by Carol Arens
Matt quick-footed it past the bank. Billy could wait a few minutes. The woman could not.
The sky at sunrise wasn’t as pretty as her blue eyes. From the spark of interest glittering in Bart’s rheumy gaze, he must have thought the same, but not in any respectful way a man should look at a decent woman.
“Afternoon, ma’am…Bart?” Matt tipped his hat. The lady turned her smile away from Bart and let it shine on him. Chilly nights on the cow trail would be considerably warmer if he could remember her smile, just so.
“Good afternoon.” Her voice washed clean through him. It was the sweetest sound he’d heard in some time.
“I hope Bart here isn’t causing you any concern, miss.”
“My concern ain’t no concern of yours, Matthew Suede.” Bart’s lip curled up in one corner, like an old dog snapping for a fight. “Me and the lady were conducting some personal business.”
Sometimes when he was in his cups Bart imagined things. This sure would be one of those times, since this delicate woman would not be likely to have dealings with a scoundrel.
Matt dug into his pocket and withdrew a dollar bill. He pushed it into Bart’s fist. “Go on over to the Long Branch and give that business some further thought.”
Bart glanced at the money, then at the lady. Oddly enough, she didn’t seem pleased. Surely she couldn’t be sorry to be rid of Bart.
“I’ll be back shortly, sweet thing. You wait right here for me and we’ll finish what we were up to.” Bart closed one eye in a lewd wink. A dribble of spit leaked out the corner of his mouth when he leaned forward as though he thought to kiss the lady.
She snapped her umbrella up. Such a frilly weapon wouldn’t discourage that snake. The lady wouldn’t know not to make an enemy of Bart. Best to keep him pointed toward the saloon and let him drink his meanness into a stupor.
“Go on, now.” Matt stepped between the parasol and the drunk. He directed Bart down the steps much as he would herd a straying cow. “Bad luck to let good whiskey go waiting.”
“Don’t you move, sweet thing,” Bart called from halfway across the street.
From behind, a rustling of silk and lace told Matt that the woman had risen from the bench. He’d like to stay a while and bask in her gratitude for getting rid of Bart, but Billy was probably getting nervous by now.
If the day had been different he would have invited the lady for a steak at Del Monico’s. They could get acquainted in a proper way.
“Blast and tarnation!”
Startled, Matt spun about and found himself gazing down at the woman’s shifting bustle. Too soon she straightened, then whirled on him with a shotgun gripped in her small, lacy-gloved fists.
This rose had thorns all up and down her pretty stem.
“Why, you interfering do-gooder!” She must have seen him go wide-eyed, for she plunked her weapon, nose-first, onto the boardwalk. “I was just about to get a—”
All of a sudden her gaze turned speculative. She slid the shotgun onto the bench behind her along with her umbrella. She planted her hands on her hips, swaying ever so slightly while she looked him up and down. Now he knew how a steer would feel, being priced for market.
All of a sudden the woman appeared soft, like a cuddly kitten that had retracted its claws.
“You stay clear of that old man, miss. He may not look like much, but he’s mean as a mad dog.”
Matt spun about. It was definitely time to meet his cousin.
“Mr. Suede,” he heard the lady call out from behind. “Are you a married man?”
He glanced back, smiled and tipped his hat, but his boots couldn’t carry him down the walk fast enough.
* * *
Emma pushed open the door to the livery and stepped inside. A beam of light from a window near the rafters stabbed through the interior of the huge barn, making it feel almost like church on a quiet afternoon. If it hadn’t been for the dust particles swirling lazily about, she’d have been of a mind to get on her knees and ask the almighty for a man. But she’d had about enough of dust for one day. The livery floor, while clean enough for a barn, wasn’t the place to kneel in a prolonged prayer, and prolonged prayer was what she would need to get a husband before the land office closed for the day.
“Mr. Adams?” Emma called out.
Jesse Adams kept his livery as neat as a woman kept a house. It smelled good in here, with the scent of polished leather, fresh hay and clean horses all mixed together.
