by Hebby Roman
Having made his decision, he turned and crossed the porch. He clasped Chad’s hand and shook it. “Partner, you have yourself a deal. I’d be honored to be part of your family… no matter the circumstances.”
Chapter Four
Bart found Lindsay where Chad had said she’d be—coming from the one-room schoolhouse in Langtry, which also served as the town’s church on Sunday. It had been two weeks since Bart had eaten supper with the MacKillians, and Chad had asked him to marry his pregnant sister to give her child a name.
At first, he’d been shocked by the proposal. But the more he thought about it and how much he liked Lindsay, along with feeling sorry for her situation, he knew he couldn’t refuse. And besides, it was the decent and Christian thing to do.
But the sooner they got married, the better. Time was a’ wasting.
Chad had told him Lindsay needed time to think it over. He shook his head. He would have thought she would have leapt at the chance to give her baby a name and cover her shame.
Women! What man in his right mind could understand them?
One of the reasons he was still single but not for much longer, at least on paper.
He watched as Lindsay approached with a basket dangling from her arm. Chad had told him she was trying to raise money to construct a separate building for a church in Langtry. According to her brother, it was her first objective in a long list of items she wanted to accomplish for the betterment of her hometown.
In theory, Bart admired Lindsay for her high ideals and willingness to help others. But in practice, he believed it was better to mind your own business.
Lindsay’s chosen calling reminded him of his mother and her never-ending round of charities and volunteer committees. A preacher’s wife was expected to take on those commitments, but Bart realized at an early age his mother was happiest when she was helping others.
And it had been the death of her.
After his mother was gone, all the softness and warmth had disappeared from his home. His father was a self-righteous, tyrannical man of the cloth, long on discipline and short on love. Bart fled his unhappy home as soon as he was able to support himself.
Good at arithmetic, it had been easy to learn to count cards, and he’d drifted into playing cards for a living. And there was a side-benefit, too, it had scandalized his self-righteous, bigoted father.
He’d never enjoyed being a gambling man, only the advantages it afforded him to travel and see the West. He’d always known he’d settle down, so he’d saved his money to invest in a business and, after weighing all his options, he believed ranching suited him.
As he waited for Lindsay, he couldn’t help but notice how the hot July sun reflected off her golden hair, creating a nimbus of light around her head. Almost like a halo. His angel, the thought came to him, unbidden. A fallen angel, perhaps, but still an angel.
She looked up and when she glimpsed him, her eyes widened. She wore a green cotton dress, and her hazel eyes reflected the color of the dress, a cool green that reminded him of the jade good-luck piece he’d won from a Chinaman in San Francisco.
Being married to Lindsay, even in name only, was going to prove even trickier than he’d initially thought. He couldn’t help but be attracted to her. Unfortunately, her brother had made it clear she didn’t want a man to touch her. And that might prove to be quite a challenge… not touching her.
Maybe, with enough time, he could change her mind.
He tipped his hat and greeted her with, “Good morning, Miss MacKillian.”
“Good morning, Mr. Houghton, ah, Bartholomew. I’m surprised to find you here.”
“Chad told me where you’d be. I was waiting for you.” He held out his hand and offered, “Let me carry that basket for you.”
“Thank you, but there’s no need. It’s empty.” She stepped past him and continued down the dusty path.
But he wasn’t going to let her off that easy. Falling in beside her, he matched his stride with hers. She carried herself proudly, striding with purpose. And he savored how good she smelled, like lavender, if he was any judge—a subtle but beguiling perfume.
Hell, he was so busy admiring her, he’d almost forgotten why he’d intercepted her. Pulling himself back to the business at hand, he considered the situation. Should he just blurt out what he was thinking? He was usually a straight-forward kind of man, but maybe a little polite conversation might make a tricky situation easier.
“Chad tells me you’re trying to raise money for a new church. What’s wrong with using the schoolhouse? There’s no school on Sundays.”
