The Ballad of Emma O'Toole (5 page)

It seemed there was no other way to keep her vow.

“Miss O’Toole, do you plan to keep us here all day? What’s your decision?”

Emma braced her knees to keep them from giving way beneath her. “You leave me little choice,” she said. “I’ll take him.”

The judge glanced at the bailiff. “Escort the prisoner and Miss O’Toole to chambers for the ceremony. Doctor Kostandis, you may come along to serve as witness. As for the rest of you, go home. Leave these people to settle their differences in peace.”

At the final crack of the gavel, the courtroom erupted in pandemonium.

L
ogan and Emma were married in a dreary little room across the hall from the Coalville jail. Hands clenched and eyes lowered, the bride muttered her vows—to love, honor and obey, in
sickness and in health, for better or for worse. Not that she meant a blessed word of it, Logan reminded himself. He knew for a certainty that what Emma really had in mind was to make his life a living hell. Why else would she have agreed to marry him, instead of setting him free?

He intended to treat her decently; that was the least he owed her, even without the threat of jail as punishment for mistreating her. But she wasn’t going to make it easy. He’d bet good money that, if she had her way, Emma would soon have him wishing he’d chosen prison.

And if he left her, or if he lost his temper even once, that could be exactly where he’d end up.

Standing beside her, Logan stole a glance at her downcast profile. Even with her charmless dress and severe hairstyle, his bride was stunningly beautiful. Her skin was pearlescent, her eyes the color of sea glass. As for her hair…He imagined loosening that tight golden knot and letting it slip through his hands to fall over her naked shoulders…

But that kind of thinking could drive a man crazy. Emma might be his wife, but he could hardly expect her to tumble into bed with him. Hellfire, he had no idea what to expect
from her, except that she’d do everything in her power to make him miserable, just as she’d promised.

“The ring?” The judge shot Logan a quizzical glance before he remembered and corrected himself. “Never mind, I’m assuming you’ll get her one.”

“Here.” Doc Kostandis, who’d taken a nearby seat, stood slowly as he twisted something off his little finger. He pressed a thin gold band into Logan’s palm. “Use this. It was my wife’s.”

Emma stared down at the delicate ring. “Oh, but I couldn’t—” she began.

“Take it,” Doc insisted. “Better on a young bride’s hand than in an old man’s grave.”

“But how can I—”

Her protest ended in a gasp as Logan seized her work-worn hand and shoved the ring onto her finger. The dainty gold band fit perfectly. Trembling, Emma stared down at it, then snatched her hand away.

“By the authority vested in me, I now pronounce you man and wife.” The judge paused, waiting, most likely, for the customary kiss. The bride stood frozen in place, eyes fixed on the floor. Clearly it wasn’t going to happen.

“Well, then…” The judge checked his gold turnip watch. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ve a stage
to catch. But first a few words of advice. I’m well aware that this is no ideal way to start a marriage. But with patience and good intent, there’s no reason you can’t make it work. The marshal has orders to check on you at his discretion, to make sure the terms of your sentence are being met. Mr. Devereaux, gambling is no profession for a family man. I suggest you find a job forthwith. There’s plenty of honest work to be had in the mines and mills. As for you, Mrs. Devereaux—” He turned his scowl on Emma. “It’s a woman’s duty to be a proper and submissive wife to her husband in all respects. I suggest you remember that in the days ahead.”

A proper and submissive wife
. Logan’s mouth twitched in a wry smile. He could just imagine what his bride thought of that advice.

Not that he was any happier about the judge’s counsel to him. True, the rootless life of a gambler didn’t lend itself to raising a family. But working ten hours a day, seven days a week in the black bowels of a mine for three dollars a day would be little better than prison. As for the dusty, deafening bedlam of the stamp mills…

But never mind that. He was a man, with a man’s responsibilities. Whatever it took to provide for his new family, he would do it.

Gathering up his cloak and hat, the judge lumbered out the door, leaving Logan, Emma and Doc in the small office. Logan was grateful for the old man’s presence. If nothing else, it put off the inevitable moment when he would face his bride alone. Emma stood in silence, gazing down at the ring on her finger. What was he supposed to do now? He was no longer under arrest, but he had no cash and no way back to Park City. He’d left a valise, with his spare clothes and toiletries, in his room at the Park City Hotel before he’d gone to the saloon that night. But since he hadn’t paid in more than a week, his things could be anywhere.

