The Colorado Bride

by Mary Burton

“Yeah, sure.”

  Cole grunted. He didn’t believe him.

  Dusty smoothed dirty hands over tattered overalls. “Hey, you need me to watch your horse today? I got some time on my hands. I reckon Pa’s so mad, he won’t be back in town for a month.”

  “Aren’t you supposed to be in school?”

  Dusty shrugged. “It’s a holiday.”

  “You’re a bad liar, kid.”

  Dusty took two quick steps for every one of Cole’s. “Maybe, but I still got the whole day free.”

  Cole paused at the entrance of the saloon. “When’s the last time you ate?”

  “Yesterday. Maybe the day before.”

  “I’ve a taste for bacon and eggs. Join me.”

  The boy hesitated. “I ain’t supposed to go in there. Mr. Osborne said he’d skin me alive if he ever caught me in the saloon again.”

  “Why?”

  “It might have something to do with missing money.”

  “You take it?”

  “Maybe,” the boy said.

  The kid was a survivor and if that meant he stole to put food in his belly, Cole wasn’t going to pass judgment. He grabbed the kid by the shirt and pulled him inside the saloon. “Keep your hands where I can see them.”

  The fresh smell of bacon mingled with the stale odor of whiskey, making Cole sorry now he hadn’t taken his breakfast at the Shady Grove. He chose a table in the corner. He ordered Dusty to take a chair then took one next to him.

  Within minutes Seth sauntered from the back room. His shirt was stained with last night’s liquor and his long gray hair hung loose around his shoulders. He studied Cole and Dusty with red-rimmed eyes. “Cole, I’m holding you responsible for anything that boy steals.”

  “Dusty isn’t gonna steal anything.” Cole’s voice held a threatening note.

  Seth reached for a pot of coffee and a pitcher of milk. He set both on their table along with a mug and a glass. “See that he don’t. I suppose you’ll be wanting breakfast for two.” His voice wasn’t as gruff as it had been.

  “Eggs, bacon and extra helpings of biscuits,” Cole said as he poured a glass of milk for Dusty.

  “Sure.” Seth sauntered to the back room.

  Dusty finished his milk just as Cole was raising his mug of coffee to his lips. He poured the boy another glass.

  Seth was quick with the biscuits, eggs and bacon. Cole sipped his hot coffee as the boy ate his fill. He marveled at the amount of food the child could pack into his body.

  After Dusty had finished his fifth biscuit, Cole chuckled. “Boy, I believe you got a hollow leg.”

  “Just an empty stomach.” Dusty took the remaining three biscuits from the basket and shoved them in his pocket.

  “How long you been in town?”

  “Pa dropped me off in the spring after ma died. Said I was too much trouble.”

  Dusty kept all traces of emotion from his face, but Cole noticed the way his little hands shook as he dabbed up the crumbs on the table with his fingertips.

  “Why’d he come after you today?”

  “Reckon he’s thinking about the fall harvest.”

  Cole felt a hitch in his throat. If he left town now, there’d be no one to look after the boy. Hell, he didn’t have anywhere else to be for a couple of months. “I’ve got some business to attend to, but I want you to meet me here for lunch.”

  Dusty stood, biscuits bulging from his pants pockets. “You need me to do anything for you?”

  “Just show up for lunch.”

  “Sure thing.”

  Cole watched the boy scamper out of the saloon, his narrow shoulders a good bit straighter. He swallowed the dregs of his coffee, scooped up his hat and tossed two bits on the table.

  He walked over to the bar where Seth stood polishing a glass tumbler. “Where in potter’s field are Lily and my son buried?”

  Seth stopped what he was doing but didn’t look up. “They’re not in potter’s field. They’re in the town cemetery.”

  “You sure?”

  “I’m sure.” Seth turned and went into his back room.

  For as long as Cole could remember, the town cemetery had been reserved as the final resting place for the town’s finest. People like his ma and Lily ended up in crudely marked graves on the north side of town.

  Curious now, Cole strode down Main Street past the collection of shops toward a grassy patch of land up on a hill. His boots crunched against the dirt, eating up the half mile of terrain in record time.

