The Outlaw Takes a Bride (13 page)

“Oh, she is, Reverend. Guaranteed.”

The minister nodded and peered up the street. “Where is she?”

“I left her at the hotel with some refreshment. She just came in on the train.”

“I see. And do you want the ceremony right away?”

Johnny gulped. “Yes, sir. In a half hour, maybe?”

“That’s fine. Step inside for a moment, and let me write down the names. I’ll need to know them for the service, and I’ll have to make out a certificate when we’re done.”

Johnny followed him into the kitchen, where a plump woman in an apron was kneading bread dough.

“Myra, you’ve met Mr. Paynter?” The minister said.

She glanced at him. “Oh my, yes, but he’s grown a beard since I last saw him.” She winked at Johnny. “You haven’t been in church for a few weeks, Mr. Paynter.”

“Uh, that’s right. I’m sorry. Couldn’t help it.”

She eyed his sling. “Well, I see you have an excuse. And I don’t blame you for not wanting to shave one-handed.”

Johnny decided not to correct her mistaken ideas and followed the preacher into the next room.

“There, now, what’s the bride’s name?” The pastor sat down at a desk and took up a pen.

“Uh, Sally Golding. She’s a widow.”

“Is that her maiden name?”

“Uh…” Had Sally mentioned her family name in her letters? He couldn’t remember. “I’m sorry, it slips my mind. I’ve never met her folks, you see. But they’re living up near Fort Belknap.”

“She can tell me at the church, I guess. And Mark Paynter.”

“With a
Y
,” Johnny said, and spelled his last name. “But, uh, I wondered if you could do me a favor, sir?”

“What’s that?” The minister looked up at him.

“Well, uh…I wondered if you could say ‘Mark John Paynter’ when you do the marrying?”

“Certainly. And I’ll ask Mrs. Golding if she wants her full name on the certificate as well.”

The minister wrote a few words on a sheet of paper.

“Do you have witnesses lined up? My wife can step in if you don’t, and—”

“The sheriff’s coming,” Johnny said. “Him and my ranch hand. They’ll be coming along in a while, and I need to go and fetch Sally.”

“Good, good. I’ll see you and Mrs. Golding at the church in half an hour, then.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Johnny made his escape through the kitchen, calling good-bye to the minister’s wife as she covered her bread dough with a clean towel. Outside, he walked over to the low fence that bordered the cemetery and leaned on it. He made himself take several deep breaths. At least his legal name would be in there somewhere. He couldn’t stand it if he thought the marriage wasn’t real. He felt as though he ought to confess the lies he’d told the preacher, but he wasn’t sure God would listen to him right now.

Slowly he turned and trudged toward the hotel.

Sally poured herself another cup of tea from the ivy-sprigged teapot. The hotel’s luncheon had proved more than satisfactory. Now, if she could say the same thing about her intended groom.

Something wasn’t right. She could feel it. Mark was nervous, and something more. She’d built her hopes upon the tone of his letters, but talking to him was almost like conversing with a different man. She certainly hadn’t expected to be left waiting at the hotel. She had imagined going straight from the depot to the church.

Obviously, she had imagined too much.

“Would you like dessert, ma’am?” The unsmiling serving woman was back. Sally suspected she was the hotel owner’s wife or spinster sister. Surely no businessman with any sense would hire such a dour woman to represent his service.

“Thank you, but I’ll wait for my fiancé,” Sally said.

The woman raised an eyebrow, and Sally wished she hadn’t spoken so frankly. She pushed back her chair. “I believe you said there’s a washroom?”

“Yes. I’ll show you where it is.”

A glance in the mirror plunged Sally’s spirits to new depths. No wonder Mark had the jitters. Three days of travel had taken their toll. Her face was dirty, and her hair resembled a bird’s soggy nest after a rainstorm.

“May I get a jug of hot water, please?” she asked the woman.

“Of course.”

When she emerged a few minutes later, the hostess was waiting. Sally had learned her name was Mrs. Lane and her husband owned the hotel.

“Our small parlor is this way,” Mrs. Lane said. “When your fiancé returns, I’ll show him in.”

She took Sally to a cozy room furnished with a horsehair sofa, two side chairs, and a small table. On the table, an oil lamp sat on a tatted doily. A framed drawing of a steamboat, which Sally thought was quite good, and an amateurish oil painting of a field of bluebonnets completed the décor. The double-hung window faced the backyard of the building, overlooking a stable.

Sally sat on the sofa and tried to be patient. What was Mark up to? He had seemed anxious for the ranch hand to show up. She supposed that he needed an employee if he planned to buy more livestock. Still, she had expected that the two of them would live alone on the ranch. This would take some adjustment. Just as well he had hired a man, in light of his broken arm.

She stifled a yawn. Sleep on the train had come in snatches, and she could do with a nap. She wished Mark had taken a room for her, but of course, that would cost more, and the ranch wasn’t far away. A book to read would be nice, or something else to distract her, but the sparsely furnished parlor held no reading material.

Her luncheon had settled, and she wished she had accepted a piece of pie. But Mark had said they would eat dessert when he returned.

After a few minutes, she opened her handbag. She had stitched it of scraps left from the mourning dress she had sewn for a woman in St. Louis. The pouch wasn’t roomy, but it was big enough to hold her ticket stub, a handkerchief, the twenty-one cents she had left, and Mark’s last letter. She took out the envelope and unfolded the sheet of paper.

My dear Sally
. How precious those words had been.
I cannot tell you how happy I am that you have agreed to come and be my bride
.

What had changed since Mark penned those words?

