Johnny’s heart raced. She was talking about him! Mark had told her that he had a brother.
He lay back on the pillow and stared up at the open rafters.
“Well, that tears it.”
The closer they got to Beaumont, the more nervous Sally became. Her palms began to perspire, and she peeled off her gloves.
What if Mark didn’t like her?
It was different, writing something in a letter and reading what someone wrote, than it was talking in person. What if he took exception to some aspect of her appearance, or her turn of speech, or the way she did things?
But no. He couldn’t write the things he had and be mean or stupid or thoughtless.
She didn’t need to take out his letters in order to recall what he had said in each one. She treasured them and had gone over them time after time in her attic room. Mark seemed open and eager to know everything about her. She had told him things she had never revealed to anyone else. Had she told him too much?
He had been so sweet and kind about her marriage to David. You don’t need to tell me anything you don’t want to, he had written in one of his last letters. But I want you to know that you can tell me anything at all. I feel we are one in our hopes and dreams, in our faith and aspirations. I would not judge you harshly, because I know you now, and I am sure that you have always done what you felt was the right thing at the time. I know from things you have hinted at that you were not happy, even before Mr. Golding met his end. If you wish to tell me about it, now or later, I shall be a sympathetic listener. If not, I shall still be a staunch friend. It’s true I want to know every detail of your life, but my dear, the last thing I want is to put you in discomfort. So share with me those things that you want to tell and keep the rest in your heart for later, after you know me better and trust me more.
She smiled to herself as the train clattered onward. How could she ever trust him more? She had revealed to him her innermost secrets after that, even about the two babies. She had cried when she wrote the words and had to blot the letter before she could continue. But she had trusted him with the knowledge that each of her miscarriages had happened after one of David’s fits of anger. Mark could draw his conclusions from that.
It had only been fair to tell a man seeking marriage about it, and to assure him that the doctor had said he thought she would be able to have other children. She couldn’t enter into marriage without him knowing that, because most men—most normal men, she told herself—wanted children.
And how sweet and kind his reply had been! My dearest, I have never spoken or written words like these before, but I want you near me. I want to take care of you, to cradle you in tenderness and protect you from violence. Dearest Sally, a woman like you should never have to endure those things. Yes, our life will be hard here on the ranch, but I hope and pray that it will be easier than what you have borne heretofore.
She closed her eyes in prayer. Any man who could write a letter that sensitive must be a man of great faith and courage. He knew the worst, and he still wanted her as his wife.
“Please, Lord,” Sally whispered, “don’t let anything come between us now.”
When Johnny had finished the next-to-last of Sally Golding’s letters, he reread the final installment—the one Cam had read earlier. It all made so much sense now. And yet it didn’t in a way. He’d never dreamed his brother could be so eloquent, or so passionate. If anyone had asked him about Mark, Johnny would have described him as a no-nonsense ranchman who knew cattle and horses. He never would have said Mark had a tender side, no siree! He supposed every man fell for a girl some time or other, but most of the cowpunchers he knew didn’t act on it. They’d ride to town and ogle the saloon girls, or go to a community dance and sashay with the town folks’ daughters. But how many of them would up and propose? Not many.
Of course, most of them didn’t have their own spread. They wouldn’t have a roof to put over a wife’s head, even if they met a woman likely to say yes. Mark was different, all right. He’d worked hard and saved his money and bought his own land. He’d liked books, too, though there were only a few in the cabin. He’d wanted to be his own boss, and apparently he’d wanted a family, too. He’d never have that now.
And what about this poor Sally? She had poured out her heart to Mark, telling him things Johnny blushed to read, and some that made him angry. Mad enough to thrash this David man she’d been married to, if he hadn’t already turned up his toes in St. Louis.
They would have to tell her right away. Send a telegram, maybe. Why hadn’t he thought of that before Cam left for town? Because he hadn’t finished reading the letters, and he hadn’t known the whole story, that’s why. Sally was really in love with Mark and trusting him to take care of her for the rest of her life. And from what he could tell, ol’ Mark had it bad. He was just as deep in love as Sally, even though he’d never seen her.