A door in the back of the barn creaked open. A man poked his head through the opening but didn’t come inside. From a dim corner a horse nickered a greeting.
“Oh…good afternoon, Miss Parker.” Jesse Adams took a glance back at whatever he had been doing, then flashed a fresh, friendly grin at her. Too bad the man claimed to be nearly engaged. “Is there something I can help you with?”
“I’ve just come by to check on my horse and my supplies. Do you mind if I stay here for a while?”
A frown creased his forehead while he considered her request but he said, “You make yourself at home, ma’am. I’ll be right out back. Holler if you need something.”
If only hollering would get her what she needed. She’d come so close, too. That old gent in front of the mercantile had all but agreed to marry her, and for only ten dollars. True, he had been drunk and smelly, but she could have overlooked those flaws for the few moments she would need to borrow his name.
Drat that fine-looking Mr. Suede. If he hadn’t filled her prospect’s fist with money and sent him along to the saloon, she’d be hitching up her rented team, ready to cross the wide-open prairie by now. She’d finally be going home.
Not to someone else’s home, to her own. What a wonder it would be to plant trees in her own soil and watch them grow. Wouldn’t it be fine to not have to continually move on, and leave her plantings to grow up without her?
In her new life there wouldn’t be other people’s children hanging on her skirts wanting this and that. Emma had still been a child herself when she had started raising other folks’ babies. Praise be that the days of other people’s children were behind her. No more wiping runny noses, sitting up all night through fevers and cheering their first steps and words, just to be forced to take another position and never see them again.
From now on it was just Emma, free to come and go, free to sit or stand, with nobody wanting a thing from her.
Emma watched the rectangle of light grow dark when Jesse closed the barn door. She turned about and walked with open arms toward her horse.
“Well, Pearl, old girl.” Pearl wasn’t really old, but she was blind and tended to move with caution, which gave her an aged look. Emma stroked the velvety nose that nudged her ribs in welcome. “I missed you, too. There’s just a little chance that you’ll have to spend the night at the livery one more time. Seems like the men here are a bit skittish when it comes to matrimony. It’s not at all like everyone back in Indiana says.”
No indeed, it was so much more complicated getting a husband. She had expected to simply file on the land that Edna Harkins had written her about and gone to live on a piece of earth that would be her own.
She hadn’t figured on the trials of having to get a man. Well, that was just one more complication of having been an orphan. Being left on the steps of a church as a newborn had made her who she was, for good and for ill.
Emma rubbed Pearl behind one ear, then patted the white diamond on the chestnut head before she went to the corner of the livery where her rented wagon stood ready and waiting to make the trip to her homestead.
“Don’t you worry, Pearl, we’ll go home soon,” Emma called out to the horse while she lifted the flap covering the goods necessary to set up housekeeping. She had passed the morning at various shops in Dodge using an uncomfortable portion of her savings, but she had spent wisely and had the funds to get started and then some.
Emma touched the bag of money tied about her waist. It couldn’t be seen beneath her skirt, but when she walked, it h
it her thigh with a reassuring slap.
Very soon, life would be grander than she could have ever imagined. Those days of caring for everyone but herself were at an end. Poor orphan Emma, whom everyone pitied enough to take into their home in exchange for working her youth away, was about to become queen of her world.
“This time tomorrow, Pearl, you’ll be grazing on land so nice and flat and big that you can wander about all day and never leave home.”
Poor blind Pearl—Emma hoped that the horse would enjoy the freedom of the open country. Years ago an employer had given her the horse as a parting gift when he had decided to move his family to the East Coast. Families came and went, but Pearl was her own.
With a sigh, she put away misty memories of children that were not her own and trees that grew tall without her.
The troublesome search for a husband had done her in. Surely she would have better luck after she was fresh and rested. Just behind her rented wagon was a clean heap of straw that would do for a short nap. She lay down on it, spread her arms wide and watched dust specks play tag in a beam of light.
