The Outlaw Takes a Bride (21 page)

He looked a little dazed, but he shook his head and let Sally go. There followed a round of breakneck introductions. Women, from girls barely old enough to put their hair up to elderly matrons, seemed to appear from out of thin air. Sally would never keep the names straight, so she stopped trying and basked in their warm welcomes and felicitations.

“I have to say you caught the handsomest bachelor in the congregation,” one very pregnant young woman said. “Almost as good a catch as my husband, Bill.”

“Oh, thank you,” Sally said, unsure whether or not to comment on her assessment of Mark’s looks.

Mrs. Bill pulled another youngish woman toward her. “This is my sister-in-law. We’re both named Mary, so if you want one of us just yell, ‘Mary Hood,’ and one of us is sure to come running.”

“Or both,” said the other Mary.

Sally laughed. “Thank you. Glad to meet you both.” The second Mary seemed more reserved than the first, but she gave Sally a shy smile from beneath her chip bonnet.

Sally tried not to be too obvious in observing the women’s attire and decided that, poor as she was, she was among the better dressed. This was due to her own sewing skills, she was certain. Although her current wardrobe was small and serviceable, her dresses were well cut and tastefully trimmed.

The bell tolled again, and the ladies hurried to round up their children and join their husbands inside. Mark was waiting for Sally where she had left him. She took his arm and entered the small, dim building. People filled nearly all the benches, but the first Mary and a young man Sally assumed to be Bill squeezed over, leaving enough room on the end for the Paynters.

Every church was different, Sally realized, but this one seemed more like home than any church she had found in St. Louis. In spite of the warmth inside the little building and the closeness of the eighty or so people in it, she wouldn’t have traded the next hour for anything. Pastor Lewis led them in singing a few familiar hymns, and when he began his sermon, Sally felt something inside her chest nestle down in contentment. After more than a year of the Reverend Mr. Winters’s rants, Pastor Lewis’s homily soothed her.

Mark was watching her. When she glanced over at him, he looked straight ahead, but she caught him at it again later. She smiled and turned her attention back to the minister.

When the sermon was over, people thronged them in the aisle, introducing themselves to Sally and congratulating Mark on his marriage. Everyone seemed happy for him, though most of them called him “Mr. Paynter.”

One very tall man pumped Mark’s hand and said, “Hey, Mark, you ol’ cuss. You still want that young stock we talked about?”

Mark seemed at a loss for words momentarily. “Uh, sure. Yes.”

“Great. Ride on over tomorrow anytime. I’ll cut ’em out for ya.” The man nodded and headed for the door in the wake of a woman in a voluminous yellow calico dress. Mark followed him with his eyes, frowning.

He glanced at Sally, and she whispered. “That’s great. He’s holding some cattle for you.”

“Yeah,” Mark said.

A red-haired woman of about thirty tapped Sally on the shoulder. “Hi. I’m Liz Merton. Just wanted to welcome you and invite you to the ladies’ group on Wednesday afternoon.”

“Oh,” Sally said. “Where is it held?”

“At my house this time. We’re making a quilt for the missionary barrel.”

“Sounds like fun,” Sally said. “Can I bring anything?”

“Just your sewing basket and yourself.” Liz giggled. “I live on Flood Street, just past the bank.”

“Flood Street?” Sally asked.

“Uh-huh. On account of the lower end floods every spring. Second house on the right, with a sweet potato plant in a pot on the porch steps.”

“All right. Thank you.” Sally would have to make sure Mark didn’t mind, but she looked forward to a chance to get to know the ladies and exercise her stitching skills on something prettier than mattress ticking. The six-mile drive into town wouldn’t be too burdensome.

By the time they got out the door, Sally had a request for her dress pattern and a dinner invitation for herself and Mark the next Sunday.

Pastor Lewis greeted them heartily. “Well, well! So good to see the newlyweds being faithful on the Lord’s Day.”

“I enjoyed the service very much,” Sally said, shaking his hand.

