The Scoundrel's Bride (17 page)

Zach shook his head and spoke in a voice as cold as the norther’s wind. “No, Mrs. Peabody, that is not a good idea.”

She ignored him, reaching for her coat on the rack. “I’ll do the driving because you’ll need to hold him. Miss Morality and I are too delicate.”

A slight softening around his eyes accompanied his words. “Ma’am, I’ve the notion you’re about as delicate as an anvil, and I am not going to that house.”

“Very well, Zachary.” She sniffed with disdain. “I wouldn’t have taken you for one who frightens easily. You’ve come to town and declared war on that family; I’d think you’d welcome a chance to spy on the enemy camp.”

Morality could tell Zach fought the smile that lifted the corners of his mouth. “You know, Mrs. Peabody, I think I’ll offer you a job. Are you always this good at manipulating people?”

“Yes, I do believe I am.”

EULALIE PEABODY raced her buggy like a Roman chariot. She tore through Cottonwood Creek’s deserted streets, slapping Zach’s hand away when he attempted to take the reins. When she finally pulled to a halt in front of the Marston mansion, Zach was grateful to be alive.

The thought slowly faded as he gazed toward the Marston house. Red brick formed the walls of the three-story mansion built in Greek Revival style. Stucco and white paint gave the towering columns a smooth, pristine finish, while the lamplight flickering through tall arched windows cast an illusion of hospitality and warmth. God, how many times had he hidden on this street staring into those very windows?

The Widow Peabody and Morality climbed from the buggy, but Zach remained in his seat, seized by a sense of destiny and by remembered pain of a nightmare that never went away.

A burst of red on a bright white blouse. His mother’s pain-glazed eyes. Whispered words. Promises made and not yet kept. “Soon, Mama,” Zach murmured softly, his voice cold and hard as hailstones. “It won’t be long now.”

He’d come to Cottonwood Creek to destroy Joshua Marston, the entire Marston family, and the entire Marston town. His scheme was proceeding nicely.

Maybe it was time to properly greet his father.

Careful not to jostle Patrick, he climbed out of the buggy and followed the widow, who marched up the porch steps and yanked on the bell rope. Zach was halfway up the redbrick walk when the massive oak door swung open.

Joshua Marston wore dark gray trousers, a green vest over a white shirt, and a perplexed expression. “Why, Eulalie, what are you doing out in weather like this? Hurry on inside. Miss Brown, I thought you were up in your—” He broke off abruptly as he noticed Zach’s deliberate stride toward his front door. “Burkett!”

Zach kept coming, falling on old talents to school his expression to an unreadable mask. Deliberately, he climbed the steps, his boots scuffing on the sand spread over slippery brick. Inches away from Joshua Marston, who stood slack-jawed and eyes round with shock, Zach stopped.

For the first time in his entire life, Zach spoke directly to his father. “Hello, Daddy.” He didn’t wait for an invitation as he pushed his way inside saying, “Where’s the boy’s room?”

Identical pairs of blue eyes locked gazes, one stunned, the other razor-sharp. Marston’s mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water, and his complexion developed a sickly pallor. “What has happened? Why are you here? Is something wrong with Patrick?”

Zach’s lip curled in an ugly smile, and his drawl became pronounced. “Don’t tell me you’re concerned about a young boy’s health? Well, fancy that.”

With puppet-like movements, Joshua turned and shut the door. For a long moment, the tick of a grandfather clock was the loudest sound in the marble-floored entry hall as Mrs. Peabody and Morality seemed to hold their breaths in anticipation of the explosion slowly building in Marston’s eyes.

The blast never came, squelched instead by a horrified gasp from the staircase.

Zach tore his gaze from his father and looked up. Dressed in plum brocade and black satin, Louise Marston stood poised at the top of the steps, her hand pressed against her heart. Zach felt a brief and surprising flare of sympathy.

Eulalie pushed ahead, saying, “Louise, don’t just stand there. Show Zachary where to lay young Patrick. Doc Trilby says to keep him comfortable and let him sleep.” She paraded up the stairs, her ample skirts swaying. Without another word to his father, Zach shifted Patrick’s weight to gain a more comfortable hold and followed.

“What is going on?” Joshua bellowed after him.

Morality answered, giving a swift, succinct explanation. She had started up the stairs when her uncle’s voice called out to her to stop.

Zach’s lips slid into a grin. Good Lord, Harrison and Marston living in the same house. Pity the poor hired help.