Lindsay stopped and stared at him. He couldn’t help but notice how her full, rounded bosom rose and fell provocatively beneath the thin cotton of her dress. He was certain she had discarded her corset since the last time he saw her. Privately, he approved of her courageous choice. It was far too hot in Langtry to be wearing a corset during July, no matter what fashion might dictate. And not to mention her figure would soon be expanding, and no amount of corseting would conceal it.
Her eyes narrowed, and the tone of her voice betrayed an attitude of self-righteousness he’d learned to despise. “I’m not surprised someone with your background, Mr. Houghton, would question the need for an edifice solely devoted to the worship of God.”
He hadn’t expected such a sharp retort. He felt a sinking sensation. He’d hoped they could get along and learn to like each other. But her priggish attitude was becoming more and more disappointing.
He clenched his teeth to keep from throwing her words back at her, pointing out she should be the last person to judge him.
“Just because I was a professional gambler, Miss MacKillian, doesn’t mean I was birthed on a poker table and suckled on whiskey. I, like you, had a mother and she taught me about God and Jesus. And I’ve been known to darken the interior of a church on occasion.”
Lindsay’s face was a study. Her mouth pursed into a startled ‘O,’ and her amply-endowed chest heaved up and down. He had purposely chosen the image he wanted to convey, speaking openly of birthing and suckling, to strip away her prudish defenses.
She closed her mouth and took several deep breaths, but she wouldn’t meet his gaze. “Forgive me, Bartholomew, I didn’t think how I sounded. It was rude and un-Christian of me to suggest—”
“Forget it, Miss MacKillian. You were about to tell me the reasons Langtry needs a new church.”
“Uh, yes, well, if you’re interested.” She took another deep breath and launched into what sounded suspiciously like her rehearsed pitch to raise money. “We need a separate building for the church because moving desks every Sunday to accommodate worshipers is inconvenient and because there are other occasions for a church during the week, such as for prayer meetings, bible studies, the ladies circle and…” She shrugged. “There are many reasons why Langtry needs a church.”
“I think it’s a commendable task you’ve set yourself. It should benefit everyone in Langtry.” He hesitated, needing to take the plunge. “But I doubt it will be ready in time for us to marry.”
“Oh… uh, yes. Uh, I mean, no. Or…” She threw up one hand and her face turned red.
She could blush at the drop of a handkerchief. He’d lost count of the times she’d blushed during their supper. But then again, what he’d proposed, no pun intended, considering the circumstances, was blush-worthy.
“Have you thought about what your brother is recommending?” he asked.
“Have I thought about it? Have I thought about it?” She shook her head. “It’s all I think about. Night and day. Waking and sleeping.”
“And have you reached a conclusion?”
“No, I can’t… I mean, I don’t understand how this would work. Chad explained to you I wouldn’t be a real wife. Didn’t he?”
“Yes, he explained, and I understand. But I believe you should be thinking of your child. Don’t you want your child?”
She spread her hand over her st
omach. “Of course, I want my child. What do you take me for, Mr. Houghton?”
“I wanted to hear you say it.”
She tossed her head. “I’ve said it. I want my child.”
“Then, can you be ready tomorrow morning? Chad can bring you to the Jersey Lily and give you away.”
She wrinkled her nose, as if something smelled bad. “Have that old reprobate join us in marriage? I despise Judge Roy Bean and his conniving ways. Besides, he lost the last election. He’s not even the real Justice of the Peace anymore. He just keeps operating as if he is.”
“Which makes him the perfect choice. Dissolving a marriage later should prove easy.”
“I see. Does that mean you can’t wait to be rid of me, after you do ‘the right thing’ to help my brother?”
“That’s not what I meant.” He wanted to grab her shoulders and shake some sense into her. “I thought it was what you wanted.”
“Well, yes, you’re right.”
He took her elbow. “Let me escort you to your buckboard. That way, people will see us together.”
She let him take her arm. “We won’t be fooling most people, Mr. Houghton.”
