“Certainly not with your arm as it is now.” Her mouth tightened into a prim little line. “Mr. Hunter, I talked to you about your future days ago, before this happened, and at that time your future did not concern you. I even tried to warn you that something like this might happen.”
Why did he feel as though he were being talked to by his mother? She used to say, “I told you this was going to happen. But, no, you wouldn’t listen to me. You had to have your own way. You never listen to anyone.”
Cole ran his hand over his eyes. If he murdered anyone, it would be this woman. Besides wanting to kill her, he wanted to prove to her that he was worth something. “Miss Latham, you offered me a job, and I accept that offer.”
It was her turn to sit down. “No,” she whispered, “this is a mistake.”
He sensed that he was regaining some power. “Miss Latham, tell me, what do you do with your time?”
“I beg your pardon.”
“Your time. What do you do with your time when you are at home in Latham? I can’t see you as a sewing circle lady. I can’t see you putting on garden parties and teas. What do you do in that town your father left you?”
It was her turn to look surprised. “I can see that you, too, have been doing some research.”
Heaven help him but at a compliment from this scrawny little thing, he felt warmth flow through him. He had to get himself back under control as he waited for her answer.
“I am a landlord,” she said, then paused, and he could see emotions play across her face. So she wasn’t a perfect poker player after all. “My father left the town of Latham to me because Rowena had her rich husband.” She paused. “My father did not think there was any possibility that I would find a husband, rich or not, so he left me a means of support. Anyway, Latham is a small town that wouldn’t exist except for the railroad, but the few shops and houses there all belong to me.”
“You are a rent collector?” He knew it was petty of him, but he wanted to make what she did sound trivial, just as she had made what he did sound worthless.
“And a roof fixer and a listener-to-reasons-why-the-rent-is-late, and just about everything else in that town. If I may give you some advice, Mr. Hunter, if anyone ever offers to give you a town, don’t take it.”
He laughed. “I’ll remember that. No one’s ever given me that advice before.” For a moment he looked at her, sitting there with her hands folded in her lap. “It seems to me that you need a man for more reasons than just to get your sister off your back.”
“Of course,” she said, giving him that look that said he wasn’t very smart. “I know that. I very much want a husband. I wish I had a man to take over the management of Latham. My father was a man who allowed no laxity in people. He was…” She seemed to search for the right word.
“A tyrant?”
“Exactly,” she said, looking up at him, eyes sparkling rather prettily. “He was a dreadful tyrant. I loved him, but I was also terrified of him, as was everyone else. Except, of course, Rowena, but that’s another story. My father said that neither of his daughters had any backbone, that we were too soft, but at least I wouldn’t get married and turn the whole town over to some scoundrel who wanted only my money, as Rowena might do.”
“Why not?” Cole asked, knowing it was a ridiculous question.
“My father said I was much too sensible to marry a scoundrel. He said I’d marry a sane and sensible man.”
“So why not marry your pepper shaker?” he couldn’t resist asking.
“Alfred would have no idea how to be firm with the tenants. I’ve tried to tell Rowena that Alfred works hard now only because he has to. If he had my money, he wouldn’t lift a finger. Under his industrious exterior, he is a very lazy man. I want to find a man who works, one who can take over my father’s tenants while I stay at home.”
“You certainly have your life planned in detail.”
“Of course. If one doesn’t plan, one spends one’s life drifting. That’s all right in youth, but we are not always young.”
Cole shifted uncomfortably on his seat. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to ask you a personal question.” He didn’t wait for her permission. “Have you ever done anything that wasn’t sensible?”
She didn’t hesitate. “I asked a gunslinger to marry me.”
Cole winced. For a moment he had nothing to say, so he reached inside his pocket and removed a thin cigar, but then he found it impossible to hold it and light it at the same time. Maybe it was his vanity, but he was used to women paying attention to him. Had he been in the room with any other female on earth, she would have fluttered about him and helped him light his cigar. But Miss Latham just sat ther watching him, not offering anything.
Annoyed, he tossed the unlit cigar onto the table by the chair. “Miss Latham, you are right. You are right about everything. I’m beginning to feel that my days as a cold-blooded killer are drawing to a close.” He hesitated to give her time to contradict him, but she didn’t. “Why don’t you and I make a deal? I’ll help you if you help me.”
“What do you mean?”
“You came to me a few days ago because you wanted to make your sister believe that you already had a husband so she’d leave you in peace to do your…research, I believe you called it.”
He waited for her nod. “You want to finish your research on finding a suitable husband, a man who can help you collect your rents, stand up to the complaints of your tenants, and be a tender father to your children. Is that about right?”
“Yes.”
“What I need is a place to live for a few months while my arm heals. Also, it might be nice to learn a trade.”
“I see. But owning a town is hardly a trade.”
“Maybe I could learn to run a saloon. Maybe after this is all over I could buy my own place and settle down.”
“This isn’t going to work.”
“Why not?” he asked.
“Because of…you know. We’ll never be able to stay apart for very long.”