  He still remembered the cold Friday afternoon in May when he’d stood at his mother’s fresh grave. The wind had whipped through the valley that day, blistering his skin as he stared at the plain marker he’d ordered with the name Betty McGuire carved on it.

  He remembered how he’d felt—guilty. Guilty that he’d been working when she’d died. Guilty that he hadn’t been strong enough to save his ma from the bottle.

  He’d barely caught sight of the black iron fence encircling the plots when he saw Rebecca’s blond curls dancing in the gentle breeze as she opened the gate that encircled the graves.

  He held back, crouching, wondering what she was doing here. He reckoned her pa was buried in the cemetery and maybe even that husband of hers that had got himself shot in Denver. The thought of her pining for a dead husband didn’t sit well.

  Wicker basket in hand, she knelt in front of a grave. She slipped on a pair of work gloves then carefully cleaned all the fallen leaves and sticks from the plot. She brushed dirt from the headstones then laid a bunch of blue and yellow flowers at the base of the stone marker.

  He edged closer, as quiet as the Indian scouts who’d trained him.

  “I’m sorry,” he heard her say. Her voice sounded strained. Thunderclouds plump with rain loomed over as she covered her face with her hands, chanting, “I’m sorry,” over and over again.

  His heart constricted at the sight of Rebecca weeping. He didn’t have reason to care if she was upset or not, but he did. And when she finally straightened her shoulders and wiped away her tears, relief washed over him.

  Rebecca gathered up her basket and rose slowly. Cole backed behind a large tree careful not to be seen.

  Wind rustled through the valley. The rusted hinges on the gate groaned as she opened and closed the door, then hurried down the hill, her skirts whipping around her ankles.

  Cole waited until Rebecca was out of sight before he rose and dusted himself off, and strode up the hill. He opened the gate, not bothering to close it as he crossed the burial ground. He went straight to the grave where Rebecca had left the fresh spray of flowers.

  When he reached the ornate stone marker etched with angels he stopped. His breath caught in his throat and his mind filled with questions.

  The name on the marker read: Lily Davis and Child—Never Forgotten.

  Chapter Five

  Lily, I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.

  Rebecca brushed fresh tears from her cheeks as she hurried away from the cemetery down the hill toward town. Leaves swirled around her feet and rain drizzled from gray thunderclouds, ripe and full. Cold raindrops coated her hair and dark shawl.

  She tightened her shawl, warding off a sudden chill. She’d been up half the night, unable to sleep as the minutes clicked by slowly one by one. Rebecca had wrestled with the lies she’d told, her mind pulsing with images of Mac, Lily and Cole. This morning she’d risen, blurry-eyed, with a dull headache pounding her head, resolved to visit her dead friend’s final resting place.

  She’d not been to the graveyard in over two months. Life had become so busy there were always good reasons not to go. But this morning, she’d wanted—needed—to come. She felt compelled to explain her actions and pay homage.

  But as she’d knelt in front of the headstone and cleaned away the brush and debris, her gnawing guilt grew worse. It didn’t matter that she’d entrusted her own child to Lily’s arms, paid for their fancy headstone by selling pieces of her mother’s silver or that she’d faithfully
tended the grave these last two years. What mattered was that her lies had betrayed Lily’s memory.

  She stopped her descent sensing someone was watching her. She scanned the rolling hillside as the wind swept over the tall grass. The gate to the cemetery creaked eerily in the breeze, making the skin on the back of her neck tingle. But there was no one.

  Feeling the fool, Rebecca resumed her brisk pace down the rocky path. She willed herself to stop crying. It wouldn’t do for Cole McGuire to see her like this. He already suspected something wasn’t right about her story and if she didn’t tread very carefully, he’d discover her secret.

  The raindrops fell faster and Rebecca knew if she didn’t hurry, she’d be drenched. She ran down the boardwalk, past the drab shops and up the hill toward the Shady Grove. When she reached the front porch gooseflesh puckered her skin and the hem of her dress was damp and stained with mud.

  Rebecca took off her shawl, shook the rain droplets from the light wool and draped it over one of the rockers on the front porch. She smoothed a damp curl behind her ear and drew in a deep breath.

