Wild Is the Night (40 page)

Maybe, this time she had pushed him too far. It wasn’t a pleasant thought.

The wagon thundered into the stables, and Luke leaped out almost before it stopped. The short ride had done nothing to appease his anger, Amanda realized. The thought was reinforced a moment later when he physically removed her from the cart, his hands holding her waist tightly. His face darkened as her skirt pulled up to reveal her one stocking-less leg, then he took her hand and half-dragged her toward the house.

“Let go of me…” she demanded, pulling at the fingers that held her. Whatever he intended, she couldn’t let him hurt the baby, even if she had to tell him. And that was the last thing she wanted to do, especially now.

“Like hell,” Luke muttered, heading determinedly toward the estate. He forcibly escorted her to the columned porch, ignoring Pedro’s look of astonishment as he kicked open the front door and dragged her into the parlor. After slamming the door shut, he turned to her, his fists clenched as if he had to physically restrain himself from attacking her. Amanda stepped backward until the wall met her spine and she was forced to stop. Luke had progressed toward her at the same rate, so she had to look straight up at him, her eyes as wide as gold dollars, and she swallowed hard.

“I take it you aren’t too pleased with me,” she said.

“You’re lucky I don’t strangle you! What in the hell were you thinking about, burning your corset? No, don’t tell me your theories. I’m angry enough now that I don’t think I could stand it.” He glared at her, even as she stared back, meeting his eyes with open defiance. “It seems I have several interesting alternatives here, none of them pleasant.” He continued in the same, cold rational voice. “You do realize that everything I’ve worked to build, to start a new life and live a clean, respectable existence, is in jeopardy? Have you given no thought to the possible repercussions of all this?”

“Social change is bought at the price of stability,” Amanda stated defensively. “Those within the establishment are always threatened—”

“That’s bullshit,” Luke snapped. “What about your safety? Suppose Haskwell showed up?”

“There is no reason my activities should have any direct bearing on you—”

“You’re my wife, goddammit!” Luke swore, his blue eyes blazing.

Amanda looked at him thoughtfully, her expression hiding her true feelings and in the process, betraying everything. “I am aware that we are legally married,” she said quietly, “even though it is not your intention to honor that vow. I am just the bait you are using to get Haskwell. Therefore, I find your argument lacking a constructive premise.”

“Amanda, if you dare to say that one more time, I will forget all my good intentions,” Luke continued, satisfied to see her startled into silence. “I have come to several conclusions today, and I want you to listen to them carefully. I refuse to let you destroy everything, simply for some thesis on the battle of the sexes. And don’t even try to tell me that isn’t what your rally was all about.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” she said, truly puzzled.

“You’re bringing our fights out in public,” he explained. “Which doesn’t do a damned thing to solve our misunderstandings, and you’ve put a lot of other wives into a tight spot with their husbands tonight. I could forgive that, knowing the way that you think, as mixed up as it is. What I can’t forgive is what you’re doing to us.”

She stared at him doubtfully, already coming up with a rebuttal. Luke headed it off before she could present it. “I know you think that I’m simply using you to get to Haskwell,” he continued. “I admit it started out that way, but everything changed long ago. Somewhere along the way, I started to care about you, as you did me.”

She shook her head, and Luke cupped her chin, forcing her to look up at him. “It’s true and you know it. Don’t you think it would have been far easier for me to get Haskwell alone, without a woman and a bird trailing me everywhere? Christ, I could have gone a few days ago and gotten him in Dallas, if that was my prime motivation. But I would have had to leave you, alone and unprotected, and I couldn’t do that. As much as I hate Haskwell, I love you more.”

Her arguments dissipated as a stark silence fell between them. Amanda stared at him, stunned by his words. Joy flowed through her, warm and overwhelming, coupled with reserve.

“That’s right, I love you,” Luke continued, as if startled himself. “But I have to admit, Amanda, I don’t know how much more I’m willing to put up with. You defy me at every turn, test me constantly, and try to make me as miserable as possible when we both know you don’t have to. I want a good normal life together, I want to have children— maybe a little girl like you, with a mind that Socrates would admire. But I don’t want it at the price of my sanity. You have a decision to make. Either you want the same things I do, and commit to this relationship, or you don’t. It’s that simple.”

That simple and that hard. Amanda said nothing as he left her alone, slamming the door behind him. Her unstockinged leg got goosebumps in the chill and she sat down on one of the elegant chairs, absently rubbing it. The ache in her limb was nothing compared to her heart.

His patience was at an end, she could sense that. All she had to do was let go of the logic, of all the compelling reasons that held her back, and give into the feelings she revealed in her book. A thousand thoughts crowded her mind, many of which she never entertained before.

He loved her. He actually loved her. He wanted them to live together as a real husband and wife, wanted children…she thought of the baby inside of her and the possibility seemed far more real than it ever had before. She couldn’t prevent the fleeting smile that came to her face, or the delicious giggle that welled up inside of her. She felt like soaring, like the wood doves who ambled so clumsily on the ground—but once they took off!…Then her eye caught her reflection in the simple hall mirror, and her smile faded.

