The Outlaw's Return (20 page)

Mary stopped in the hall. “That's the
last
thing I want to do!”

“Which is why we're going to do it,” Adie said simply. “Right now Gertie is telling Katrina everything, and they're making up what they don't know or understand.
Every woman who steps into that dress shop is going to hear a half-made-up story. You can do nothing and let the rumors catch fire, or you can do what a fire chief would do.”

Mary saw a glimmer of hope. “I can light a back fire.”

“Exactly,” Adie replied. “We're going to tell every woman we know the truth before she hears the gossip. It's the only way.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

Mary's pride balked. “But it's so private.” Wasn't it enough that she'd made peace with God in her prayers?

“I wish Gertie would keep quiet, but she won't. Sharing what happened is embarrassing for you, but it might help someone else.” Adie's hazel eyes turned misty. “You're not the first woman to give herself to a man too soon. Josh's sister crossed the same line. He'd give anything to change what he said to her.”

Mary knew the story. Josh had said terrible things to his sister, and she'd fled Boston in disgrace. When she'd died giving birth, Adie had adopted the child as her own. She and Josh had found happiness, but Mary had her doubts about J.T.'s reaction to the miscarriage. If he said “good riddance,” she'd feel rejected all over again. And if she didn't address the gossip, she'd again be a victim of the scandal. The thought disgusted her. She'd worked hard to start a new life. If she had to fight to protect it, she'd do it. And if J.T. had the gall to disrespect her feelings about the baby, she'd fight him, too.

Mary looked at the massive wardrobe against the wall. Adie used it for storage now, but it once held the dresses
Mary brought from Abilene. “I can't go in this greasy apron. Do you have something that will fit me?”

“I think so.”

Adie flung open the double doors, fanning the air and stirring the yellow curtains. The scent of cedar filled the room and mixed with light coming through the window. Breathing in the familiar smells, Mary thought back to the first days she spent in this room. It was here she'd mourned the loss of the baby and grieved her career. It was here she'd uttered her first desperate prayers. The room had been a place of healing, a place of hope.

She hadn't left any clothing at Swan's Nest, but she and Adie were close to the same size. Approaching the wardrobe, she saw a gown that
had
been hers. It was the dress she'd been wearing when she'd left Abilene. She'd hadn't taken it to the apartment, because she couldn't bear to wear it. Today the stylish gown matched her mood. Jade green with satin trim and pagoda sleeves, it had a round lace collar and a pleated overskirt. The dress was bold, brave and just plain pretty.

“This is perfect,” she said to Adie.

Together they dressed and did their hair. Wearing fancy hats and even fancier gloves, they climbed into the buggy and Adie drove to the impressive home of Rosalie Cates. A widow, Mrs. Cates attended church at Brick's because she liked Josh's Boston accent, not because she enjoyed the humble surroundings. She also frequented Katrina's dress shop.

A butler ushered Mary and Adie into a parlor and offered refreshments. Rosalie entered the room a moment later. Obviously curious, she looked from Adie to Mary, then back to Adie. “It's a pleasure to see you. And a surprise. I'm guessing the church is having a fundraiser?”

“No,” Adie answered. “We're here to talk about gossip.”

Rosalie masked her expression. “Am I the subject of it?”

Mary saw herself in the woman's sudden wariness, the lift of her chin and the donning of a mask that hid her feelings.

“It's not about you,” Adie replied quickly.

Mary met the woman's gaze. “It's about me. I'd like to tell you the truth before you hear rumors.”

“Of course.” Rosalie indicated a brocade sofa littered with satin pillows. “Please sit down.”

Mary saw sympathy in the woman's eyes…and sadness. The glimpse into Rosalie's heart gave her courage, and she told the story with an ease she hadn't expected. Somehow the details were less dramatic than they'd been in the alley with Gertie. “That's it,” Mary finished. “I made a mistake and I regret it. I've also made a fresh start. I hope to continue to give my brother and sister a good home.”

