Dorothy Garlock - [Wyoming Frontier] (38 page)

“He’s bringin’ her to stay while we go to town. He’s not easy ’bout leavin’ her alone with just the boys ’n their pa.”

“I can see something moving along the edge of the trees. I couldn’t even see the trees before. Now I see a wagon and two men on horseback. Sam, it’s so wonderful!”

*  *  *

To Mara’s surprise the day was not as miserable as she thought it would be. Sam and Pack stayed for only a short while to talk with Charlie. She ignored Pack, keeping her back to him when it was at all possible. She had pushed his hands away when he had come to help her down from the wagon seat and had climbed down by herself. It was a clear, silent statement that she wanted as little to do with him as possible. When Pack and Sam were ready to leave, she deliberately went to the well for a drink of water. If Emily noticed the coolness between them she didn’t comment on it.

Mara shared in Emily’s joy of the new eyeglasses. She was with her when she stood in the doorway and saw for the first time a panoramic view of her home. She had seen it only one small piece at a time. Charlie was almost as delighted with the eyeglasses as Emily. He brought books down from the shelves and showed her the ones he had been reading to her. Mara stood by as helpless as Charlie when Emily removed the eyeglasses, placed them carefully on the table, hid her face in her arms and cried.

Sam and Pack had told Charlie the highlights of the events leading to the death of the marshal. A good part of the afternoon was spent discussing it. Mara filled in the gaps with as much as she knew about what had happened. She carefully refrained from mentioning anything personal regarding herself and Pack.

At sundown Sam and Pack returned. Mara stood on the porch beside Charlie and watched Emily go to greet Sam.

She loved him and she didn’t care who knew it. Lucky Emily.

Mara’s anger at Pack was still simmering. In the back of her mind she knew that she was being a shrew. Pack had not agreed to love her, only to marry her. Oh, but it hurt to think of him with that woman! Was he trying to keep his marriage a secret from the whore at the Diamond Saloon? Or was he ashamed of Mara? Mara was confident that she could hold her own in any company. She loved the big, bullheaded Irishman, she admitted begrudgingly. It was not something she had chosen to do, but she did. But she’d be damned if she’d ever let him know it. She’d die with the knowledge locked inside her!

Pack’s face darkened and his jaw tightened with anger when he looked at Mara, thinking her temper had cooled enough for her to be civil. She looked at him and nodded as if he were a stranger. She was being civil, but barely. She came to the porch and sat down as far from him as possible. He knew that if he said one word to her his temper, and hers, would break free like a herd of wild horses in a brush corral. So Pack sat silently, holding onto his temper, while Sam, holding Emily’s hand, told the news.

Sam’s friend had spoken to the judge on Steamboat’s behalf. He had explained that the cook had not tried to dispose of the gold and that, because of the outlaws staying at the ranch, he had been afraid to turn it in. He also convinced the judge that Steamboat had killed the marshal in self-defense. The judge ruled that there would be no charges filed, and Steamboat was free to go.

Pack looked directly at Mara. “Steamboat and Willy have gone back to the ranch. We’ll go when you’re ready.”

Before she could answer, Emily jumped to her feet.

“You’re staying for supper.” Her voice was rich with happiness. “Mara Shannon and I have got it ready.”

Mara followed Emily into the house. She washed her hands and began setting the table. Emily talked and Mara added a few comments when it was absolutely necessary. She had suddenly realized that Pack expected her to ride back with him on that big gray horse. The thought of that long ride, sitting behind him like a “baggage” was so demoralizing it almost made her ill. She considered asking Charlie if he had a horse she could borrow. Then the thought came to her that it would be humiliating if Pack vetoed her request. She discarded the idea.

The time spent at the supper table passed slowly, but it passed. Mara had taken a seat beside Pack so that she didn’t have to look at him. But watching Sam and Emily made jealousy clutch at her heart. Their eyes strayed to each other often. His right hand and her left were hidden beneath the table much of the time. She hoped that they were so engrossed in each other that they wouldn’t notice that the only words between Pack and herself were “pass the butter” and “thank you.”

When they finished eating, the men went to the porch to smoke and continue their discussion about cattle, land and the best way to get a herd up from Texas. Mara helped Emily with the cleanup even though she protested.

