by Diana Palmer
She turned, smiling to herself, and Noelle stared after her, totally perplexed. Bear it? Would it always be so painful? Jared had said not, but perhaps…
“Mrs. Pate,” she asked quietly, joining her at the sink. “Is it…I mean, is there no pleasure to be had from it?”
“For the man,” came the reply. “But it’s sinful for a woman to feel pleasure, Noelle. The act of creation is for creation. That is why it’s so uncomfortable for a woman. But thankfully, it only takes a minute or two until the man…finishes. And that only once or twice a month—just at first, until his ardor wanes. It won’t be so bad always, truly. Hand me those dishes, will you, dear?”
Noelle fetched the rest of the plates from the worktable. She was getting a different picture of married life from the older woman. It appeared that Mrs. Pate’s late husband had been not very ardent at all, and very quickly satisfied. Jared had been in no great rush. He’d been incredibly patient. And there had been, after the pain, the most explosive, sinful pleasure. Was it sinful to feel something so glorious in the arms of a much-loved husband? Somehow it seemed false to think so.
Perhaps she would find out when Jared came to her bed again. She blushed at just the thought.
* * *
BUT FOUR DAYS passed, and Jared made no ardent move toward her. The salve had done its work—her body was completely healed. She found no discomfort at all in voiding or having the fabric of her drawers touch the place that had been raw. Surely Jared knew. But he hadn’t come one step closer. In fact, he was more remote than he’d been since they’d first met.
The thought occurred to her only later that he might have found her a disappointment in bed and wanted nothing else to do with her in any intimate way. Or perhaps he’d only been curious about her that way. He might have even wanted to make sure she was telling him the truth when she said that Andrew hadn’t been her lover. There were many reasons she could formulate to explain his abstinence, his remote courtesy. But the only one that really mattered was that he couldn’t be in love with her. A man in love wouldn’t have been able to keep his distance. Jared seemed to find her wholly resistible. She was his wife, but now it appeared that she could continue in that capacity only in name. He came no more to her bed.
Chapter Fourteen
THE TRIAL WAS due to start in two days. Noelle saw Jared’s brooding preoccupied face when he came home and knew what had caused it. The story of his client’s almost certain guilt was on the front page of the newspaper, along with a quote from the prosecutor about having the case in the bag. There were three eyewitnesses that would swear Clark had been in the dry goods store just before poor old man Marlowe was beaten and robbed, they saw him run out with a bag just before Marlowe was found. They’d all volunteered to testify for the prosecution, and they had other pertinent information about the wrangler with whom they worked at the Beale ranch, too.
Jared stuck his hands in his pockets and glowered at the paper lying open beside Noelle on the sofa.
“I don’t believe you’re going to lose,” she said matter-of-factly, “even if the prosecutor does.”
He laughed pleasantly. “Optimist.”
“Everyone speaks of your skill as an attorney,” she said simply. “You’d hardly be so well-known if you weren’t good at what you do.” She was working a complicated embroidery piece. “I’d very much like to come and hear you in court.”
He was surprised and pleased at her interest. “Your faith may be misplaced,” he said. “Noelle, I know Clark is innocent. Proving it…” He made a gesture with one hand. “That’s the rub.”
She put down her embroidery and sat looking at him curiously. “What will you do?”
His broad shoulders rose and fell. “Gather evidence until I run out of time, and hope I have enough to convince a jury.”
He stuck his hands in his pockets and went to the window to look out. It was misting rain. Supper would be on the table soon, and his grandmother would come downstairs. He was anxious for that. He didn’t want to be alone with Noelle too long. His body throbbed from just being in the same room with her. His knowledge of her had kept him restless and sleepless for several nights. He wanted her desperately, but with the trial so close, he really couldn’t afford the distraction. Besides, he still wasn’t sure about her feelings for Andrew. He couldn’t let himself feel so deeply for her when he might yet lose her.
“I hear that Mr. Marlowe is still comatose, too. Do you know who beat him up and left him in such a condition?”
He was thoughtful for a minute. He’d been doing a lot of hard searching in the past three days, a lot of investigating. Everything he’d discovered led back to the man with the loudest voice in this case—the supposed “eyewitness,” Garmon. “You know,” he replied slowly, “I think I do.”
“Can’t you go and tell the judge?”
He laughed softly, turning back toward her. “The judge wouldn’t take my word for a man’s innocence. If Marlowe regains consciousness, I’d have proof. But that may not happen.”
“Then you must get proof of another kind.”
He studied her with pure pleasure, smiling
gently at her trust in him. He stared at her auburn head, bent over her handiwork. She wore the pretty pale blue dress with the lace again, and he thought how it suited her. She was only nineteen, still a child. And yet, in his arms, she had been every dream he’d ever had of a woman. Just the sight of her made him hungry.
She lifted her eyes again, hesitating. There was something she had to tell him, and she didn’t want to. He was looking at her as if he liked her, and this was going to be unpleasant.
“What is it?” he asked gently.
She straightened. “There was a letter from Andrew today.”
He went very still. Her discomfort made him angry. Andrew, again! “And what did he have to say?”
