Dorothy Garlock - [Wyoming Frontier] (36 page)

“That’s up to you, Sam. But how do you know he meant to turn it in?”

“How do I know he didn’t?”

“It’ll take a wagon to take that gold to town.”

“Yeah, it will. Ace can ride to town with what he give up his life for,” Sam said dryly.

SEVENTEEN

Sounds coming from the kitchen awakened Mara.

A slight discomfort when she drew her legs together and stretched brought her thoughts to the night before. She had spent the night in the arms of her husband, naked as the day she was born. They had mated not once, but twice, and she had loved every minute of their union. She felt . . . new, as if this was the first day of her life. For a moment she wondered why she didn’t feel disgracefully wanton. Instead of shame she felt a glorious fulfillment. What she had been taught to fear and dread had been the most beautiful experience of her life.

Mara smiled recalling the passion, the power and the tenderness of the man who had introduced her to the joy of uniting. She had felt the thunderous beat of his heart against her naked breast and heard his hoarse, murmured cries in her ear. Later, as she drifted off to sleep, there had been a silent claim of possession in the way he had held her.

He was hers and she was his. Someday he would love her.

Her smiled broadened, then she winced. Her fingertips sought the soreness along her jaw. All her fears came rushing back.
She had to tell Pack that Ace January had threatened
to kill him!
She flipped back the covers and sat up on the side of the bed.

The sun was coming in through the open window. In the distance she could hear mourning doves cooing. Hens were clucking in the yard below and robins were singing. The creaking sound of the pulley told her someone was drawing fresh water from the well. Everything was so normal this morning. How could that be when she was so different?

The loud clang of the iron lid on the cookstove galvanized her into action. She grabbed up her nightdress and held it in front of her while she hurried to close the bedroom door. She stood with her back against it. Her knees were weak. Then she remembered she’d had nothing to eat but a couple of biscuits at noon the day before.

Mara washed her face and hands and between her legs with the wet cloth. It felt so good. She rinsed the cloth in the bowl to apply it again. The bloody water shocked her. At first she thought she had started her monthly flow but decided that couldn’t be the case because she had finished it only the week before.

Pack had not hurt her! He had been so gentle, so sweet. She dressed, brushed the tangles out of her hair, rolled it into a soft bun, and pinned it to the back of her head. While she was straightening the bed, she saw the stains on the bed-clothes and remembered reading that centuries ago the blood-stained sheets were hung out the castle window to proclaim the bride had been a virgin on her wedding night. Mara quickly stripped the bed. The bedclothes would not be washed today, not in the middle of the week. She rolled the sheets in a ball, shoved them under the bed and opened her trunk for clean linens.

Her heart was fluttering in the pit of her stomach when she went to the head of the stairs and started down. This morning she was filled with boundless happiness. She longed to see Pack, yet she didn’t know how she should act. She nervously smoothed her apron down over her skirt and went lightly down the stairs.

Pack stood bare-chested beside the wash bench with his shaving mug in one hand, the soft, round brush in the other. He had spread a layer of soapy foam over his dark whiskers. His wet, black curls were already rebelling against the brush he had used trying to control them and had curled over his forehead. The skin on his wide shoulders and his upper arms was satiny smooth, the hair on his chest thick and as soft as silk. Mara’s heart jumped out of time as she thought of how gently she had been possessed by his powerful body. Her eyes met his and her pulse accelerated even more. The blush on her cheeks made her emerald eyes seem all the brighter.

“Morning.” Her mind groped for something else to say, but all thought left her.

“Mornin’.” Something warm and affectionate flashed in his eyes.

“I . . . I overslept.”

“You were tired.” He put the brush back into the mug and set it on the wash bench. “Come here. Let me see your face.”

Automatically, she obeyed. The fingers on her chin turned her face to the light coming in through the open doorway. He had feared his whiskers had scratched her soft skin, but there was only a faint redness around her mouth. The dark bruise on her cheek infuriated him. He spat out several vicious oaths before he could hold them back.

“Pack—” She grasped his wrist and pulled his fingers from her chin.

“That goddamn, worthless son of a bitch hit you!”