“I know, Miss MacKillian, but we must try to put a good face on it.” He glanced at her. “I’ll expect you tomorrow morning at ten o’clock, sharp.”
She turned her face away. “Indeed. I’ll tell Chad.”
* * *
“And do you, Bartholomew Houghton, take this woman, Lindsay MacKillian, to be your lawfully wedded wife? Do you promise to love, honor, cherish and protect her, forsaking all others?
“I do.” Bart’s lazy drawl brought Lindsay back to her senses.
Luckily, at ten o’clock in the morning, the Jersey Lily was deserted. The saloon smelled of sweat, stale beer and sawdust, but at least they were alone, except for the Judge.
She wondered if Bart had thought of that when he’d proposed the time and place. If he had, she silently thanked him from the bottom of her heart. Though how she would explain their hurried marriage, with Judge Bean officiating, to Parson Samuels and his wife, when she was working with them to build a new church, was something she didn’t like to think about.
Possibly the difference in their religions? After all, she was a professed Catholic. And there was no priest nearby. No, for a Catholic priest, they would have to send to Del Rio. She hoped Parson Samuels would understand, or at least, act like he did.
The remainder of the wedding vows passed in a haze. She managed to croak “I do.” And then the Judge asked, “Do ya have a ring, Bart?”
Bart sucked in his breath and replied, “No, I forgot.” He gazed at Lindsay, and if she understood the look in his eyes, he wanted her to believe he really was sorry. “We were so caught up in the moment.”
Judge Bean snorted.
Lindsay reached inside her light blue, second-best, organza dress and tugged hard on the ribbon around her neck. Her mother’s wedding ring. She hadn’t thought it would serve such a purpose. But her mother would have wanted her first grandchild to have a last name.
She handed the simple golden band to Bart. “Here.”
“Thank you.” He gazed at her, the look in his eyes asking her forgiveness.
“It was my mother’s.”
He kissed the ring and said, “Bless your mother’s soul.”
“Yes.” She held out her left hand with her ring finger extended.
He slipped the ring on her finger.
“Good,” Judge Bean said. “I pronounce you man and wife.” He looked at Bart. “You may kiss the bride.”
But when Bart turned to kiss her, she wanted to bolt. They’d agreed it was a sham marriage, so why did she have to kiss him?
To keep up appearances.
She puckered up and closed her eyes, holding tightly to Bart’s arm. His lips brushed hers, a light, quick touch. But just that touch left her lips burning, as if she’d bitten into a jalapeño pepper.
Not thinking what she was doing, she reached up and touched her lips with her fingertips. She wanted him to kiss her again. Heaven help her. She wanted him to kiss her long and deep.
What was wrong with her? Was she really a wanton woman? What would happen when they dissolved the marriage? Would she chase everything in trousers?
But kissing Seamus had never been like that. She’d thought she loved him, but maybe, she’d just been in love with getting married. She’d come late to her Aunt Minnie, mostly unschooled in the social graces. She’d had to learn everything about society and etiquette and then come out at the ripe old age of twenty-one-years old.
To make things tougher, the Boston Irish were considered nouveau rich by the Brahmin Bostonians of the social register. Wealthy Irish mixed with other wealthy and Catholic Irishmen, and there weren’t many Irish socialites. Seamus Finnegan had been an answer to her prayers. He was part of her Aunt Minnie’s social circle and a man of means, or so they’d thought. And he’d been interested in her.
Now she knew exactly why he’d been interested and so fervent in his wooing. Even then, he’d often been away on business, especially during the summer months when the horses were running at Saratoga.
She’d been past twenty-five years old when she’d finally met Seamus. Was it any wonder, she’d been so eager to marry she’d anticipated the event. And now she was married, after a fashion, and yet, as the old saying went, ‘she was as nervous as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rockers.’
“Would you care for luncheon?” Bart asked. “I’ve asked Mabel at the Vinegaroon Hotel to prepare us a special lunch.” He glanced at Chad. “Your brother will join us, of course.”
