house, this land, belonged to Daniel's family.”

“It's beautiful.” Hot, but beautiful. He could sense her watching him as the night shadows crept closer. He turned his head slightly and raised a brow, although he doubted she could see the slight action.

“You sure do look like him, but you don't flirt like him,” she said quietly.

“Ah,” he said on a sigh. “I assume you're referring to my brother. As heir to my father's estate, I am expected to behave with a bit more decorum, which makes me a tad boring.”

“I don't think you're boring.”

He resisted the temptation to reach across and touch her hand. “Thank you.”

She laughed lightly. “You don't thank someone for speaking the truth.”

Averting his gaze, he shifted in his chair and looked at the stars. “I've missed Kit terribly.”

“You're close then?”

Christopher was amused by the surprise in her voice. “Extremely. When we were lads, we made a pact that even though I was the rightful heir, we would manage Ravenleigh together.”

“He's probably changed considerably from what you remember since he's been here.”

He chuckled low. “Undoubtedly, yet I know that the moment I see him, it will be as though we visited yesterday.”

The night unfolded before them, the conversation enlightening. She told him about her marriage, Texas, cotton farming. And he explained what he could of his life. But he relished most the moments of silence for he never had the feeling that they needed to be filled. They simply existed, to be enjoyed.