“No, she’s not homely. She’s downright pretty.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
Johnny sighed. “I was brought up to think marriage was sacred and permanent. I don’t want to go into it lying. It’s not that I don’t like Sally. She seems very sweet. And very trusting. But I feel guilty. I can’t do it to her.”
Cam’s forehead wrinkled. “Do what?”
“Marry her. And I can’t do it to Mark’s memory, either.”
Cam held up one hand, fingers outstretched. “Whoa there. Didn’t we have this conversation last evening?”
“We did. I haven’t changed my mind.”
“You seemed like you did.”
“Well, I’ve changed back. Cam, I feel too guilty. This is a lifetime commitment we’re talking about. We didn’t come here looking for a lifetime commitment. We came looking for a place to hide for a few weeks, or maybe a few months. Not for the rest of our lives.”
Cam stood there for a long moment, frowning. “The way I see it, you can’t afford not to marry her.”
“I don’t care. I’d rather tell the truth and pay her way back to St. Louis—if I had enough cash—”
“Which you don’t.”
“Which I don’t. But if I come clean, maybe she’ll understand.”
“Oh, sure,” Cam said. “She’ll understand, all right. She’ll understand that you expect her to fend for herself, that you’re abandoning her penniless in a strange town. She’ll understand that you led her to believe you were somebody else. You can’t do that to a respectable lady. If you tell her Mark is dead, who do you think she’ll go tell the story to? I’ll tell you who. The sheriff, that’s who.”
“Cam, hush.” Johnny looked around to make sure no one had overheard him. “You’ve been drinking.”
Cam cleared his throat. “Not too much.”
“Yes, too much.”
“I’m not drunk.”
Johnny had to admit he wasn’t staggering drunk, but he was louder than usual, and if anyone heard him reasoning out why Johnny should keep living a lie, they would both be in hot water.
“You’ve got to keep quiet.”
Cam nodded, smiling. “So do you. That’s the whole point. We need to keep quiet about what happened to Mark. So let’s do that. I’ll go in and fetch Mrs. Golding’s baggage. You go find the preacher.”
“Hadn’t I ought to put on the good clothes first?”
When he’d come around to agreeing with Cam, Johnny wasn’t sure, but they fetched the jacket and clean shirt from the horses and went back to the station. Cam asked the stationmaster and was directed to an outhouse where Johnny could change. It wasn’t ideal, but it was better than removing his sling and work shirt on the main street.
“Looks like it’ll fit.” Cam stood in the open doorway as he worked the sleeve over Johnny’s swollen arm.
“It’s tight.”
“You’ll live.” Cam buttoned the front. “Now the jacket.”
For some reason, putting that on hurt more than changing his shirt. At last, Cam situated the sling for him again, and Johnny tried to find a position that reduced the screaming pain in his arm to a livable ache. They walked around to the front of the station together, and Cam stowed his work shirt in the rented wagon.
“You couldn’t get a buggy?” Johnny asked.
“Nope. The livery’s got one, but it was already spoken for.”
“All right. I s’pose there’s nothing for it but to go talk to the preacher,” Johnny said. “But what if he—”
Suddenly, Cam turned his back to the station door. “Don’t look now.”
Involuntarily, Johnny glanced toward the door of the depot. The sheriff was just coming out.
“Well, hello, Mark! This must be your new cowpuncher.”
CHAPTER 8
Afternoon, Sheriff.” Johnny glanced at Cam and nodded. “This is my hired man, Cam Combes.”
“I’m Sheriff Jackson.”
“Howdy.” Cam shook his hand.
“So, what are you boys up to?” the sheriff asked.
“Why, Mark just fetched his bride-to-be off the train, and I was about to go in and get her luggage,” Cam said.
Johnny felt his face heat up beneath his whiskers.
“Getting married?” The sheriff smiled, almost chummy.
“Uh, yeah.” Johnny couldn’t quite meet his gaze.
“I guess that explains the duds, but not the sling. What happened?”
“Oh, a driving accident,” Johnny said.
Jackson nodded. “So, is the bride from around here?”