“I didn’t read it.” Her voice was stiff, because it was painful for her to remember the embarrassing situation she’d been caught in with Andrew—especially now, when she knew that she loved Jared. “It was addressed to your grandmother. She said he truly regrets what happened, as well as his behavior toward me. He wants us all to forgive him.”
“Did he mention anything about Miss Beale?” he asked bluntly, watching her face closely as he mentioned the other woman’s name deliberately. “I understand that she was staying in Dallas, too. I hope he hasn’t done anything impetuous with her, or Beale will call him out and kill him.”
“Mr. Beale? Call him out?” The term was unfamiliar to her.
“Beale was a lawman, among his other vocations in the past,” he said grimly. “Like most men who can use a gun well, he has no conscience about killing. And I think that his age is unlikely to slow him down very much,” he added, recalling his conversation with Beale in his office. “If Andrew steps out of line with Jennifer, he’s going to be in more trouble than he can handle.”
“Poor Andrew,” she began.
He hated the sympathy in her soft voice for his stepbrother, the look of concern there. So, she still had hopes!
“‘Poor Andrew,’ indeed,” he scoffed. His pale eyes glittered over her. “Have you forgotten so soon how he ran like a yellow dog when he was faced with the prospect of being forced to marry you? In fact, he ran to Miss Beale, didn’t he?” he added coldly.
She lifted proud eyes to his. “Yes, he did. But carrying grudges serves no constructive purpose. Anyway, Jared, he’s only my brother-in-law now.”
He didn’t speak. He simply looked at her, certain that there was more, something she hesitated to tell him. He was eaten up with jealousy, now more than ever, and trying desperately not to let it show. But the question was there.
She saw it on his face. “He wants to come home,” she said, and smiled.
His blue eyes flashed with rage. “Over my dead body!” he
replied.
His vehemence surprised her. “Your grandmother is concerned about him,” she persisted. “Why are you so inflexible?” she added.
“Because he’s been nothing but a thorn in my side for years. Shall I tell you about your precious Andrew? About the paternity suits, and the threats of reprisal, and the unpaid bills that I’ve had to settle for him? He’s a boy playing at being a man—a liar, and a womanizer, and a braggart.”
“I know that, Jared,” she replied calmly.
“But where love exists, so does forgiveness,” he said on a harsh laugh. He was torn in half with jealousy. She was defending Andrew now, when he’d walked all over her. “Well, I suppose no woman can resist a handsome face and a swagger. Or perhaps women prefer liars because none of them are capable of telling the truth, either. All right. If you want Andrew home so much, then by all means, he can come home.”
She stared at him with open surprise, and in his eyes again was the implacability that had puzzled her for so long.
“I—I didn’t say that I wanted him here,” she faltered.
“Didn’t you?” he replied, with a cynical, mocking smile. “Despite the way he treated you, you can’t wait to get your arms around him again, can you? What a pity that you couldn’t lead him to the altar!”
Her hands rested on the embroidery. “So that’s what you think. You don’t trust me at all, do you?” she asked evenly. “From the beginning, you kept me at a distance. You never would have married me in the first place if you hadn’t felt driven to it, to protect Mrs. Dunn!”
“I’m not a marrying man,” he returned coldly. “Although there are some, shall we say, fringe benefits.” His eyes went down to her breasts and lingered there.
She threw down the embroidery and got to her feet, red-cheeked with anger. “You cad!”
“What did you expect me to say? As you reminded me, we married to avert a scandal, not for love. And we both know it won’t last, Noelle,” he added, thinking that if Andrew wanted her enough, she wouldn’t hesitate to divorce him.
But Noelle got another sense of his words entirely, and she felt the ground go out from under her. Was he hinting that he wanted a divorce?
Her white face told its own story. He turned away, unable to bear looking at it. Andrew would come back, and she’d be all over him again. Despite the passionate night they’d spent together, she could defend Andrew and plead for his return. And he was so angry he could hardly hold back the words.
But she didn’t know what he was feeling, because he was adept at disguising it. He sounded disinterested and indifferent.
“Are you intimating that you want me to leave, Jared?” she asked in quiet desperation.
His heart skipped. He turned on his heels to stare at her, feeling the impact of the words with unexpected pain.
“Leave? When Andrew will be coming home soon?” he taunted. “What a waste that would be? Think of all the nights of passion that you can anticipate with him!”
Her green eyes glittered furiously at him. “I told you, nothing happened beyond what you saw that night.”
“So you said,” he drawled.
“So you know!” she hissed, coloring at having been forced to make the blatant statement. Her small fists clenched at her sides. She wanted to hit him. She wanted to pound him, to drag that snide expression off his face and make him feel, make him rage, make him lose that exasperating self-control. Even in bed with her, he was cool and deliberate. He never seemed to waver from his stoic self.
“Go ahead,” he invited softly. “Hit me.”
She shivered with control. “It would be a pleasure,” she said angrily. “But I must think of your grandmother. I hear her step on the staircase. She wouldn’t understand. She adores you.”
“And you don’t.”
She was breathing audibly in her anger. “I loathe you,” she lied. “I regret that I ever came here to live. And I regret marrying you most of all!” she cried, wounded to the heart.