“Of course you do.” Rosalie looked Mary square in the eye. “I admire you.”

“You do?”

“Yes.” The older woman pulled a hankie from her sleeve and twisted it. “My sister didn't have your courage. She was twenty-three and unmarried when she told me she was expecting. To this day, I don't know who fathered the child, if she'd been attacked or had gone to the man willingly. I only know she hanged herself.”

Adie gasped.

So did Mary.

Rosalie shoved the hankie back up her sleeve. “Tell your story to everyone who'll listen. If Katrina insists on spreading rumors, I'll make sure she loses customers.”

And so began a day full of surprises…. Rosalie insisted on accompanying them on the rest of their calls. As a trio, they visited eight women and heard eight different stories. No one shunned Mary, and four of them offered to join Rosalie in finding a new dressmaker. By the end of the day, Mary felt both humbled and awed. Her deepest fear had turned into a blessing that stretched beyond herself.

With dusk settling, she relaxed in the buggy with Adie. “That was easier than I thought.”

Adie kept her eyes on the street. “It seems to me there's one more person you need to call on.”

“I know.” The time had come to face J.T. “He's staying at a boardinghouse off of Market. Would you take me?”

Adie immediately turned the buggy. “What are you going to tell him?”

“Everything.”

“Can I give you some advice?” she said softly.

“Of course.”

“J.T.'s a hard man. Don't be surprised if he says all the wrong things.”

Mary heart sped up. “That's what I'm expecting.” And that's what she couldn't bear. Saving her reputation had given her a measure of peace, but Gertie's betrayal had opened all her old wounds, especially the one from losing the baby. Adie chatted mildly about men, likening them to mules and mustangs. Some were hardworking. Others were wild and unpredictable. J.T. fit the latter description, though he'd worked like a mule washing dishes. She loved all sides of him, but his toughness could hurt her.

When they reached the boardinghouse, Mary turned to Adie. “He might not be here. Would you wait?”

“Sure.”

Mary went to the door, spoke to the landlady and learned that J.T. had been gone all day. Discouraged and a little miffed, she went back to the buggy. “He's not here,” she told Adie.

“Do you want to look for him?”

“I wouldn't know where to start.” He could have gone to Brick's for supper. He could have been dealing with Roy or Griff Lassen. If he'd lost his moorings, he could have gone to a saloon or a gaming hall. Discouraged, Mary looked straight ahead. “Would you take me home?”

“Of course.”

The streets were empty now, and the sunset had faded to dusky blue. Adie didn't speak, and neither did Mary. Her throat hurt from the day's conversations, and her chest felt heavy with dread. Gus had heard Gertie's accusations. She'd have to speak with him. She'd also left the café without doing the cleaning, and she doubted Enid's goodwill extended to sweeping floors.

As they approached the restaurant, Mary looked at the windows. This morning they'd needed washing, but now they sparkled. The boardwalk had been swept, too. Wondering if Gus had stepped up to help her, she turned her attention to the stairs to her apartment. Instead of Gus, she saw J.T. sitting on the third step and watching her with a glint in his eyes. As the buggy halted, he approached without a word and offered his hand, palm up and expectant.

Mary hugged Adie and whispered, “Pray for me.”

“I will.”

Turning, she accepted J.T.'s hand and stepped down from the buggy. Adie drove off, leaving them alone with
hard questions that had to be answered. Gripping her hands in both of his, J.T. asked the hardest question of all. “What happened to the baby?”

M
ary tried to gauge his reaction, but his eyes were as hooded as hers. She pulled out of his grasp. “I don't want to have this talk on the street.”

“Fine. We'll go upstairs.”

“But Gus—”

“He'll understand.” When he looked up at the window, she followed his gaze and saw Gus watching them. J.T. jerked his chin and the boy stepped away, presumably to go to his room to give them privacy. J.T. had obviously spoken with her brother, but he didn't seem to be have much patience with
her.