“It doesn’t matter. He’s going to try to kill you. He told me he was. I think he was out of his mind,” she whispered fearfully.

“He’s dead. Steamboat shot him early this morning.”

“The marshal is dead? Oh, my goodness.” Her eyes were pools of bewilderment. “Why? Oh, poor Steamboat. Is he all right?”

“He has a slice on his cheek. Sam’s sewing it up. Fix some breakfast, honey, while I get this soap off my face. I’ve got a lot to tell you.”

Pack honed his razor on the strap that hung at the end of the wash bench and quickly shaved the two days’ growth of beard from his cheeks and chin. After he had finished, he swished the blade in the water and dried it carefully. With his two cupped hands he splashed water on his face to rid it of the remaining suds. He smiled into the clean towel as he dried his face. Mara Shannon was as nervous about meeting him this morning as he was about meeting her.

Mara’s eyes wandered to him again and again. She was acutely aware of every move he made. While he shaved, she made batter for flapjacks, her mind skittering over the news that Ace January was dead and that it had been Steamboat, the gentle old cook, who had killed him. She moved the heavy spider over the flame and poured in the batter. Pack put on his shirt, and flipped the flapjacks over when they were ready while she set out a crock of butter and the maple syrup.

After pouring coffee, Mara turned to find Pack close behind her. His hands on her shoulders drew her close. He only had time to notice the color that seeped into her cheeks and the way her mouth parted in surprise before he lowered his head and placed a gentle kiss on her lips.

“I never want to go to sleep without kissing you good night, and I never want to start a day without kissing you good morning.”

“That’s a lovely idea.” A quiver of pure pleasure went through her. “You’re a little late this morning.” Her smile was beautiful, her shining eyes magnificent.

“I didn’t want to get soap on your face.”

“I wouldn’t have minded. But . . . I’ll have to have another to make up for it.” Her hands moved up his chest, her fingers cupped over his ears. She reached for his lips and placed hers firmly against them.

Feeling almost giddy with happiness, Pack kissed her, slowly, savoring the moment of sweetness. When he lifted his head they stood for a long moment smiling into each other’s eyes.

“Sit down and eat, honey. Then you can tell me about Ace.”

Honey!
Maybe he did love her a little.

Mara told him in detail everything that happened from the time the marshal arrived to the time Pack found her in the privy, leaving out only the part about his fondling her breast and grinding his arousal against her.

“He had just found out that we were married and was very angry. He acted as if he and I had an understanding of sorts. It isn’t true. I never encouraged him.”

“I noticed him trying to corner you the day of the burial.”

“Even then there was something about him that made me uneasy. When he came last night, I thought he was going to tell me that you had had an accident or something worse. When he didn’t, I was so relieved that I laughed. That’s when he slapped me.”

“The rotten, double-dealing bastard!” Pure rage was mirrored in his eyes.

Mara reached across the table to touch his hand. “It didn’t hurt at the time. I’d been so . . . afraid.” She could feel his wild anger through the hand that gripped hers so tightly. It shone from his eyes in a strange and frightening radiance. She stroked his knuckles with the fingertips of her other hand and he loosened his grip slightly. “It’s over now.” Her voice was scarcely more than a whisper. “It made me realize how . . . important you are to me and how much I depend on you.”

Pack’s heart was beating so high in his throat that he felt it would choke him. That was the closest she had come to saying she even
liked
him. He wanted to be more to her, much more. She smiled as she looked at him, and suddenly Pack knew that he had waited all his life for that sweet smile. Nothing else in the world mattered to him at that moment, and gradually the heat of his rage cooled.

“You said you had a lot to tell me and I’ve been doing all the talking.” There was silence for a moment. “Pack Gallagher, are you going to be one of those husbands . . .” Her voice faded as she looked into radiantly clear eyes that held nothing but tenderness for her. “You have beautiful eyes,” she said impulsively. “Will our children have eyes like yours? Blue, but dark as midnight?”

“I hope they’re as green as new oak leaves in the spring,” he said quietly, “and have hair like maple leaves in the fall.”

A small laugh quivered on her lips. “Something for all seasons, huh?” She withdrew her hand. “You’ve stalled long enough. Tell me what happened.”

