A bold sympathy filled the Reverend’s gaze. Ethan managed a nod, and the preacher continued. “A man I once knew said, ‘Hope is a rope. Tie a knot and hang on.’ That’s what I’m telling you both to do today. Just hang on. Can you agree to that?”
“Yes,” said Jayne almost whispering.
Ethan barely nodded, but it was enough.
“Then we’re ready for the vows.” John turned to Jayne first. “Do you, Jayne McKinney, take this man to be your husband, in sickness and in health, for richer and for poorer, until death do you part?”
“I do.” Her voice rang clear and true.
The Reverend turned to Ethan with a challenge in his eyes. “And do you, Ethan Trent, take this woman to be your wife, in sickness and in health, for richer and for poorer, until death do you part?”
“I do.”
The Reverend gave a final nod. “I now pronounce you man and wife. Ethan, you may kiss the bride.”
The day he’d married Laura came alive in a torrent of light. The church had been overflowing with family and friends. He had kissed her until his spinster aunt huffed and little boys started to giggle. He could smell the white roses she had worn in her hair and taste the wedding cake she’d fed him with her fingers.
He looked straight at the Reverend, intending to say I can’t, but the sympathy in the man’s eyes had hardened into a command.
“It’s an absolute law,” John said. “A woman has to be kissed on her wedding day.”
He felt Jayne’s fingers squeezing the blood from his hand. Glancing at her profile, he saw that she was pleading with the Reverend with her eyes and subtly shaking her head no. With a start, Ethan realized that she was protecting him. He felt as if he’d been kicked in the gut, or worse, like a scared kid running from his first fight.
The Reverend was still staring at him. “If you don’t do it, I will.”
“Like hell,” Ethan muttered. He’d be damned before he’d let John Leaf get the best of him twice in one day. Reaching across his body, he raised his hand to Jayne’s cheek and tilted her face to his. As he bent to kiss her, she avoided his mouth to shield him from the hurt and instead brushed her lips against his jaw.
The gesture touched Ethan to the core. He wanted to thank her and tell her he cared about her, at least as much as he could. So he kissed her back, tender, on the mouth. The kiss held none of last night’s passion, but it was sincere and just between them. As he pulled back, he saw tears in her eyes.
After a determined sniff, she wiped away the moisture and managed a smile. “Just ignore me,” she said to both men. “I always cry at weddings.”
The Reverend chuckled. “Don’t tell anyone, but I do, too.”
Ethan just wanted to get the day over with. “Is there something we have to sign?”
“I’ll write out a marriage certificate before I leave,” John replied. “Let’s head inside.”
The three of them walked down the hill to the cabin where John opened his Bible and took out a sheet of paper. After Ethan supplied him with a stubby pencil, he sat down at the kitchen table and wrote out the words that made the marriage legal.
Looking up at Ethan, he said, “Sign here.”
After scrawling his name, Ethan handed the pencil to Jayne. Next to his chicken scratch, she spelled out Jayne Elizabeth McKinney in a loopy cursive. She had pretty penmanship, exactly what he would have expected.
As soon as the ink dried, John tucked the paper back into his Bible. “I’ll file the minister’s return as soon as I get to town. It’s official. You two are married.”
The declaration should have called for joy, but Ethan couldn’t muster even a faint smile. Jayne filled in the silence.
“Would you like a bite to eat? I can whip up a batch of corn muffins.”
“No, but thank you. I’m headed to the Chandler place next. Do you know them, Ethan?”
The Reverend knew damn well that Ethan hadn’t spoken to a soul by choice in two years. Jayne’s secret made that isolation more necessary than ever. “Can’t say that I do,” he replied.
“Luther might have a milk cow for sale, and Priscilla would welcome company. They’ve got a passel of kids, too.”
“Visiting isn’t a good idea,” Ethan said.
But Jayne’s eyes were shining like the noon sky. “I’d love to talk with her. I have a million questions about babies.”
“She’s the person to ask,” John offered. “Ethan, I’ll send that wire to the district marshal today. As soon as I hear something, I’ll be back.”