“How long have you been waiting?” she asked as they climbed the stairs.

“Since morning.”

“That's all day.”

“I know,” he grumbled. “I'd have waited all night if you hadn't come home.”

She looked at him from the corner of her eye, remembering the windows and the clean boardwalk. Not only had he waited for her, but he'd done what he could to help her. Her blood thrummed with hope. In another minute she'd know if she could trust him with her deepest
feelings. At the top of the landing, he reached around her waist and opened the door. She crossed the threshold, and he closed it behind her with a soft click. Standing in the light from a single lamp, he took off his gun belt and hung it on chair. In a dark corner, Fancy Girl greeted them by wagging her tail. The puppies lay at her side, their eyes still sealed as they suckled.

Turning abruptly, Mary faced him. “I lost the baby.”

“
Lost
it?” He sounded like he was talking about a missing pocketknife.

Was he callous or confused? Mary's insides trembled. “I had a miscarriage. The baby was never born.”

He let out a slow, even breath. “That's a relief.”

Just like in Abilene, he'd hurt her. This time she wanted the satisfaction of telling him to leave for good. “Get out of here!”

“What?”

“I said
leave!
”

“No way.” His voice came out in a growl.

“I will
not
let you disrespect that child!” For two years Mary had stifled her anger and hidden her grief. Tonight she had nothing to hide. “That baby was part of me. It was part of
us
. I was scared at first, but I wanted it. I loved it.” She turned her back on him and stared out the window. “If you can't understand how I felt, I don't want you in my life.”

“Oh, I understand,” he said with deadly calm. “You're the one who's misinformed.”

“I doubt that.”

He walked up behind her, stirring the air with his long stride. “I'm not relieved you lost the baby. I'm relieved it's not living in an orphanage somewhere.”

Turning slowly, she looked into his eyes. They were full of violence and bitterness and a possessiveness that
gave her chills. She wanted to believe he cared, but she could only see the anger.

Glaring at her, he put his hands on his hips. “Do you know how I spent the day?”

“You cleaned the café.” The answer struck her as inane, but it showed that he cared.

“That's right,” he said. “I mopped and scrubbed and
worried
that
our
child was alone in this world. I thought
all day
about a child growing up like I did, eating garbage and stealing and getting punched and cut and—” He sealed his lips. Turning abruptly, he hid his face from her. “I can't stand the thought of it.”

She put her hand on his shoulder, steadying him and absorbing the soft trembling that ran up her arm. “Neither could I. I was so scared—”

He turned and pulled her against him. “I should have been there. I should have—” He stopped short, but she imagined the declaration she'd once dreamed of hearing.
I should have married you.
He hadn't said the words, and she was glad. She didn't want him to speak out of guilt or obligation. They were new people, and she wanted a new beginning. The silence turned into a wall. Needing air, she turned to the window, where she saw the reflection of his face. He rested his hand on her shoulder, curling his fingers against the satiny fabric of her dress. His eyes dipped down the glass, taking in the gown he was likely to remember.

“When did it happen?” he asked.

“A month after you left.” She spoke to his reflection. “I'd had pain all day, but I ignored it. I was about to go onstage when the bleeding started. I'd made the mistake of confiding in Ana.” She'd been Mary's best friend at the time, and J.T. knew her. “She let it slip, so the rumors
were already flying. When I couldn't go on stage, everyone knew for certain I'd been carrying your child.”

“I'm sorry,” he said ever so gently. “I'm sorry for the scandal, and I'm sorry you lost the baby.”

She turned at last. “I am, too.”

The air thickened with their mingled warmth. He cupped her face but didn't kiss her. Neither did he speak. The future beaconed like a baby's first smile. He'd made peace with God, and he'd told her he loved her. Earlier he'd almost made a declaration, but now he looked remote. Mary wanted to tell him she loved him and trusted him fully, but as she parted her lips to speak, he lowered his hand.

