The Marriage Agreement

by Carolyn Davidson

  “All right,” she said, facing the facts as she saw them. “I’ll forget that we spent last night together, set it aside as an error in judgment on my part. Or maybe the price of the protection you offered me.” She stepped away from him and felt his hands slide from their grip. Strangely bereft, she walked from the kitchen and on into the sparsely furnished bedroom, where the bare mattress reminded her of the hours of darkness spent there in Gage Morgan’s arms.

  He followed her and halted in the doorway. “You made a bargain with me, Lily.”

  She thought his voice held a new edge, a harshness heretofore missing in his demeanor. “I won’t renege on it,” she told him. “I told you once before that I pay my debts. I know what I owe you.”

  “I told you from the beginning that this would be a real marriage, once we spoke the vows that made it legal. Don’t try to back out of that part of it,” he warned her.

  “I don’t want last night to be repeated,” she insisted stubbornly, knowing the words for a lie.

  He laughed. Not a chortle or a murmured sound of amusement, but a full-blown laugh, as if her words were too entertaining to ignore. “To begin with, you have no choice in the matter,” he told her. “In the second place…” He approached her and she wished fervently that there was an escape route handy.

  “There is no second place,” he said, as if he had decided not to elaborate on the problem. “You’re my wife now, Lily. If I want you to sleep in my bed, you will. If I want to make love to you, I will. And if you want to make an issue of it, we’ll hash it out right there on that mattress.”

  “My,” she said wryly, “doesn’t that sound like a fair situation. How much do you weigh, Morgan? Two hundred pounds?”

  “Give or take a few,” he assented, and then his gaze measured her, and he made a guess that struck too close to reality for comfort. “I figure I outweigh you by about seventy pounds, Mrs. Morgan. Am I about right?”

  “Give or take a few,” she said, repeating his words.

  “Do you think you stand a chance of fighting me?”

  “I won’t even try,” she said, feeling as if a large tomcat had her in his clutches and she was being tormented like a creature backed against the wall. His smile was feral now as he reached to touch her face, one long finger tracing the line of her cheek and jaw.

  More like a panther, she decided, or perhaps a mountain lion. An opponent so sleek and dark and wonderfully appealing, a woman stood little chance of besting him in any battle.

  He pulled her against himself and she allowed it, yielding to his will. But it seemed it was not enough, for he held her before him and his gaze was impatient, edgy, as though he was of two minds as to his next move. Then he spoke.

  “For now, Lily—just for now, do as I ask. Keep your gun handy, watch your back and be careful. You’ve held up thus far. Give it two more days, and things will have come to a head, and this will likely be over with.” He lifted her chin, forcing her to face him fully. “Will you do that?”

  She nodded. And it seemed to be enough for him. He released her and left her where she stood, striding through the small cabin and out the door.

  The gun bumped against her thigh as she followed in his wake, and she found herself watching the tree line to the west as she stepped out onto the porch. The wind had blown one of her dresses from the makeshift clothesline and she walked to where it lay on the ground. Picking it up, she shook it and held it before her. It was already dry and she placed it over her arm, then continued on to where the rest of her washing hung.

  Only Morgan’s heavy trousers still held dampness in their fabric. The sheets were dry, as were the small clothes they’d worn. With a cautious look to where the barn door stood open, she gathered the remainder of the laundry and went back to the house. In less than ten minutes she’d put the sheets on the bed, fluffed the lumpy pillows as best she could and slipped them into the cases.

  Wearing an unironed dress did not appeal to her and she sought out Sarah’s irons, finding them tucked beneath the stove. A towel held the clothes she sprinkled down for ironing and she wrapped them tightly, stowing them in the bedroom until morning when she would sort out the task of ironing.

  They finished the evening meal by dark, and Morgan carried in the milk pail shortly afterward. He’d gathered eggs earlier, then called the chickens into the pen by the simple means of shaking a shallow pan full of feed and waiting for them to join him for their evening meal. The horses were on their own, except for one that looked to be limping, Morgan said. He’d brought her into the barn and checked her out, deciding to keep her inside for the night.