“The sooner, the better,” Ethan said. He had a woman to protect, and this time he’d succeed or die trying.
Timonius LeFarge had lost weight. He had never been comfortable in a saddle, and today his bony butt made the ride out to the Trent ranch unbearable. The starchy clothes he’d bought for his Pinkerton’s ruse chafed in ways he wouldn’t soon forget, and though his bowler gave him a sophisticated look, it didn’t shade his eyes from the sun.
Over the years he’d grown to dislike the open range. He was fifty years old and too worn out to be stealing for a living. He wanted to retire and buy a saloon in a big city. He’d been considering Denver until Jesse had stolen his money.
The kid had deserved to die. Nor did Timonius have any sympathy for his widow. The circumstances stank, and the more he thought about Ethan Trent, the more suspicious he became of the man. Tim had spent hours at the local saloon talking with the bar-keep and the regulars, but no one knew anything beyond the fact that Trent had bought his place two years ago and rarely came to town.
The church crowd might have known if the rancher had a wife, but Tim wasn’t about to stick around until Sunday. Nor did he want to stir up gossip at the local businesses. If he asked too many questions, the whole town would be looking for the widow Dawson and her money. He wanted to keep his cards close to the vest, especially since his ruse as a detective was thin at best.
As he neared the crest of a hill, the trail turned east. The ranch had to be close, and LeFarge kicked his horse into a trot. His plan was simple. If the cabin was empty, he’d search the house for any sign of a woman. If he got lucky and found her alone, he’d introduce himself as a detective and watch her face. If she twitched, he’d take Jayne Dawson at gunpoint and force her to bargain for her life. If she stayed calm and claimed to be Mrs. Ethan Trent, he’d stay the night and study them both.
When he reached the edge of the forest, he spied the ranch, including a pile of rocks marking a grave. Using the trees for cover, he reined in his horse and watched a slender woman with mousy hair hanging laundry on a clothesline. A green skirt and jacket swayed in the breeze. Next to it he saw a man’s shirt. She looked like an average ranch wife doing chores. Letting his eyes wander, he took in her sun-warmed skin and the round breasts straining against her dress.
Damn, but he wished he’d laid eyes on Jayne Dawson when he’d rousted Jesse at the hotel. He should have spied on them for a day, but he’d been eager to end the hunt. That impatience had been a mistake. Irritated, he nudged his horse into the meadow. He wanted to catch the woman by surprise, but his mount snorted. The woman looked right at him with no reaction at all.
“Hi, there,” she said cheerfully.
He perused her body and saw she was wearing a blue dress he remembered from the trunk. The garment matched her height, but it was loose at the waist and tight across her breasts.
“Good afternoon,” he said, reining his horse to a stop. “I’m Detective Timonius LeFarge. I’m looking for information concerning Jayne Dawson.”
Chapter Eight
“T he widow? I’m afraid she’s dead, but you can speak to my husband,” Jayne replied.
With one hand resting on the edge of the washtub and the other shielding her eyes from the sun, she studied the man who had murdered Hank. He was leaning back in the saddle with the casual air of an old man in a rocking chair, but his eyes were as hard as nickels.
Jayne reached into her pocket and took out th
e wire-rimmed spectacles Ethan had given her this morning and slipped them on her nose. After the Reverend had left, her new husband had insisted on talking about what to do in case LeFarge paid them a visit. He’d rummaged in a drawer for the glasses she was wearing now, and she’d wondered if they belonged to Laura. On her own, Jayne had rinsed her hair in strong coffee. She was still blond, but the Arbuckle’s had taken off the shine.
They had also decided to use her middle name, Elizabeth, which Ethan had shortened to Lizzie because it sounded more familiar. “Lizzie,” he’d said out loud. “Lizzie Trent.”
He’d tried to smile at her, but his mouth had twisted into a grimace and she’d felt the ache of the day all over again. Ethan had lost so much, but the sadness was for herself, for the things she was starting to want and couldn’t have. Laura Trent had been a fortunate woman, indeed, and Jayne was an impostor with dyed hair, ill-fitting spectacles and a husband who did not love her.
