Sagebrush Bride (32 page)

Crossing the Grand River proved easy enough. As
shallow and narrow as it was, the spot in which Elizabeth had laundered and
bathed could have easily been forded on foot. Both horses crossed without
hesitation, though Cocoa seemed less inclined to the task.

Suffering Cutter’s surliness and her own keen
sense of loss, on the other hand, was the greater trial.

It seemed to Elizabeth that ever since their
argument, Cutter never spoke to her unless absolutely necessary.

He seemed to hate her.

And he hadn’t been too pleased to see her dressed
in men’s britches, either, though he still hadn’t uttered a word against them.
Yet she could tell by the way he stared at them. When she caught him looking,
he would shake his head and turn away in disgust.

“I wouldn’t have to wear them if you hadn’t thrown
away my skirt!” she told him defensively.

Still, he didn’t respond. Only his eyes gave away
his disapproval.

And whereas he’d made it a point to avoid
civilization in the past, he led them directly into Fayette late the next day,
securing a single room.

When Elizabeth started to protest, he narrowed his
eyes at her and said sharply, “What makes you think I plan to sleep here with
you tonight, Doc?” Near black circles had appeared beneath his eyes almost
overnight, making them appear sunken above the high contours of his swarthy
cheeks. The look in his dark eyes was unmistakably hostile and kept Elizabeth
from uttering another word.

And keeping to his promise, Cutter did not share
her room, nor did he attempt to when they rode into Fulton City the next day.
He left her that night, as he had before, and she didn’t see him again until
morning.

The knock came early. Elizabeth opened the door to
find Cutter leaning against the frame, his shoulders set stubbornly even in his
casual stance. In spite of himself, her heart quickened at the sight of him.

He was dressed in his denims, but the black shirt
he wore was new and crisp. His beard, though not quite full, had grown
considerably, making his face appear lean beneath, while the shadows under his
eyes had deepened.

“Henry Elias Bass the man you’re looking for?” He
swept his hat from his head, raking his sweat-dampened bangs from his face.
“Had a son by the name of John?”

In spite of his haggard appearance, it seemed to Elizabeth
that Cutter grew more startlingly handsome every time she set eyes on him. She
nodded, acknowledging the facts as those she’d already given him, her heart
aching.

Cutter eyed her britches, and then, with a shake
of his head, he leaned harder against the doorframe, reached into a pocket,
setting his jaw against the pain in his foot, and withdrew a handful of bills.
“Then I suggest you get out today and buy yourself a new getup. Seems he’s not
in St. Louis, after all. Lives just another thirty miles east of here, though I
hear he has business in St. Louis.”

He nudged the door open a bit to get a better look
at her. Those damned pants she was wearing swallowed the hell out of her. He
couldn’t honestly say which was worse, the pants or the skirt he’d thrown away.
Still, there was no mistaking her sex. Not with hair like hers. She wore it
down, the soft cascades flowing about her shoulders like liquid gold, and her
cheeks were sun-flushed. The outdoors and sunshine suited her, he decided as he
pressed the money into her hand.

“We’ll stay here in town tonight... head out
tomorrow. If that suits you?”

Elizabeth nodded, wishing so much that there were
not such an awkwardness between them suddenly.

“If we leave early and ride hard, we should get
there by early afternoon at the latest.”

“Fine,” Elizabeth replied softly. An impenetrable
silence followed as they simply stared at each other. At last Elizabeth averted
her gaze.

“Well,” Cutter said, shifting abruptly, “reckon
I’ll see you in the morning, then.”

Again, Elizabeth nodded, at a loss as to what to
say to make things right between them. Something was missing, she knew, but she
had no idea exactly what it was. He’d been angry with her before, but not like
this.

“See y’, Doc,” Cutter said tersely, and then he
willfully pulled the door closed between them, as though he couldn’t stand to
see her face any longer.

With a sigh, Elizabeth leaned her cheek against
the inside of the doorframe. Seizing the rattle suspended from her neck into
her fist, she shook it once, and then listened to the echo of Cutter’s boots
against the wooden floor. When they faded finally, she moved away from the
door.

