Anita Mills (31 page)

With Matthew Morgan at her side, Verena waited nervously while the bank teller disappeared behind the thick-paned glass door. It seemed an eternity before he came out, announcing, “Mr. Pointer will see you now.”

The room was darker than the rest of the bank, probably because of the dark oak paneling on the wall, and the smell of oily polish permeated the air. A big man rose from behind the large desk to extend his hand.

“Miss Howard, is it?”

“Yes.” Half turning to Matthew, she smiled. “And this is my friend, Mr. Morgan.”

“Morgan.” Gesturing to two heavy oak chairs, the banker said, “Go ahead—sit down.” Retaking his own seat, he cleared his throat. “Your note said John Howard is dead,” he began, going straight to business.

“Yes.” Reaching into her purse, she drew out Mr. Hamer’s letter. “I was informed by this,” she said, handing it across the desk. “He was my father’s lawyer.”

“Poor Hamer,” he murmured, shaking his head. “I knew him fairly well. It was a bad end to a good man.”

“I never met him,” she admitted. “I guess he didn’t feel the need to notify you directly.”

“I doubt he knew anything about the business. When your father put this into the bank’s safekeeping, he asked for—and got, mind you—absolute privacy in the matter.” As he spoke, he reached into a lower desk drawer and took out a large brown envelope. “As you can see, it is still sealed, just as he entrusted it to us. I just retrieved it from the vault when I received your note this morning.”

“Thank you.” Her hand shook as she took it from him. “I don’t suppose he told you what’s in this, did he?”

“No. Family papers, I believe he said—nothing more.” Moving a few envelopes on his desk, he produced a piece of paper. “I do need a receipt, however, if you intend to take them with you.”

“Of course.”

“If you wish privacy, I’d be happy to step out for a few moments,” he offered.

“No. I—uh—I should like to take them back to my hotel room before I look them over.” Taking the pen he held out, she quickly wrote “Verena Mary Howard” on the paper. “Thank you,” she managed, pushing it back to him.

“My pleasure. But I daresay we’ll see you back here before you leave.” Seeing that she rose, he stood also. “You have my complete sympathy, Miss Howard. John was a good man.”

Once they were out in the warmth of the sun again, Matt’s hand slipped from her elbow to her fingers. “If you don’t want me there when you open that, I’ll understand.”

“No, of course not.” Forcing a smile, she looked up at him. “You won’t mind a good cry, will you?”

“No.” He hesitated for a moment, then decided, “I’d like to stop over at the telegraph office while we’re out, if you don’t mind. I want to see if my wire’s been answered yet.”

“I didn’t know you’d wired anybody.”

“Higgins did—when he brought the prisoners over yesterday. It’s probably early, but I’d just like to check on it. If it’s bad news, I guess we can cry together.”

She waited outside while he went in. When he came out, his expression was sober. “Nothing yet,” he said, taking her arm.

On the way back to the Menger, he seemed preoccupied, almost distant. Then at the front door, he stopped abruptly. “I didn’t want it like this, Rena—I wanted to do it right.”

“What?”

“I don’t want to know what’s in that envelope. If he’s left you fifty thousand dollars in gold, you’re set for life, and you don’t need me.”

“And if it isn’t?”

“I don’t know yet.” His hands slid up her arms to hold her shoulders. “I want you to go on up by yourself. Open that up when you get into the room and read it.”

“Where are you going?”

“Down the street a ways.”

At a loss, she fought to understand. “Why?”

“I just have to do some thinking, that’s all.”

“You got the telegram, and it was bad news, wasn’t it?” she dared to ask him.

“No. I just think if you’re a rich woman, you ought to think about what you want.”

“But I know what I want.”

“You’re thinking like Verena Howard, that spinster schoolteacher from Pennsylvania. You might think differently if you were the wealthy Miss Howard.”

“No.”

“Listen, I’ll be back in a couple of hours, three at the most.”

“But—”

“You brought the green dress, didn’t you?”

“Yes.”

“I want you to wear it tonight.” Leaning closer, he brushed her lips lightly, then he stood back. “Trust me,” he said.

As he walked away, she couldn’t help wondering if he meant to disappear, if he thought she would be all right on her own. Turning around, she looked down at the envelope, dreading what she might find inside. And a sense of foreboding stole over her. She didn’t want the money if it was going to cost her Matt McCready. No, Matt Morgan, she corrected herself. Morgan. It was hard to think of his real name, when she’d been calling him McCready ever since she’d met him.

She climbed the carpeted stairs slowly, then let herself into the room they would be sharing. If he came back. He had to come back. She’d promised herself this night with him. Her eyes took in the room that the desk clerk had assured him was the nicest in the house. A bouquet of pink roses was arranged in a large vase on an oak table.

Moving to the small desk, she sat down, staring at the handwriting on the envelope. All it said was “Verena Howard,” but she recognized the script. She’d seen those words written just like that before—on the inside of the Bible her father had given her for her seventh birthday. Back when he at least claimed to have religion.