“You’ll be wanting to get home before dark. It’s been a wonderful day, Mara Shannon. I’m so glad you came.”

“I’ve been wanting to see your home. I’m happy for you and Sam. Have you decided on a date for the wedding?”

“Sam is going to stay here tonight and talk to Charlie. He’ll not ask Charlie’s permission to marry me, he’ll tell him.” She laughed. “Thank goodness Charlie likes Sam. I’d hate for the two men I love to butt heads.”

“Will you live here?”

“I’ll live wherever Sam wants to live. He wants to get settled on some land now that he has the reward money coming. Sam hasn’t had much happiness in his life. I intend to remedy that.”

“Mara Shannon,” Pack called from the porch, “we’d better be going. It’ll be dark soon.”

Mara picked up her old felt hat and walked to the porch as if she were going to her hanging. She felt Emily’s arm go around her.

“Things will work out for you and Pack. Just give it a little time,” she whispered.

“Is it so obvious—that we can’t stand each other?”

“No. That’s not obvious at all.” Emily dropped her arm to allow Mara to go out the door ahead of her. Her whisper just barely reached Mara’s ears. “What is obvious to me is that you’re a couple of foolishly proud people who love each other but are too stubborn to admit it.”

EIGHTEEN

“Good-bye, Emily. Thank you for a lovely day. Charlie, Sam, it was nice seeing you again.”

Mara offered her hand to each and said all the right things according to Miss Fillamore’s ideas of etiquette. Then, with her back as straight as a board, she went down the steps to where Pack was waiting beside his horse. The animal’s back was so high she couldn’t see over it. It tossed its head, blew and pawed the earth. Inside she was quivering with fear: fear of the horse and fear of Pack. On the outside she appeared to be as calm as if riding this gigantic animal with a husband who had just returned from a visit with his whore was an everyday occurrence.

Pack spoke a stern word to the horse who stood perfectly still. He swung easily into the saddle, reached down and grasped Mara beneath her armpits, hauled her up and plunked her down on his lap. He lifted her leg over the pommel so that she sat astride in front of him, wedged between the pommel and his open thighs. A small cry of surprise escaped her. Her hat, scraping his shoulder, tilted down over her eyes so that she couldn’t see; her skirts were up to her knees and her hands grabbed at the horse’s mane. Tight fingers on her wrist pulled her hands loose and flattened them on the pommel. Several distinct swear words were hissed in her ear. His arm across her midriff held her in a steel grip as the big gray’s powerful hooves dug into the ground and its haunches propelled it forward. Pack’s booted heels jabbed into the sides of his mount and urged it into a reckless, bone-jarring pace that covered a quarter of a mile before he allowed it to slow down.

Mara dared to free a hand long enough to push her hat back when the stride of the horse relaxed to an easy gait. This was not the road they had used that morning but a trail that ran alongside a fast-moving creek. It was dusk. Light was fading fast. Already a few bright stars shone in the sky, and a crescent moon rode over the treetops.

Pack’s hand on her stomach pulled her back even farther and settled her more snugly against him. In a lightning quick move, he yanked the felt hat off her head and sent it sailing into the creek.

“You look like a potato digger in that damn hat.”

“Ohh . . .” Rage came boiling up out of her along with wild, reckless words. “You’re an ignorant, uncouth bore without a smidgen of respect for other people’s property.”

“You’re not other people,” he shouted so loud that she forgot her fear, let go of the pommel and cupped her hands over her ears. “You’re my wife!”

“To my everlasting sorrow!” she shouted back. “I’ll never make a bigger mistake if I live to be a thousand.”

“Hush up and sit still or I’ll put you behind me and you can ride on the horse’s rump.”

“Don’t shout!”

“I’ll shout if I want to, and don’t be quoting me any rules from that prissy ass old maid’s rule book.”

Mara barely managed to check the urge to hit him. Her next impulse was to weep. She chose to do neither. Damn, damn, damn him!

“All right. We’ll engage in a
civil
conversation. That is, if you’re capable of such,” she announced.

“Try me.”

She drew in a deep breath, held it, then let it out slowly. She did this when she wished to remain calm.

“Did you have a lovely day of debauchery in town,
dear?
” Her voice was heavy with sarcasm.

