Rewriting Rita

by Kristy Tate

  Chapter 6

  A lady, 22, tall, fair and very handsome with $500 a year, wishes to marry.

  Matrimonial News, January 8, 1887

  “Le clair de lune vous rend belle.” She stepped forward and ran her hands over his naked chest, stirring up thoughts and feelings Christian tried to dismiss until finally he found a thought he could use, the first since Melody’s entry into his room that involved less nudity rather than more. He grabbed onto it and used it like a weapon.

  “Miss Melody, there is something you must know.” He spoke in French. “I am a married man.”

  Disappointment filled Melody’s eyes while Christian continued. “Miss Ryan—she is secretly my wife.”

  “Pourquoi?” Melody wailed.

  “Pourquoi?”

  She turned her back to him and stared out the window. She seemed to be addressing the stars as much as Christian. “There is not a single handsome, non-Mormon man within 200 miles, and when one finally appears, he’s married.” She took a deep, shuddering breath. “At least you are only married to one woman.” She turned and pinned him with a dark stare. “You are not a bigamist, are you?”

  Christian shook his head. “One wife is certainly more than enough.”

  “She did not mention your marriage.”

  “No, it is a secret we hold close to our hearts.” He eyed her, trying to gauge her reaction. He thought she believed him.

  Melody swallowed. “Oh, what am I to do? The only men I meet are passing through or digging in the ground for silver. Please don’t let me die an old maid.” She placed her hands on his chest and spread her fingers. Christian imagined talons positioned above his heart, preparatory to ripping it out.

  “Die? You are not likely to die, nor are you likely to be an old maid.”

  Melody sniffed. “How do you know anything?”

  “Well, for one thing, you are under twenty. The odds of your dying are very small.”

  “Shows what you know. Tad is the only one of my siblings who has lived as long as I have.” She paused and took a deep breath. “So, who knows about your marriage?”

  “No one must know.” Not even Miss Ryan. Christian turned and stared out the window.

  Melody snaked her hand around his arm and tugged. “Come on, then.”

  “I can’t break my vows or my love’s heart.” The lie came easily—so easily he wondered how much of a lie it was.

  “No one in the theater troupe knows?”

  He shook his head.

  “Then you must sleep separately.”

  Sometimes. “Where is this conversation going?”

  “You are going to your marriage bed.” There was a smile in her voice.

  Christian understood that either Melody had some romantic notion of reuniting the secret lovers for one night or this was a test. Perhaps she didn’t believe him. What were his choices then? He could protest and spend the evening with Melody and her talons, or he could let her lead him to Miss Ryan’s room.

  Christian grinned.

  He always aced tests.

  Shell Falls

  “So, tell me about your poker friends,” Addison said as soon as she got into Landon’s Lexus. She clicked into her seatbelt and snuck a quick glance at him. A jolt shot through her. She briefly panicked and wondered if she should go back inside and change. His expression told her that he either didn’t notice they were dressed as twinsies, or he didn’t care. Maybe if she wore the sweater she’d brought… She cursed herself for not wearing the jewelry she’d debated over, but she’d wanted to look casual, not overdressed, and she didn’t want to appear as though she was trying too hard—even if she was. Maybe he had thought the same thing. Or maybe he knew that the white button-down shirt offset his tan skin and golden hair and that he looked really good in his jeans. She maneuvered her sweater around her seatbelt.

  “There’s Uncle Jack, Turner, a friend from law school, and Beaner, my almost brother-in-law.”

  “Ah…I didn’t realize this was a family affair.”

  “Don’t worry, there’s no allegiance. It’s pretty cutthroat.” He slid her a glance as they pulled up to a stoplight. “Are you sure you’re up for it?”

  She lifted her chin, thinking about her college days when she and Paul had been too broke to go out or entertain. They’d had a circle of friends in similar positions who also liked cards. Their weekends had been filled with poker, nachos, and laughter. “I can hold my own.”

  He chuckled. “I don’t know, you look like a softie.”

  She picked up a red curl. “Do you not see the hair?”