Taking a deep breath, she slid her fingernail under the seal, then tore the envelope open. The first sheet was a letter. Holding it with trembling hands, she began to read.

She started to tear it up, thinking it was perhaps the most maudlin, self-serving letter she’d ever read. But she had it in her hand, so she continued on.

She had twenty thousand dollars in railroad stock. And there were the certificates to prove it. She reread the last line of his letter. He’d had twenty thousand dollars and he’d lived simply on a small farm. He’d had all that money, and he hadn’t dared to use it. Well, she’d use it, all right. If McCready—if
Morgan
would let her, she’d spend it to defend him.

Slipping the papers back into the envelope, she hurried back to the bank, where she discussed how to sell the stock. At Mr. Pointer’s urging, she decided to think on it until the end of the month. He assured her he was willing to do whatever she wanted, that it was simply a matter of her choice. As she came out of the bank, she kept telling herself she was a rich woman, but she couldn’t say she really felt all that much different.

Now she had to find Matt, to tell him it was partly true. It wasn’t fifty thousand, but it was still a lot of money. As she walked back across the street, her euphoria evaporated as reality set in. It was stolen money, and she had no right to it, none at all.

“Ma’am!” The desk clerk was waving her over. “Message for Mr. McCready, ma’am.”

“Yes, thank you.”

It was folded over, but it was on yellow telegraph paper. Whatever it said, it had to be Matt’s answer, and he wasn’t there to get it. She hesitated a moment, then put it into her purse.

“Where’s the nearest gaming establishment?” she asked quickly. “Within walking distance, I mean.”

Armed with a list, she set out to look for him. He might not like it, but she wasn’t going to wait hours to find out what he’d been waiting for. And she didn’t have to go far, either. As a big man in a black suit opened the first door, she could see Matt at a back table.

“No ladies,” the fellow insisted.

“I’m not a lady,” she told him grimly, “I’m an heiress.”

“Huh?”

While he was digesting that, she made her way through choking cigar smoke to where Matthew Morgan sat, piles of chips in front of him. “Are you about done?”

“He can’t leave now, lady,” one of the players protested. “I’m into him for two hundred dollars.”

“Cash me in, George,” he told an attendant.

“Now see here—”

“Family emergency,” he murmured, taking Verena’s elbow. “How bad is it, my dear?”

Seeing the irate looks on the rest of them, she told him solemnly, “It’s terrible. It doesn’t look like she’ll last the night.”

“Well, you heard her—it’s a deathbed vigil.” Stopping just long enough for George to count out more than six hundred dollars, he hurried her outside.

Behind them, she could hear murmurs of discontent, but she didn’t care. On the steps, she stopped to hand him the telegram. “This is what I really came for. I— uh—I hope it says what you want it to.”

The expression on his face was as sober as she’d ever seen it as he unfolded the paper and read it. She could feel her heart pound painfully against her ribs when he said nothing. All he did was stick it in his pocket, then start walking. Turning her around a corner, he stepped into an alleyway and handed her the money he’d won.

She looked at it, then up at him. “What’s that for?”

“You wanted to sell the farm, didn’t you?”

“Yes, but—”

“If that’s not enough, count it as a down payment.”

“What?”

“You got bad news, didn’t you? There’s no gold.”

“No, but—”

“Look, I know you’re disappointed, but it makes it a whole lot easier on me. I wanted you to know I love you for more than the chance you’re going to get some money. In fact, I’d like to think that it was my place to take care of you.”

“You don’t even like to farm,” she said faintly. Then it sank in. “What did you say?”

“Which part did you miss?” he countered, flashing that broad boyish grin.

Relief washed over her. Whatever it was, it couldn’t have been that awful. “I don’t know—why don’t you just repeat all of it?” she said, returning his smile.

“I don’t even know where to start.” Sobering somewhat, he slid his hand down her arm, sending a shiver the other way. “I’d wanted to do this with a little more style,” he murmured, looking into her gold-flecked eyes. Holding both her hands now, he took a deep breath. “Rena, I never thought I’d ever want to settle down, but I do.” As tears welled in her eyes, he nodded. “Verena Mary Howard, do you think you could stand to change your name to Morgan? It’s free and clear now—and it’s mine.”

Her chin quivered, then she broke free to throw herself into his arms. “I thought you’d never ask,” she whispered into his chest. “Yes—oh,
yes!

He stood there, his arms wrapped around her, his cheek resting against her soft hair, thinking he had to be the luckiest man on earth. “My brother Wayne always wanted to raise sheep,” he murmured. “What do you think of that?”

“I never met an animal I didn’t like.” Sniffing back tears, she managed to look up at him. “What on earth was in that telegram, anyway?”

“There’s no record of any warrant for my arrest in Louisiana or Mississippi. I don’t guess I’m a wanted man, after all.”

