Outlaw's Bride

by Maureen McKade

  Clint frowned. Was the wedding that much of a burden on Mattie? What was the doctor hiding? Was he worried that Clint might steal her away from him?

  He had every reason to, because Clint intended to do just that. But only if Mattie didn’t love Murphy.

  What if she doesn’t love me, either?

  Mattie had given herself freely to him, and she wasn’t a loose woman. There had been more than a physical joining of their bodies—much more. He shifted uncomfortably on the boardwalk. The memory of that one night never failed to make him grow as hard as the wood he sat on. Damn.

  He looked up at the doctor, hoping his thoughts weren’t reflected in his face. “As soon as Andy is finished, he’ll head on home, right?” He glanced at the boy.

  “Yeah,” Andy replied reluctantly.

  “All right, then.” Dr. Murphy’s expression softened and genuine fondness crept into it. “I’ll see you later, Andy. I’m coming over for supper tonight.”

  He patted the boy’s head and gave Clint a terse nod, then climbed the steps and entered the bakery. Clint heard Ellen’s friendly greeting, then Murphy said something to her and she giggled.

  He turned his attention back to Andy.

  “I suppose Ma will want me to go to bed early,” the boy said, rolling his eyes. “She always does when Dr. Murphy comes over.”

  Jealousy sucked the breath from Clint’s lungs and he didn’t have a comment for the boy. He pictured Murphy and Mattie in the parlor, listening to the waltz from her music box. He imagined Murphy holding her hand, moving closer to her …

  He closed his eyes tightly as a wave of anger and possessiveness surged through him. They were betrothed—Murphy was perfectly within his rights to kiss her and …

  At least Murphy is marrying her. I didn’t give her any promises.

  Clint forced the painful pictures from his thoughts and managed a smile. “I suppose I’ll catch it from your ma for ruining your appetite.”

  A grin slipped across the boy’s face. “Naw. I’m bottomless.”

  Clint chuckled and ruffled Andy’s dark hair—hair the same color and texture as Mattie’s.

  What if Clint couldn’t stop the wedding? What if he lost Mattie because he had been too damn stubborn to see what was right in front of him?

  Across the street, Pete Layton stood hidden in the shadows between two buildings as he watched Beaudry and the boy. Layton narrowed his eyes. Beaudry was supposed to be dead. He’d shot him himself and seen the bullet hole.

  But there Beaudry sat, big as life, his shiny silver badge winking in the sunlight. The bastard had been following him for so long that Layton had finally decided he had to take care of the problem. Though Layton had killed for money many times, no one had paid him to take care of Beaudry.

  This was personal.

  How could he have known that woman had been a marshal’s wife? A year ago, when Layton had been looking, she’d been handy. He’d taken what he wanted and ensured he would never be identified. The problem was the marshal had caught a glimpse of him as he’d ridden away and the bastard hadn’t let up, so Layton had stopped him.

  Or so he had believed.

  He shifted his scrutiny to the boy, whom Beaudry seemed to have feelings for. Who was he?

  Layton dropped his cigarette and ground the butt into the alley with his heel. Keeping to the shadows, he walked over to the livery where he’d left his horse.

  He spotted the livery owner by one of the corrals and joined him. “Howdy, Luther.”

  The big man turned, surprised. “You back already?”

  “I got a question for you.” He motioned toward Beaudry and the boy. “Who’s the kid with the sheriff?”

  Luther squinted. “Mattie St. Clair’s boy.”

  “Who’s Mattie St. Clair?”

  “A widow woman. She runs a boardinghouse about a quarter of a mile south of town. Her husband was the sheriff—got hisself killed before the boy was even born.” Luther spat on the ground. “She’s marryin’ again next week.”

  “The sheriff?” That would be fitting—Layton could have his fun with Beaudry’s new wife, then kill both of them.

  Luther shook his head. “Doc Murphy.” He glared at the sheriff across the street, like he had a personal grudge against him. “Beaudry’s just fillin’ in for Sheriff Atwater. He was shot when a coupla men tried to rob the bank. Beaudry helped out and got talked into takin’ the badge until Atwater healed. I hear tell Beaudry’s lookin’ for someone.”