Despondently she fell back onto the bed and
contemplated weeping. Not since her father’s death had she felt so empty. But
weeping would accomplish absolutely nothing, she knew. And there was too much
to be done before tomorrow.

With a weary sigh, she rose and began to plait her
hair, studying her reflection in the mirror. The woman who faced her now was so
different from the one she remembered. Her head tilted suddenly and her
expression turned wistful as she recalled Cutter’s whisper.
I like it down.

Almost absently, she began to arrange her hair
loosely about her shoulders. Would it be so wrong to pretend—while she
could—that she was his wife?

Cutter’s wife.

How wonderful that sounded.

She made a sound that was part sigh, part groan,
and then, shaking her head at her own foolishness, she recommenced braiding her
hair. It did sound wonderful, but she couldn’t afford to dream. Not since she
had been a child in her mother’s arms had she dared. And her mother was long
gone... her sister... her father...

Only Katie remained, and she wouldn’t lose her,
too, she determined. Not if she could help it.

Haven’t I
gone out of my way to prove to you that you can trust me? Damn you... have a
little faith...

Elizabeth started at the little voice in her head,
and for a moment, instead of her own reflection in the mirror, she saw
Cutter’s, the earnest appeal in his shadowed eyes.

Reckon you’re
the one with the problem, Elizabeth, and not Elias?

Elizabeth stared at the mirror a long moment,
horrified by the pain she saw in those accusing eyes, and cried out suddenly,
tearing the braid free. It just couldn’t be!

This, she resolved, her expression determined, was
going to be the most convincing performance she could muster. If Cutter thought
he could do it... then by God, she would stand by him while he tried. He knew
how much this meant to her, and she felt instinctively that he wouldn’t let her
down.

It was, after all, a matter of trust.

As Cutter had predicted, the ride to the Bass
spread took most of the morning and into early afternoon.

During the ride out, Cutter’s manner was less abrupt
than it had been, though he still appeared jaded somehow, and the dark circles
remained. But at least he was speaking to her, Elizabeth reflected.

“And so Katherine’s husband was killed in the
war?” Elizabeth asked, trying to ignore the ache that was growing in her rear.
Cocoa, in her weariness, had fallen into a gait that was absolutely brutal upon
the posterior.

Tapping his hat up out of his eyes, Cutter nodded,
and uncharacteristically refrained from remarking over her grimace of pain.

“Seems so,” he said, raking his fingers through
his beard. Had he been in the mood to smile, the sight of her sweet little butt
bouncing off the saddle would have had him grinning from ear to ear. As it was,
he was amused, but wouldn’t show it. “As far as I can tell, Elias had only one
son.”

“When?”

“Petersburg,” Cutter replied. His eyes met hers,
then traveled the length of her admiringly. She was wearing her new outfit, a
turquoise-colored riding skirt and matching shirtwaist. Her hair was loose and
shone like yellow sunshine down her back. A few shorter tendrils curled
appealingly around her face, framing it beautifully.

Elizabeth nibbled her bottom lip a moment in
thought and then announced, “I can’t believe Mr. Bass would worry me as he did.
In his letter he wrote that they’d both been killed—killed,” she
stressed, her tawny eyes seeking out Cutter’s. There was a peculiar sheen in
them, as she asked, “Can you imagine how that made me feel? He had me thinking
that both Katherine and her husband had been in an accident—or that they
had been murdered, even!” She shook her head with disgust, her expression
growing gloomier by the second. “Elias bass a lot to learn about the phrasing
of his words.”

She couldn’t help but speculate that her sister
might still be alive today... that her little daughter might not be orphaned...
if only their mother hadn’t taken Katherine away... if she hadn’t been so
terrified of being scalped alive that she’d run off to St. Louis without so
much as a good-bye. She glanced up at Cutter suddenly to find that he was
watching her. How right he was; life wasn’t fair! “How did you happen to
discover so much in such a short time, anyhow?”

He lifted a brow. “Ain’t much a few drinks and the
right questions can’t ferret out.”