“Thank you kindly, Mrs. Paynter. I bring what the Lord gives me each week.” He grinned at Mark and stuck out his hand to him. “Mr. Paynter. Hope to see you again soon.”

“Probably so,” Mark said. Once they reached the ground in the churchyard, he looked all around and sighed deeply.

“Is something wrong?” Sally asked.

“I don’t see that feller.”

“Which one?”

“The one with the young stock. The truth is, I can’t remember what his name is. I’ve met him a few times at church, and he said he had some calves to sell me, but I’d sort of forgotten, and now I can’t recall his name.”

“Oh dear.” Sally glanced about and spotted Liz Merton. “Wait just a minute. Or better yet, get Reckless ready to go. I’ll meet you at the wagon.”

She dashed off before he could protest. A bearded man who looked at least ten years older than Liz was handing her up onto the front seat of a farm wagon. Two boys sat in the back.

“Oh, Mrs. Merton,” Sally called, running the last few steps.

The man turned and waited expectantly.

“Mrs. Paynter,” Liz said with a broad smile. “This is my husband, Dan Merton.”

“Ma’am,” he said, touching the brim of his hat.

“Is there something I can help you with?” Liz asked.

“Yes. I wondered if you could tell me someone’s name. I’ve met so many people today, I’m afraid I’m confused.”

“Surely. Who is it?” Liz and her husband both gazed over the emptying churchyard.

“Well, he’s left now,” Sally said. “But he was really tall, and he had a beard.”

“Sounds like Caxton,” Mr. Merton said.

“I believe his wife was wearing a yellow dress,” Sally added.

“Poke bonnet?” Liz asked.

“Yes.”

“Definitely Eph Caxton.” Liz nodded firmly.

“Thank you so much.” Sally dashed off before they could ask why she hadn’t simply appealed to her husband for the man’s name. Panting, she arrived at their wagon. Mark was just fastening the last buckle. “His name’s Eph Caxton.”

“Eph Caxton. I don’t s’pose your friend told you where he lives?”

Sally drooped low in her seat. “No. I’m sorry. I would have asked, but I thought she’d wonder why I was so interested in him.”

“No matter. I’ll find out. But thank you.”

Johnny whistled as he puttered around the barn and corral the next morning. He had put a bug in Cam’s ear, and of course Cam was more than willing to ride into town and discover the whereabouts of the Caxton ranch. Johnny figured Cam could play the “I’m Mark Paynter’s new ranch hand and I don’t know where anyone lives” card for some time yet.

He would be glad when his arm had healed enough to let him do basic chores like milking the cow, carrying buckets of water, and digging fence-post holes. The pain wasn’t sharp now, but it still ached, and the doctor had been firm about letting it heal thoroughly before he tried to do too much with that arm. Sally and Cam split the chores quite cheerfully, and Johnny found other things that he could handle one-handed. Riding fence, for instance. If he was going to put a new bunch of young stock in his pasture, he’d better go all the way around the fence and make sure it was secure.

Sally came from the house with the water pail. Johnny ambled toward her and met her at the well. He wished he could pull the full bucket up for her. He had done it a few times with his left arm only, but he found it extremely difficult. Usually he wound up having to use his right hand, too, and that made his arm hurt. Building a windlass for the well would be one of his first projects after he was healed.

“I wish I could be the one doing that,” he said as she hoisted the bucket hand over hand.

She smiled. “It’s all right. You’ll soon be mended, and then I’ll gladly give the job over.”

“Anything else I could do for you today?”

She cocked her head to one side and considered. “Could you tighten the clothesline? I put it up, but it’s slack. I know there’s a way to fix it, but I don’t have the knack.”

“That’s easy. In fact, I can teach you to do it less than a minute.”

“Really?”

Johnny grinned. “Really. Any woman as smart as you can learn something like that easy enough.”

Sally hefted the bucket of water the last few inches and set it on the edge of the stone berm around the well. “I don’t know about that. I don’t think of myself as smart.”

“Sure you are,” Johnny said. “Look at how you make things. Most women can cook and sew, but you make art out of it.”

