The Gunslinger's Bride

by Cheryl St. John

  With a bittersweet feeling in her heart, she approached the hardware store, the place that had been home for nearly eight years, but that now seemed like an end to something she had hoped for, but had never been able to grasp. With Brock standing on the boardwalk below, she and Jonathon climbed the stairs.

  Jonathon pulled his hand from Abby’s and clambered back down to throw himself against Brock and hug him. Abby couldn’t see Brock’s face, but she didn’t miss the tender gesture as his huge gloved hand pulled Jonathon against his chest.

  The embrace ended, and with a wave, Jonathon returned to Abby. She turned the key in the lock and entered their quarters.

  For two days, Abby thought of nothing except her part in what had happened between her and Brock. She’d been an eager participant, just as he always accused her, only this time she didn’t blame him. She blamed herself.

  Everett played on her mind, too, and she was glad he didn’t show up to ask her why she hadn’t been in church on Sunday. None of this was fair to him. She was going to have to do something.

  Wednesday night, she bundled up Jonathon and went to visit Laine. Abby hadn’t slept well since Sunday. She had pledged to marry Everett. The entire town expected them to say their vows on the appointed day. She had lied to herself and done a pretty good job of it. She’d believed that he was everything she wanted. She’d convinced herself that marriage to a man like him was her desire.

  At least Jed had been kind and loving and considerate, a wonderful father to Jonathon. Everett had shown himself only to be tedious and bigoted and self-serving, and maybe he’d been that way all along, but it had taken Brock to make her see it.

  Even if the man had been on fire for her, she could have seen some potential for their future, but not this way. Not with nothing between them.

  She could never thank Brock for opening her eyes, because she hadn’t wanted them opened, but now that they were, she had to deal with the cataclysmic results.

  Laine welcomed them in and gave Jonathon a set of carved ships he loved to play with. She heated water, and she and Abby took seats on comfortable cushions on the floor.

  “What troubles you, my friend?” Laine asked.

  “How do you know something is troubling me?”

  Laine smiled and poured green tea into tiny cups. “Call it intuition.”

  Abby made certain Jonathon was occupied. “I’ve been pretty confused lately.”

  “I have noticed that you were quiet. Is your confusion created by Mr. Brock?”

  “It certainly is.” Collecting her thoughts, Abby took a deep breath. A decision had been clear to her for the last few days. Now she had to face it. Voice it. “I can’t marry Everett.”

  Laine blinked, her lovely almond-shaped, dark eyes puzzled. “You cannot?”

  Abby shook her head. “I was fooling myself. He’s not what I want at all.”

  “I am happy you realized that now—before the wedding.”

  Abby agreed. “But it will be so humiliating to call it off.”

  Her friend raised an ebony eyebrow. “What would be worse?”

  “Marrying him, I know.”

  “So you’ve come to me for…reassurance?”

  “I’m doing the right thing.”

  “If you do not love him.”

  “Is love always so important?”

  “Not to a father,” Laine scoffed. “My father wanted me to marry as a young girl. One less mouth to feed. I resisted and managed to bring in enough to pay my own keep. I believe love is important.”

  Abby observed her son playing quietly.

  “Mr. Matthews is not what you want. And you do not love him, is that correct?”

  “I don’t love him,” Abby agreed.

  “And you know this now because Mr. Brock is what you want, and you do love him?”

  She couldn’t let Laine jump to wrong conclusions. “Brock is not what I want, either.”

  Once she’d said it aloud, she examined the meaning of those words. “I’ve changed my thinking about him, yes, but not to that degree. My anger has been diffused. But he still lacks the qualities I think are vital.”

  “Which qualities?”

  “Dependability.”

  “Because he left a long time ago. Haven’t you both made mistakes?”

  Abby nodded. “And he told me he regretted that. He accepted the blame for everything that went wrong.”

  “Is the fault all his?”