Johnny held his head in his hands and moaned. How on earth could they fix this? Nothing popped out at him. Maybe Cam would have some ideas. Had Mark sent Sally the money for her train ticket before he died? It might be too late to stop her. That thought jolted him. He jumped up and strode outside. Reckless nickered from the corral. Johnny went over and leaned on the top rail.
“I really messed up, fella.”
Reckless rubbed his head against Johnny’s arm so hard he shoved Johnny off balance.
“Hey, watch it.” Johnny scratched the gelding’s head, under his forelock. Distant hoofbeats sounded, and he whirled toward the road, holding his breath. After a moment, he relaxed. Cam had come into view, galloping in on his pinto. They halted in a small dust cloud, and Cam hopped down.
“I was right. You had a letter at the post office.”
Johnny eyed him testily. “You mean Mark.”
“Right.” Cam took it from his saddlebag and thrust it into Johnny’s hand. The envelope was addressed in Sally Golding’s distinctive writing, with a St. Louis postmark.
“Did you have any trouble at the post office?”
“Not a bit,” Cam said. “I told the postmaster I was Mark’s new ranch hand, and he said he’d heard from the owner of the mercantile that Mark had hired someone. Made me feel right welcome.”
“Did he, now?” The guilt resurfaced as Johnny tore the envelope open. He pulled out the letter and scanned it silently. His chest tightened, and his throat seemed to close as he hauled in a new breath.
“What’s it say?” Cam demanded.
“She thanks him for sending the train fare. Cam, she’s on her way by now. Expects Mark to meet her at the train depot in town. And she says she’s fine with his suggestion that they—” Johnny cleared his throat, but that didn’t help. “That they get married right away. Sounds like Mark offered to have the preacher standing by.” Johnny met Cam’s gaze. “What do we do?”
“Don’t panic. Remember, Mark never got this letter. So that means the preacher doesn’t know.”
“Right. Unless he and Mark were chums and Mark told him all about his prospective bride.”
“Now there’s a depressing thought.” Cam scowled and reached for the letter.
“Half the town could know about Sally,” Johnny said.
“Naw, I don’t think so. Some of those men would have ribbed you a little the other day, if they knew Mark that well.”
Johnny wasn’t sure about that, and it was small consolation.
Cam’s eyes darted back and forth as he read the letter. He got to the end of the sheet and flipped it over. “Hold on.”
“What?”
“She says she should arrive on June the fourth.”
“What day is it?” Johnny asked. Everything inside him jumped into position to run away. “Is it June yet?”
“I think so,” Cam said. “It must be. Is there a calendar in the house?”
“Uh…I don’t know. Yeah. Yes, there is. Hanging near the table, remember?”
They looked at each other for a second and hurried inside. The calendar was open to
the May page. Johnny took it off its nail and turned to June. “The fourth is a Tuesday.”
“Well, the postmaster said he had thought he might see you at the church service yesterday, so…” Cam let it trail off and stared at Johnny.
“You mean.… No! She can’t be coming…tomorrow?” Johnny gulped. “We’ve got to clean this place up!”
Cam’s face was that of a man who had been cheated out of his last dollar. “We need to stop her.”
“It’s too late for that.” Odd though it seemed, knowing the truth calmed Johnny.
Cam, on the other hand, turned beet red. “But—but—”
“But what?” Johnny picked up the water bucket and poured half the water into a large pan on the stove. “Mrs. Golding is coming here soon, and we can’t stop it. The man she loved is dead. We need to honor his memory by giving her a good impression of his place.”
“We can’t bring her out here!”
“There’s only one northbound train out of town a day, Cam. What do you suggest? She’ll probably turn around and go back to St. Louis when she finds out about Mark, but I doubt she can leave immediately. She’ll need time to grieve, anyhow, and she’ll probably want to see his grave. I wonder if we can find some flowers to plant on it.”
Cam stared at him like some mindless lizard. Johnny tried to be patient.