As if he'd come to his senses, he headed to the divan and sat with hands dangling between his knees, tapping his fingers in an annoying rhythm.

 

He wanted to ask Mary to be his wife, but a man had his pride. He couldn't propose marriage without a way to support her. He wanted her hands to turn soft again, not be callused from cooking and pushing a broom. He also figured babies would come, and he refused to bring a child into the world if he couldn't provide a good home. Unwilling to let Mary go completely, he looked at her standing by the window in a gown he recognized from Abilene.

“I remember that dress,” he said. “You were wearing it the night I left.”

“That's right.”

“And you weren't wearing it this morning.” He'd waited for her all day. “Where'd you go?”

“Adie and I went calling.” She showed off the skirt with both hands. “I'd left this at Swan's Nest.”

Her eyes were dancing and he loved the boldness. “Who'd you call on?”

“Eight women who will support me in this town.” She told him about the visits and how she'd been received with dignity. “Even if the gossip starts, I'll be fine.”

“That's good.”

Her boldness had paid off, but J.T. wanted to give her even more assurance. Once he had the means to support her, he'd marry her. First, though, he had to find a way to make a living…a way that didn't involve guns or cards. His gaze drifted to Fancy Girl, and he thought of the ways God had shown Himself. Did the Almighty know how badly he needed a job? He had a little bit of work to do on the roof, but the church would be finished in a few weeks. He knew a lot about guns, but being a gunsmith would keep his reputation alive.

Mary was looking at him expectantly. They'd covered a lot of ground tonight, but more trouble lay ahead. He couldn't ask her to be his wife, but she needed protection, and so did Gertie. “I'm going to see Roy tonight. I have to give him an answer about Lassen.”

Her eyes filled with worry. “Are you going after him?”

“No. I'm just buying time. I'll give Roy what he wants, and we'll wait for Lassen to make a move.”

Footsteps pounded up the stairs. He heard a woman—no, a girl—sobbing uncontrollably. It was the sound a child made when it was hurt and had no pride, the sound
he'd
made when his brother cut him. He strode to the door and flung it wide. Gertie stumbled blindly into the room. He caught her shoulders and saw blood on her face
and gown. Her nose was swollen, and a torn sleeve hung like a broken arm.

“Who did this?” J.T. demanded, though he already knew.

Mary flung her arms around her sister. Gertie fell against her, sobbing out the details of Roy inviting her into his office, offering her whiskey and touching her and—J.T. stopped listening. Roy Desmond needed to die.

Why, God?

Yesterday he'd trusted the Almighty and Fancy had lived. Tonight Gertie had been attacked. It made no sense at all. What a fool he'd been to trust Mary's God. No way would he turn the other cheek to a man like Roy Desmond. On the church roof he'd dreamed of taking off his guns. Looking at Gertie in her bloody dress, he vowed to wear them until the day he died.

“I'll be back,” he said to Mary.

“No!” she cried. “Stay here.”

Ignoring her, he snatched his gun belt off the chair.
No one
messed with J. T. Quinn. Not his own brother. Not Roy Desmond. Not even God.

Mary grabbed his arm. “You're too angry to go out there.”

Telling him he was too angry made him even angrier. “I'm going, Mary. You can't stop me.”

“We need to pray,” she said desperately.

“I'm done praying.” No way would he sit around like a little girl. He pointed to Gertie, bloody and weeping. “Are you willing to let this go?”

“No, but—”

“I'm going after Roy, and I'm going to kill him.”

Shrieking, Gertie buried her face in her hands and wept
even harder. J.T. wondered if Roy had done worse than hit her, but he didn't want to embarrass her by asking. He knew how it felt to be humiliated, so he looked to Mary for an answer. Glaring at him, she murmured in her sister's ear.