  “She’s got a problem of some sort,” Morgan told Lily. “I don’t know a whole lot about it, but I’m going to keep her in the barn overnight and take a good look at her foot. She’s favoring her right foreleg.”

  “Shall I come out and help?” Lily asked, looking beyond the porch where the barn and outbuildings stood in shadow. The sun was buried beneath the western horizon, only faint crimson streaks in the sky telling of its presence just out of sight.

  “Are you afraid to be alone in the house?” he asked.

  She shook her head. “No. A little wary for some reason, but I’ll stay here and clean up the kitchen as long as you don’t need me.”

  Morgan headed for the barn, and within moments Lily saw the glow of a lantern within the structure. The mare was tied in the aisle and Morgan was crouched beside her, lifting her foot and examining it intently. A rifle lay on the floor beside him, and he wore the holster he’d borrowed from Caine Harris. She found the weight of her own weapon strangely comforting as she watched him. Easing out onto the porch she kept a sharp eye out, looking toward the west again, and then beyond the barn to where the pasture held the herd.

  From around the side of the house, she heard a soft whicker, and then the snort of an approaching horse. Perhaps one of the herd had gotten through the fence, she thought, and without thinking, she stepped off the porch to investigate. A rider came into sight, hat pulled low over his forehead, sitting easily in the saddle, and before she could retrieve her gun from the depths of her apron pocket, he lifted a hand in greeting.

  “Evening, ma’am,” he said quickly. “It’s Sheriff Harris, ma’am.” Swinging down from his saddle, he led his mount to where she stood and doffed his hat, revealing a face she was familiar with.

  “I was halfway to shooting my gun,” she told him. “Problem was, I couldn’t get it out of my apron pocket as quickly as I wanted to.” Her smile trembled as she thought of what might have happened, had her visitor not been the sheriff.

  He apparently had the same thoughts, for he glanced down at where the heavy weapon swung against her thigh. “My advice would be to swing that thing upward, still in your pocket, and fire it in the air,” he told her. “You ought to practice cocking it with one hand, Mrs. Morgan. One shot in the air and I’ll warrant that husband of yours would be here like greased lightning.”

  “I think he’s on his way right now,” she said, watching as Gage stepped from the barn and approached, rifle in hand. His stride was long, his stance purposeful as he neared the porch, and then, with a hard glance at the lawman, he halted and nodded a greeting.

  “Evening, Sheriff,” he said. “I wasn’t expecting to see you here tonight. Do you have news for us?”

  “I came at dark so I wouldn’t be so obvious if there should be someone keeping an eye on the place,” he told Morgan. “Thought you ought to know that a farmer north of here was shot and killed day before yesterday. His wife rode into Middleburg on their farm wagon last evening. One of their neighbors escorted her so she’d be safe. They’d wrapped the fella’s body in a quilt and brought him along so she could bury him right and proper.”

  “What happened?” Morgan asked sharply.

  “The story I heard was that they had visitors, two men who showed them identification and said they were authorized by Washington to take over the farm for railway right-of-way.”

 
“Hell, how many acres does any railway need? If there was such a plan going on, a man would be compensated for three hundred feet or so along the edge of his property.”

  “Well, as it turns out, the woman said they were the same fellas who’d been there before. Old Henry aimed his gun, but the odds weren’t in his favor.”

  “Henry?” Lily felt dizzy, the blood rushing from her head and a great roaring enveloping her as she sought the edge of the porch. She sat heavily, leaning against the post, as Morgan took three long strides to reach her. He touched the back of her head and bent it forward to touch her knees.

  “Take it easy, sweetheart,” he murmured. “You’re about ready to pass out on me. Just lean over and let the blood back where it belongs.”