Wasn’t this fine? To simply lie back without an employer needing this or that seemed the life of luxury.
Just as soon as she borrowed a man, life would be cherries and cream.
* * *
Emma came awake to the urgent whispers of two men behind the livery. As the pleasant fuzziness of her nap cleared from her mind, she recognized one voice as that of Jesse Adams.
She sat up, then heard running bootsteps pounding outside, following the sidewall of the livery. They made a skidding turn, then dashed inside.
The wagon, loaded with her supplies, prevented her from seeing who the running boots belonged to, but she heard the quick rush of a man’s winded breathing.
His feet shuffled in the dirt and then three white stockings came flying over the wagon. They whooshed past her face and drifted down onto her straw bed.
She snatched them up. The livery filled with shouting male voices, one deep voice barking out over the rest for order.
“Look what we’ve got here, boys,” the deep voice said. Emma scrunched low on her bed of straw, lying flat on her belly to peer through the spokes of the wagon wheels.
One pair of motionless boots faced half a dozen pair that shuffled up dust on the livery floor.
With seven men in the livery, odds were fair that at least one of them was a single man.
“Afternoon, Marshal Deeds,” said the owner of the pair of boots facing the others.
“Afternoon, Suede. You happen to see a ghost run in here?” Deep guffaws followed the marshal’s question.
A ghost? Emma opened the stockings wadded up in her fists. Yes, indeed, a ghost. Her fingers popped right through the cut-out eyeholes of one of the scraps.
“You been drinking on the job, Marshal?”
“Mighty funny, Matt, that The Ghost comes flying into the livery and here you happen to be, all alone.” This voice came from the back of the gathering of boots.
Lands! That handsome Mr. Suede who had sent her drunk prospect packing was a bank robber? He’d seemed such a decent sort. Perhaps there was some personal grudge between Mr. Pendragon and…The Ghost, since the dandy was the only one who got robbed.
“It’s no crime to be in the livery.”
“Give it up, Suede. Everyone here saw you run inside.”
The boots belonging to the marshal took a step forward. Matt Suede’s boots didn’t move a piece of grit out of place.
“I’m going to have to arrest you, Suede.”
“Pendragon’s going to see that you hang,” the owner of a pair of boots with a rip in one toe said. “You might have ate your last meal and not even known it.”
Mercy! Just when things seemed darkest, life always seemed to take a bright turn.
Emma opened the first button of her bodice, glanced down to judge the effect, then opened three more. For good measure she stuffed in a hank of straw. Hopefully her eyes still had a sleepy, languid look from her nap. A few more pieces of straw would be just the thing. She snatched them up, poked them into her hair, then mussed the whole thing with her fingertips.
She wadded up the stocking scraps and slowly, silently shoved them deep into the straw.
“Matt? Honey…” Emma stood up from the straw bed stretching and yawning like a cat full of cream. “Come on back here—you can check on poor blind Pearl later.”
Matt Suede turned in a slow pivot. His manly jaw fell open. Earth-colored brows shot up over golden-brown eyes gone wide with surprise. Gradually his mouth closed, his grin stretched wide. Wrinkles creased the corners of eyes that seemed to be laughing in relief and mischief. Mostly mischief.
Emma stepped out from behind the wagon looking down and pretending to struggle with the buttons of her gown as though she hadn’t noticed the men gawking at her.
“Button these back up for me, will you?” Did her hips sashay the right way? Appearing scandalous had never been among her best skills. “You’re so much better at it than I—”
Emma looked up, gasped and covered her half-naked breasts with the splayed fingers of one hand.
“Lands! Matt, honey, who are these men?”
“The marshal.” Matt Suede gripped her shoulders with firm, calloused hands. He inclined his head toward the body of men. “And his friends.”
Matt stared down at her gaping bodice, then looked into her eyes. His brows rose in an expression that she could see, but not the men standing behind him. Clearly, he was seeking permission to complete the intimate task. With an infinite dip of her head she answered him. Yes.
