Lonesome Bride (27 page)

Jed stomped down the stairs and through the lobby, deliberately not acknowledging Davis Lacky's enthusiastically cheery greeting. Pounding open the doors of the hotel, he stormed across the street toward Mac's. Hesitating on the front porch, he decided against going in. The last time he'd let whiskey soothe his anger he'd ended up losing at poker and in bed with Caite.

He stared across at the hotel, seeing the window of their room glinting in the late afternoon sun. He was stuck. He couldn't go back there, and he didn't want to stay here. Seething, he surveyed the scene, practically daring anyone to look at him cross-eyed. The way he felt, it wouldn't take more than that to earn that unlucky person a fat lip and couple of blackened eyes.

She made him mad enough to swallow a horn toad backwards. Why couldn't she just see he loved her? Why'd she have to try and wrench the words from his unwilling lips like a dentist plucking teeth only half-rotten? Lord knew he wanted to tell her, wanted to sweep her into his arms and just let the dad-blasted phrase come singing out of his throat.

Every time he felt the words burbling up, Trish's face swam into his mind. Colorless, emotionless Trish, who'd sucked up his words of love into the bottomless hole she'd called a heart, and never once given them back.

Sure, he knew Caite wasn't Patricia. Everything about Caite was fire and fury. She'd be more likely to love a man to death than to starve him for affection as Trish had. Loving Caite would be like riding a green colt with nothing to hold onto but a piece of thread. A heck of a ride—sure—and broken bones were almost guaranteed.

"Howdy, there, Jed.” Miles Shaw, Staghorn's sheriff, had come from behind him.

Fortunately, Jed's minutes of introspection had soothed his temper a little. Otherwise, he might have popped Miles a good one right in the nose. Friend or no, Shaw would have put him in the poky for sure.

"Howdy, Miles.” The men shook hands roughly, casually, then clapped each other on the back. “Good to see you."

"You're looking sorrier than a skunk downwind of its own stink,” Miles announced, leaning against the porch railing. He pushed his Stetson up a little higher on his lined forehead and stared piercingly at Jed from eyes the color of a winter storm. Many a would-be criminal in Staghorn had changed his mind after seeing Miles Shaw's eyes. “Not the right face for a fella just about to get hitched."

Jed snorted. “So you heard the news about me and Caite."

Miles shrugged and began rolling himself a cigarette. He took his time, shielding the thin paper and tobacco from the breeze that threatened to scatter them, then rolling it up firmly and giving it a final lick. He offered one to Jed, who declined.

"Make it my business to hear all the news,” Miles remarked when he had taken his first drag and let the smoke filter out his nostrils. “But if yours ain't the face of a fella with woman troubles, I'll hang up my six-shooter and take up quilting."

"What makes women so ornery?” Jed asked.

Everyone knew Miles and Elsie Shaw had one of the most volatile and loving marriages in Staghorn. More than once Shaw had slept in his own jail after Elsie'd run him out of the house. But he always went back, and she always let him in.

"When the good Lord made men,” Miles said sagely, “He looked down and said, ‘Good.’ When He made the women, He said, ‘Better.’ Women are ornery ‘cause they can be, Jed."

"She says she won't marry me unless I love her,” Jed told his friend.

Miles squinted at Jed through a ribbon of smoke. “Do you?"

Jed grinned like a possum eating a yellow jacket. “I reckon I do."

"So why can't you tell her?"

"I shouldn't have to,” Jed declared. “She oughta just know."

"How'd you meet this filly anyway?” Miles asked. “I don't recall her from town."

"She came as a mail-order bride,” Jed explained.

Miles’ gray eyes widened, then he grinned. “It takes a lot to surprise me, Jed, but you sure just did. I didn't know you was looking to get hitched so bad you had to send away for a woman."

"She was supposed to be for Buck,” Jed replied, shifting uncomfortably under the older man's gaze. “But he up and married Sally before I brought Caite back to Heatherfield, so she was stuck."

"Heard old Buck had run off with that pretty gal from the mercantile,” Miles said. “So Caite was left at the ranch, and you took a shine to her."

Jed shrugged. “I reckon that's about how it happened."