“No. Well, her family’s from north of here. But she’s been living in St. Louis.”
“Oh, well, good. A Texas girl. So am I invited to the wedding?” Sheriff Jackson asked.
“Sure,” Cam said jovially. “He’ll need another witness.”
Johnny managed a weak smile. “Sure.”
“Thanks. When’s the hoopla?”
“Any minute,” Cam said.
Johnny flinched. “Well, not that quick. I’ve got to make sure the preacher’s ready.”
Jackson smiled. “Have you got a ring for the lady?”
Johnny’s jaw dropped. “A ring.” He glanced at Cam. “We forgot to get the ring.”
“Well, you haven’t got time to save up coupons from Arbuckle’s coffee. But you can get one at the mercantile,” the sheriff said. “They have a case of jewelry near the counter.”
“I’ll get it while you settle things with the parson,” Cam said. “We’ll probably be ready in an hour, Sheriff.”
“Think so?” Jackson arched his eyebrows at Johnny.
“Uh, well, maybe. I guess.”
“At the church?”
“Yeah, that’s right,” Johnny said.
“Good enough.”
“Hey, Boss, I’ll go get those bags,” Cam said. “Nice to meet ya, Sheriff.” He scooted up the steps and into the depot.
“Well, I…uh…guess I’d better go see the preacher.” Johnny looked anxiously down the street toward the steeple.
“He’s probably in his house there by the church,” Jackson said. “I’ll see you in an hour or so.”
“Right.” Johnny squared his shoulders and walked determinedly down the dusty street. Thanks to Cam and the sheriff, there was no backing out now. As he approached the church, he noticed the neat little frame house to one side. That had to be the parsonage. He pulled in a deep breath and walked up to the door.
He hesitated once more. If the minister knew Mark well, Johnny’s charade would be over in minutes. And what if Mark had gone to see him recently—without a beard—and asked him to stand by to perform his wedding?
He couldn’t see another option, so he knocked soundly on the door panel.
The man who answered his summons was thin and wiry, in his fifties, Johnny guessed. His hair was cut short, and his gray eyes missed nothing.
“Hello. Mr. Paynter, isn’t it?”
“Yes, sir.”
“What can I do for you?”
Johnny exhaled in a puff. “I, uh, I’m getting married, sir. That is, I want to. If you’re willing to tie the knot.”
“Be glad to, if she’s a respectable Christian lady.”
“Oh, she is, Reverend. Guaranteed.”
The minister nodded and peered up the street. “Where is she?”
“I left her at the hotel with some refreshment. She just came in on the train.”
“I see. And do you want the ceremony right away?”
Johnny gulped. “Yes, sir. In a half hour, maybe?”
“That’s fine. Step inside for a moment, and let me write down the names. I’ll need to know them for the service, and I’ll have to make out a certificate when we’re done.”
Johnny followed him into the kitchen, where a plump woman in an apron was kneading bread dough.
“Myra, you’ve met Mr. Paynter?” The minister said.
She glanced at him. “Oh my, yes, but he’s
grown a beard since I last saw him.” She winked at Johnny. “You haven’t been in church for a few weeks, Mr. Paynter.”
“Uh, that’s right. I’m sorry. Couldn’t help it.”
She eyed his sling. “Well, I see you have an excuse. And I don’t blame you for not wanting to shave one-handed.”
Johnny decided not to correct her mistaken ideas and followed the preacher into the next room.
“There, now, what’s the bride’s name?” The pastor sat down at a desk and took up a pen.
“Uh, Sally Golding. She’s a widow.”
“Is that her maiden name?”
“Uh…” Had Sally mentioned her family name in her letters? He couldn’t remember. “I’m sorry, it slips my mind. I’ve never met her folks, you see. But they’re living up near Fort Belknap.”
“She can tell me at the church, I guess. And Mark Paynter.”
“With a Y,” Johnny said, and spelled his last name. “But, uh, I wondered if you could do me a favor, sir?”
“What’s that?” The minister looked up at him.