Her hair, loosened in the rally, tumbled wildly around her shoulders. Her glasses were askew, her dress, without the foundation of a corset, sagged on her slender body. She thought of all the lovely women Luke must have known, women with flaxen hair and perfect complexions, women without ink on their hands or bird droppings on their shoes. These were the kind of women Luke would love. And yet…

She was being ridiculous, yet a part of her, small and as yet seldom nurtured, dared to hope. Even if tomorrow it all turned out to be just a dream, it was one she would live in.

Chapter
  
25
  

“Are we almost there, Sam?” Honey peered fearfully out of the window of the Wells Fargo stagecoach, seeing the glum shapes of buildings and railroad tracks that indicated a town. They’d seen so many towns in the past few weeks that they all began to look alike to Honey: grim, lifeless, and without escape.

“Yes, just about. In fact, we’ll be staying on the outskirts of town, in an old abandoned nester’s hut. If my information is correct, this should be the end of the line.”

“What then, Sam?” Honey asked fearfully. She dreaded the question, but like a puppydog getting his tail cropped, she wanted all the bad news quickly and cleanly.

Sam smiled, his black eyes cold. He looked her up and down, not bothering to hide his disgust as he took in her appallingly slender body, her trembling hands, her lackluster hair, and her dull eyes. From a distance, she could pass muster, but up close, her faults were readily apparent. A pang of guilt assailed him as he remembered her as she was, but it was quickly gone. It wasn’t his fault that she couldn’t hold her own. This was a tough world, and only the strong survived.

“I think you know the answer to that, darlin’,” Sam said softly, delighted to see the blind panic in her eyes. “You see, you’re getting to be more and more a liability. Once my work is done here, I’m heading back to Colorado, where a man can make his fortune on the turn of a card. There ain’t nothing keeping me here, nor with you.”

Honey’s liquid eyes brightened softly. “Then, you’ll let me go?” The plea in her voice was pathetic, and would have moved anyone other than an outlaw.

Sam smiled. “Can’t rightly do that, now can I? Not with what you know. I’d like to, Honey, don’t get me wrong. But I really don’t have much choice. If you went to the law with your little story, why, they’d be on me faster than a frog on a bluefly. Really, you should know better than to ask me, I can see it only upsets you.”

“Please,” she whispered brokenly, almost past the point of caring. “I won’t tell. I promise.”

“I know, darlin’. That’s why I have to kill you. But don’t be too hurt. You’ve been good to me, and I aim to pay you back.” He leaned closer, noticing how she seemed to flinch without him even touching her. “This old nester’s hut has a nice piece of land out back, and a pretty apple tree. When it’s all over, I’ll bury you there, me girl. No finer resting place will any of Sam Haskwell’s whores ever claim.”

Honey started to cry, and Sam chuckled, seeing the thin trickle of tears start down her face. It was true, what he’d told her.

And he wouldn’t forget to put roses on her grave.

A parcel the size of a poultry crate arrived at Mitchell’s General store, wrapped in burlap and tied with a thick piece of twine. The corner bore a label from G. W. Carleton of New York, and was inscribed with a flowery logo depicting a cowboy with a lariat. Simon Ledden, the postmaster, had already informed the watchful residents of Waco that IT had arrived. He personally carried the box to the store, accumulating a following like the Pied Piper of Hamelin. By the time the ruddy shopkeeper retrieved a blunt knife to cut open the wrappings, the store was filled with men, women, and children.

“Come on now, people, wait your turn. This isn’t the first time we’ve ever gotten a Fess Tyson novel, you know.”

“It is when Fess Tyson actually lived here,” Mrs. Meade puffed. “And she has promised to autograph all of our copies. Just think, a signed Fess Tyson!”

“This one’s real different,” Simon Ledden warned. “Nothing like her others.”

Elvira Brannigan turned toward him, her pale face aghast. “Simon, you didn’t…I mean, you couldn’t have—”

“Of course he did,” Mrs. Meade snapped. “He’s been reading our mail for years. But the manuscript has nothing to do with the final book. These editors, you know.” She gave herself an air of one with great inside knowledge and the women around her nodded solemnly.

“They would have had to do a hell of a lot of editing to make that book decent,” Simon muttered. “Fess Tyson or no Fess Tyson.”

“Who appointed you a literary critic?” Grace Brockleman asked. “I have it on good authority that the book is getting splendid reviews in New York. And if it isn’t another penny dreadful, so much the better. Amanda Edison is far too bright to write pulp fiction, anyway. I, for one, can’t wait to read it.”

The final strings snapped, and the package fell open, revealing ten brand new, shiny copies of
Passion’s Price.
A hush fell over the crowd as the shopkeeper reverently picked up one glossy yellow-backed novel, fingered through the pages that still smelled of fresh ink, then found half a dozen fists filled with Yankee notes thrust in his face.

“Now now, we’ll all have to share. This is only the first shipment, so to make it fair, whoever has the full asking price right now—$1.50—gets a copy. But for the sake of the peace of this town, please share the books. Here, Grace, this one’s for you and the school.”

Grace took the gleaming yellow book and hugged it to her bosom before darting through the crowd in an effort to get to her parlor. Mrs. Meade got the next copy; Simon Ledden, the third. Within seconds, every book had disappeared from the crate, leaving a crowd of angry Waco residents clamoring for copies.