She told herself to stop worrying. He was nervous. His life was about to change drastically. And he had broken his arm. He was probably in pain the entire time she was with him.

She sighed and put the letter away. “Lord, help me to do and say what’s best for both of us.” As she whispered the words, the root of her anxiety struck her squarely between the eyes. She was afraid Mark would call off the wedding.

Her chest tightened, making it hard to breathe. If only she could loosen her corset! She had spent three days bound in the thing, and her discomfort was probably contributing to her anxiety. “Lord, thank You for getting me here. Help me to trust You to—”

The parlor door opened, and she turned eagerly toward it.

A strange man stood in the doorway. He was shorter than Mark, and a little stockier. He held a wide-brimmed hat in his hand, and his dark hair tumbled over his forehead. His keen brown eyes sized her up, no mistaking that.

“Sally Golding?”

“Yes?” She stood, her heart pounding.

The man smiled. “I’m Cam Combes, Mark’s ranch hand. Pleased to meet you, ma’am.”

“H–hello.” Sally stared at the smiling man in work clothes. Had Mark sent his hired hand to tell her the wedding was off?

Johnny took a deep breath before the door of the small parlor to which Mrs. Lane had directed him. He wanted to see Sally again, but at the same time, he dreaded the meeting. This was it—his last hour as a single man.

He pasted on a smile and opened the door.

“There’s Mark now.” Cam stood up with a mug of beer in his hand and raised it in his direction. “What took you so long, pal?”

“Oh, uh, well, the preacher…you know.”

Sally’s smile looked a little wobbly. “Is everything arranged?”

“Yes. We’re to meet him at the church in half an hour.”

“We weren’t sure when you’d return, and Mr. Combes was famished, so we ordered the pie,” Sally said.

Johnny’s gaze swept over the table. At least Sally was drinking milk, not beer with Cam.

“That piece is yours.” Cam nodded toward an untouched slice of apple pie on a plate. “Do you want some beer?”

“No, I’ll get some—” He almost said coffee, but then he remembered Mark didn’t like coffee. Had he told that to Sally? “I’ll get some of that milk.”

“I’ll get it for you. Sit down.” Cam set his mug on the table and scuttled out the door.

“So.” Johnny eased down onto the sofa next to Sally. “You met Cam.”

“He’s very charming.”

“Oh.” Johnny wasn’t sure what to say. He’d always known Cam had a way with the ladies. He could talk to anyone easily anytime, about any topic, whereas Johnny tended to freeze up around people he didn’t know, especially females. “He’s good with a rope, too.” There.

“Is everything all right, Mark?” Sally asked softly.

“Yeah, sure.”

“You did want a piece of pie, didn’t you?”

He nodded and picked up the fork with his left hand. The sugary pastry hit his stomach hard. Maybe he hadn’t ought to eat any more until after the wedding. But his eating seemed to put Sally at ease. She had picked up her plate and was taking a forkful of her half-eaten slice. He made himself take another bite.

Sally smiled at him, and his insides went all squishy again.

“Are you nervous?” she asked.

“Some. You?”

“A little,” she admitted. “I’ll be glad when it’s done. Mr. Combes said—”

“Call me Cam,” came the deep, cheerful voice from the doorway. “Short for Cameron. I’m not apt to answer to Mister.” He handed Johnny a tall glass of frothy milk. “I settled up with the hotel lady. We can just pull out when we’re done here.”

“Thanks.” Johnny took a big gulp from the glass. Half of it went up his nose, and he thumped the glass down on the table, coughing.

“Are you all right?” Sally asked.

Johnny wiped his nose with the back of his hand. Sally thrust a black handkerchief between his fingers, and he used it to advantage.

“Thanks.” His eyes watered, and inside his head felt like someone had stuck a poker up his nostril.

“Well, eat up,” Cam said. “We don’t have long.”

Sally looked anxiously at Johnny. “I don’t suppose…”

“What is it?” he asked.

“I suppose it’s silly, but I have another dress in my valise. I had hoped to change out of my traveling things before the ceremony.”

“Of course,” Johnny said.

Cam jumped up. “I’ll run right out and get it, ma’am. The leather bag?”

“Yes.”

Cam hurried out the door.

Johnny ate the rest of his pie and drank the milk, knowing Sally was watching him. This one-handed business could be downright awkward.

He wiped his mouth with his napkin and hoped he didn’t have crumbs in his beard. “I hope you’re feeling better now.”

“Much better, thank you,” Sally said with a gentle smile. “All I needed was a bit of solid food in my stomach.”

Cam came back with a leather satchel, and Sally rose.

“Oh, thank you. That’s exactly what I need. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll try not to take too long.”

Cam ducked out and came back with another glass of beer.

“Did you need to get that?” Johnny asked.

He shrugged and sat down.

Johnny got up and paced the parlor. Cam’s sobriety wasn’t his only concern. How much of their limited funds had his friend spent at the saloon?

“It’s going to be fine,” Cam said. “And she’s not half bad looking.”

“Stow it,” Johnny said, glancing toward the doorway.

Less than ten minutes later, she was back. He could hardly believe the transformation. She had not only changed into a fresh dress the color of pine needles, but around her neck hung a square-cut green stone in a gold setting, on a fine gold chain. The only remnant of her mourning attire was the black gloves. She had left off the depressing black hat and done something to her hair that made it look shimmery. He supposed she had brushed out the dust and cinders and re-pinned her updo. Whatever she had done, he was struck by the beauty of his bride.

“Don’t you look lovely, Mrs. Golding!” Cam stepped forward, grinning.

Johnny realized he’d been staring.