  Layton wondered what Beaudry would think if he knew his quarry was less than a hundred yards away. He smiled. “You say the widow woman has a boardinghouse?”

  Luther nodded. “Last I heard, she ain’t got no boarders, though. Not since Beaudry. He was shot and she nursed him back to health.” He smiled lecherously. “I wouldn’t mind bein’ nursed by her.”

  So she was the reason Beaudry was still alive. And she was a good-looking woman.

  This was getting better and better.

  “Saddle my horse. I’ve decided not to stay around town.”

  “You still gotta pay for a day’s boarding and feed,” Luther said.

  Layton flipped him a gold dollar. “That should more than cover it.”

  Luther caught the small coin with one hand, then grinned widely when he recognized its value. “Give me a few minutes.”

  Layton kept his back to Beaudry, but lowered his head so he could watch him surreptitiously. If he had known Beaudry would be so tenacious, he might not have used the woman.

  Remembering that night over a year ago, Layton smiled. No, it had been worth it.

  He wondered if Mattie St. Clair would be, too.

  Chapter 20

  Mattie breathed a sigh of relief when Kevin finally left at eight that evening. Amelia’s visit earlier that day had tired her out more than she cared to admit. Or it could have been all the cleaning she’d done.

  The fact that she carried a new life within her probably had something to do with her exhaustion, too.

  After Kevin’s buggy disappeared into the twilight, Mattie turned back toward the house. The sound of an approaching horse made her pause. Frowning, she watched a rider appear out of the growing darkness. Her eyes widened at the sight of the golden horse. She’d never seen one that color before.

  “Hello, the house,” a man called out as he drew his horse to a stop twenty feet from Mattie. “I’m looking for a place to stay for two or three nights and was told you take boarders.”

  A lodger was the last thing Mattie wanted, but she couldn’t very well turn someone away when her rooms lay empty. “You heard right. You can put your horse in the corral and your tack in the barn, then come on up to the house.”

  “Thank you, ma’am,” the man said, touching the brim of his hat courteously.

  The few dollars would be put toward the wedding—she hated that Kevin was paying for everything. Shivering, she scurried back inside and up the stairs. She decided to give him the room at the far end of the hallway, even though she usually used Ruth’s old room as the main boarding one.

  Mattie did a quick check to ensure the linens were clean and no dust littered the furniture. Satisfied, she returned to the main floor just as a knock sounded. She opened the door and took her first good look at the man. He was Clint’s height, but narrower through the shoulders and chest, and his hair and eyes were dark. He wore trousers and a suit coat with a white shirt beneath it. The man could have been a traveling preacher or a banker—it was hard to tell. At least he didn’t wear a gunbelt.

  “Come in, Mr….” Mattie began.

  “Layton. Pete Layton. And you must be Mattie St. Clair,” he said, doffing his hat. “I’m pleased to meet you.”

  She shook his offered hand, but when she tried to draw away, he clung to it a few moments longer. Mattie tugged a little more forcefully and he released her. He studied her silently, leaving Mattie with a decidedly uncomfortable feeling.

  “Have you eaten?” she asked to fill the awkward
silence.

  “No, I haven’t,” Layton replied.

  Mattie resigned herself to another hour of work. “I’ll make you something.” She pointed up the stairs. “Your room is at the end of the hall, on the left. If there’s anything you need that’s not in there, just let me know.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. St. Clair. I’ll just go stow my saddlebags.”

  “Come on down to eat afterward.”

  “I wouldn’t want to put you through any bother,” Layton said.

  Mattie forced the corners of her lips upward. “No bother at all. From now on, though, breakfast is at seven, dinner at noon, and supper at five-thirty.”

  “That’ll be fine, ma’am.”

  He climbed the stairs and Mattie shuddered with an odd sensation, as if someone had walked across her grave. She shoved the feeling aside. Mr. Layton seemed like a gentleman in spite of his tendency to hold her hand a little longer than necessary.

  Squaring her shoulders, she walked into the kitchen and set about preparing a meal. Fortunately she had leftovers she could use, so it wouldn’t take long.