  “Henry?” she repeated. “Do you suppose…” She looked up the sheriff, shaking her head in helpless sorrow. “We met a couple,” she said softly. “His name…”

  Caine Harris nodded as she spoke. “It was probably the same family. The woman said they’d been warned by a man and his wife a few days ago that they were in danger, but Henry thought he could handle it without help.” The lawman shook his head. “He was wrong—dead wrong. Two against one are pretty poor odds to run up against. And that bunch of young’uns will never get over watchin’ their pa get shot, right in front of them.”

  “We stayed overnight there,” Morgan said quietly. “I warned him, sure enough, but I was afraid of something like this happening. I’m just surprised they let his wife go without a fuss.”

  “They gave her a bank draft for a hundred dollars, and packed her up on Henry’s farm wagon, body and all. Said she had an hour to be off the property. She got away with just their clothes and a few essentials.” Caine’s face took on a harsh expression and he shoved one hand in his pocket.

  “At least they let her bring Henry’s body with her,” he said. “They’re makin’ arrangements to have him buried in the churchyard in Middleburg tomorrow.”

  “How’d you hear so soon?” Morgan asked.

  “They put out word right away, warning folks to keep an eye out. The thing is, Henry’s wife signed over the deed to the men, and unless they can be caught red-handed, they’ll probably get away with it. The deed is made out to a corporation of some sort. The men are just working for somebody else.”

  “Isn’t the government able to do more than they’re doing?” Morgan asked.

  “We live on the edge of civilization,” the sheriff said. “Washington has better things to do than to worry about a few farmers gettin’ rooked by some scallywags. Besides, they sent you here, didn’t they?” He looked at Lily and then back at Morgan.

  “If we can catch them here, we’ll have them. They’re too smart to try their scam close to town, where there’s some protection and neighbors to help out. It’s folks like Henry, simple farmers who can be fooled into thinking they have to sign over their land, who are being cheated.”

  “The thing is,” Morgan said, “once the word is out, they’ll cut their losses and head to another area, where they haven’t been heard of. And then the deeds will have been left in the name of some big shot who’ll take the railroad for a bundle when the time comes to lay the track.”

  “When is the line coming through?” Lily asked.

  “Supposed to be next year, from what I hear,” Harris said. “They’ll sign their papers in New York or Chicago or some other big city and head on down here with the rights all signed, sealed and delivered.”

  “What do you think comes next?” Morgan asked.

  “They won’t make the mistake of hitting too close to Middleburg. More likely come on down in this area. There’s three farmers just south of Sand Creek and then the Blairs’ place here that have been approached.”

  “Well,” Morgan said, “I don’t know about the others on the other side of town, but we’ll be ready for them here. How much backup will you give us?”

  “I’m sending two men out here in the morning to stay with you,” Harris said. “You’ll have to keep them out of sight, and it’s up to you what you do with them. Just get some food in their bellies and give them a place to lay their bedrolls at night. Between them, they should be able to keep a good lookout, taking turns sleeping.”

  He turned to his horse and reached for the saddle horn, his reins held loosely. “I’ve got my ear to the ground, Morgan. If I suspect anything, if anyone sees strangers hereabout, I’ll hightail it out here, quick as I can.”

  “Well, I suspect I can’t ask for much more than that. At least Lily and I aren’t going to be in this alone.”

  But for some reason, his words failed to give her any comfort as Lily watched the sheriff ride off into the night. Behind her, Morgan stood in the shadows, clothed in the darkness, a man with secrets, a man who drew her to him as a moth is drawn to flame.

  Chapter Ten

  “I don’t think there’s any reason for you to be looking out the window, Lily.” From the bed, Morgan’s voice was amused, and she could visualize the lazy grin he was sending her way. “Our bad guys won’t be showing up in the middle of the night,” he said. “They’ll want to confront us, and they need a signature on the deed to have the transfer of possession legal.”