“Yes, that would be nice. Thank you.” Anything to not have Bart accompany them back to the ranch. So far, he’d stayed at Mabel’s hotel.
He fished a silver dollar from his pocket and handed it to the Judge. The Judge nodded and said, “Felicitations to you both.” He glanced at her waist. “And many children, too.” Then the Judge put one finger alongside his nose and quipped, “And don’t let married life get ya soft, Bart. Y’ere always welcome at the Lily to start a friendly game.”
“Friendly.” Bart snorted. “Friendly almost got me killed the last time.”
“Yeah, but them Boyd brothers haven’t been around fer awhile. Y’ere plenty safe here. I run a tight ship, don’t ya know.”
“Sure, Judge.” Bart slapped him on the back. “I won’t be a stranger.”
Then the Judge turned his gaze to her and said, “Don’t I get a kiss from the blushing bride?”
Lindsay shuddered. The thought of touching the old rascal made her nauseous. And like most men from these parts, the overwhelming smell of stale perspiration wafted from him. But she couldn’t refuse. She pulled away from Bart and went on tip-toe, giving the Judge a loud smack on his filthy, oily cheek.
“Wahl now, that wasn’t what I expected, but—”
“It will need to do, Judge,” Bart said. “I’m a very possessive man.”
She glanced at her new husband. Did he really mean it? Of course not, more window dressing. But somewhere, deep inside, she wished he had meant it.
An hour later, they left the Vinegaroon Hotel, and Bart helped her onto the buckboard. Chad climbed in back.
Will Handley, the youth who ran the telegraph office, ran up and offered a telegram to Bart, saying, “Mr. Houghton, this just came for you from Tucson.”
Bart handed him a nickel and took the telegram, tearing open the envelope. Silently, he read the telegram. He looked up and caught her brother’s gaze. “Chad, can I have a word with you in private?”
Lindsay huffed out her breath and settled on the hard wooden seat. Married a little over an hour and already, she was nothing more than yesterday’s news—to be excluded from men’s conversations. Not that she should be surprised. Before they’d married, the three of them had signed the partnership agreement, conveying a third of the ranch to her for-now husband. And then he’d follo
wed through and married her.
Now, with the formalities out of the way, she was of no consequence. Or that’s what the men thought. She still owned as much of the ranch as each of them.
* * *
Bart led Chad over to the other side of Langtry’s main street and said, “I need to tell you what the telegram says. It involves you.”
“Yes, what is it?”
“It’s from Rose Gallagher in Tucson.”
Chad narrowed his eyes and glanced back at his sister. “Who is Rose Gallagher, and what does she have to do with us? I know this marriage is in name only, but please, Bart, don’t bring your ‘fancy’ woman to the ranch. My sister has—”
“It’s not like that.” Bart understood his partner’s protective stance towards his sister, but this was serious. “Rose may be a ‘fancy’ woman, as you put it, but she’s not my fancy woman. I knew her as a girl back in Alabama. Her stepfather beat and raped her. She was ruined, but unlike your sister, she had nowhere to go, so…”
Chad shook his head and thinned his lips.
Bart knew he shouldn’t remind Chad about his sister’s fall from grace, but he wanted his partner to understand the gravity of the situation.
“I hadn’t seen Rose in years, but the first time I went to Tucson, I found she was running a ‘house’ there.”
“Good God, Bart, I don’t want to discuss this. What on earth—”
“Will you please listen?”
“All right, shoot.”
“Rose and I were reacquainted.” He gazed directly at Chad. “For a while we were intimate but not for long. We became friends. Unfortunately, that’s also where I met the Boyd brothers—in Tucson at her house.”
“And?”
“Couple of things. The money I need to pay you for my part of the ranch is in her keeping. Or to be more exact, her attorney’s keeping. He has a double-enforced, steel safe.” Bart shook his head. “I don’t believe in banks. Seen too many of them robbed. But I was planning on sending to Rose for my money. Her attorney can wire one of those Western Union money orders to the bank in Del Rio, and you should be able to draw on it.”
