The Outlaw Takes a Bride (31 page)

The air whooshed out of Johnny’s lungs. “He’s buried, up on the knoll.”

She met his gaze. “When? He wrote me.…” She shook her head.

“He was dead when I got here. I thought I could ride down here and stay with him for a little while until things at the Lone Pine got sorted out. But when Cam and I rode in, Mark was dead.” He looked over at the spot near the door, where his brother had lain. “He was right over there.”

He turned back toward Sally. The stark whiteness of her face startled him.

“How?” she gasped.

“Someone had…had shot him. There weren’t any horses on the place, nor any money, and his foodstuffs had been ransacked. We found out later that outlaw gang had been through these parts. We reckon they robbed Mark and killed him, not long before we got here.”

“Are you sure… ?” Her eyes narrowed. “How do I know you’re telling me the truth now?”

That struck to the heart. Johnny squared his shoulders. “I won’t ever lie to you again, Sally. That’s what happened. You don’t think I would—” He broke off, realizing how deeply her trust had been shattered.

She blinked and looked away. “No. I was thinking more of Cam.”

“Impossible,” Johnny said. “We rode in here side by side. The place was empty, except for poor Mark.” He glanced involuntarily toward the spot where he’d scrubbed away the blood. “We buried him the same day, and—”

“And you decided to take over his life.” Sally’s voice was flat.

“Not at first. We rode into town a couple days later, and everyone thought I was Mark. I’d grown a beard in the weeks we’d been on the trail, and everyone said things like, ‘Oh, you grew a beard,’ but nobody thought I wasn’t him. They gave me credit at the store, and the banker let me use Mark’s account.” He saw it now with the same horror and disgust he’d felt those first few days. If he heard about another man doing this, he would be the first to condemn him.

“So you decided to let them keep thinking that,” Sally said.

“I didn’t want to.”

She made a little noise in her throat. “This was Cam’s idea, wasn’t it?”

Johnny gazed into her blue eyes, once so hopeful and trusting. How convenient it would be to blame everything on Cam. “We were both at fault.”

“I need to think.”

Sally rose and walked into the bedroom and shut the door.

Sally moved the satchel off the bed and sat down. He wasn’t the man she’d fallen in love with, even though she’d felt something for him. It was more than a fondness or an attachment; she yearned for him to love her. And she wasn’t even married to him. The wedding ceremony was a sham. How could he have done this to her?

Her face flamed as the realization came to her how vulnerable she had been. But he had respected her. She had the reason at last for the way he had acted. She had longed to consummate the marriage, but even after they built this new room and this very bed, Mark—no, John—wouldn’t touch her. And she had resented him for it. What had that restraint cost him?

She sank to her knees with tears bathing her face and began to pray.

All was quiet outside. She was surprised she hadn’t heard him ride away. That would be just like him. But Cam was gone now, and he had said he wouldn’t leave her alone. The outlaws were raiding again.

The outlaws. If she could believe what he said, that gang had killed her beloved. Odd, how she had been drawn to the cross on the hill. The mystery of it had fascinated her. Now she knew why he didn’t want to talk about it. Cam had been glib enough, though. A former ranch hand. It all fit into place now. John had built that cross and placed it there. He had buried his own brother, but he wasn’t allowed to grieve for him or even to tell anyone about his passing.

An hour later, she ventured out cautiously to visit the privy. She caught a glimpse of John at the corral gate. She hoped he didn’t see her flit around the corner of the cabin.

He didn’t come in for supper. She cooked up rice and beans, along with biscuits and carrots. When dusk came, she went to the door. Nothing stirred. She walked out to the barn and called cautiously, “John?”

No one answered. His horse was still in the corral.

Sally walked slowly around the barn and up the knoll. She could see him from twenty yards away, kneeling in the tall grass by his brother’s grave. She covered half the distance and stopped.

“I’ve got supper ready.”

He raised his head and looked at her then slowly got to his feet. He clapped his hat on and walked stiffly toward her. Sally didn’t wait for him but turned and walked back to the house. She filled his plate and set it on the table, but she didn’t feel like eating.

He came in and hung his hat on its peg. He looked at the table, set for one.

“Coffee tonight?” she asked.

He shook his head and walked over to the table.

“There’s more pudding.” Sally shoved the pan a few inches across her worktable so he would see it. Her heart was too full and too heavy to talk to him now. She retreated into the bedroom and closed the door. She sank onto the bed again, weeping and trying not to let him hear.

J
ohnny slept in Cam’s bunk in the barn, with his revolver under his pillow. He had gone over to the bedroom door after he ate and called to her.

“Sally?”

“What?” Her reply sounded odd, a bit strangled.

“I’ll be at the barn. I’m leaving my rifle out here for you. You might want to bar the door, just in case.” In case of outlaws, he meant, but Cam’s final words still rang in his ears. To hear Sally tell it, Cam scared her more than outlaws did, and it seemed there was something to that.

He could still hardly believe Cam had tried to molest Sally. How could he do that? Even if not for their friendship, what decent man would assault a woman? Especially one as good and devout as Sally.

He lay awake a long time. Cam wasn’t the man he’d imagined him to be. He’d always known his friend had flaws, but when you worked on a ranch together, that didn’t matter much. Everyone had their quirks. But he would never have guessed Cam would do something like this. The betrayal cut deep.