Heedless of the stares of passersby, she pulled his head to hers and kissed him eagerly. “Oh, yes, you are,” she whispered. “And if you don’t believe it, I’ll show you.”

Verena could see the field from her kitchen window, and for a moment she just stood there, watching Matt finish the last furrow. At the end of the row, he raised the plow and started the team of horses toward the barn. Quickly moving away before he caught sight of her, Verena removed her apron and hurried into the bedroom to finish pinning up her hair.

Outside, Matt unhitched the team, turned the horses into the stalls, then pitched fresh hay and filled the feed, buckets with oats. Coming in from the barn, he stopped in the yard and looked toward the house.

Life was good, better than he could have ever imagined, Matt decided as his eyes took in the fresh coat of whitewash, the ruffled curtains at the windows. He hesitated, then decided to wash up at the pump. No need to track his dirt into the house, not when she kept it spotless inside.

She’d made a real home out of the old farmhouse, giving it all those touches that showed a woman’s love, filling it with quilts, china, and a host of other pretty things. As soon as he got the corn in and finished the garden, he was going to start building that other room she wanted. A bright, sunny sewing room on the south side of the house.

Before long, he’d be having to hire help to manage the burgeoning flock of sheep. Nearly a hundred head now, at least double that next year. The way Laddie guarded them with an almost lupine ferocity, only two lambs had been lost to predators during the winter.

Yeah, life was good, all right. So much so that he seldom even spared a thought to the fancy New Orleans salons, or to those Mississippi riverboats. Oh, he still gambled some, sitting down to a game every now and then in San Angelo or over at the Fort, but it wasn’t his ruling passion anymore. Verena was. After more than eight months of marriage, he could still say she was the best thing to have ever happened to him. After eight months of marriage, she could still make his pulse race with one tantalizing smile.

She’d left him a clean towel and a chunk of homemade soap by the pump, he noticed as he stripped down to his pants. Working the iron handle, he got a good stream going, then stuck his head under the spigot, sudsing the sweat from his hair. Invigorated by the cold water, he soaped his torso, then rinsed the whole. Throwing the towel around his shoulders, he picked up his boots and his dirty clothes and headed for the back porch. Reaching inside the door, he found the clean shirt and put it on.

The inviting aroma of fried chicken wafted through the air, making his mouth water, No, life wasn’t any better than this. But as he looked through the open doorway, his mouth went dry, and he forgot all about any food. The very beauty of the woman elicited the now familiar ache within him.

She was bending over the table, lighting candles instead of the kerosene lamp. And when she looked up, her green-and-gold eyes warm, his breath caught beneath his breastbone. Her chestnut hair was knotted at the nape of her slender neck, and her pale shoulders were like ivory above the low-cut neck of her green dress. She walked slowly toward him, the taffeta skirt rustling seductively. She held out a fragile glass.

“It’s elderberry wine,” she said softly.

His mind raced with his pulse. “It’s a special occasion,” he decided.

“Yes.”

“It’s not your birthday—I know that much.”

“No.”

“It’s too late for Valentine’s Day.”

“Yes.”

He gulped the wine and set the glass aside. She was so close he could smell the clean scent of the lavender toilet water she wore. Her flecked eyes were warm as she reached up to twine her arms around his neck. “You can keep guessing, if you want,” she murmured, pressing her body into his.

“Do I get a hint?”

“It looks like a cold day in hell,” she said, her voice husky. “And—” she added mysteriously.

“Huh?”

“Well, for one thing, you plowed the field.”

Sliding his arms around her, he nuzzled her soft hair. “And the other?”

“I don’t really need a sewing room,” she whispered. Her tongue darted along the sensitive part of his ear, tickling, as her warm breath sent a shiver down his spine. “Do you want to guess why?”

“Maybe later,” he murmured, taking the pins from her hair, loosening the cascade of chestnut silk down her back. “Right now, I’ve got something else on my mind.” Turning her around, he slid his hands under her arms, pulling her back against him as he loosened the hooks on her bodice. “No corset—I like that,” he whispered, finding her breasts. As his thumbs rubbed over her tautening nipples, he could feel the tremor within her, the sharp intake of her breath. “You’re the best thing that ever happened to me, Rena.”

“Am I?”

“Absolutely.”

“Last week you said you never wanted anything to change.”

“I’ve got everything I’ll ever want right here.”

She leaned back, savoring what he was doing to her.

“Do you think the room can be ready by August?”

“Maybe. But you just said you didn’t want it.”

Turning around within the circle of his embrace, she looked up through unshed tears, and her smile twisted. “It’s not for me, Matt. Something’s going to change.”

He stood stock-still as it sank in, and then his arms tightened protectively around her, and he smoothed her hair with his hand. There were no adequate words to express the tenderness he felt for her. “You know, Rena, if I live to be a hundred, I’ll never be any happier than I am right now,” he managed finally.

“Until August, anyway,” she whispered. “But right now, we have the whole house to ourselves,” she added softly.