Walker's Wedding (15 page)

L
owell Livingston prowled his study, lighting and relighting a cigar. Kate took out her notebook and consulted it. The telegram at first had given them hope, but their inability to trace its sender left Kate frustrated. If it was from Sarah, she was taking precautions not to be found.

“Our next step is to check with McKay and Lucy in Wyoming,” Kate said. She knew that Lowell didn't want to involve the rancher, but despite an intensive search, the agency had failed to turn up anyone who had seen or heard from Sarah since her disappearance. They were all hoping that Miss Mallory—now apparently Mrs. McKay—had observed more in the train station than her parents.

Kate closed the notebook. “What do you think, Frank?”

“We could send Fox and White up there and let them poke around.”

Kate nodded. John Fox and John White were two of the agency's best. Short of Allan Pinkerton himself, there weren't any better.

“There'll be an additional thousand-dollar bonus for the man”—Lowell glanced up—“or woman who brings my daughter home.”

“That's generous of you, Mr. Livingston, but it's not necessary.” Kate straightened in her chair. Allan Pinkerton hired his detectives for their character rather than for their experience. He insisted on incorruptible, courageous men, dedicated to the law: men with strong personalities
and keen powers of observation. Kate was the first woman Allan had hired, and she had talked hard and fast to convince him she was capable of filling the position. A woman could worm more secrets out of a reluctant male witness than any man could.

Women also observed what men couldn't, and they were able to form friendships with the wives and girlfriends of suspected criminals. She'd convinced Pinkerton of these facts and had gotten the job. Now she was among his top four agents along with Frank, John Fox, and John White.

Chewing on the tip of his cigar, Lowell stared out the window, a wisp of smoke playing through the worry lines on his brow. Kate could see that his daughter's disappearance weighed heavily on him. Her heart ached for him.

“We'll find her, Mr. Livingston. I understand you're a man of great faith. Use that now to calm your fears.”

“If only I had listened closer, tried to reason with her…” Kate could barely make out the railroad tycoon's voice—it was filled with pain and regret. He spoke more to himself than to her. “I'm so afraid that something tragic has taken my little girl.”

“You would have heard,” she reminded him softly. “No news is good news.”

“If I were to lose Sarah…” He shook the thought away. “Send the wire, Kate. Send McKay a wire and ask him to have Lucy Mallory get in touch with us immediately.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And tell Allan I want him in on this.”

Frank spoke up. “I'll tell him, sir, but he's busy with another case.”

“Hang the other case. Tell him he can name his price if he'll drop everything and help with the search.”

“I'll tell him, sir.”

Kate shook her head. It was unlikely the boss would comply with Livingston's wishes for any amount of money. Allan had been on the other case for months, consumed with apprehending the criminal. He wasn't going to be happy about this.

Kate rose, signaling Frank that the conversation was over. The two detectives left the Livingston study a moment later.

“Think we'll find her?” Frank asked.

“She has to be somewhere. We'll find her,” Kate replied.

The Eye That Never Sleeps.
The Pinkerton motto. For Kate, it meant more. She considered it a personal pledge.

S
arah finished lacing her boots and glanced up when she heard Walker come into the downstairs foyer. Her hair was pinned in a bold new upsweep, and she wore a burgundy dress of Martha's own design: rich polished linen that fit her nicely. The Johnsons' first spring barn dance was only hours away, and Sarah felt her spirits lift. Weeks had passed, weeks when she'd made no real advances in strengthening her marriage. Walker was polite but detached. She didn't feel the warmth and love she longed to feel.
In time,
she reminded herself.
Allow things to move slowly.
Every day he talked more, and he had even taken her for a buggy ride two nights earlier.

“Sarah?” Walker called up the stairway. “I'm home. Are you ready?”

She checked her appearance in the mirror one last time and then descended the staircase in time to catch Walker easing into his parlor chair. She noticed that he was careful these days of where he sat, looking behind him, no longer taking his seat's placement for granted.

“Hello,” she said, entering the room. “What do you have there?”

“S.H. picked up the mail in town this morning,” he told her. He paused, his eyes fixed on an envelope. “This must have been sent by mistake. It's addressed to
Lucy
McKay.”

Her heart skipped a beat. A letter from Lucy's parents! Willing a
steady hand, she casually reached for the missive. “I'll take care of that. I'm sure it's from my father. He must have lost the address and sent it through the agency, but they seem to still be mixed up regarding our names. I'll write and correct the mistake.”