  “No,” she said, barely above a whisper. “I chased him away. And I resented him for staying away—leaving me alone to deal with my father. I thought Brock was such a coward. He admitted that he was.”

  Laine refilled Abby’s cup. “He did not know that your father was not still alive, did he?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “When he came back. He might have returned to face your vengeful father. He had to face his brothers—both of them. And you. Perhaps it took more courage to return than you are giving him credit for.”

  Thinking over Laine’s words, Abby had to agree. Brock hadn’t known what awaited him when he’d returned to Whitehorn. He hadn’t denied Jonathon; in fact, just the opposite was true. He’d embraced the boy as his son, had been irritatingly possessive. “Perhaps it did.”

  “And you recognize the feelings that are missing with Mr. Everett, because you love Mr. Brock.” Laine was not letting go of her inquisition.

  As a woman, Abby had never allowed herself to think in that direction. Perhaps as a girl she’d fancied herself in love with him, but she was a lot smarter now. “Even if I did love him,” she began, “it would be fruitless.”

  “Because he does not love you?”

  He desired her. He wanted her. For now. Desire hadn’t been enough in the past. Why should she believe it would bind him to her now?

  “Because we have no future. I will not risk my heart or my son’s heart.”

  “What will you do now?”

  “I guess I’ll have to tell Everett that the engagement is off.”

  “When will you tell him?”

  She hadn’t thought too much about when or how. “As soon as possible, I guess.”

  “How about now? Jonathon can stay with me.”

  Perhaps it was best to get the unpleasant deed over with quickly. It was a short walk to the boardinghouse, and the evening was still early. Abby accepted the offer, kissed Jonathon and went out into the cold.

  With each step, she considered her forthcoming words, imagining his reaction, wondering how her life could have taken such a confusing turn. At the boardinghouse, Mrs. Harroun answered her knock and welcomed her inside. “Mr. Matthews isn’t here,” she replied to Abby’s inquiry. “He’s never here of an evenin’.”

  “Do you know where he might be?”

  She was clearly flustered, her head wobbling on her neck as if it were loose before she managed a reply. “Seems I’ve heard he frequents the Double Deuce mostly.”

  Absorbing that information, Abby thanked her and walked along the street lit by gas lamps. She drew close to the saloon and recalled thinking she’d seen someone who resembled Everett in passing. She stopped on the boardwalk. Now what was she to do? A lady didn’t walk into a drinking and gambling establishment without setting tongues to wagging, without ruining her reputation.

  She pulled her coat tighter and waited.

  Several minutes later, a boy of about twelve ran toward her, headed for the door.

  “Are you going in there?” she asked.

  “Yes’m. I’m sellin’ cigars for my pappy.”

  She dug into her pocket and found a nickel. “Will you please send Mr. Matthews out? Do you know who he is?”

  “Sure I do.” He snatched the coin from her hand and disappeared inside, the opening and closing door allowing her a quick glimpse of the smoky interior.

  She waited several minutes and had begun to think that perhaps Everett wasn’t in there, before the door opened again.

  “What are you doing here?” He hun
ched into his coat.

  “I wanted to speak with you.”

  “Here?” The cloying smells of smoke and whiskey clung to him.

  “Well, this is where I found you.”

  “What were you doing, checking up on me?”

  “I wasn’t checking up on you. I went to the boardinghouse to speak with you.”

  “I told you I didn’t spend my evenings there.”

  “You neglected to tell me you spent them here.”

  “It’s unusual to find me here,” he claimed, taking her arm and guiding her away.

  She pulled her sleeve from his grasp. “I don’t care. That’s not why I’m here.”

  “Why are you here?”

  “I told you I need to talk to you.”

  “And it’s so important you have to call me away from a good hand? I work all day. I deserve a little relaxation of an evening.”

  “I told you—I don’t care.”

  “Well, what did you want?” He stopped and faced her.