Steeling herself against that truth, she focused on LeFarge and the danger at hand. She had to warn Ethan without raising the outlaw’s suspicion. “My husband is working just over that rise. I’ll get him, if you’d like.”
“Actually, I came to see you.”
“I’ll tell you what I can.” She motioned at the washtub. “I’ll be done in just a minute. You can water your horse by the barn.”
LeFarge hunched forward in the squeaky saddle and stared straight at her. “What did the widow look like?”
To hide her shaking hands, she reached into the washtub, raised the last of Ethan’s shirts and wrung the life out of it. “She was blond. I didn’t notice her eyes, just that she was crying.”
Streams of water puddled at her feet as the outlaw shifted his gaze from her face to Hank’s grave, and then to the narrow path leading to the meadow where Ethan was working. She wanted to shout for help, but her ruse called for calm and good manners.
“It’s a nice day, isn’t it?” she said.
LeFarge scratched his chin. “A bit too warm, I think. I better see to my horse.” He tipped his hat and nudged the bay in the direction of the trough just as Ethan came over the rise. He was ambling down the path from the corral, carrying a shovel and a saw. He didn’t know that LeFarge was just thirty feet away, hidden by the laundry.
Waving cheerfully, she called to him. “Hello, sweetheart! We have company.”
His jaw hardened at the hint of danger and she saw him clutch the tools, no doubt wishing he was holding his Winchester instead of a shovel. As he passed the laundry line, LeFarge came into his view. The man was standing by the trough where his horse was taking a drink. Jayne saw him peering from beneath the brim of his hat, studying them both with his dead eyes.
“Hello, Detective.” Ethan set the tools by the barn door. “What brings you this way?”
“I’m not so sure the widow’s dead.”
Jayne’s stomach churned as she stepped to Ethan’s side. Like wolves in the wild, the men locked eyes. LeFarge was armed. The situation called for cunning, not a physical challenge. Terrified that Ethan would start a fight he couldn’t win, she prayed that he’d be wise and they would both stay safe. When Ethan scratched his head, Jayne knew that he’d sized up the situation the same way she had.
“I don’t understand,” he said, sounding slightly stupid. “I buried her a few miles from here.”
“I live by hard evidence, Mr. Trent. A man’s word means nothing to me. I want to see a body.”
Ethan shrugged. “Sure, but it’s late. How about tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow’s fine, but it’s a long ride from Midas. Perhaps I could impose upon you for the night?”
“It’s not an imposition at all,” said Jayne. “We’d love to have company, wouldn’t we, dear?”
“Absolutely,” he replied.
“That’s very kind,” said LeFarge. “The three of us can get to know each other. I’d like to ask Mrs. Trent a few questions, as well.”
Ethan put his arm around her shoulders. “Ask away, but Lizzie doesn’t know any more than I do.”
Squinting through the glasses, she said, “We can talk later. I need to start supper.”
Ethan gave her hand a hard squeeze. “Go ahead, sweetheart. I’ll give Mr. LeFarge a hand with his horse. I can talk cattle all day long, and all night, too. How about you, Detective? Got any interest in ranching?”
“Not much.”
The outlaw hadn’t taken his gaze off her face, except to ogle her chest. His expression was crude, but she had to put up with it, at least for now. “Supper’s in half an hour,” she said. “You can clean up at the well.”
“We’ll be there.” Ethan maneuvered the outlaw into the barn. “So what do you think of New Mexico? Lots of good grass, sky as blue as heaven. I can’t think of a prettier place on earth…”
Ethan’s rambling faded from Jayne’s ears as she hurried to the cabin, closed the door and saw the bedroll on the floor. She kicked the evidence of their false marriage under the bed, lit both lanterns and started a fire in the hearth. Shaking inside, she surveyed the contents of the kitchen shelves, hoping to find something decent for supper.
The front door swung wide. She whirled around just as Ethan closed it with a thud. He came across the room and clasped her upper arms. “Are you all right?”
“I’m so sorry.” Her voice cracked. “I didn’t want to involve you. Where is he?”
“In the privy. We need to think quick.”
Hysteria welled in her throat. “Maybe he’ll fall in.”