And now he had a wife to take care of.

It was Doc who came to the rescue. “My buggy’s out behind the jail,” he said. “And I know a back road where those galoots out front aren’t likely to follow us. I’d be glad to drive you to Park City.”

“I’d be much obliged,” Logan said.

“I’m the one who’s obliged,” Doc responded. “It was trying to save my worthless life that got you into this mess. And speaking of that…” He fumbled in his vest and brought out a thick, rumpled manila envelope. “I gathered up your winnings when the marshal hauled you off to jail. Figured if you wound up with your neck
in a noose I’d give them to the young lady, here. But since you’re alive and a free man, in a manner of speaking…” He thrust the envelope into Logan’s hands. Dizzy with relief, Logan felt the weight of it. He never counted his winnings while he was still at the table, but he knew he’d been doing pretty well before young Carter showed up. How much was he holding?

“I took the liberty of adding up what you’d won,” Doc continued. “Hard to place a value on the stock or on that mine you won from Thorson. But there’s enough cash to set you up for a few—”

“Wait!” Logan broke in. “You say I won a
mine?”

“That’s right. The Constellation, it’s called. Not a big setup, mind you. Thorson started it on a shoestring, then pretty much abandoned it when he found richer diggings in Woodside Gulch. But the ore assayed at thirty-one ounces of silver to the ton, rich enough to make a tidy profit. Just needs digging and hauling.”

“I’ll be damned,” Logan muttered. “But I don’t know the first thing about mining.”

“Well, if the way you play poker’s any indication, you’re smart enough to learn. In any case, if you take what’s in this envelope and put it to work, you could end up comfortably well
off, if not downright rich. Think what that security could mean for The missus, here.”

He glanced toward Emma, who stood cloaked in stubborn silence. The girl hadn’t asked for this, Logan reminded himself. She deserved a respectable life, with a safe, cozy home, a wardrobe of pretty dresses and no worries about where her next meal was coming from. The last thing she needed was a man dragging her and her baby from town to town, living in shoddy hotel rooms, flush one day and penniless the next.

Could he really settle down? For seven years he’d been on the move, always looking over his shoulder, never daring to put down roots. But Utah Territory was a world away from the Louisiana bayous. Even after the notoriety of today’s trial, who would come here looking for a man named Christián Girard—a man whose trail, and life, had ended in the murky depths of a Louisiana swamp?

He was as safe here as he could ever hope to be.

He would make himself believe that and act accordingly.

Wrapped in her shawl, Emma huddled between Doc and Logan on the swaying buggy
seat. Her fingers toyed with the slim gold band on her finger—the token that declared her, before the world, a married woman.

She felt more like a prisoner than a wife. The last thing she’d have expected was to end the day as Mrs. Logan Devereaux. But that had been her choice, Emma reminded herself. She’d wed him to avenge Billy John’s death. But short of killing the man, how was she supposed to make him pay?

The country road wound through a grove of budding alders and crossed the bed of a shallow creek. Emma’s gaze followed the flight of a golden eagle as it soared westward to disappear over the snow-clad Wasatch Mountains. The sun hung low in the sky, streaking the clouds with flame and crimson. By the time they reached Park City it would be dark.

A quiver of growing awareness crept through Emma’s body. Tonight would be her wedding night.

She remembered the urgent gropings and thrustings on the hard-packed floor of Billy John’s shanty, with the wind whistling through the whip-sawn boards. They’d never seen each other undressed. The weather had been too cold, the need too urgent on the rare occasions
when they’d been able to snatch the chance to be alone.

Emma could count the times it had happened on the fingers of one hand. She’d known it was wrong, but it had been what Billy John wanted, and she would have done anything to please him.

Logan would want the same thing. As her husband he would expect it, even demand it as his right.

What would happen if she refused him?

Her gaze crept to the hand that lay lightly on the knee of his fawn-colored breeches. His long fingers looked powerful enough to crush her in their grip. The bruises had faded from when he’d grabbed her through the jail cell bars, but the memory of them had not. Logan was a big man, his body as lean and sinewy as a cougar’s. He would certainly be able to force her if he chose to. She would have to be prepared for that.