Her eyes widened. “Thank you. That may be the nicest thing a man ever said to me. But still…”

“What?” He took the bail of the bucket with his left hand and started walking toward the cabin.

“If I were smart, I wouldn’t make so many mistakes.” Her whole face darkened when she frowned.

Johnny eyed her cautiously. He didn’t know of any mistakes she’d made except marrying that no-good first husband of hers. Unless she was counting him as a mistake.

“You read and write real well, too,” he said.

A smile flickered on her lips. “Let’s see if you can teach me how to take the slack out of that line.”

He set the pail inside by the stove and rejoined her in the yard. They walked behind the house. Sally had tied one end of the clothesline to a bent nail on the corner of the new addition and the other to a post Cam had set for the purpose. Cam should have gone ahead and strung the line for her, but apparently he’d left the task for Sally and gone on to something else.

The cotton rope sagged all right. When Johnny put his hand on it and pushed down, it went halfway to the ground.

“We need another piece of rope,” he said. “Did you have some left over?”

Sally nodded. “I cut it off. Was that the wrong thing to do?”

“No, that’s fine, if it’s long enough.”

“I’ll get it.” She grabbed handfuls of her skirt and bustled around the corner. A minute later, she was back with a six-foot length of the rope.

“Perfect.” He took it and tied the ends together. Holding a loop on one side of the clothesline, he wrapped the rest of it twice around the line and slid it through the hole of his loop. Tugging the other end of it tightened the looped rope around the clothesline. He tied the dangling end of the looped piece to the clothesline about a foot below his knot. “Now you can slide this up the clothesline, and it will pull up the slack.” He demonstrated, pushing his slipknot up the line. The looseness of the clothesline tightened, with the shorter piece of looped rope now taking the slack and the long piece taut.

Sally stared at it with her mouth open. “That’s amazing.”

Johnny laughed. “Not to a sailor.”

“You’re not a sailor.”

“No, but my father was once. He taught me to do this.”

“Let me try it.”

“Sure.” He untied the shorter rope and handed it to her. Sally went through the steps slowly, glancing at him often for encouragement. “That’s just right,” he said when she had tightened the clothesline once again. “I told you you’re smart. You’re quick at learning things. I think my pa had to show me two or three times before I could do it.”

Her smile was deeper now. She stood on tiptoe and kissed his cheek, just above the corner of his mouth. “Thank you. It makes me happy when you say things like that.”

Johnny warmed through and through. It was another of those moments when he longed to kiss her properly—not like the little peck he’d given her at the wedding. But he knew he shouldn’t. In order to have the right to do that, he’d have to tell her everything. Things were just too complicated.

Hoofbeats drummed on the road, and he took Sally’s hand and pulled her around to where they could see the horse approaching. Cam, of course, galloping Paint for all he was worth.

“Do you think something’s wrong?” Sally asked.

“Probably not,” Johnny said. “That’s just Cam for you—runs breakneck into everything.”

“Yes, I’ve noticed that. He’s an act-first-think-later man.”

That was a pretty good assessment, but Johnny didn’t say so. He strode over to the corral gate to meet Cam. When he looked back, Sally had turned toward the cabin door.

“Well?” he demanded before Cam was out of the saddle.

“Good thing you didn’t ask at church. That man’s our nearest neighbor.”

“What, that place with the windmill?”

“Yup. We ride past it every time we go to town.” Cam swung down and stood with his arm draped over the saddle. “Now all the cowpunchers around think I’m the idiot on this spread.”

Johnny scowled. “I’m doing the best I can, Cam.”

“Of course you are.” Cam laughed. “So what’s the plan now, Boss?”

Johnny clenched his teeth together. Sometimes Cam’s humor didn’t sit well. “You want to ride over there now?”

“Might as well,” Cam said. “Go in and tell the missus. I’ll get Reckless ready for you.”

“I can do it.”

Cam held up a hand in protest. “Hey, Boss, I’m not questioning your ability, but we need you to rest your arm, remember? The doc said if you started throwing around saddles and swinging ropes, it wouldn’t heal right.”