  Ten minutes later, she heard Mr. Layton coming back down the stairs. When he entered the kitchen, she could smell lye soap. At least he was clean—that was definitely in his favor.

  “Have a seat. It’s almost ready,” Mattie called over her shoulder.

  She filled a plate from the pots on the stove and carried it to the table.

  “This looks real good, ma’am,” he said.

  His words were polite, but his tone sent a shiver down Mattie’s spine. She didn’t notice anything threatening in his expression, though.

  “It’s not much.” She set a cup of coffee by his plate, then crossed her arms. “Could you please put out the lamps when you’re finished?”

  “Are you going somewhere, Mrs. St. Clair?” He studied her closely.

  “It’s been a long day and I’m very tired,” she said firmly to cover her sudden nervousness.

  A smile slid into place. “I understand. I would have been here earlier, but my horse threw a shoe a few miles from town.”

  “Are you just passing through?” Mattie asked, curious in spite of her unease.

  “That’s right. I’m a businessman.”

  She breathed a silent sigh of relief. It was only the long day that had set her nerves on edge. “I thought so. You’d better eat before it gets cold. Good night, Mr. Layton.”

  “Good night, Mrs. St. Clair.”

  As she walked upstairs, Mattie couldn’t help but laugh at her own suspicions. She’d thought Clint was a hired gun and he’d turned out to be a lawman—some judge of character she was.

  She slipped into her room and closed the door. After a moment, she slid the bolt into place.

  Better to be safe than sorry.

  “Whose horse is in the corral?” Herman asked the next morning as he entered the back door.

  Mattie smiled. “Good morning to you, too, Herman.”

  “Mornin’. Whose horse is that?”

  “Mr. Layton’s. He came in last night after Kevin left. He was looking for a room.”

  Herman scowled. “You shoulda fetched me. I don’t like you receivin’ men so late.”

  “He’s a businessman,” Mattie said with a laugh. “And a boarder.”

  “A man’s a man. Believe me, I know. I’m one myself and I know what goes through our—their minds when they see a pretty woman alone.”

  “Calm down, Herman. I’m fine and Andy’s fine.”

  Herman dropped into a chair, his face flushed and perspiration dotting his forehead.

  Concerned, Mattie stepped over to his side and laid the back of her hand against his forehead. “Are you sick?”

  The old man batted Mattie’s hand away and pulled a well-worn handkerchief from his pocket to mop his brow. “Don’t be frettin’ about me, Mattie. I’m just tired, is all.” He paused. “I ain’t as young as I used to be. I can’t protect you and Andy anymore like I used to.”

  A thread of apprehension twisted through her. “Don’t be silly. You still have a lot of years left.”

  “I’m just glad you’re gettin’ hitched now, even though it’s to the wrong man,” Herman said.

  Impatience made Mattie move away. “We’ve been through this already. Kevin will make a much better husband and father than Clint.”

  “Says you,” Herman muttered.

  Mattie’s boarder entered the kitchen. “Good morning, Mrs. St. Clair.”

  She smiled. “Good morning, Mr. Layton. I trust you slept well?”

  “Very well, thank you. I didn’t realize how tired I was until I laid down.”

  “Have a seat. Breakfast is almost ready.” She noticed the two men measuring one another. “Mr. Layton, this is Herman. He’s my handyman.”

  Layton stuck out his hand, and after a moment Herman shook it.

  “Whereabouts you hail from, Layton?” Herman asked.

  Mattie sent her friend an admonishing look, but she could tell he was going to ignore her. Herman had stepped into his mother-hen role.

  The stranger lowered himself to the chair across from Herman and leaned back, crossing his legs. “Denver. I’m on my way back from a business meeting in Reno.”

  “Why didn’t you take the train? Seems to me that’d be more to your likin’.”

  Mattie poured each of the men a cup of coffee and set the cups on the table in front of them. As much as she disliked Herman giving her customers an interrogation, she was curious herself about Layton.

  The visitor laughed. “I spend most of my time behind a desk. Sometimes I prefer to ride a horse instead of a train just so I can get outside.”