She could plead her delicate condition. True, she’d heard enough women’s talk to know that unless a wife was unusually frail or prone to miscarriage, there was no reason to abstain except in the last weeks of pregnancy. But being a man, Logan might not know that. The excuse might work.

But what if it didn’t?

As the twilight deepened, the spring night grew chilly. Emma shivered beneath her shawl. She was cold, hungry and exhausted. All the same, if she’d had the strength, she might have leaped out of the buggy and fled into the woods rather than face what she’d be facing tonight.

“Are you all right, girl?” Doc had done most of the talking on the long ride. “You’ve been mighty quiet.”

“I’m fine. Just tired.”

“Won’t be much longer now. Look yonder, you can see the lights of Park City between those two hills.”

“You can let us off at the Park City Hotel,” Logan said. “It might be smarter to pull up by the back door. That way I can get to the desk and pay for a room without attracting a lot of attention.”

“I can do better than that,” Doc said. “Give me a little of that cash before I let you off. I can drive around front, get you a room and order some food sent up. You can go up the back stairs and nobody will even know you’re there. How does that sound?”

“Perfect.” Logan fished some bills out of the envelope and stuffed them into the old man’s
coat pocket. “That should be plenty. Whatever’s left is yours. Tell them to leave the key in the door and bring dinner up as soon as it’s ready. After ten days in jail, I’m looking forward to a decent meal and a soft bed.”

Emma twisted the ring on her finger. How easy life became with a little cash, she thought. Just like that, Logan had arranged for a room in the finest hotel in town, with a hot dinner to be brought to their door. She’d never even set foot inside the Park City Hotel. It was a place for people with money, and She’d never had a cent to spare.

All her life Emma had been poor. She’d been fifteen when her widowed mother fell sick with consumption and sixteen when the good woman died. Since then she’d been on her own, taking whatever work her strong young hands could do. Meeting Billy John had awakened dreams of a better life—a cozy little home with children around the table and a man who’d come home to her every night. It didn’t matter that they’d never be rich. As long as he loved her, she would be the happiest woman in the world.

Now she found herself wed to a dark stranger, a man with the means to provide every material thing she could imagine wanting.

But it was a cold bargain she’d made. Any chance of affection between them, let alone love, was as remote as the dark side of the moon.

Only after they’d found the key in the door did Emma realize that Doc had rented the bridal suite.

Emma stared at the mauve satin coverlet and ecru lace canopy that draped the double bed. Twin cupids were carved into the headboard. The bedclothes, which had been turned down, looked as thick and soft as fresh winter snow.

It was the most elegant bed Emma had ever seen. But she would sleep on the cold, hard floor before she’d share it with Logan Devereaux.

Aside from the issue of the bed, the room was warmly inviting. A fresh blaze crackled in the small, tiled stove, which was flanked by two high-backed rockers upholstered in green velvet. A Turkish carpet in hues of rose, pink and green covered the floor. A tall wardrobe, with full-length mirrors on the double doors, stood in one corner. On the far wall, a doorway opened into a bathroom with a tub, a basin and—wonder of wonders—a flush toilet.

Hands thrust into his pockets, Logan surveyed
their quarters. “Well, is this place fine enough to suit you, Mrs. Devereaux?”

“You needn’t make fun of me,” Emma said. “I’m not ashamed of how I’ve had to live or the honest work I’ve done to survive. If you must have my answer, I judge this place to be a little
too
fine for sensible taste.”

He chuckled, his smile a flash of white against the deep gold of his skin. She knew nothing about the man’s background, Emma realized, except that he’d made his living as a gambler.

“I wasn’t making fun of you, Emma,” he said. “You’ve a level head, a quick wit and a determined spirit—qualities I admire in a woman. I’m hoping we can at least be friends.”

“Friends!” Anger, combined with frustration and bone deep weariness, burst out of her. “I’d rather be friends with a rattlesnake!”

He exhaled, raking a hand through his rumpled black hair. “Fine, have it your way. Tomorrow you can rail at me to your heart’s content. But tonight I’m worn raw and as grumpy as a buckshot bear. All I want is to eat dinner, go to bed and try to forget the past ten days ever happened.” He glanced toward the bathroom. “Ladies first. But try not to take too much time or you might find me pounding on the door.”