“No,” Gertie murmured. “But he tried. I should have listened to you. I should have—”

“It's over now.” Mary rocked her sister in her arms, pat ting her back as if she were small. “Let's get some ice on your face.”

With one eye on Mary, J.T. pulled the Colt and checked the cylinder, watching as Mary wrapped a hunk of ice in a towel. As he holstered the pistol, she held the ice to Gertie's swollen nose. Her tenderness met a need; his toughness would meet a different one. Healing and vengeance sometimes did a macabre dance.

Mary looked him in the eye. “I'm going to help Gertie clean up, then we'll decide, together, what to do. Do
not
leave until I get back. Do you hear me, Jonah?”

The old J.T. would have walked out and taken care of business. The new one had a vague sense of Someone watching and waiting to see what he'd do. That same presence had
watched
him get cut as a kid. That Someone had
watched
Gus take a beating and Gertie being punched in the face by Roy. Every time she looked in the mirror, she'd remember tonight. That same Someone had also spared Fancy Girl's life, but J.T. counted the score as 1-3. He narrowed his eyes until they twitched. “I can't stay here and do nothing.”

“Yes, you can.”

She'd used the bossy tone she used on Gus. He didn't like it all. He glanced at Gertie and saw himself in her bloody, broken face. Being attacked made a person think they somehow deserved it. She didn't. No matter what
stupid things she'd done, no woman deserved a beating, and neither did a child. Wanting to help her, he softened his voice. “I'm sorry this happened to you, Miss Larue.”

Her lips quivered. “I feel so stupid.”

Mary held her tighter. “You made a mistake. We'll go to the law in the morning.”

J.T. huffed. “A lot of good
that
will do.”

Gertie wiped at the tears and the blood. “You were right, both of you. The other actors mocked me, but I believed Roy. He told me things—”

“He tickled your ears,” J.T. said. “That's how he works.”

“I know that now.” Gertie's eyes had the flatness of stones. Looking older than her seventeen years, she shuffled down the hall.

Mary challenged him with a look. “I have to go to her.
Do not leave.
”

In his heart he'd left five minutes ago. “I can't do it, Mary. I can't turn the other cheek.”

“Maybe not,” she acknowledged. “But you can wait ten minutes before you walk out. I know what you're thinking, Jonah. You think God doesn't care.”

“You don't know
half
of what I'm thinking.” She was too good inside, too full of kindness. He wanted to lash out at someone, but not at Mary. He'd never hurt her intentionally, not even her feelings. On the other hand, he had no sympathy for her God.

“I'm going after Roy,” he said calmly. “Since I'm a reasonable man, I'll give him a choice.” It wouldn't be a real choice. Roy would die for hurting Gertie, but Mary didn't need to know.

“What's the choice?” she asked.

“He can pay for Gertie's trip to New York, or he and I can square off outside of town.”

The old coldness settled into his bones, a sign he'd gotten his sharpness back. Mary stared so long he wondered if he'd become a stranger to her. He felt colder with every beat of his heart, sharper and more clearheaded, until the chill went so deep he felt nothing.

Mary broke the silence. “It's not your place to kill Roy. Vengeance belongs to God. We have laws—”

“I'd say vengeance belongs to Gertie.”

“It doesn't,” she insisted. “If you kill Roy in cold blood, you'll be a murderer.”

“So what?” He'd already killed fourteen men.

“Just one night,” she pleaded. “Maybe Lassen will take care of Roy.”

Or maybe Lassen would come after
him.
J.T. was tired of twiddling his thumbs. “I'm leaving.”

“I'm begging you—”

“No!” He'd enough of her foolishness. “I'm doing what I should have done two days ago.”

He looked at Mary a long time, taking in her tears and her determination, the pretty green dress and the way she stood her ground. They'd come a long way from Abilene, but somehow they were back at the beginning. He was going to leave her, and she wouldn't like it. This time, though, he wanted to come back. “I'll find you when I'm done with Roy.”