  She tried to shove her worries aside by mentally detailing what needed to be done for the day. Today was Tuesday. Sheets needed to be washed and floors polished.

  As Rebecca reached for the front door it burst open. Dripping wet, Bess stood before her, a bucket full of water in one hand and a scowl on her face. The older woman strode past her and dumped the water over the edge of the porch railing. “The roof’s leaking again.”

  Rebecca groaned. “But I patched it only last month.”

  “Well, it didn’t hold. There’s water streaming from the kitchen ceiling and filling up buckets. I don’t how in tarnation I’m supposed to cook pies when I got water coming in through the roof. Hell’s bells, I finally got Mac down for his nap and now this.”

  “I’ll take a look at it.” Rebecca retrieved her damp shawl and wrapped it around her shoulders.

  “I don’t like you climbing that ladder. You’re gonna break your neck if you ain’t careful.”

  “I haven’t yet,” she said grimly.

  Rebecca clutched her shawl and hurried through the pelting rain around the side of the house. She yanked the ladder from under the back porch and dragged it toward the leaky spot in the roof. Summoning all her strength, she tugged on the ladder, straining against its weight and her clothes growing heavier with rainwater. Halfway up, the ladder slipped from her grip and fell crashing down into the mud.

  She muttered a curse. If there was money to spare she’d gladly hire someone in town to replace the shingles, but with finances strained she’d hoped to make her roof last until spring. She had to make do.

  “I can do this. I can do this.”

  She braced her mud-caked feet apart then gripped the rungs again and started to pull. Her heart slammed in her chest and her arms burned, but this time she managed to hoist the ladder inch by painful inch up into place, scraping a black gash across the house in the process. Soaked to the bone, she leaned her head against the wood rung to catch her breath.

  Recovering, Rebecca retrieved a hammer and nails from the toolbox she kept on the back porch and tucked them in her apron pocket. She looked up the ladder toward the roof. Rain struck her face. Lord, but she hated heights.

  She drew in a deep breath and climbed the first rung, and then the second. The ladder shifted in the soft ground and her breath caught in her throat as she waited for it to settle. After tense seconds, she climbed two more rungs. Her foot caught in her muddy hem, forcing her to stop and untangle it.

  As she reached for the fifth rung strong hands grabbed her around the waist and plucked her off the ladder as if she weighed little more than a feather.

  Rebecca shrieked. Her heart hammered in her chest when her feet touched solid ground. The strong hands whirled her around.

  “What are you doing?” Cole’s expression was murderous, as he stared down at her, rain dripping from the brim of his black hat.

  Anger overruled fear and guilt. “You scared me half to death!”

  “That doesn’t answer my question.”

  Her dress weighed down with water, clung to her skin. Her teeth chattered. “I’m fixing the roof.”

  “Isn’t there anyone else who can do that for you?”

  “What do you think?” she said tartly.

  His face darkened even more. “Give me the hammer.”

  “Absolutely not, you are a boarder in my house.”

  “Damn it woman, give me the hammer.”

  The order was sharp, brooking no argument. She reached in her pocket and pulled out the hammer and nails. “You don’t have to do this.”

  Rough fingers brushed hers as he grabbed the tools from her. For an instant, her icy skin burned. His gaze touched hers and held it a beat longer, before he nodded toward the door. “Go inside.”

  “I don’t want your help.” But too tired to argue, she took shelter under the cover of the back porch and watched him expertly scale the ladder. He quickly spotted the loose shingles, righted them and pounded them into place. He accomplished in minutes what would have taken her hours.

  A gentle ache settled in her heart. She supposed it was because she’d been alone and struggled for so long, but she couldn’t help but wonder if this was the way life was meant to be—a man and a woman working together as partners. Sweet, shimmering emotions swirled inside her as she stared at his broad, powerful shoulders. Foolish to wonder what it felt like to be held in those arms, but here she was standing entertaining romantic thoughts about the one man who could ruin her life.

  Cole shinnied down the ladder, then hurried under the cover of the porch. Water dripped from the brim of his hat; his jacket and pants would take hours to dry.