“Well, uh…I wondered if you could say ‘Mark John Paynter’ when you do the marrying?”
“Certainly. And I’ll ask Mrs. Golding if she wants her full name on the certificate as well.”
The minister wrote a few words on a sheet of paper.
“Do you have witnesses lined up? My wife can step in if you don’t, and—”
“The sheriff’s coming,” Johnny said. “Him and my ranch hand. They’ll be coming along in a while, and I need to go and fetch Sally.”
“Good, good. I’ll see you and Mrs. Golding at the church in half an hour, then.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Johnny made his escape through the kitchen, calling good-bye to the minister’s wife as she covered her bread dough with a clean towel. Outside, he walked over to the low fence that bordered the cemetery and leaned on it. He made himself take several deep breaths. At least his legal name would be in there somewhere. He couldn’t stand it if he thought the marriage wasn’t real. He felt as though he ought to confess the lies he’d told the preacher, but he wasn’t sure God would listen to him right now.
Slowly he turned and trudged toward the hotel.
Sally poured herself another cup of tea from the ivy-sprigged teapot. The hotel’s luncheon had proved more than satisfactory. Now, if she could say the same thing about her intended groom.
Something wasn’t right. She could feel it. Mark was nervous, and something more. She’d built her hopes upon the tone of his letters, but talking to him was almost like conversing with a different man. She certainly hadn’t expected to be left waiting at the hotel. She had imagined going straight from the depot to the church.
Obviously, she had imagined too much.
“Would you like dessert, ma’am?” The unsmiling serving woman was back. Sally suspected she was the hotel owner’s wife or spinster sister. Surely no businessman with any sense would hire such a dour woman to represent his service.
“Thank you, but I’ll wait for my fiancé,” Sally said.
The woman raised an eyebrow, and Sally wished she hadn’t spoken so frankly. She pushed back her chair. “I believe you said there’s a washroom?”
“Yes. I’ll show you where it is.”
A glance in the mirror plunged Sally’s spirits to new depths. No wonder Mark had the jitters. Three days of travel had taken their toll. Her face was dirty, and her hair resembled a bird’s soggy nest after a rainstorm.
“May I get a jug of hot water, please?” she asked the woman.
“Of course.”
When she emerged a few minutes later, the hostess was waiting. Sally had learned her name was Mrs. Lane and her husband owned the hotel.
“Our small parlor is this way,” Mrs. Lane said. “When your fiancé returns, I’ll show him in.”
She took Sally to a cozy room furnished with a horsehair sofa, two side chairs, and a small table. On the table, an oil lamp sat on a tatted doily. A framed drawing of a steamboat, which Sally thought was quite good, and an amateurish oil painting of a field of bluebonnets completed the décor. The double-hung window faced the backyard of the building, overlooking a stable.
Sally sat on the sofa and tried to be patient. What was Mark up to? He had seemed anxious for the ranch hand to show up. She supposed that he needed an employee if he planned to buy more livestock. Still, she had expected that the two of them would live alone on the ranch. This would take some adjustment. Just as well he had hired a man, in light of his broken arm.
She stifled a yawn. Sleep on the train had come in snatches, and she could do with a nap. She wished Mark had taken a room for her, but of course, that would cost more, and the ranch wasn’t far away. A book to read would be nice, or something else to distract her, but the sparsely furnished parlor held no reading material.
Her luncheon had settled, and she wished she had accepted a piece of pie. But Mark had said they would eat dessert when he returned.
After a few minutes, she opened her handbag. She had stitched it of scraps left from the mourning dress she had sewn for a woman in St. Louis. The pouch wasn’t roomy, but it was big enough to hold her ticket stub, a handkerchief, the twenty-one cents she had left, and Mark’s last letter. She took out the envelope and unfolded the sheet of paper.
My dear Sally. How precious those words had been. I cannot tell you how happy I am that you have agreed to come and be my bride.
What had changed since Mark penned those words?
She told herself to stop worrying. He was nervous. His life was about to change drastically. And he had broken his arm. He was probably in pain the entire time she was with him.