Turning away, she stared at the envelope. Her fingers smoothed the seams of it thoughtfully. The letter inside bulged. Did she dare open and read mail meant for another? She glanced at Walker.

“Aren't you going to open it?” He finished sorting through his correspondence and threw it on the table. He stood up and brushed past her on his way upstairs.

“Yes…of course.”

He paused and turned to look back at her. “When?”

“Now, while you change.” She smiled. “You'd better hurry. We don't want to be late for the dance.”

“I'll only be a minute.” His eyes skimmed her lightly. “You look beautiful tonight.”

“Thank you.”

“I won't be long.” He turned and left the room as she sat down in his chair.

The letter lay like a coiled rattler in her hands. Had the Mallorys discovered what the girls had done? They couldn't have. It wouldn't be addressed to Lucy if they had, and Lucy would never inform her parents of the switch—not for months. Sarah's mind calculated the time. She'd been at Spring Grass eight weeks. No, Lucy wouldn't have told anyone yet. She would be still basking in her honeymoon with Rodney.
Remain calm, Sarah. This is only a reminder that you need to tell Walker about the ruse.

She lifted the envelope to the light but couldn't make out the writing. She had to open it.

No, she couldn't.

Her hands quivered and she rested the letter in her lap, pressing her fingers to her temples. Opening it would be an invasion of privacy—Lucy's. Leaving it unopened prevented her from knowing if the Mallorys suspected their daughter's ploy.

But what if the Mallorys were on their way to visit and the letter informed her of their imminent arrival?

Picking up the letter, she gingerly played with an edge of the envelope, wiggling a finger under the flap and trying to loosen the stubborn seal. She dangled the envelope by one finger, shaking it. Finally, she tore the seal away and scanned the contents quickly.

Walker started down the stairs and she sprang to her feet, cramming the letter into her pocket. When she streaked past him on her way up to their room, he reached out and grabbed the hem of her dress.

“Whoa—what's your hurry?” He turned her around by the shoulders.

“We're going to be late,” she murmured.

“We have plenty of time. Everything all right back home?”

“Perfect. Walker, I really don't want to be late.” Could he see the guilt in her eyes? The deception blacker than sin? Papa's words rang in her mind.
Sarah, your sins will always find you out.
The ploy was over. She must tell Walker the truth—now, before he discovered her deception on his own.

But the mere thought made her ill.

Walker let her go and went over to check his appearance in the staircase mirror. “When you write back, invite them for the holidays.”

“Oh. Yes. I will. Thank you.”

“I'll bring the buggy around.”

“Yes. I only need a minute.”

She waited until she heard the back door close, and then she took the rest of the stairs in a rush, Walker's smile etched in her heart and the letter burning a hole in her pocket.

A few minutes later, she climbed into the buggy and sat beside her husband. It was a beautiful evening; the sky was a variation of blue, crimson, and orange. Sarah looked forward to their carriage rides. She and Walker attended church every Sunday, and she rode to town with him occasionally for supplies. Everywhere they went, someone stopped to comment on what a handsome couple they made. Sarah loved the attention. Little gray-haired women patted her hand and assured her
that she and Walker would make beautiful children. Rugged men from neighboring ranches slugged Walker on the arm as they walked by, still chuckling about the wedding barbecue.

Had it been two months already? It seemed only days. She snuggled closer to Walker on the buggy seat, and he pressed back against her warmth. Tonight she felt him relaxing. Maybe he was beginning to open up, little by little. He often watched her when she walked across a room, and one night when she was doing the dishes he helped, splashing her with soapy bubbles until she retaliated and they both ended up soaking wet on the kitchen floor.

Self-reproach brought her back to reality. It was all a ruse, a scam. Her marriage was founded on a lie, and the Mallorys' letter confirmed it.

She straightened away from him and retied her bonnet strings. If only she knew how he would react to her confession. Had she earned his respect—if only a tiny bit? Would they both laugh about the switch in their old age, the way the townsfolk chuckled about the wedding?

Or would he send her away, forcing her to return to an empty life in Boston or, worse, to a cheerless Uncle Brice? Who would want her, now that she had been with a man? The ruse would spread throughout Boston, and no amount of Papa's money could buy back her reputation.

Walker glanced at her. “You're going to make that pretty lip bleed,” he said.

Pretty lip? He'd never once said anything that personal to her. Hope rose and then fell. Sarah realized she was biting her lip so hard she could feel the broken skin.

“Something bothering you tonight?”