Cole couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Maybe it was because of his looks, but he’d never really had to pursue a woman before. Women always came to him. Oh, they pretended that their encounters with him were accidents, but they weren’t. All he had to do was enter a town and within hours several pretty girls would be placing themselves where he could see them. Now here was this runt of a woman—a woman who admitted that no man except one short, bald, spotty-headed man wanted her and then he probably wanted her only for her money—and she was saying that he—he, Coleman Hunter!—wouldn’t be able to control himself if he spent much time around her.
“Trust me, Miss Latham,” he said with heavy sarcasm, “I’ll manage to control myself.” Even if I have to visit a bordello seven nights a week, he thought. Really, the woman was too much! Her insinuation that he couldn’t control himself around her was more than he could take. If nothing else, he wanted to prove to her how wrong she was.
“Knowing Rowena, she isn’t going to leave Texas until she sees us married,” she continued, unaware of Cole’s thoughts. “If our false engagement lasts for four years, she will stay here and wait for four years. My sister might look soft and sweet, but she is forged iron inside.”
“How could your father have thought his daughters were soft?” Cole mumbled.
Cole knew that in Miss Latham’s eyes, his knowledge and skills were worthless, but his life had trained him to make quick decisions. And maybe her words and being shot had made him see things differently. Money aside, what was he going to do until his arm healed?
She might not want to go through with her original proposition but Cole had seen the way her eyes betrayed her feeling of guilt when his arm was mentioned. Never in his life had he felt anything but softness for a woman, but this one challenged him. Quickly he decided that he was going to use what he’d come to know about her. If she thought Rowena could be a bully, she’d never seen Cole Hunter in action.
“All right, Miss Latham, while
there’s no reason for you to feel responsibility for what has happened to my arm, the fact is that except for what you paid me the other day, all the money I have in the world is two dollars and twenty-five cents.” This was the truth, but he had been worse off than this before, yet he’d always found someone to stake him in a poker game and he’d been able to win enough to live on. But she didn’t need to know that.
“The way I see it is that you owe me.”
“I have offered to pay you.”
“And I’ve told you that I don’t want charity. I want to learn a trade.” About as much as he wanted bubonic plague. He could not see himself as a shopkeeper, even if the shop sold beer to drunks. “With you I see the chance of learning something that will help me in my later years. For the first time I see a way out of my life of degradation and death. I see the possibility of attaining respectability. I see a way to better myself and begin to live as others do. It is the first time I have been offered such a chance, and contrary to your opinion of me, I am not a fool. Miss Latham, I want to take that opportunity.”
Cole thought perhaps he’d missed his calling in life. Maybe he should have been a preacher or a snake oil salesman. Or maybe a senator. Hell, he was so full of hot air he was good enough to be president.
Before she could say a word, he continued, unwilling to stop when he was winning. “I want to ask you something. How many men have you kissed?”
She blinked at him. “J…just you.”
“Just as I thought. You seem to think there was something special between us, something different. Let me assure you that there was not. That feeling we experienced between us is the same with every kiss between a man and a woman. If you kissed your Mr. Pepper, you’d feel the same thing.” She tried to conceal her disappointment, but he could see it in her face, and her look almost made him retract his lie. But he didn’t.
“The problem seems to be that you think that if we spend any time together I will not be able to control myself and will die if I do not get you into bed with me. Nothing could be further from the truth.”
He kept on, not allowing her to say a word. “Miss Latham, I offer you a business proposition: Marry me for six months and let me run your town during that time. At the end of the six months if I have done a satisfactory job, I want you to give me five thousand dollars. That will be my stake in whatever I want to do in life.”
“Wouldn’t it be much simpler just to hire you as a manager for collecting the rent?”
Damn, but the woman had a disconcerting way of seeing straight to the truth! He gave her a little smile. “Unless I’m more than a manager, your sister will have her way.” He raised an eyebrow. “Perhaps I’ll be invited to your wedding with Alfred. Will his children attend? By the way, how old are his children?”
“His sons are twenty-five, twenty-three, and twenty,” she said.
Cole was so startled by this information that he couldn’t speak for a moment. “Not exactly in their nappies, are they?” he said softly, thinking that this small woman wasn’t at all what she had at first seemed. At their first meeting he had thought she needed no one, seemed able to take care of herself and half the world, but now he was beginning to get a clearer picture of what had driven her to ask a gunslinger to marry her.
Part of him knew it was the “hero” in him—he was beginning to hate that word—but he was starting to feel protective toward her. Her sister was trying to marry her off to a lazy man with three grown sons. All four of them would no doubt move into her house, take over her town, and spend her money.
He was tired of talking, tired of arguing. Quite suddenly he had a great deal of sympathy for Rowena. No wonder she was afraid to leave her defenseless sister alone in a large house at the mercy of every gold digger in the country. No wonder she was trying to force her to marry a man who could protect her. Rowena’s mistake was in thinking this old man with grown sons was the one for the job.