Pack continued to look at her for a moment. She was as radiant as the sun. He had never seen her more beautiful. Had his loving put that bloom in her cheeks and the sparkle in her eyes? He reached for the coffeepot with an unsteady hand and refilled their cups.

Her eyes never left his face while he was telling her about Sam looking for the gold bars and about the sick stranger who had come to the bunkhouse months before.

“Cullen collected his money, then paid no more attention to him. Steamboat did what he could. Before the man died, he told Steamboat about the gold and where it was hidden. Steamboat and old Riley buried him up on the hill. They didn’t even know his name. He had refused to tell it. Later Steamboat buried the gold in the garden, knowing that it meant his life if Cullen or any of his outlaw cronies found out about it.”

“Well, for goodness sake! Didn’t Cullen or Aubrey send for a doctor?”

“I guess not. Now that Cullen is gone, Steamboat decided it was safe to dig up the bars, stash them in the barn and turn them over to the army at Fort Laramie on his next trip to town.”

Pack told Mara everything except for the part about Ace waiting for him to come out onto the back porch so he could kill him. A quirk of fate had caused Ace to pick a spot from where he could also see the garden. Ace was a good shot. Pack didn’t want to think about what would have happened if Steamboat had not gone to the garden that morning.

“Steamboat said Ace came roaring down out of the trees shouting like a madman that he was taking
his
gold. Steamboat said he tried to reason with him but knew that Ace had in mind to kill him. He waited until Ace drew his gun before he drew his. Ace’s shot was off by a couple of inches. Steamboat’s was on target. As Ace lay dying he told Sam that he’d never seen a faster draw. Sam asked the old man about it, and Steamboat admitted to being George Couch, a gunfighter of a few years back who was known for his fast draw. He told Sam he had given up the life of a gunfighter, had gone to Ohio and married, but he’d soon discovered that wasn’t the life for him either. He’d been staying on here as cook for bed and board in order to stay near the gold.”

“Oh, my goodness!” Mara drew in a shuddering breath.

“What will happen to him now? Do you have to turn him in to the law?”

“Yes. We’ll have to turn him in. You don’t just kill a marshal without questions being asked even if the marshal is trying to steal from the government. Sam has an influential friend in town. He’s reasonably sure that he’ll help Steamboat. After all, Ace shot first. The old man was just protecting himself.”

“What about the gold bars?”

“Sam was assigned as a special agent to look for them. He’s been looking for two years. He trailed the man here, then he seemed to drop out of sight. The reward will give him enough money to buy that herd of longhorns he’s been wanting. He wants to settle down here and marry Emily.”

“That’s grand! They’ll be our neighbors.”

“Maybe. He’ll need land. Charlie seems interested in longhorns. Maybe they can form a partnership.”

“They can put their money in smelly old longhorns if they want to. We can make more money with turkeys and not have to chase them on horseback.”

“Turkeys? Mara Shannon—”

“At first I thought you and Emily were sweethearts.” Mara rushed into speech when she saw the frown on Pack’s face. Now wasn’t the time to push for turkeys, she admitted silently.

“We never thought of each other that way.”

“I know. She told me.”

“Mara Shannon, I’m going into town with Sam this morning. On the way we’ll take you over to stay with Emily while I’m gone. We’ll leave in half an hour.”

“Oh, but—” Tongue-tied by surprise, it was all she could say. She felt the joy drain out of her.

“But what?”

“I’d rather go with you. I’ll not be in the way.”

“You can’t go. This is rough business.”

“All right. I’ll stay here,” she said with admirable calm, even though her hands were clenched into tight fists and she felt as if a rug had been pulled out from under her.

“I said I wasn’t leaving you here alone and I meant it.”

“I’m not a child who needs minding when left alone!” she spat out, hiding her heartbreak with anger.

She sat stiffly, furious and weary and completely confused. It was happening again. He was determined to keep her out of sight. Was he ashamed to take her to town? Her pain was all the more acute because of what had happened between them only a few short hours earlier.

“Don’t argue, Mara Shannon.” He didn’t raise his voice, didn’t change the calm inflection of his tone, but it was a command.