Elizabeth’s brows knitted as she remembered the
night they’d first met, and the drinks he’d plied her with. It seemed to be a
favorite ploy of his—this getting people lushed so he could have his way
with them. Against her will, she suddenly found herself wondering whether he’d gleaned
his information from some jezebel like Bess. “While you were at it... you
didn’t happen to discover how it was that Katherine died, did you?”

Cutter sighed. “Nope,” he said, “but it won’t be
long before you can ask Bass yourself. Looks like we’re here.” He tipped his
head.

Turning, Elizabeth caught the dazzling reflection
of the afternoon sun on the distant windowpanes. They glittered like jewels.

The ranch and its accompanying buildings were
surrounded by cottonwoods and oaks. As they neared, the big house began to take
shape, and Elizabeth thought it was the most beautiful place she had ever seen
in her life.

So this, she marveled, was the place Katherine had
called home.

With its double stories and whitewashed brick
facade, it was also the grandest place she had ever laid eyes upon. Yet there
was a lonesome beauty about it, too, emphasized by the fact that there was no
one bustling about with chores, no one rushing out to greet them. The lawn,
with its tall, unkept grasses, hinted of defection, and was infiltrated with
wildflowers of every color. To Elizabeth it looked more like a meadow than the
manicured lawn it was supposed to be.

Two cottonwoods sat, one on either side of the
walkway, the lush green of the leaves contrasting with the white of the house.
The effect was striking. Adding to it were the white-painted trellises built
high against the brick. Red roses in full bloom climbed askew. Some of the
branches grew free of the trellis and fell forward untrained, the leaves
spotted and yellow, while other branches were completely bare but for the
thorns, and a cluster of red blooms at the extremity. The thought that came
immediately to mind was that the war had taken its toll here, as well. It was
obvious that someone had once cared very much for the place... and that now no
one seemed to bother.

Nor were there servants about to work the small
vegetable garden off to the right of the house—or to paint the small
picket fence that surrounded it. The whitewash was chipped and peeling. At
their approach a small black and white spotted dog perked its ears and then
barked succinctly, as though the effort were more than he should have been
expected to give. Again it barked, swaying on its feet, as though battling the
urge to flop lazily to its belly.

“Dat’s Shifless,” a child’s voice called out as
they neared. “But don’ worry... he won’t hurt you none!”

As though in affirmation, the dog squatted,
keeping its ears perked and its eyes fixed on the trespassers.

Startled by the voice, Elizabeth felt her heart vault.
She reined in, her eyes searching frantically, desperate for a glimpse of the
child who had spoken. It would have to be Katie, she knew intuitively. And it
seemed as though she’d waited and waited and thought of this moment for an
eternity.

What would she look like now?

Who would she look like?

What was she like?

Where was she?

“We call him Shifless ‘cause my papa said so,” the
voice revealed sweetly.

Again, Elizabeth whirled about on her mare,
searching. At last she spotted the small girl perched precariously upon a
windowsill on the second story, and her heart leapt within her breast.

As tiny as she was, the tree limbs had completely
concealed her from view until now. As Elizabeth stared, bewitched, her heartbeat
accelerated, beating into her throat. In that instant she felt near to bursting
with pride... and so many other emotions, she couldn’t begin to understand them
all. As she watched, the child rocked forward, coming alarmingly close to
losing her balance, and Elizabeth’s breath snagged. She froze in the saddle,
wholly terrified that the child would fall to her death right before her eyes.

“Well... you seeee...” The girl shrugged
matter-of-factly. “He usa be called Smiley,” she said smartly, “but my papa
said he was too shifless to smile.” She proffered a dainty upturned hand,
pausing, as though remembering, and then her expression screwed pitifully. “My
papa’s gone now,” she revealed, with the innocent bluntness only a child could
possess. “He went to heaven in the war.”

Elizabeth was too shaken by the child’s near fall,
and too taken aback by her revelation, to reply. She wasn’t even aware that
Cutter was no longer beside her on his horse until she spotted him on the
trellis, climbing swiftly upward as though he were born to it.

“Who are you?” the little girl asked bravely,
tilting forward a little to see better.