The Outlaw Takes a Bride (12 page)

“I’m so sorry,” she said, still not looking at him. “What must you think of me, swooning like that?”

“Well, I—I guess I think you’re unwell. What can I do?”

“I’m not ill,” she said. “Not really. It’s just that it’s so hot, and I’m…well, if you want the truth, I’m hungry.”

Johnny let out his pent-up breath. Hunger he could handle. “Sorry. I didn’t think about you not having much to eat on the train. There’s a hotel right across the street. Let me take you over there when you’re able, and we’ll get some…” He hesitated, not sure what to order for a famished lady. “Some sandwiches, maybe? And some tea?”

“That sounds heavenly.” Sally’s gentle, rolling voice reminded him of home and his mother. Ma never raised her voice unless she absolutely had to.

“You can rest at the hotel while I…while I see to things.”

“What things?” she asked.

“Well, the…the preacher, I guess. If you really want to go ahead with it…”

“I do, Mark. I feel that we’ve gotten to know each other very well through our correspondence. Don’t you?”

Johnny’s mouth was dry. He wanted to tell her that he’d only seen half of the correspondence in question, but he couldn’t do that. He looked deep into her somber blue eyes. How could he disappoint her, when she had gone through so much to get here?

But still, it wasn’t right. Sally was a God-fearing woman. He knew that from her letters. If he told her he’d been lying…

On the other hand, didn’t she deserve the truth?

Johnny’s head spun. If he didn’t do something, one way or the other, he’d be the one swooning on the platform. He would feed her, and then they would talk. That was it. He jumped up.

“Can you walk now? I think we should get you out of the sun and order some luncheon.”

“I would appreciate that so much! I confess, my funds ran low, and I tried to economize. Perhaps too much.”

“I should have sent you more money.” As soon as it came out of his mouth, Johnny clamped his jaws shut. He was adding to the lie.
Stop talking, you idiot!
He held out his left hand. “Let me help you.”

Sally took his hand and pulled on it, levering herself up off the bench. She turned and tucked her hand snugly in the crook of his good elbow.

“Now, you tell me if you feel woozy,” Johnny said.

“I will. Thank you.”

He led her through the depot and out the front door, onto the main street. Still there was no sign of Cam and the rig.

Halfway across the street, he paused and looked back. “Oh, your luggage.”

“We can go back for it later,” she said.

“Sure.” A wagon was coming down the street, but it wasn’t Cam. Johnny drew Sally on toward the front steps of the hotel. It felt fine having her hold on to his arm like that, even though the warmth of her dainty, black-gloved hand made his arm sweat. A fellow lounging on the hotel porch straightened when he saw them—saw Sally, really. He didn’t glance once at Johnny, but he tipped his hat and murmured, “G’day, ma’am,” as Sally passed.

“This is a small town,” Johnny said as he held the door open for her.

“I don’t mind,” Sally said. “I was getting quite tired of St. Louis.”

That wasn’t exactly what he’d meant, but he didn’t disillusion her. The thought that had flashed through his mind was that in Beaumont, it wouldn’t take five minutes for everyone in town to hear about the beauty who had gotten off the train and waltzed over to the hotel on Mark Paynter’s arm. If he was going to break the engagement, he needed to do it soon. Every minute he spent with her made it harder.

The dining room wasn’t busy in the middle of the afternoon; only two tables were occupied, and those by travelers who had gotten off the train. Johnny took Sally to a small table near the side wall and pulled out a chair for her.

“Thank you.” She sank into it and closed her eyes for a moment.

He watched her anxiously, but her eyelids fluttered up again, revealing those captivating blue eyes. She smiled at him.

“Won’t you have a seat, too, Mark?”

Johnny took the chair opposite her and set his hat on his lap. He tried not to stare, but she was quite pretty, even with a smudge on her cheek, limp hair, and dusty dress in a severe black fabric. He could only imagine how attractive she would be when she’d had a chance to clean up. He hoped she wouldn’t wear black all the time.

“May I bring you something?”

Johnny glanced up. A middle-aged woman with her iron-gray hair in a bun stood next to the table.