She sighed and put the letter away. “Lord, help me to do and say what’s best for both of us.” As she whispered the words, the root of her anxiety struck her squarely between the eyes. She was afraid Mark would call off the wedding.
Her chest tightened, making it hard to breathe. If only she could loosen her corset! She had spent three days bound in the thing, and her discomfort was probably contributing to her anxiety. “Lord, thank You for getting me here. Help me to trust You to—”
The parlor door opened, and she turned eagerly toward it.
A strange man stood in the doorway. He was shorter than Mark, and a little stockier. He held a wide-brimmed hat in his hand, and his dark hair tumbled over his forehead. His keen brown eyes sized her up, no mistaking that.
“Sally Golding?”
“Yes?” She stood, her heart pounding.
The man smiled. “I’m Cam Combes, Mark’s ranch hand. Pleased to meet you, ma’am.”
“H–hello.” Sally stared at the smiling man in work clothes. Had Mark sent his hired hand to tell her the wedding was off?
Johnny took a deep breath before the door of the small parlor to which Mrs. Lane had directed him. He wanted to see Sally again, but at the same time, he dreaded the meeting. This was it—his last hour as a single man.
He pasted on a smile and opened the door.
“There’s Mark now.” Cam stood up with a mug of beer in his hand and raised it in his direction. “What took you so long, pal?”
“Oh, uh, well, the preacher…you know.”
Sally’s smile looked a little wobbly. “Is everything arranged?”
“Yes. We’re to meet him at the church in half an hour.”
“We weren’t sure when you’d return, and Mr. Combes was famished, so we ordered the pie,” Sally said.
Johnny’s gaze swept over the table. At least Sally was drinking milk, not beer with Cam.
“That piece is yours.” Cam nodded toward an untouched slice of apple pie on a plate. “Do you want some beer?”
“No, I’ll get some—” He almost said coffee, but then he remembered Mark didn’t like coffee. Had he told that to Sally? “I’ll get some of that milk.”
“I’ll get it for you. Sit down.” Cam set his mug on the table and scuttled out the door.
“So.�
� Johnny eased down onto the sofa next to Sally. “You met Cam.”
“He’s very charming.”
“Oh.” Johnny wasn’t sure what to say. He’d always known Cam had a way with the ladies. He could talk to anyone easily anytime, about any topic, whereas Johnny tended to freeze up around people he didn’t know, especially females. “He’s good with a rope, too.” There.
“Is everything all right, Mark?” Sally asked softly.
“Yeah, sure.”
“You did want a piece of pie, didn’t you?”
He nodded and picked up the fork with his left hand. The sugary pastry hit his stomach hard. Maybe he hadn’t ought to eat any more until after the wedding. But his eating seemed to put Sally at ease. She had picked up her plate and was taking a forkful of her half-eaten slice. He made himself take another bite.
Sally smiled at him, and his insides went all squishy again.
“Are you nervous?” she asked.
“Some. You?”
“A little,” she admitted. “I’ll be glad when it’s done. Mr. Combes said—”
“Call me Cam,” came the deep, cheerful voice from the doorway. “Short for Cameron. I’m not apt to answer to Mister.” He handed Johnny a tall glass of frothy milk. “I settled up with the hotel lady. We can just pull out when we’re done here.”
“Thanks.” Johnny took a big gulp from the glass. Half of it went up his nose, and he thumped the glass down on the table, coughing.
“Are you all right?” Sally asked.
Johnny wiped his nose with the back of his hand. Sally thrust a black handkerchief between his fingers, and he used it to advantage.
“Thanks.” His eyes watered, and inside his head felt like someone had stuck a poker up his nostril.
“Well, eat up,” Cam said. “We don’t have long.”
Sally looked anxiously at Johnny. “I don’t suppose…”
“What is it?” he asked.
“I suppose it’s silly, but I have another dress in my valise. I had hoped to change out of my traveling things before the ceremony.”
“Of course,” Johnny said.
Cam jumped up. “I’ll run right out and get it, ma’am. The leather bag?”
“Yes.”
The Outlaw Takes a Bride Page 9