“You don’t regret it any more than I do,” he shot right back at her. “I would never have married you if my hand hadn’t been forced by your precious Andrew.”
Well, that was plain enough. She picked up her embroidery and put it carefully into the carpetbag by the sofa, then turned with all the dignity she could muster and went toward the hall.
Her straight back and uplifted face told their own story. His hands clenched in his pockets. He wanted to call her back, to explain, to apologize. But there was really nothing more that he could say. If she wanted Andrew, there was nothing he could do to prevent her from divorcing him and marrying his stepbrother. He wasn’t even sure that she was telling him the truth about the letter. Perhaps Andrew had written not only to his grandmother, but to Noelle as well. Perhaps, even now, they were making plans for the future. He’d sworn an interest in Miss Beale, but that could have been a red herring. Perhaps he’d realized what a treasure Noelle was and he was coming back to claim her.
When his grandmother came down, she mentioned Andrew’s request to come home. Jared agreed to it without a protest, turned, and left the house without even stopping to eat. He couldn’t bear to sit at the same table with Noelle…knowing that she was wishing he was Andrew.
* * *
AT THE DINNER table, his grandmother announced that she’d sent a boy to town with money and a note to telegraph Andrew, inviting him to come back home.
Noelle didn’t say a word. She felt nothing. Jared had walked out on her deliberately, turned his back on her. He thought she wanted Andrew. How absurd, when Andrew had betrayed her. She was a wife, but not a wife. She lived with a man who wouldn’t come near her. At no time had she felt more of an outsider than she did now. It was just as well that she knew where she stood with Jared, though, she told herself comfortingly. At least she knew that her hopes in that direction could never be realized. Apparently he’d satisfied his curiosity about her and his hunger for her in one night—and wanted nothing more from her. He’d as good as told her that he was going to leave her eventually. It was ironic that she’d fallen so much in love with him.
* * *
ANDREW ARRIVED THE next morning. He was a startlingly different Andrew, though. He neither swaggered nor talked arrogantly. He was in the position of a supplicant now, and he knew it.
He greeted Noelle quietly, and with an apology that he seemed to mean. With Jared he was reserved, and with his grandmother he was respectful and subdued.
Jared kept out of his way. He was so jealous of the man that he couldn’t bear to be in the same room with him. But Noelle watched Andrew with quiet interest. It was obvious that he regretted the way he’d treated her. He even said so. He was like a different man, and she wondered at the change in him.
Something else was puzzling, too. Miss Beale had returned to Fort Worth from Dallas, as Andrew had. And Andrew spoke of the woman in a totally different way, as if he was truly infatuated with her. But he made no move to go near her. He seemed to be waiting for something—her father’s permission to court the girl, perhaps. She wished that Jared could be home long enough to see that Andrew was courteous and kind but not flirtatious. But Jared spent all of his time at the office, and now he didn’t even speak to Noelle unless he had to.
* * *
JARED HAD TAKEN depositions from the two witnesses he’d managed to find who thought they’d seen Clark at the ranch just after the time of the murder. But they both worked for Beale, and one of them was known to drink heavily. Jared had less than he’d ever had at the start of a felony trial. Old man Marlowe was conscious now, but he couldn’t tell anyone who’d robbed him, because he’d been hit from behind before he saw his assailant. That was the most damning blow of all to Clark’s defense. If the old man had seen the man who’d struck the blow, it would have cleared Clark automatically.
If Jared couldn’t p
rove Clark innocent, and that looked likely at the present time, he had to prove someone else guilty. So he was looking for loopholes, for anything out of the ordinary, and with a keen intuition, he concentrated all his efforts on Beale’s other wrangler, John Garmon.
His Chicago detective hadn’t been able to find a thing about Garmon in his files. Jared had asked Clark for more information about the man’s past, but Clark knew nothing. He telegraphed police departments in nearby cities in Texas for any information they had on Garmon, but nothing turned up. Nothing at all.
It seemed that Garmon had no criminal record. That was odd, if the man was a compulsive gambler. Over the years, Jared had dealt with too many compulsive gamblers not to suspect that Garmon hadn’t kept totally out of the way of the law. And often the methods a man used were like fingerprints. He smiled to himself and his eyes narrowed in thought. Why hadn’t he considered that sooner?
He had Adrian, his secretary, send a dozen wires to police departments in surrounding cities, this time asking for news of any arrests six months ago or longer for suspicion of beating and robbing storekeepers. The next day, he had two replies, one from Austin and one from Victoria. Neither of the men named was Garmon, but there was a description in the Austin case—the assailant had been a big man with a Southern drawl, and there had only been one eyewitness, a Negro who refused to testify against him, so the case was not pursued for lack of evidence. It wasn’t conclusive proof of guilt, but it was enough to run a bluff if the man was lying—and Jared was certain that Garmon was.
But the problem was still one of proof. It might be possible to find people from Austin who could identify Garmon and swear that he’d been suspected of robbing a merchant there. But that wouldn’t connect him with old man Marlowe’s assault and robbery. And to go to Austin and search for those witnesses would take time, something he didn’t have.