Louise Marston didn’t speak as she led them up a second flight of stairs to the third floor. The boy in his arms let out a groan as Zach carried him down a long hall toward the guest room where he’d been sleeping. “It’s all right, son,” he said, waiting as Louise turned down the bedclothes and Eulalie fluffed the feather pillow. “You’ll be snug as a bug in a minute, and the worst part’s done. All that’s left is the healing.”

“Healing is not entirely painless, is it, Mr. Burkett?” Louise asked, her stare troubled and watery.

He shrugged. “I reckon it depends on the type of person—and the type of pain.” He used a second pillow to elevate Patrick’s injured hand as Doc Trilby had instructed, then pulled the covers up over the boy’s shoulders and tucked him in. Zach felt the touch of Louise Marstons troubled gaze the entire time.

As he turned to leave the room, she said, “May I ask you a question?”

“It’s your house, Mrs. Marston. I reckon you can ask anything you want.”

She looked at the widow and said, “Eulalie, would you find Dora and send her up here to light the fire? It’s too cold for a sick child in this room.”

Eulalie Peabody gave her a knowing look. “Like the boy says, it’s your house.” On her way out, she touched Zach’s arm and said, “Louise is a good woman. Mind your manners, now.”

Zach never intended to pick a fight with Mrs. Marston. After all, Sarah Burkett hadn’t been the only woman Joshua betrayed. Reaching down to push a lock of Patrick’s hair away from his eyes, he said, “I wouldn’t have come here but for the boy. You needn’t worry about my causing trouble in your home.”

“No, I wasn’t worried about that. Actually, I have been hoping for the opportunity to speak with you. There are a few things I think you have the right to know.”

Zach arched a brow.

“It’s about your father—”

“Louise!” Joshua Marston walked through the doorway, his face flushed with anger. “I forbid you to speak with this…this—”

Stepping away from Patrick’s bed, Zach folded his arms with studied nonchalance. “‘Bastard’ is the word most often used.”

Marston took his wife’s elbow and propelled her toward the hall. “Go downstairs and see to Eulalie. It’s not like you to ignore a guest.”

“Joshua, please, this is the perfect time. Let me—”

“Go, Louise, Now.”

Louise Marston yanked out of her husband’s grasp, shot him a glare, and left.

Zach clicked his tongue. “I say there, Daddy, you do have a way with women, don’t you?”

Joshua whirled on him. “I want you out of my house immediately.”

“What, no offer of food or drink?” Zach brought a hand to his chest in a parody of the offended guest. “You’re gonna send me out in that wind without at least offering me a whiskey? What sort of Texan hospitality is that?”

His father’s reply whipped across the room. “I’d like to send you to hell.”

“Already been there, Pop. Didn’t care for it much. Thought I’d leave and make room for the next fella.” The look he offered his father left no doubt of just who he’d prefer that next fellow to be.

Patrick breathed a soft moan and Zach frowned. “We’re disturbing him. Why don’t I give you the chance to make up for your appalling lack of hospitality by showing me to your library and offering me that drink? Since I’m here we might as well discuss a couple of matters I’ve been meaning to speak with you about.”

“Burkett, I want you out of my house.”

Quick as a rattler’s strike, Zach had grabbed him by the collar and twisted the cloth tight. “You know, old man, when you threw me out of this town all those years ago, I swore over my mother’s dead body that you’d never throw me out of anywhere ever again. Looks like you’re stuck with me until I’m ready to go. Got it?”

Marston made a gurgling sound low in his throat, and Zach loosened his hold just enough for Joshua to squeak out a “Yes.” Then he shoved him out of the room and into the hallway, headed toward the stairs.

Morality was certain she’d had worse days in her life, but she was at a loss to remember when. As she obeyed her uncle’s command and preceded him into the Marstons’ music room, she realized the day was a long way from over.

Reverend Uncle shut the door, then whirled in an angry fury. “Do you know what you’ve done?”

Actually, she didn’t. He could be referring to a number of different things; the elixir problem, something to do with this marriage he wanted, perhaps he’d learned about Patrick’s involvement with ruffians and blamed her for it. Gazing at the fire in his eyes, she sensed he spoke of something—or someone—else entirely. His next words proved her right.

“What were you thinking of, bringing that man to this house? Have you not any sense at all?”