“I'm just nervous.” She hoped her face didn't reflect her anguish. “The Johnsons didn't talk to me much at our party, and I'm afraid Mrs. Johnson doesn't approve of me.”

“Nonsense,” he said, dismissing her concerns. “And why would you care what they think of you? It's a simple party. The Johnsons most likely didn't mean anything by their oversight.” He switched the reins to his left hand and patted her knee with his right. “Stop worrying about every little thing and enjoy yourself.”

Would he be so kind if she blurted out her secret?

The carriage rolled up the drive of the Johnson ranch. Ahead, she saw rows of buggies and surreys lined in front of the sprawling farmhouse. Tantalizing smells greeted them when they drew closer, and Sarah's pulse quickened. She adored dancing, especially with Walker. She'd forget about the letter until after the party and deal with it later. For the next few hours, she was going to enjoy her husband's company.

The carriage came to a stop amid a swarm of servants and party guests waiting to greet guests. Two tall, burly friends of Walker's swept her from the carriage. Walker disappeared into a flock of women who had convened to drag him into the party the minute his boots touched the ground. Before she could sputter yes or no, the men whisked Sarah across the yard and into the open barn alight with lanterns. More neighbors moved to welcome her, and for the first time since she came to Wyoming, she felt at home.

Sarah promised the first dance to Buck Whitley, a school friend of Walker's. His height and gawky legs made him an awkward partner. He hunched over, trying to accommodate Sarah's diminutive frame and carry on a conversation. His bumbling but sincere attempts amused her.

“If you don't mind me saying, ma'am, you sure are a pretty sight. I'd venture to say about the prettiest I've ever seen around these parts.”

Sally Hinter danced by close enough to overhear Buck's comment and swatted him on the arm. “You'd better be nice to us trolls”—she winked at Sarah—“'cause she's taken.” Her sizable bulk forced her partner to crowd Buck. “You don't have a chance, Buck. Not when she has Walker McKay waitin' at home.”

The two couples parted with good-natured laughter. Buck blushed and handed her to one of Rusty Johnson's red-haired sons, who whirled her away.

The sweet strains of fiddles and revelry pushed unwanted thoughts of the Mallory letter aside. Sarah tried to bow out when the couples lined up for square dancing, but Mac Maze, whose name aptly described his dancing style, wouldn't hear of it.

“Just follow the directions,” he said, leading her to the line, “and keep your eyes on me.”

The dance began and those gathered in the middle separated from their partners. They folded over in a bow and Sarah did the same, bowing to her left. She righted herself to see Mac doing the first step, something called a do-si-do. Her feet flew, trying to keep up with the music. After a few spins and bows and different partners, she began catching on and lifted her skirts to prance lightly around a man she'd never seen before whose grin was as wide as Texas.

She traded partners again as the dance ended and she found herself face-to-face with Walker. The crowd clapped when Walker caught her up in both arms and swung her around, his gaze centered on his bride.

She laughed as she flew through the air, holding tightly to him. She'd watched him all night and been rewarded with only brief glimpses of him dancing with other women, chatting with friends, or being slapped on the back by ranchers. Now she was in his arms, and the evening took on a magical glow. Pulling her close with one hand around her back, he met her eyes, and the desire she saw there took her breath away. He was starting to fall in love with her.

“You're the belle of the ball,” he teased.

“And you're the prince,” she teased back. He kissed her briefly and then twirled her around for a promenade.

The fiddles slowed and Sarah recognized the first strains of a waltz. As Walker moved her easily around the floor, his gaze met hers. It was as if she were the only woman in the world, and he the only man. Pressing his mouth against her ear, he whispered, “You're beautiful, Sarah McKay.”

She floated in a warm cocoon. Later, Walker brought punch, and they sat on the sidelines holding hands, watching the merriment. Other men stood back, now that Walker had openly claimed his bride.

Sarah observed occasional glimpses of envy from the local girls, but for the most part the single women in town had accepted her. One by one they stopped to say hello and offer their best wishes. Rolene Berry
invited her to the quilting bee the following week, and, smiling, Sarah accepted.

Lanterns burned low when Walker finally said it was time to go home.

Sarah's feet throbbed from hours of dancing, but she felt hope on the buggy ride home. Hope that Walker was falling as deeply in love with her as she was with him. Hope that when she told him about her silly ruse, he would forgive her. How could he not? They were a match made in heaven, and after tonight, even he knew it.

“That wasn't so bad,” he bantered.

“It was wonderful. The best dance I've ever attended.”