“I like the way you think,” he said with a tongue-in-cheek smile. “How about we tip it over? Door side down?”
His presence alone bolstered her courage. She wanted to shout and laugh and cry, but then their eyes locked and the humor died like a wisp of smoke.
He tightened his grip on her arms. “I won’t let him hurt you.”
“I know you’ll do your best, but—”
“There are no buts. If he lays a finger on you, he’s dead. Do you have anything that might throw him off your trail?”
“There was an advertisement in Hank’s coat.” Easing out of Ethan’s grasp, she opened the trunk and took out the paper. “Here it is.”
“Tell him you found it wedged behind the drawers.”
She touched his ragged sleeve. “Please, don’t take chances for me.”
His eyes narrowed as he shook his head. “That’s not your choice. I protect what’s mine, and right now, that includes you.”
They both heard the slap of the privy door and the shuffle of boots coming down the dirt path.
“Just focus on supper,” Ethan said. “I’ll keep talking, and the night will be over before we know it.”
As he strode out of the cabin, Jayne took the biggest pot off a shelf, started a stew with canned goods and whipped up a huge batch of biscuits. She didn’t have butter or fresh milk, or a dozen other things a woman would keep on hand. When Ethan led LeFarge through the door, she felt like a bird without feathers.
“Something sure smells good,” said Ethan.
How many times had he said those words to Laura? Their charade seemed doubly cruel as she dished up his meal. “It’s just a stew, but there’s plenty. I hope you’re hungry, Mr. LeFarge.”
“Call me Tim.”
She forced a smile. “Then I’m Lizzie.”
Ethan sat closest to the door, forcing LeFarge to sit in the opposite chair. The outlaw craned his neck and peered at her face as she took the biscuits from the oven.
“Where are you from, Mrs. Trent? You look familiar.”
She nearly dropped the pan.
“We’re from Missouri,” Ethan replied. “A man needs land, don’t you think, Detective? And what better place than New Mexico? Except maybe Colorado. That’s pretty country. Have you ever been there?”
“Yes, I have,” LeFarge replied. “And you, Lizzie, do you like New Mexico as much as your husband?”
“I love it,” she said, taking her place at the table. It w
as the first honest thing she had said, and telling the truth calmed her. As soon as her backside hit the chair, Ethan began to say grace.
“Our…dear…Heavenly…Father…We come to you…with thanks…and gratitude…for this fine…delicious meal…prepared…with loving hands…”
Jayne bit back a smile. At this rate, LeFarge would die of old age before the prayer ended. Every minute counted. Every word bought her a second of safety. Ethan ran out of steam after the fourth Heavenly Father and gave a loud amen.
LeFarge reached for a biscuit. “So, Lizzie, tell me—”
“Sweetheart?” said Ethan. “Would you pour me another cup of coffee?”
“Sure.”
By the time she sat down, he was rambling about longhorns and Herefords. LeFarge grunted now and then, but when he tried to get personal, Ethan steered him back to talk of the weather or the train trip from Missouri. It was all very boring and normal, at least that’s what she hoped LeFarge would see.
She couldn’t help but notice the man’s table manners, or the lack of them. He chewed with his mouth open, hunched over his plate and shoveled the stew as if he were slopping a hog. She nearly lost the small amount of supper she’d eaten when he pushed back from the table and let out a wet belch.
Ethan looked like he wanted to hold his nose as he pushed up from his chair. “Let’s sit by the fire, Tim.”
The men pulled their chairs to the hearth and set them at casual angles. Jayne watched as the outlaw curled into the seat with the ease of an alley cat, extracted a cigarette from his coat pocket and struck a match on the sole of his boot. Ethan cupped one hand around the pipe and lit the tobacco with a twig. “So, Tim, do you know any jokes?”
“Not a one.”
“I’ve got a few. Have you heard the one about the three-legged pig?”
Ethan was scraping the bottom of the barrel, but she forced herself to smile as he told one shaggy-dog story after another while she rinsed the dishes. When the last plate had been put away, she dried her hands on a towel from the trunk, picked up a book of poetry and sat next to her husband.
West of Heaven Page 9