“You’re going to marry me, do you understand? You can bribe a judge to annul the marriage later if you want, but right now we need each other. You need protection from your well-meaning sister, and I need a place to hang my hat until I heal.” By the time he had finished this speech, he had gripped her upper arms with his hands and lifted her half off the floor. His nose was close to hers. “And don’t you say a word about kids or my killing people or anything else. I’ll straighten out that town of yours. It sounds as if the tenants are taking advantage of you with their reluctance to pay rent.”
“You’re going to shoot them?” she asked breathlessly.
He released his grip on her so suddenly she almost fell. Did she work at making him angry or did she do it without thought? “Here,” he said, his voice filled with anger as he began to unbuckle the gun belt at his waist. It hurt him more than a little. In fact, pain shot up his arm and he could feel his wound beginning to bleed as he tore it open, but he would have died before giving up his valiant gesture. He was dizzy with pain when he held the belt out to her like some primitive offering, but force of will kept him on his feet. “I am giving you my gun,” he said. “I won’t use it to collect the rent in your town, and if I try to touch you in any way, you have my permission to shoot me. Now do we have a deal?”
Silently, with great seriousness, she took the heavy gun belt from him. It seemed to take her a long time to make up her mind, but at last she said yes, and that was all.
Cole wasn’t sure whether he should be happy or terrified, but he allowed neither emotion to show. “All right, then, shall we go? Your sister is waiting.”
He bent his good arm for her to take. After only a second’s hesitation she slipped her small hand onto his forearm and they started toward the door, Dorie carrying Cole’s gun belt in her left hand, one end of it dragging the floor.
Chapter Five
Dorie tried not to sit on the edge of her seat, but such control was difficult. Self-control had been her main concern over the last few days, but now it was almost impossible. She was sitting in the bedroom of Rowena’s private railroad car—borrowed from some hopelessly besotted admirer—across a table from the stranger who was now her husband.
When she’d concocted this plan of pretending to be married to a gunslinger, it had seemed like a brilliant idea. She would at last shock everyone. She’d shock her sister who thought she knew everything about Dorie; she’d shock all of the people of Latham, who laughed at her for being an old maid. She almost wished her father were still alive so she could shock him too. But then she doubted if anything could shock Charles Latham. If Dorie had said she was going to marry a caterpillar, he wouldn’t have been shocked; he just would have said no. If the president of the United States had wanted to marry Dorie, her father would have said no. He said he’d allowed one daughter to leave and he wasn’t letting the other one go while he was alive.
So Dorie had grown up inside a house with a cold totalitarian, an overlord more than a father, a man who allowed only his opinion inside the house and outside in his private town. The only thing in the world that could soften him was Rowena’s beauty.
Purposely, Charles Latham had married a plain-faced woman, saying he wanted a wife who would be faithful to him. Rowena always wondered if he’d said this to their mother, but then, Rowena lived in a cloud of daydreams and romance. Of course Charles Latham had told his frightened little wife that he’d married her because she could produce children and no other man would want her. Dorie wondered if her mother had willed herself to die after the birth of her second daughter. No doubt she had heard in detail how disappointed her husband was that she had given him only another daughter and not a son to carry on his name, so she’d decided to get out.
Her mother wasn’t the only one whose life was ruled by Charles Latham’s iron will. After her father died, Dorie found that she didn’t actually know what to do with freedom. All her life she’d had her father telling her when to go to bed, when to get up, what to eat. Her life was planned and scheduled by him.
Of course she
realized that her isolated life, spent almost totally in the company of her father, had made her a little…different. Rowena’s incredible beauty had given her a life that was more like other people’s. A woman who looked like Rowena didn’t have to leave the house to meet people: people came to her. In spite of her father’s attempts to isolate her, Rowena involved herself with other people, until at last Jonathan Westlake came and took her away forever.
But no one had sought Dorie out. No handsome young men had risked her father’s wrath to knock on the front door and ask to see her. And if they had and her father had refused them, Dorie wasn’t beautiful enough to make him change his mind.
So Rowena had left Latham six years ago; she had gotten away from their father, but Dorie had stayed. Dorie had stayed in that big, dark house, working as her father’s housekeeper and secretary. In the evenings she had sat in the same room with him, never speaking, never seeking companionship, just sitting there. He said that two women had left him, and by damn the third one wasn’t going to, so he rarely allowed Dorie out of his sight.
When he died, Dorie had difficulty feeling anything except relief. Perhaps she had loved him, but then, he had never allowed anything into his house that was as soft as love. Charles Latham believed in discipline in all things. Rowena once said that their father had probably kissed their mother only twice in her life—and that was back in the days when they still believed that kissing made babies.
During all those years with her father, suppressing every emotion, living in fear of him and his wrath, Dorie had thought of what she would do when she was free—she equated his death with her own freedom. She imagined wild things such as travel to foreign lands. She imagined suddenly having beauty like Rowena’s and causing grown men to tremble at the lifting of her eyelashes.
What she did not imagine was being left with the burden of managing an entire town. People she had seen, if not known, all her life, seemed overnight to become nothing but an enormous open hand that asked her to fill it. She had to find the money to repair roofs, fix porches, clean drains. There seemed to be no end to the work that needed to be done.
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