"Before or after you found out about Buck and Sally?"

Jed narrowed his eyes. “Shaw, you may be a friend, but I don't like your line of thinking."

Miles raised his hand in a peacemaking gesture. “It don't rightly matter anyhow, I guess. All that matters is you have a hankering for that woman, and you're never gonna sit right until you ease it. Am I right?"

Jed backed down at Miles’ statement, well-aware Miles was no one to trifle with. The sheriff might seem to be as mild-mannered as a sweet coon and as slow as a preacher's sermon, but he could draw quicker than you could spit and say howdy. He was no slouch in a fist fight either. “I'd say you've got it right. But no matter what I do, she wants more!"

Miles dragged on the cigarette again, then threw it to the plank floor of the porch and ground it out with the heel of his boot. “She must be crazy in love with you to act this way."

"That's the trouble. She doesn't love me at all, or else she'd marry me."

Miles burst into a gale of unrestrained laughter. Jed frowned, confused as to what exactly it was he had said that was so funny, and not too pleased about it. Miles tapered off after a few minutes and wiped his eyes.

"Jed, if that little gal don't love you, then I'll eat my hat. Why do you think she's acting the way she is? Why do you think she's so set on hearing you say you love her?"

"You're crazy, Shaw.” But now he wasn't so sure. Women had been a mystery to him forever, it seemed. He didn't guess he could have figured them out just now.

"Jed, if the gal didn't love you, she would've said yes already. You already took her virtue and ruined her reputation all around this town. You've got a nice spread, you're a good-looking fella, and you don't have any kids. You said yourself she was willing to be a mail-order bride. If she didn't love you, why would she hold back?"

"Damn,” Jed swore softly. “I am an idiot."

"I reckon so,” Miles chuckled. “But ain't we all, when it comes to women?"

Suddenly, it all made sense.
That was why she blows so hot and cold all the time.
He drove her just as loco as she drove him! No wonder every time he offered what had seemed like reasonable incentives for them to get hitched, she'd gotten so mad at him. Of course, she had said all along she wouldn't marry him if he didn't love her, but he'd thought it was just an excuse.

"I reckon I'd best go find Caitleen and tell her how I feel,” Jed said, grinning.

"You still need me to come with you?"

"You can perform weddings, can't you?” Jed asked.

Miles returned the younger man's grin. “I believe so, yes."

"Then let's go find us a bride."

After cleaning up the remains of the pitcher, Caite carefully repinned her hair, dry-scrubbed her face, and smoothed her clothes. She packed her belongings, every movement deliberate and slow. She was careful to concentrate only on folding each item, precisely smoothing the fabric so no wrinkles remained. By focusing so intently upon her tasks, she was able to keep her mind from Jed.

All too soon, however, she had finished tidying her personal effects and the entire room as well. Amazingly, the simple acts of making the bed and straightening everything had calmed her quite well. She dusted her hands, looking around the room at her progress.

"Tidy room, tidy heart,” she remarked wryly.
If only that were true.

Caite sighed, sinking onto the bed. She could not believe Jed had asked her yet again to marry him, and yet again, she had turned him down. What was the matter with her anyway? She loved him, did she not?

"That's the problem,” she murmured aloud. “I love the big galoot."

He just could not seem to understand the difference between her decision to marry his father, and her decision not to marry him. When she had agreed to Pastor Jonas’ Baptist bride program, she had been running from her father's debt to Drake Hammond. Anything had seemed better than marrying that pompous dandy, even taking a chance with a stranger.

When she had met Jed and thought he was her future husband, she could not have been more pleased. He was handsome—always a good quality in a husband—but there was more to him than that. He was strong, capable, and honorable. Discovering he was her future stepson had been a shock, but it had not really changed the way he made her feel.

The only reason she had decided to marry Buck anyway was out of a sense of duty. She had never felt more relieved in her life than when she realized his marriage to Sally meant he would not be marrying her. She felt as though she had been standing on the edge of a precipice, ready to jump, when at the last moment a hand reached out and saved her.

Now she had a choice. She did not have to marry anyone she did not love, and she didn't have to settle for someone who didn't love her.