  Confronted with the question, she glanced around. Was this the right time? There was no right time. It simply had to be said. “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking,” she began. “I’ve come to an important decision. One that wasn’t easy, but that will prevent us from making a mistake, from winding up miserable eventually.”

  “What’s this big decision?”

  “Everett, I admire a good many things about you.” Or she had until she’d gotten to know him a little better. “And I would never want to do anything to hurt you. I don’t want to get hurt, either. That’s why this has been so hard.”

  “For heaven’s sake, woman, what are you trying to say?”

  “Everett, I can’t marry you.”

  Roughly, he grabbed her arm through her coat sleeve. “What?”

  “I can’t marry you. I’ve thought it through. The past month or two has shown me it was a mistake to think it could work.”

  “Abby!” he said, plainly aghast at her announcement.

  “You said yes. We set a date. I made plans.”

  “I was wrong.”

  “Wrong? What do you mean, wrong?” He gripped both shoulders and gave her a little shake. “You’re breaking a promise here. You made a promise to marry me.”

  “I’m sorry, Everett, really I am.” She jerked from his hold and backed up a few steps. “I should have known you’d be angry. But you’re going to see that this is for the best. Truly it is.”

  “I want an explanation,” he demanded.

  “I’ve thought it through. It’s not what I want.”

  “What you want isn’t good enough. What about what I want?”

  She was getting angry now. Raising her gloved hands in an irritated gesture, she said, “You can’t make me marry you.” She turned her back and headed the direction she’d come. “That’s it. That’s all.”

  “This is not all,” he said. “Don’t walk away from me!”

  She kept going. At the corner, she turned back to catch him going back inside the Double Deuce. All the way back to Laine’s, she wondered if she’d handled it badly, if she’d said the wrong things, if she could have waited, chosen a better time.

  “There was no better time,” Laine assured her after she’d told her what had happened. “You had an unpleasant task to do and you handled it.”

  “I feel bad.”

  “You would feel a lot worse if you woke up beside him ten years from now and knew you had never said the words when you should have.”

  Abby hugged her impulsively. “You are so right. Thank you.”

  She gathered Jonathon and they walked home.

  Abby had a dream that night. The scenario was hazy, the colors dark and the faces blurred, but she knew who each person was. She and Jonathon had become lost from a group of people traveling from a barn raising, and as she tried to find the way home, a pack of wolves slunk after them. The animals’ teeth were yellow and their snouts snarling. Jonathon got tired and lay down, crying. With a jagged stick, Abby tried to keep the wolves away from Jonathon’s feet.

  A knock wakened her, and she was grateful for the interruption and the quick trip back to the reality of her warm bed. The knock came again and the dog woofed quietly. She grabbed her wrapper and groggily pulled it on as she made her way to the kitchen, Dilly loping ahead of her.

  Brock had shown up many a time in the evening, sometimes even late, but never in the middle of the night. Opening the door, she wondered what in the world had brought him this time.

  Everett pushed past her.

  Dilly’s low growl should have warned her that the nocturnal caller wasn’t Brock, but her head hadn’t been clear. “What’s wrong?”

  “You know what’s wrong. You delivered the news that our engagement was off barely hours ago. What do you think is wrong?”

  “I don’t mind speaking to you if you want to discuss things civilly, but I didn’t appreciate the way you spoke to me earlier.”

  “I’ll talk to you any way I see fit. Suddenly you’re better than I am—is that it?”

  “Of course not. Everett, be reasonable.”

  “Reasonable? I’m not the one who broke our engagement in front of the Double Deuce.”

  “That’s where I found you.”

  “I have a right to be there.”

  His thinking confused her. She held her tongue.

  “What does Brock Kincaid have to do with you not wanting me anymore?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Come on, Abby. I’m not stupid. Or blind…or deaf. Since he came to town, people have been talking. And now you’ve suddenly decided that you don’t want to marry me. Isn’t that too much of a coincidence?” He took her arm and leaned over her, and she smelled the smoke and the liquor on his clothing and his breath.