“Oh, yes, a lovely day.” What the hell was she talking about?

“I’m glad. And how was your paramour? I trust she was in good form.”

“Her form is always good, the best.” Paramour? He’d have to ask Charlie what that was.

“We must have tea together sometime so that I can express my appreciation.”

“Appreciation for what,
dear heart?
”

“Why, for taking care of my husband’s physical needs, of course.”

Pack began to grin and the smile was in his voice. “She does that all right.”

“It’s her job,
dear.
”

“Ah, yes. Her job while I’m in town. Yours, when I’m at home.”

He felt her stiffen even more if that was possible. She was already sitting as straight as a church pew, her breasts riding on the arm he held across her midriff. Her heart was pounding so hard he could feel it against his arm.
The little vixen was
jealous!
She thought he had spent the day with Candy. He felt a surge of elation and blessed Travor, although at first he could have swatted the boy for talking about his friendship with the lady from the Diamond Saloon. Aware that Mara’s temper was on the verge of accelerating, an imp in him made him provoke her more. He nuzzled his nose into the hair above her ear and his lips nipped at her earlobe.

“Stop that! Go back to your strumpet in town if you’re feeling so . . . amorous.”

“Which one?” he asked softly.

“Ohh . . . .”

“The sweet-tempered blonde? Or the passionate one with hair as black as coal and eyes as blue as the sky?”

“Either one as long as you stay away from me.”

“Oh, but that’s not possible. I’ll be with you forever and ever. You promised, with your hand on the Bible, to love and obey me. There was nothing in the ceremony that said I couldn’t go to town without you. I promised to provide for you and our children for as long as we both shall live.”

“Which may not be long for one of us if you don’t stop what you’re doing.”

“You don’t like me to kiss your ear? The ladies in town like it. They say, ‘Pack, you’re the best ear-kisser.’ Ouch!”

Pushed beyond endurance, Mara jabbed him in the ribs with her elbow. “Lout! Reprobate! Degenerate! Lecher! Polecat!” she shouted.

“Sweetheart! Darling! Lover! My sweet-tempered, little Irish potato!” he whispered seductively.

Mara bent her head until her chin touched her chest. It had been foolish to exchange insults with him. She was no match for him verbally any more than she was physically. It only provided him with a means to hurt her more. She prayed that he would not know of the tears that had come to her eyes. Like an avenging monster, he was so close she could feel his heart pounding against her back and her own pounding in her throat. She caught her bottom lip in an agitated nip and forced the tears from her eyes.
Which one?
he’d asked. In the stillness that enclosed them a statement the marshal had made moved sluggishly through her mind.
He has two whores in
town.

They rode in silence. It was dark. The moon, dim behind a wayward cloud, shed a pale light on the hard-packed trail. The evening was cool, but with her back snug against Pack and his arms wrapped around her, Mara was warm. Yet she was so heartsick she wouldn’t have noticed had she been frostbitten.

They came up the trail to the homestead. Maggie, Trellis’ old dog, came out from under the cookshack porch, barked once, then went back to her bed. A lamp burned in the bunkhouse. As they passed, one of the twins came to the door, yelled a greeting and went back inside.

Pack stopped the horse beside the back porch and lifted Mara down. After the lengthy horseback ride her legs quivered under her. He dismounted stiffly, wincing with soreness that still troubled him from the gunshot wound. He followed her into the house, lit the lamp, and carried it through the rooms. When he was sure there were no unpleasant surprises waiting for them, he set the lamp back on the table and went out to take his horse to the barn.

Mara stood in stupefied silence and gazed at the boxes, bags and wrapped bundles that took up a good part of the kitchen. Two large sheets of window glass leaned against the wall behind six high-back chairs with solid wood seats. A tin-framed oval mirror and a matching comb and brush rack lay on one of the chairs. A gray graniteware bucket and washpan sat on the table alongside a small glass churn, a caster set with four bottles with glass stoppers, and a stack of mail-order catalogs.

Somehow knowing that there was more, Mara picked up the lamp and went into the parlor. There she found a loveseat upholstered in a deep rose fabric, a rocking chair, a footstool, another mirror, this one ornate, a brass-based lamp with a painted shade, and several more unopened boxes.