But could she marry someone she didn't trust? Jed's accusation echoed in her mind as she sat on the bed, her preparations forgotten for the moment. Did she trust him with her love?

She thought of him on bended knee, and winced. She'd been horrible to him. She let her face rest in her hands for a moment.

It seemed they'd reached an impasse. Nothing could change the way she felt, but nothing could change the way they'd both behaved, either. Not even love was enough if there wasn't trust to go with it.

To be fair to herself, and to him, she would have to leave. Never mind she had said that already a dozen times and always faltered. She would go back to Heatherfield, pack her trunk, and have Shorty drive her to Lonesome right away. Before she could change her mind. She would go to Lonesome, get on the train, and pick a destination. Surely not all schoolmasters would be as hideous as Lawry and, without Jed to taint her reputation, she would be able to make a fresh start.

"That is that,” she said with determination.

The room looked fine, except for the window, which had been left open. She'd close it, then go do some shopping. She wanted to find some pretty fabric for Sally's quilt. And if she happened to see some of those ladies in town ... well, she would just raise her head high and tell them hello.

As she was pushing down the windowsill, Caite saw Jed across the street at the saloon. He was talking to an older man. Caite did not need the eyes of an eagle to see the glint of the six-pointed star he wore on his vest. Jed was talking to the sheriff.

"He would not dare,” she breathed in disbelief. She saw Jed point vaguely in the direction of the hotel, then wave his sheaf of papers around. The man wearing the badge looked up at the window, nodding, and she drew her head in so quickly she banged it on the windowsill.

Stifling a string of pained, unladylike words, Caite slammed the window down. So he was going to make good on his threat to go to the law, was he? She was glad she had told him she would never marry him. Had she actually been feeling melancholy about her decision? Marrying Jed Peters would be the worst thing she could ever do!

But what was she to do now? She had seen the pair of them conspiring to come after her. Exactly how they planned to force her to honor the contract, she was not sure, but she did not wish to find out. She had no desire to have her reputation further eroded in this town, nor did she want to spend the night in jail.

"Which is surely where they put people who assault the sheriff,” she muttered grimly, taking a peek out the window again.

Jed and the sheriff were gone, and her heart dropped to her toes. Then, she spotted them. They were crossing the road, heading right for the hotel! They must be on their way to get her.

Caite looked frantically around the room. She had five minutes, no more. First, she ran to the door and locked it, then shoved the bureau in front of it. It was a poor barricade, at best, and would not keep them out for very long.

She looked around for some sort of weapon, before realizing how foolish that idea would be. She could not defend herself against two strong men with a pair of hatpins. She had already broken the pitcher. She would have to find some other way.

Her eyes flew to the window. It looked out onto Staghorn's main street, true, but what was just underneath it? She ran to the window, looking out and down. She was in luck. Their room was directly over the front porch with its wide, flat roof. It was a drop of no more than a few inches.
Then where?

She would have to shimmy down the post, she supposed, wishing she had time to change into Cooky's old trousers. She had enough experience as girl climbing trees to be fairly certain she could do it, but not in these skirts.

Caite heard the rumble of male voices in the hall. They were here already! She swung one leg over the sill, then the other. From inside the room, she heard knocking on the door. Then she heard the knob turning. More knocking.

"Caitleen! I know you're in there!” Jed called.

"Miss O'Neal, please open this door,” the other voice called. That must be the sheriff.

She dropped rather heavily onto the porch roof, praying Jed and the sheriff would not hear the telltale thump of her landing. She could hear them really pounding on the door now, shaking the bureau. She suppressed a grin. Obviously, Jed had forgotten his key when he had stormed out, and neither one of them had considered going down to the front desk and asking Davis Lacky for another.

Caite hurried to the edge of the roof, looking dizzily down to the street below. In truth, the porch was not very high. Certainly not as high as the old sycamore tree at home had been when she was ten and hiding from her father's drunken wrath. Still, the street seemed to sway a little before her, so she stepped back from the edge.

"Come on, Caitleen,” she muttered, casting a furtive glance over her shoulder. From inside the room, she heard a loud crash. They were trying to break down the door.