“Our responsibility is clearly to make her stay as painless as we can. And that means making the ranch as tidy as Mark would have.”
“She can’t come out here,” Cam said slowly, each word falling like a brick. “And we can’t tell her about Mark.”
“Are you loco? We have to!”
“No. Listen to me. When she arrives, you’ll have to give her some excuse to postpone the wedding.”
“Postpone the wedding.” Johnny eyed him keenly. “Oh, no. No, Cam. Absolutely not!”
“Hear me out. Now, this Sally, she’s going to come in on the train tomorrow.”
“Right. That’s why we need to—”
Cam held up a hand, and Johnny stopped. Obviously he would get nowhere until Cam had his say.
“Just listen for a minute,” Cam said. “If Sally finds out first thing that Mark is dead, she’ll be heartbroken.”
“Naturally.”
“Sure. And we’ll have to make arrangements for her to stay somewhere. She’s obviously broke, since Mark had to send her the fare. You know we can’t afford to pay her way back to St. Louis.”
“Well…” Johnny hadn’t considered that. He couldn’t stand the thought of lying to her, but Cam was right that they couldn’t afford to buy her a return train ticket, or to put her up long in a hotel.
“But if Mark meets her at the depot…” Cam waved a hand Johnny’s way.
“No.”
“Think about it, Johnny.”
“I won’t do it.”
“It’s the only thing you can do, man!”
Johnny crossed his arms over his chest and set his jaw. He was not going to let Cam browbeat him into lying to the widow Golding and letting her think he was Mark. “I suppose you want me to think of some reason to break up with her and see her get settled in town to support herself as a seamstress, or some such cockeyed scheme.”
“Hadn’t thought of that,” Cam said. “No, I’m afraid it wouldn’t work. You’ll have to marry her.”
Johnny’s jaw dropped.
Cam fixed him with a determined gaze. “Now, before you go getting on your high horse about lying and all of that, consider the alternative. The sheriff spoke to you in town a few days ago. Thought you were Mark. You didn’t correct him. What do you suppose will happen now if you say you’re not Mark?”
Johnny’s heart thumped faster than a galloping horse. “I’ll confess. I’ll have to. It’s the only thing to do now. We can’t drag this widow into a deception, Cam. You’re talking about me living a lie for the rest of my life. About entering into life’s most sacred bond under false pretenses. I won’t do it.”
“Mmm-hmm. All right. So you go to the sheriff and tell him you’re not Mark. You’re Johnny. What does the sheriff do then?”
“I…I don’t know.”
“Well think, man! He’ll want to know why you didn’t tell him at the start. And you’ll have to tell him Mark’s dead. And then he’ll want to know when your brother died and why you didn’t tell him, and why you buried him on the sly.”
“I didn’t do it on the sly. I never intended to hide Mark’s death, and I certainly didn’t set out to lie to anyone about it.”
Cam nodded tolerantly. “Of course not. But the fact remains, you did.”
Johnny’s breath whooshed out of him. He ran a hand through his overly shaggy hair. It was all true. He had made the decision on his own. Cam had offered to stand by him if he wanted to go to the sheriff last week, and he hadn’t taken the opportunity.
“And after he learns that you hid the body of a man who died under suspicious circumstances, he’s apt to start asking around about you. And if he hears anything out of Denver…” Cam stepped closer and laid a hand on his shoulder. “We’ve been friends a long time, Johnny. I’d hate to see you hang.”
Something panicky fluttered in Johnny’s stomach. “I can’t marry her. It wouldn’t be right.”
“I’ll be right there with you. Your best man. And I’ll help any way I can.” Cam’s expression brightened a little. “And you can think of it this way: everything you do will honor Mark’s memory. You can take care of the woman he loved just the way Mark would have. You’ll be doing it for him, Johnny.”
Somehow that didn’t seem right to Johnny. If he went through with this, he wouldn’t be doing it for Mark. He’d be doing it to save his own sorry neck. He ran his hand through his beard, which was getting some length to it.