“Uh, yes, thank you. A pot of tea and…” He arched his eyebrows at Sally. “Sandwiches?”

“That would be fine,” Sally said.

“We’ve got some chicken and dumplin’s left from dinner,” the woman told her.

Sally’s face nearly glowed with anticipation. “That sounds lovely, if you don’t mind, Mark.”

It sounded good to Johnny, too, but he decided he’d better find Cam and straighten things out with him. Fast.

“Sure. Uh, none for me, but if you have any cake or…”

“Fresh pies,” the woman said.

“I’ll enjoy a piece of pie with you when I come back,” Johnny said to Sally.

“When you come back? Where are you going?”

“You know—to make sure everything’s ready.”

“Oh, yes.” Her cheeks flushed, and Johnny wanted to linger. Watching Sally’s expression change was more entertaining than a roundup.

He stood and fidgeted with his hat. “I shouldn’t be too long.” He looked back at the serving woman. “Do you have a place where Mrs. Golding can wash up and rest for a while?”

“Certainly. We have a small parlor she may use.”

“Good.” He shot one more glance at Sally.

She gave him an uncertain smile. “I’ll be waiting.”

He nodded and headed out the door.

Across the street, in front of the train station, Cam was just climbing down from the seat of a light wagon. Johnny hurried toward him.

“Cam! Where have you been?”

Cam turned and eyed him for a moment then grinned and slapped the flank of a thin bay horse. “Gittin’ the rig, boy. Gittin’ the rig.”

“All this time?”

Cam shrugged. “What time is it?”

Johnny suspected Cam had spent at least an hour in the nearest saloon. At least he had remembered to go for the rig.

“It’s way past train time. I’ve got Sally over at the hotel, chowing down. Now, while we pick up her bags, you help me figure out how to break it to her that we’re not getting married.”

Cam blinked owlishly at him. “What? Is she homely?”

“No, she’s not homely. She’s downright pretty.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

Johnny sighed. “I was brought up to think marriage was sacred and permanent. I don’t want to go into it lying. It’s not that I don’t like Sally. She seems very sweet. And very trusting. But I feel guilty. I can’t do it to her.”

Cam’s forehead wrinkled. “Do what?”

“Marry her. And I can’t do it to Mark’s memory, either.”

Cam held up one hand, fingers outstretched. “Whoa there. Didn’t we have this conversation last evening?”

“We did. I haven’t changed my mind.”

“You seemed like you did.”

“Well, I’ve changed back. Cam, I feel too guilty. This is a lifetime commitment we’re talking about. We didn’t come here looking for a lifetime commitment. We came looking for a place to hide for a few weeks, or maybe a few months. Not for the rest of our lives.”

Cam stood there for a long moment, frowning. “The way I see it, you can’t afford not to marry her.”

“I don’t care. I’d rather tell the truth and pay her way back to St. Louis—if I had enough cash—”

“Which you don’t.”

“Which I don’t. But if I come clean, maybe she’ll understand.”

“Oh, sure,” Cam said. “She’ll understand, all right. She’ll understand that you expect her to fend for herself, that you’re abandoning her penniless in a strange town. She’ll understand that you led her to believe you were somebody else. You can’t do that to a respectable lady. If you tell her Mark is dead, who do you think she’ll go tell the story to? I’ll tell you who. The sheriff, that’s who.”

“Cam, hush.” Johnny looked around to make sure no one had overheard him. “You’ve been drinking.”

Cam cleared his throat. “Not too much.”

“Yes, too much.”

“I’m not drunk.”

Johnny had to admit he wasn’t staggering drunk, but he was louder than usual, and if anyone heard him reasoning out why Johnny should keep living a lie, they would both be in hot water.

“You’ve got to keep quiet.”

Cam nodded, smiling. “So do you. That’s the whole point. We need to keep quiet about what happened to Mark. So let’s do that. I’ll go in and fetch Mrs. Golding’s baggage. You go find the preacher.”

“Hadn’t I ought to put on the good clothes first?”

When he’d come around to agreeing with Cam, Johnny wasn’t sure, but they fetched the jacket and clean shirt from the horses and went back to the station. Cam asked the stationmaster and was directed to an outhouse where Johnny could change. It wasn’t ideal, but it was better than removing his sling and work shirt on the main street.