  Grinning, he pulled up to a guard gate and flashed his ID at the man in the booth. He nodded and the gates slid open. Mansions flanked the street.

  Addison tried not to stare. She’d never been in Olympic Heights before and she wished it were daylight so she could better see the houses that looked like they’d walked out of Architectural Digest magazine.

  “Uncle Jack’s house,” Landon murmured as he turned into a white colonial’s circular drive.

  “It’s lovely.”

  Landon parked and shut off the engine. “It was Aunt Lucinda’s baby, but it really doesn’t suit Jack. He owned a string of mechanic shops and, to use his words, likes to ‘keep his fingers in the grease.’ He’s retired now, but he still likes to buy and sell vintage cars. He flashes his oil-stained hands with pride.”

  Addison tried to imagine an Uncle Jack in a pair of greasy overalls stepping through the cranberry double-wide doors. When a middle-aged man with more hair on his chin than his head welcomed them inside, she couldn’t help but stare….this man didn’t fit her image of Jack.

  “This is Beaner,” Landon said, placing his hand on the small of Addison’s back as he introduced her.

  A short, round man wearing wire-rimmed glasses and carrying a beer emerged from a back room. Lifting his bottle in welcome, he called out, “Landon! Who’s this?”

  “This is Addison Mills. She agreed to fill in for Marston.”

  Uncle Jack winked at her. “Does she know the rules?”

  “I told her not to believe anything you say,” Landon said.

  Uncle Jack laughed.

  A gorgeous blonde trailed behind Jack, but when she spotted Addison she froze and her expression turned hard.

  “Sadie.” Landon sounded surprised. “Good to see you.” He stepped forward and kissed her cheek.

  She stiffly returned his hug.

  A man dressed in khaki shorts and a motocross T-shirt emerged from an open doorway.

  “This is Turner,” Landon said.

  Addison nodded hello. “But there are five of us. I thought you said you needed me.”

  “When did you two meet again?” Beaner asked, grinning.

  Sadie elbowed him without taking her eyes off Addison.

  Addison flushed, realizing how her words could be misinterpreted. “I meant, I’m obviously not needed here.”

  “Oh, I don’t play,” Sadie said.

  Turner draped his arm around her shoulders. “She’s here for the aesthetics.”

  “I’m more than a decoration, sweetie,” Sadie said through tight lips.

  “Yeah,” Beaner said, “she’s also your meal ticket.”

  Turner tightened his hold on Sadie and planted a kiss on her cheek. “Don’t let him bother you, beautiful.”

  The look Sadie gave Addison said that Beaner wasn’t who was bothering her. Addison squirmed beneath her glare and wondered how long it had been since Landon’s girlfriend had left him. Maybe Sadie was misreading Addison and Landon’s relationship.

  “I’m sorry,” Sadie said, “but Landon didn’t mention you. What’s your name again?”

  Addison shot Landon a quick glance and repeated her name.

  “I said I would bring a fourth,” Landon said.

  “So you just picked her up on a street corner?” Sadie shot back.

  Landon shook his head. “She owns the bookstore on the corner of Ivy and Vine.”

&
nbsp; “I’m an attorney,” Sadie said.

  “Three lawyers in the room,” Addison murmured. “There has to be a name for that. Something like a murder of crows or a surfeit of skunks?”

  Landon and Beaner chuckled, but Sadie stretched her lips into a pretend smile.

  “We’re more like a pack of wolves,” Beaner said.

  “Actually, it’s an eloquence of lawyers,” Landon said.

  “Said who?” Addison asked. “I bet you’re more like a rumba of rattlesnakes.”

  “Just ‘cause she’s surrounded herself with a bunch of books doesn’t mean she has any card-smarts,” Jack said.

  “Please underestimate me,” Addison said, rubbing her hands together. “It’ll make the game that much more fun.”

  Everyone but Sadie laughed.