The cow bellowed. She stood waiting at the pasture gate.
“Is it that late?” Johnny squinted at the sun. It was still well above the horizon, but these June days were long on daylight.
“I’ll milk her,” Cam said. “You go finish redding up the cabin. And tonight you can go over her letters again and see if you can figure out anything Mark promised her that we should have ready.”
Johnny went to the cabin and put on a pair of trousers and an extra shirt that had been Mark’s and washed every stitch of his own clothing. As he hung them out, Cam appeared with the bucket of milk.
“New duds?”
“Mark’s,” Johnny said. “I saved the wash water, if you want to wash your things.”
To his surprise, Cam set about to do his laundry while Johnny scrubbed and straightened up in the cabin.
“Hey, Mark,” Cam called from the doorway.
Johnny looked up. “Don’t call me that.”
“I have to. And you’d better get used to it.” Cam came in with an armful of stove wood. “We don’t have much of this left.”
“Yeah, we might have to spend a day up in the hills, cutting some trees.” Johnny frowned. “And we’ll need the wagon to haul the wood in. We’ve got to train our mounts to harness.”
“We’ll need the wagon tomorrow,” Cam reminded him. “It’s almost dark now. I guess we’ll hitch them up in the morning and see how they do.” He dumped his burden in the wood box and walked over to the table. “Hey, what’s this?” He picked up a small folder Johnny had placed there.
“Mark’s bankbook. I found it under the sugar crock.”
Cam opened it and whistled. “Fifty-two dollars. That’s not too shabby.”
“He took some out last month,” Johnny said. “I reckon it was for Sally’s travel expenses.”
Cam squinted at the bankbook. “You’re probably right.”
“I wish we’d come earlier,” Johnny said. If they had, his brother might still be alive. He and Cam could have helped Mark stand off the outlaws. And Mark could marry his bride and have the life he had wanted.
Cam laid the bankbook carefully on the mantelpiece. “Well, that’s good news.”
“It’s not enough t
o send her back to St. Louis,” Johnny noted.
“No, but there will be other expenses.”
“Don’t forget, Mark had credit at several businesses in town. He may owe more than that fifty dollars to the shopkeepers.” Johnny looked out the window to where his clothes hung limp on the corral fence. “It’s so damp today, things probably won’t dry out before dark.”
“Do we have a flat iron?” Cam asked.
“I haven’t found one.”
“Huh. You don’t want to meet your bride-to-be in a wrinkled shirt.”
Johnny gritted his teeth. He still didn’t like the idea of marrying Sally Golding, but he couldn’t see a way out, short of turning himself in to the sheriff. If he did that, a marshal would probably take him back to Colorado to stand trial, and he didn’t like his chances.
But marrying wasn’t something he’d given a lot of thought. He’d never courted a girl, and he had supposed he would go on living as a bachelor cowboy for some time yet.
“Maybe I can heat up something else and smooth your shirt out.” Cam opened the cupboard and scanned the contents.
“Do you think I should shave?” Johnny ran his hand through his beard. “I must look scruffy.”
Cam swung around and studied him. “No, I don’t think so. What if Mark sent her a picture? That beard hides a lot.”
“I don’t think she mentioned a picture,” Johnny said. “But I guess you’re right. Any differences won’t be as noticeable if I keep the beard.”
“Yeah, and the folks in town might be more likely to realize you’re not Mark without the whiskers.”
“All right.” Johnny sighed. Had his fear of getting caught clouded his judgment? “I’d better trim it, though.” Mark had only a small mirror, and dusk was falling.
“Wait until morning,” Cam said. “I’ll shave. Then at least one of us will look well groomed.”
“Maybe you should marry her.”
“Oh, no. I’m not the one with the brother bent on romance.”
Johnny scowled. “I’m a little uneasy about that wagon business. There’s still enough daylight to hitch up the horses and try them out. Don’t you think we’d ought to do that? Give them a taste of the harness? And then in the morning, it will seem like routine stuff to them.”
The Outlaw Takes a Bride Page 6