Apparently not, if I’m actually considering marrying you
. Morality waited for the shame that normally accompanied such disrespectful thoughts, but to her surprise, it didn’t come. “Reverend Uncle, Patrick was hurt. I thought he’d gone to Mr. Burkett’s cabin, so I—”

“He’s Joshua’s bastard,” Harrison interrupted, waving his hand wildly. “The entire town knows it. And you had the witless notion to bring him here.” He advanced on her, his jaw set, nostrils flaring. “Did you see the look on Louise’s face? Did you hear the words they exchanged?” His hand snaked out and grabbed her arm. “If your stupidity causes us to lose our beds in this house…” His voice trailed off, the threat more fearsome for being left unspoken.

He had a viselike grip on her wrist and Morality clenched her teeth against the pain he caused her. “Reverend Uncle, I’m sorry. I didn’t think I’d be causing any trouble. Mrs. Peabody said it would be all right for Mr. Burkett to come here.”

“Don’t argue with me, girl! And don’t be listening to anyone else. I’m your guardian. Soon to be your husband. I’ll tell you what to think and to say and to do.” He shoved her arm away, saying, “Now go find Louise. Apologize to her, and make sure you do it in a way that won’t cause her any more grief.”

Morality nodded and fled the room, waiting until she was out of her uncle’s sight to rub her aching wrist. Her thoughts were in a turmoil, her emotions a mess. She wanted desperately to run to her room and hide, or better yet, to leave this house entirely. Instead, she made a short, defiant detour to Patrick’s room to check his condition, then obeyed Reverend Uncle’s demands and followed the sound of feminine voices to the parlor.

Mrs. Peabody was regaling Mrs. Marston with the latest information on her blooming romance with Dr. Trilby, and Morality realized that now was not the time to offer an apology. Such a thing was best done in private. As the widow continued her story, Morality pushed the ugly scene with her uncle from her mind. She’d worry over that later. Instead, she began to mimic Mrs. Marston’s curious looks toward the library door.

“I declare,” Mrs. Peabody said with a sniff. “You two would make a lesser woman worry about her conversational skills. Louise, go crack open that door so you and Miss Brown avoid getting cricks in your necks.”

“Oh, I couldn’t. It is a private conversation.” Louise looked at the door, then at Eulalie, then at the door again. “Morality, will you do it?”

“Why, Mrs. Marston!” Morality was shocked.

“She’s your hostess, girl.” Eulalie gave a definite nod. “You must do as she asks.”

That much was true. Reverend Uncle would have a fit otherwise, and she certainly didn’t need any more of that. Morality’s skirt rustled as she rose and crossed to the library, where, ever so carefully, she turned the brass knob and pushed.

The voice she had previously heard as a muffled rumble now shot from the room. Joshua Marston bellowed, “…railroad come to town. You think you can hurt us, but you’re wrong! The people of Cottonwood Creek know what is best for the town, and Marston Shipping is it.”

“This town needs a railroad, and it will get one.” Zach’s voice rang with confidence. “Cottonwood Creek will support me on this, you can bet on it.”

“You’re just doing this to hurt the family.”

Morality sensed Louise move up behind her as Zach laughed. “I won’t deny I gain a measure of pleasure from the idea of upsetting the Marston pickle barrel.”

Joshua Marston’s voice reverberated with promise. “I’ll ruin you and anyone who buys stock in your railroad. You’ll leave here without a penny to pinch.”

At first Morality thought he wouldn’t answer. Then, when it came, Zach’s slow drawl made her think of a viper inching its way across the ground.

“Sort of like last time?” he asked. “You gonna try and kill me again, too? Where you gonna find your henchmen, Daddy? I killed the others. I was eleven years old, and I shot two men deader’n hell. You ever killed a man, Daddy? Watched your bullet obliterate his face?”

Morality and Louise jerked away from the door as Joshua shouted, “Don’t call me that!”

Zach laughed. “Rather talk mayhem than murder? Or maybe I shouldn’t use a euphemism for what you did. Just call it like it was—rape.”

“Rape? What are you talking about?”

“Not what, Daddy. Who. And, as you well know, I am talking about my mother.” The last word echoed in the sudden silence. Louise moaned softly, and Morality took her hand in a gesture of comfort.

“I did not rape your mother,” Joshua declared in a raspy voice. “Is that what she told you? That I forced her?”

“Your filthy name never passed my mamas lips.”

Morality shuddered at the disgust in Zach’s tone.

“That’s another thing I owe you for—finding out just who my daddy was in the schoolyard. Helluva way for a boy to learn his family tree.” Boots thumped against the floor, and Morality heard the clink of a glass and splash of liquid. She dared a peek inside and saw Zach pouring a drink.