  “The patch job will hold for now. When it stops raining, I’ll have another look at it. In the meantime, stay off the ladder.”

  The harsh tone in his voice triggered her defenses. “Thank you,” she said bristling.

  “You could have fallen and broken your neck.”

  “Well, so could you!” she retorted.

  His lips curled into a bitter smile. “That would suit you just fine, wouldn’t it?”

  A chill snaked down her spine. As much as she wanted him gone from her life, she’d never will him any harm. “That’s not true!”

  He snatched his hat off and slapped it against his thigh. “Isn’t it?”

  She planted her hands on her hips. “You’re pushy and overbearing but that doesn’t mean I want anything bad to happen to you.”

  “Liar.”

  The ground seemed to roll underneath her feet. “What?”

  “You said you didn’t know Lily very well.”

  She fumbled to react to the sudden shift in conversation. “I—I only knew her briefly.”

  He leaned forward until his face was only inches from hers. “Then why leave flowers on her grave?”

  She retreated until her back pressed against the door. He advanced. His warm breath brushed her cheek. Her lips trembled as she stared into his green eyes.

  “It’s right next to Pa’s.” The excuse sounded lame even to her ears.

  “How’d she end up in the town cemetery? Where’d she get that fancy headstone? I can’t think of anybody in this town that would have bothered to see a hurdy-gurdy girl buried proper.”

  All she could do was stare into his angry face afraid to speak even the smallest lie for fear her house of cards would tumble. Cole’s gaze bore into hers and she sensed he could almost peek into her mind and read her thoughts.

  Then unexpectedly the anger drained from Cole’s face and he laid his hands on her shoulders making her jump. The touch of his warm flesh against her skin sent shivers through her body. “We all got things in our past we’d soon forget, Rebecca. I got ’em and I know you do, too. I can see you’re storing something inside you and it is eating away at you. Tell me what you know about Lily and my son and I’ll forgive whatever lies you’ve told. I just want to know something ab
out my boy.”

  The quiet desperation in his voice did nothing to allay her panic. You can’t have him! She nearly screamed the words.

  Her fear so great, she couldn’t bear being so near him. She moved to leave, but he grabbed her by the shoulders and hauled her against his chest.

  His eyes searched hers. “You can trust me with the truth.”

  Trust me. How many times had Curtis said that to her as he bilked more and more money out of this town?

  “I can’t,” she said miserably.

  “I’m a man of my word.”

  “No.”

  Frustration furrowed his brow. “What aren’t you telling me about my boy!” he rasped.

  “He’s gone,” she cried. How much longer could she keep lying? “Please just leave.”

  He snarled, not listening to her. “I’m not leaving this town until you tell me everything you know.”

  Hot tears streamed down her face. “I can’t help you. Please just leave us be.”

  He released her and stepped back. “Never.”

  The back door slammed open. Bess stood there with a fresh bucket of water, her damp hair plastered against her forehead. She glanced at Rebecca and Cole and frowned, then without a word tossed the water over the rail. “The leaking has stopped for now. You two best get inside before you catch your death.”

  A humorless smiled touched Cole’s lips. He took Rebecca by the arm. “Bess is right, you’re as cold as ice and I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

  He guided her into the warm kitchen, took her wet shawl from her shivering shoulders and hung it on a peg by the door. “Bess, Rebecca needs hot tea. She’s drenched.”

  “I’ll take care of her.”

  Rebecca shook her head. “Bess, I’m fine. A change of clothes is all I need.”

  Bess snorted. “You’re bluer than a winter sky. If you don’t wrestle that chill from your bones you’re sure to catch a cold.” Knowing eyes narrowed as they focused on Cole. “And you ain’t much better. Both of you look like drowned rats. Get your clothes off Cole and I’ll wash ’em for you.”

  He shrugged off his range coat. “Not at Mrs. Taylor’s prices.”

  “No charge,” Bess said. “It’s the least I can do seeing as you fixed the roof. I gotta say I was relieved to see you scampering up that ladder instead of Rebecca. She ain’t got a talent for fixing shingles.”