  “Come on friends, let’s stop the chitchat and ante up!” Uncle Jack turned on his heel and pushed through a pair of French doors into a wood-paneled game room. A pool table dominated one side of the room while a game table surrounded by six chairs sat in the middle. A leather sectional directly across from a massive TV screen filled the far corner.

  Addison took her place at the table, trying to ignore Sadie’s glare from the sofa while Jack dealt the cards.

  “I should have warned you, we give all our winnings to charity,” Landon said. “But I’ll cover you.”

  “Oh.” Addison made a small noise. She hadn’t thought about there being a cost. When she and Paul had played with the McCoys, all of their bets were made with Skittles. Which had worked out great for Paul since Addison didn’t like Skittles and she gave him all her winnings. “Well, it shouldn’t be a problem since I generally win.” She grinned at him. “You can pay me with legal services.”

  “That’s one name for it,” Beaner muttered.

  “What does that mean?” Sadie looked up from her laptop.

  “I just want to hear about the services, that’s all,” Beaner said.

  Before the conversation could plummet, Addison said, “I’m going to do some remodeling and I know nothing about hiring contractors or getting permits.”

  “I’m happy to help with that,” Landon said.

  “I bet you are,” Beaner said.

  Sadie pulled herself off the sofa, tucked her laptop under her arm and stalked from the room.

  The air felt better with Sadie gone, and Addison picked up her cards. Three kings. Just like Christian’s hand. She was going to win.

  ****

  Christian closed the door and leaned against it. Moonlight from the window cast shadows in the room. Miss Ryan lay on the bed in a tangle of sheets, one pale shoulder exposed. She didn’t stir when he crossed the room. He stopped at the open window, where a stiff breeze blew in. He tried to read the height of the moon and guess the hour—before midnight?

  After another hungry glance at Miss Ryan, he did what he knew he needed to do—he slipped out the window and into a pomegranate bush. The hard fruit fell around him as he tried to escape the prickly branches. He shot another look through the open window—she was as oblivious to falling fruit as she was to him. It hurt to leave her. He wasn’t anxious to spend the night in the barn, but bunking with the cows and horses seemed the wisest choice. He couldn’t go back to his own room, and he wouldn’t risk waking Miss Ryan.

  His thoughts of Miss Ryan were so deep that he nearly collided with young Thad, dressed in black and carrying a gun on his shoulder, as he headed for the barn.

  “Hey-ho,” Thad said. “What are you doing out here?” He stopped Christian with a hand to his shoulder.

  “Couldn’t sleep. Needed to clear my head.” Christian spoke in French and nodded at the rifle. “Are you hunting?”

  Thad smirked. “Sort of. Want to join me?” His French was as fluent as his sister’s.

  Thad didn’t wait for a reply but whirled toward a sound coming from the woods. Curious, Christian followed. He slipped behind a cottonwood tree when a young man on a horse rode into the clearing acting like a soldier.

  Thad’s gun blasted and the young man’s hat tumbled off his head. The young man kept a tight grip on the horse’s reins, grabbed his gun, and rode straight at Thad. The young man lowered his gun and aimed at Thad’s hastily retreating backside.

  Christian picked up a stone and leveled it at the horse’s head. The stallion reared, and the young man’s shot went wide. The bullet hit an oak tree and acorns showered the ground. After a moment of wrestling for control of his horse, the young man wheeled away.

  Christian caught up with Thad in the barn. "Who was that? Were you trying to kill him?"

  "Of course.”

  "Why?"

  "Because of the feud."

  “Like a Romeo and Juliette feud?” Christian remembered the discussion above his head at dinner.

  "That was a Jones you saw out there. There’s nothing to love about a Jones.”

  Christian guessed that a Mrs. Jones would feel differently but began to understand. “So the Smythes are fighting with the Joneses. Why?”

  “There was trouble 'bout something, and then a lawsuit to settle it.” Tad looked cross and shrugged. "How should I know? It started years and years ago. The suit went against one of the men, and so he shot the man that won—which he would naturally do, of course. Anybody would.”

  “What was the trouble about, land?” Christian glanced at the mammoth house across the river and back at the Smythe home. Were the two families trying to out-build each other?