  Mattie’s gaze caught Herman’s and she tipped her head slightly in an I-told-you-he-was-all-right angle. “Breakfast is almost ready. As soon as my son gets in here, I’ll serve it,” Mattie announced.

  But the older man wasn’t deterred. “What’s your business?”

  Layton’s expression lost some of its amiability. “Accounting. I make sure everything balances out.”

  His cool tone brought a shiver to Mattie, but when she looked at him, there was nothing in his face except friendliness.

  Andy pushed through the back door carrying the milk pail. He stopped and looked at Layton. “That must be your horse down in the corral.”

  “That’s right. And you must be Mrs. St. Clair’s son,” Layton said gregariously. “I’m Pete Layton.” He stuck out his hand.

  “Andy St. Clair.” He shook Layton’s hand.

  Mattie watched in awe, uncertain if she’d ever grow accustomed to her son’s newfound maturity.

  “Nice to meet you, Andy,” Layton said.

  Mattie filled everyone’s plates and joined the men around the table. At first the conversation was stilted, but Layton put them at ease as he told them about the places he’d traveled. Andy listened with wide-eyed fascination.

  “There’s a dance in town tonight,” Mattie said after they’d finished eating. “You might want to attend if you have nothing else to do. Folks in Green Valley are friendly and I’m sure you won’t be hurting for dance partners.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. St. Clair, but I think I’ll just stay here and do some work,” Layton said. “There’s always debts to be paid and accounts to balance.” His voice was almost too smooth, reminding Mattie of a snake-oil salesman.

  “I’m sure it’s a demanding job,” she said politely.

  “Can I curry your horse, Mr. Layton?” Andy asked.

  The man smiled at the boy. “Sure. I’ll even go along and introduce you to him.” He glanced at Mattie. “As long as your mother says it’s all right.”

  She nodded. “That’s fine. But don’t forget you have other chores to do.”

  Andy nodded and led their boarder out of the house.

  “Does he pass your inspection?” Mattie asked Herman.

  The old man narrowed his eyes. “He seems all right, but that don’t mean much. I seen too many wolves wearin’ sheepski
ns.”

  Mattie reached across the table and clasped Herman’s cool, bony hand. “Thank you.”

  He blushed. “Ain’t nothin’. ’Sides, I promised Ruth I’d keep an eye on you. I don’t want her to be mad at me when I finally join her.” He shuddered visibly. “A mad Ruth ain’t somethin’ I’d wish on my worst enemy.”

  “I doubt she’ll be mad at you,” Mattie said with a fond smile. She stood, gathered the dishes, and placed them in the washbasin.

  Herman shuffled up behind her and laid his hand on her back. “I, uh, I just want to tell you that you always made me proud, Mattie. Even when you was actin’ like a stubborn mule.”

  Though knowing Herman hated such maudlin emotions, Mattie turned and hugged him close. “I love you, too, you old coot.”

  His arms crept around her tentatively, but he hugged her back. Then, as quickly as it had happened, the moment was over.

  “I’d best get out there and make sure Andy’s doin’ them chores right,” Herman muttered, and slipped out the back door.

  Mattie swiped at her eyes. Although she had often been irritated with the old man for his lack of ambition, she couldn’t fault his loyalty. A soft heart beat under that crusty exterior.

  She straightened her spine. She had a busy day ahead of her, culminating in the dance that evening, which would take much of her energy. There was no doubt in her mind Clint would be there.

  She recalled the night they’d waltzed in the parlor and what had followed in her bedroom. Her heart somersaulted and she rested her palms across her stomach protectively.

  Would Clint ask her to dance tonight? Would she refuse him?

  Or would her heart betray her?

  Clint entered the front room of Walt Atwater’s home and spotted the sheriff dozing lightly on the sofa. He smiled and covered him with the blanket lying on a nearby chair.

  “Your tie’s crooked,” Walt said.

  Clint stepped back. “I thought you were asleep.”

  “How can a man sleep with you tromping around?” Walt groused. He pushed himself up to a sitting position. “Come here, let me fix your tie.”

  Feeling like a young boy going to his first dance, Clint leaned close and allowed the older man to straighten his string tie.