“Don’t you gentlemen know not to intrude on a private moment?” She tried to use a scolding voice, but Matt’s rough-skinned knuckles brushed her chest when he slid a button home. Her voice sounded husky instead of incensed.
“They say they saw The Ghost fly into the barn,” Matt said. Emma took a shaking breath and wished he would hurry with those buttons. She couldn’t take her gaze off those brown, weathered fingers lingering on her flesh. Lands, the blush flooded her skin in heat waves. “They figure that since I’m the only man in here, I must be The Ghost.”
“What foolishness,” Emma declared, and straightened the collar of her now demurely buttoned gown. “I believe that if Matt were a spirit, I would have noticed some moments back.” She inclined her head toward the rumpled pile of hay behind the wagon and plucked a blade of straw from her hair. “I’m quite sure this man is flesh and blood.”
Evidently her declaration of his humanity pleased him, for a grin shot over his lightly bristled jaw. He swatted a hank of golden-brown hair back from his face and slipped his arm around her waist.
He seemed awfully relaxed. His arm made itself at home, snuggling against her back while his fingers stroked her ribs, petting as though they had done it a thousand times before.
Emma flashed Matt Suede what she hoped was a seductive smile. She leaned into his hug and became distracted by the playful dusting of freckles frolicking over his nose and across his cheeks.
Matt bent his head, whispering in for a kiss.
Emma pressed two fingers to his lips, preventing what promised to be a fascinating experience.
“Matt, honey, you did promise me a proper wedding. I don’t think we should keep the preacher waiting.”
Matt’s arm stiffened, his fingers cramped about her middle. There was a very good chance that he had quit breathing.
The marshal let out a deep-bellied laugh that startled poor Pearl and made her whinny. “Looks like you been caught after all, Suede.”
“If you ain’t The Ghost, you can’t deny being the groom,” someone snickered.
“Since you don’t see a spook standing here, I believe you’re looking at the groom.” Matt Suede’s voice croaked on the word groom.
“The problem is, I don’t recall you having a steady girl, Suede,” the marshal said. “Just to be sure you and the lady here aren’t in cahoots, I think the boys and I will jus
t go along to witness those holy vows.”
A man slapped his thigh and let out a roaring hoot. “Singing Trigger Suede goes through with this marriage and we’ll know he’s telling the truth.”
“You’ve got the wrong bank robber, boys. The next hour will see me hitched and tied.”
Matt bent his mouth close to her ear. His breath warmed her cheek.
“You sure you want to do this, ma’am?” he whispered. The men standing nearby wouldn’t hear him, since they stood close to the barn door and the traffic traveling down Front Street drowned his words to anyone but her. “I’m better than that old drunk, but only a little.”
Chapter Two
It’s not that Matt had anything against married men. In fact, he judged that, largely, they were the lucky ones. He’d just never figured to be one of them. Not every man could live up to the responsibility.
He glanced down at the small gloved hand nestling in the crook of his elbow. The woman had saved him from the hangman’s noose. He guessed he owed her for that and would have to go along with what she was up to, for now.
Even if he didn’t owe her, when the choice was hang or wed, what was a neck-loving man to do?
It hadn’t taken more than a couple of minutes for the marshal and his cohorts to hunt up Mrs. Sizeloff, a lay preacher who had just come down the bank steps. The marshal and five hooting witnesses demanded her immediate services as reverend. Since lay ministers were allowed to perform churchly duties, she had been whisked away to make sure he was wed.
It felt like a lynching more than a wedding, but the lady beside him didn’t flinch. In fact, her smile looked brighter than the sun riding big and low in the western sky.
Now here they were, if not dearly beloved, at least gathered together in the land office. He’d gallantly pointed out that there was a church at the edge of town, but his bride had muttered something odd that sounded like the land office was getting ready to close.
In under a quarter of an hour his whole life had upended. Already the preacher was winding up to the big “I do.”