“Looks like it’ll fit.” Cam stood in the open doorway as he worked the sleeve over Johnny’s swollen arm.

“It’s tight.”

“You’ll live.” Cam buttoned the front. “Now the jacket.”

For some reason, putting that on hurt more than changing his shirt. At last, Cam situated the sling for him again, and Johnny tried to find a position that reduced the screaming pain in his arm to a livable ache. They walked around to the front of the station together, and Cam stowed his work shirt in the rented wagon.

“You couldn’t get a buggy?” Johnny asked.

“Nope. The livery’s got one, but it was already spoken for.”

“All right. I s’pose there’s nothing for it but to go talk to the preacher,” Johnny said. “But what if he—”

Suddenly, Cam turned his back to the station door. “Don’t look now.”

Involuntarily, Johnny glanced toward the door of the depot. The sheriff was just coming out.

“Well, hello, Mark! This must be your new cowpuncher.”

A
fternoon, Sheriff.” Johnny glanced at Cam and nodded. “This is my hired man, Cam Combes.”

“I’m Sheriff Jackson.”

“Howdy.” Cam shook his hand.

“So, what are you boys up to?” the sheriff asked.

“Why, Mark just fetched his bride-to-be off the train, and I was about to go in and get her luggage,” Cam said.

Johnny felt his face heat up beneath his whiskers.

“Getting married?” The sheriff smiled, almost chummy.

“Uh, yeah.” Johnny couldn’t quite meet his gaze.

“I guess that explains the duds, but not the sling. What happened?”

“Oh, a driving accident,” Johnny said.

Jackson nodded. “So, is the bride from around here?”

“No. Well, her family’s from north of here. But she’s been living in St. Louis.”

“Oh, well, good. A Texas girl. So am I invited to the wedding?” Sheriff Jackson asked.

“Sure,” Cam said jovially. “He’ll need another witness.”

Johnny managed a weak smile. “Sure.”

“Thanks. When’s the hoopla?”

“Any minute,” Cam said.

Johnny flinched. “Well, not that quick. I’ve got to make sure the preacher’s ready.”

Jackson smiled. “Have you got a ring for the lady?”

Johnny’s jaw dropped. “A ring.” He glanced at Cam. “We forgot to get the ring.”

“Well, you haven’t got time to save up coupons from Arbuckle’s coffee. But you can get one at the mercantile,” the sheriff said. “They have a case of jewelry near the counter.”

“I’ll get it while you settle things with the parson,” Cam said. “We’ll probably be ready in an hour, Sheriff.”

“Think so?” Jackson arched his eyebrows at Johnny.

“Uh, well, maybe. I guess.”

“At the church?”

“Yeah, that’s right,” Johnny said.

“Good enough.”

“Hey, Boss, I’ll go get those bags,” Cam said. “Nice to meet ya, Sheriff.” He scooted up the steps and into the depot.

“Well, I…uh…guess I’d better go see the preacher.” Johnny looked anxiously down the street toward the steeple.

“He’s probably in his house there by the church,” Jackson said. “I’ll see you in an hour or so.”

“Right.” Johnny squared his shoulders and walked determinedly down the dusty street. Thanks to Cam and the sheriff, there was no backing out now. As he approached the church, he noticed the neat little frame house to one side. That had to be the parsonage. He pulled in a deep breath and walked up to the door.

He hesitated once more. If the minister knew Mark well, Johnny’s charade would be over in minutes. And what if Mark had gone to see him recently—without a beard—and asked him to stand by to perform his wedding?

He couldn’t see another option, so he knocked soundly on the door panel.

The man who answered his summons was thin and wiry, in his fifties, Johnny guessed. His hair was cut short, and his gray eyes missed nothing.

“Hello. Mr. Paynter, isn’t it?”

“Yes, sir.”

“What can I do for you?”

Johnny exhaled in a puff. “I, uh, I’m getting married, sir. That is, I want to. If you’re willing to tie the knot.”

“Be glad to, if she’s a respectable Christian lady.”