  “Well, seeing that we don’t own the place to begin with, we couldn’t sign it over to them anyway, could we?” His words of teasing assurance were not enough to lure her from her post, and she crossed her arms, standing at one side of the window frame, lest she expose herself fully should someone be out there, keeping watch over the house.

  “No, but don’t worry about that angle. We’re not going to let this go that far,” Morgan told her. “Once they demand our cooperation and offer a bank draft for the property, we can arrest them and haul them away. Caine has a cell waiting for them.”

  “Who’s going to arrest them?” she asked, turning her head to look toward the bed. He lay propped on both pillows, his head turned toward her, and even in the dim light, she could see the glitter of his eyes and the naked beauty of the man who awaited her presence beside him.

  “I can arrest them,” he told her. “I’m carrying a note from government headquarters in Washington giving me that right.”

  Another facet of his varied past, she thought. My husband, the government man. She smiled then, to think that a woman on the run might carry around her very own protector, an agent from the nation’s capitol.

  “I’m not sure I like the bent of that amused look you’re wearing,” he said. “I’d say your mind is working a mile a minute, trying to find a hundred reasons to keep you out of this bed tonight.”

  “Tell me, Morgan,” she said impulsively, “what happens if your boss finds out you’ve been harboring a criminal? Will you lose your job?”

  “Well, if I were in this for the high salary, it might be a concern, but since the government is not known for making their employees into rich men it wouldn’t be any great loss,” he said. “And on top of that, you have to understand something, Lily. Men who are willing to do what I do for a living are few and far between. They manage to overlook a lot when it comes to their operatives.”

  “Even having a wife with a price on her head?”

  “Are you worried?” he asked, shifting to lean on one elbow. He patted the mattress next to him. “Come on over here. Let’s talk about it.”

  “I’m not easily persuaded,” she told him. “I kinda like it right here by the window. In fact, I may pull that chair over here and just spend the night keeping an eye out for trouble.”

  “I don’t think that’ll work,” he said, and as he spoke the words, he turned and swung his legs over the side of the bed, rising with not a stitch of modesty to cover him from her sight.

  “Get back in bed,” she said, turning back to the window. But nothing she saw outdoors could shake from her mind the sight of Morgan in all his masculine beauty. He approached her silently and she closed her eyes, visualizing the breadth of his shoulders, the muscles of his upper arms, the dark whorls of hair that decor
ated his chest, and the stubble on his jaw that needed the attention of his razor on a daily basis.

  He was a male animal, a primitive specimen of manhood, a creature with all the natural inclinations of any man who was closed up in a bedroom with a woman, who was, by her own admission, in his power. A woman he knew he had every right to claim as his own. She sensed his approach, knew the instant his hands hovered over her shoulders, and she closed her eyes against the shock of his fingers pressing into the fine bones that formed her body.

  One long index finger reached to measure her collarbone, tracing the length of it beneath her skin, then resting at the base of her throat. His hand shifted and his thumb sought out the place where her heartbeat could be felt in the hollow beneath her ear. Strength flowed from his hand to her flesh, tightening his grip, allowing him to turn her head a bit, revealing her face to his scrutiny.

  She saw his uplifted eyebrow, the amused slant of his smile. “The bed’s lonesome without you in it, Lily.”

  “You slept alone before I came into the picture,” she told him. “You’ll sleep alone after I’m gone from your life. What difference does tonight make in the general scheme of things?”

  “I didn’t have that problem to worry about before we met on the riverboat, and if the time comes that I lose you from my life, I’ll probably never sleep as well without you beside me. But for tonight, you’re here and I need you. Are you going to deny me?”

  She was tempted to lean back against him, to entrust herself to his hands, to relive the moments they’d shared only twenty-four hours ago. He seemed to take on a new cast in the darkness, shedding the hard shell he wore when his mind was filled with the strategies that bound their existence. As if the darkness gave him leave to relax, he was softer here, his mood more at ease.