  “Maybe—I don't know.”

  “Who started it?”

  “How would I know? It was so long ago.”

  “Somebody must know.”

  “It’s like this,” Tad began, as if speaking to a slow child. “A man has a quarrel with another man and kills him; then that other man's brother kills HIM; then the other brothers, on both sides, go for one another; then the COUSINS chip in—and soon everybody's dead.”

  Christian was at a loss.

  As if to try to clarify the situation for himself as well as the stranger, Tad added, “It’s slow and takes a long time.”

  At last Christian mustered a question. “And you’re all willing to die for who knows what?”

  Thad stopped in the moonlight and leveled him with a stare. “What are you living for?”

  Christian opened his mouth but couldn’t find the words. “I might not have a lot of goals at the moment, but when I do find out why I’m on this earth, I certainly hope it’s for more of a purpose than killing a Jones—just because.”

  “It’s not just because.” Thad lowered his rifle, and Christian worried that he might use it on him. “They killed my brothers, my cousins, and my grandfather. I can’t let them get away with that! What kind of man would that make me?”

  “One that lives to be a man.”

  “Only a coward would run away from defending his family.”

  “He who fights and runs away lives to fight another day.”

  “I don’t want to live if I have to run away.” Thad shouldered his weapon and turned toward the house.

  Which stung because Christian was running away. He was running away from a false murder charge, but in reality he had started running long before that. At some point he would have to stop.

  He headed for the pomegranate bush and, brushing past it, watched Miss Ryan sleeping.

  Perhaps something in his gaze stirred her, because moments later she opened her eyes. After several blinks she sat up, brushed the curls from her face and, as if she had come to expect seeing him in the middle of the night, studied him. “What are you doing out there?”

  “Shivering.” And he realized it was true. He was cold. He must have worked up a nervous sweat while watching Thad. Now, with the wind blowing through his cotton shirt, he was cold.

  She laughed and pulled the blankets up around her chest. “It’s warm in here.”

  “I’m sure it is.”

  “Why don’t you go back to your own bed?”

  “Because I told Miss Melod
y I was sharing yours.”

  Miss Ryan’s mouth dropped open.

  “I told her we were wed. It’s a secret marriage. Please don’t be angry.”

  Miss Ryan blinked three times.

  “Can I come in?”

  “You are crazy if you think you can so easily share my bed.”

  Christian dropped his voice to a whisper. “These people are crazy.” He told her of the feud. “We need to leave at first light. Make up an excuse—any will do.”

  “And you are afraid to sleep in your own bed?”

  “I’m not afraid; I would simply rather sleep in yours.”

  She sighed. “You can sleep here, but that is all. It won’t be the first bed we have shared.”

  Without hesitation, he vaulted into the room, thinking, please don’t let it be the last.

  ***

  After they returned to Salt Lake City, Christian took the first opportunity he could find to return to the office of the Priceless Princess. On both of the previous daytime visits, he had found the door locked and the place unoccupied, so he returned in the nighttime.

  He stood in the back alley while the wind tugged at his cloak. Although it had been more than a week since his stay at the Smythe home, the young Thad’s words still rankled.

  What was he living for? Why did he have to be the one running when Kidrick was most likely the one who had killed those men? He didn’t know if Priceless Princess the office building had any connection to Priceless Princess the boat, but he had to find out.

  A lone tomcat watched while Christian stood in the dark and silent alley, studying the windows for movement or shadows. Where were the proprietors? Had Kidrick killed them, too? Or was the name of the boat coincidental?

  If Kidrick was in Salt Lake City, surely he would have tried to contacted Christian or Miss Ryan. Christian was disguised, but Miss Ryan was as easy to find as a lit candle at midnight.

  Clearly it didn’t matter to Kidrick that he, at least for the time being, had gotten away with murder. Christian knew from playing cards with him that Kidrick was not the sort of man who cut his losses or knew when to quit. Kidrick was a poor loser and probably wasn’t even very gracious when he was ahead.