  “Maybe it is.”

  “The hell it is! You threw yourself at him once and you’re doing it again, aren’t you? Aren’t you?” He shook her.

  “No,” she said, struggling to pull away. Dilly growled and yipped at his heels.

  “What is it about him that you like better?” he asked, and his mouth curved up in a leering smile that turned her stomach. “I tried to treat you like a lady—even when I knew you weren’t.”

  Stunned, she didn’t have a reply, and struggling against his strength was taking all her concentration. He jerked her hard and she lost her balance. He used the opportunity to yank her toward the bedroom.

  Abby wanted to scream, but she didn’t want to awaken Jonathon. She bit Everett’s arm and he pulled it away with a growl. “Is that it?” he asked. “Maybe you don’t like to be treated like a lady. Maybe you’d like me better if I weren’t a gentleman.”

  He flung her on the bed, and she instantly bounced back up and made a run for the doorway. Dilly barked. Everett caught her by the back of her nightdress and hauled her back, pushed her down on the bed and held her in place with a hand in the middle of her chest and his knees on either side of her hips.

  Truly frightened now, she conserved her strength and stared at him as though she’d never seen him before. She hadn’t. Not like this. Not the real him.

  “Did you allow him ungentlemanly behavior, Abby? Did you? Did you like it?” He leaned down and spoke over her, his eyes gleaming.

  “Where is this going to get you?” she asked, speaking calmly and hoping to reach the logical side of his brain. “What can you be thinking?”

  “I’m thinking you wanted to be my wife until that two-bit gunslinger showed up!”

  “And this is going to change my mind?” she shouted back. “Get off me, Everett.”

  “Where is he now, that wonderful man of your dreams?”

  “Let me go.”

  “You’ve had him here in your bed, haven’t you? You took up with him just like before. Didn’t you? Didn’t you?”

  “No.”

  “You’re lying. Just like you’ve lied about everything, to everybody. You let him have you when you were just a girl, didn’t you?”

&nbs
p; Abby couldn’t disguise the gasp that tore from her throat.

  “That kid of yours is his bastard, isn’t he?”

  “Get off me!” she screamed, and lunged upward, dislodging him. She got out from under him and rolled toward the edge of the bed.

  He held her by the hair and jerked her back. “Isn’t he?”

  She slapped at him and grabbed her hair to keep him from pulling it. “Get out of my house!”

  Dilly barked and made darting nips toward Everett’s legs.

  “You were his whore before you ever married Jed, and you’ve become his whore again.”

  Rage like she’d never known welled up inside her at his inflammatory words. She swung her open palm over her shoulder and it connected solidly with his face. “How dare you speak to me like that!”

  Immediately, he jerked her head back and pressed his face up against her cheek. “Because you’re going to marry me, that’s how.”

  “I told you I’m not going to marry you.”

  He bracketed her face with his hands, gripping her cheekbones painfully, his hold on her tender scalp relentless. “You’ll marry me,” he said in a frighteningly quiet voice. “You’ll marry me or I’ll tell the whole damned town your dirty little secret.”

  Abby’s whole body stiffened.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Abby’s first horrified and incohesive thoughts were of the people of Whitehorn hearing the truth and gossiping about her—about Jonathon—spreading rumors and calling her son names. Her greatest fear would become a reality because of this man’s cruelty—if she didn’t comply with his threat.

  “They should know, don’t you think, that the prim little proprietor of the hardware store spreads her legs for the man with the big guns?”

  Abby clenched her teeth and dug her nails into his hands and wrists. He squeezed her cheekbones all the harder.

  “Mama?”

  If she were a fainter, she would have blacked out at the alarmed sound of her son’s voice. He mustn’t see this! In a desperate silent plea, she begged him to go back to his room, but knew he had just become involved in something ugly. Her heart wrenched.

  “Let go of my mama!”

  Abby couldn’t see him because of the hold Everett had on her head, but she heard the tremor in his brave command.