But not as deep as Sally’s hurt. She knew now that the man she’d dared to love was dead, and that she had married a lying fraud accused of murder.

Would she leave tomorrow? He couldn’t think of a single reason why she shouldn’t.

If quantity counted for prayer, he had a good balance by the time the rooster crowed. Coming clean with Sally wasn’t his only obligation. He knew that now.

When he went out to milk the cow, she blinked at him and lowed sleepily, as though surprised he had come around so early, but she didn’t object further. He smelled smoke and knew Sally was up, so he carried the bucket of milk to the cabin and tried the latch. The door opened readily. She was frying eggs and wearing her black mourning dress beneath her apron.

Johnny took the bucket over and set it on her worktable. Maybe he should put most of the milk in a jug and run it down the well. She wouldn’t be making any butter today, and he wouldn’t be able to use it all himself. He would let the cow go dry. The thought of batching it here without Sally or even Cam for company opened a hollow place in his stomach.

“Sally?”

She looked up at him, her spatula in her hand.

“I’m going to talk to the sheriff today. After I put you on the train, if you’d rather be gone before I do it.”

Her upper lip quivered. “What will happen to you?”

“I don’t know.”

“Is it a crime, not to report a death?”

“I don’t know that, either. But…you saw the wanted poster.”

She nodded curtly, picked up a tin plate, and scooped the eggs onto it. “Take this. I’ll get the biscuits and side meat.”

She laid a fine breakfast. Their last together?

Johnny went for the coffeepot, but it wasn’t on the stove. He stood staring blankly at the steaming teakettle.

“You said you didn’t like coffee much, and since Cam has gone…” She looked up at him and faltered. “Oh. That was Mark, wasn’t it?”

“We’ll have tea this mornin’.”

“I’ll fix it.”

She sat down with him a few minutes later. They stared at each other across the table. All those times he had said the blessing…

“I’ll pray,” Sally said.

Johnny bowed his head. He had wondered if he had a right to talk to God when he was living as a liar. Apparently Sally had the same thought. Everything was ruined, that was for sure.

“Lord, we thank You for this food, and…”

No words came for so long that Johnny squinted at her. She seemed to be all right. Finally, she blurted, “We don’t know what we’re doing or what we
should
be doing, Lord. Please have pity on us and help us get out of this awful mess.”

Johnny stared at her openly then. She’d said
we
and
us
. Did she consider the problem belonged to her, too, and not to him alone?

She said, “Amen,” and opened her eyes.

“Amen,” Johnny said quickly.

They couldn’t sit there gawking at each other all day, so he picked up the plate of eggs and held it out toward her. Somehow, they got through breakfast. Afterward, he helped carry the dishes over to the worktable.

“I guess I’d better bottle up that milk and run it down the well.”

“It’ll spoil if we don’t,” Sally said.

There it was again. We.

Johnny cleared his throat. “What time did you want to leave?”

She hesitated. “Soon. As soon as we can.” She set down the dirty plates and stepped closer to him. “Are we really married, John Paynter?”

His stomach felt like it was tied in knots, but maybe it was just the big breakfast. He wanted to say yes more than anything. But Sally…Her eyes were so intent, almost fanatical. Was she wondering how to undo it if the bond was legal?

“I think so,” he said. “I asked the reverend to put ‘Mark John’ on the license. But I don’t know for sure if that’s enough.”

“Do you want it to be true?” she asked softly.

His heart leaped. Of course he did, more than anything! But was she saying she didn’t mind the thought? Could she possibly be thinking they could mend things? That seemed wildly impossible, and yet she had asked.

“Yes,” he said.

After a moment, she stirred. She put her hands lightly on his arms and stood on tiptoe. Her lips brushed his, and Johnny caught his breath. He looked deep in her eyes. That longing was there again. He pulled her slowly to him, and she came, soft as butter. He kissed her the way he’d wanted to for weeks. When he released her, she didn’t let go of him. She twined her arms around his neck and leaned against him. He held her, wondering if this was the last time, but hoping, hoping.

She rubbed her cheek against his shoulder. “You need to tell Sheriff Jackson, first thing.”

“I will.”

She pushed away and gazed up at him, frowning. “I think…I think we ought to tell the preacher, too. Ask him if…”

“If we’re really wed?”

She nodded.

“What if we are?” he asked.

She drew in a deep breath. “I won’t be sorry. Not if you’re really telling me the truth now.”

“I am, Sally.”

She nodded, not breaking the gaze, though her eyes swam with tears. “And if we’re not…”

“What, then?” he asked.

“I guess…” She cleared her throat. “I guess that’s up to you.”

“You mean…you’d stay?”

“If you face up to it, yes. I’ll stand beside you.”

He couldn’t say what was in his heart, but he kissed her again, joy shooting through him. Even if he went to jail and had to face the hangman, this was worth it, to know she didn’t despise him and that she would willingly stay his wife.

She pulled away and laughed. “Can’t keep doing that. We might not be married at all.” She touched his cheek. “Besides, you need to hitch up the wagon.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“You don’t need to load my trunk.” She smiled and slithered her fingers through his beard, tracing his jawline. “You might want to shave this off, Mr. Paynter.”

“Oh, yes, ma’am.”

“Not now,” she said, “but soon.”

He smiled the whole time he worked at getting the wagon ready.