The Scoundrel's Bride

by Geralyn Dawson

  He stared across the field. Bluebonnets and buttercups painted the landscape this day instead of the winecups and firewheels of all those years ago. Morality couldn’t have known they were in spitting distance of the place his mother had died. Her question had rubbed salt on an eternally aching wound.

  A few hours after Sarah Burkett died, a cotton farmer and his wife had stopped at the scene of the carnage. Over Zach’s protests to leave the Lovelace brothers for the scavengers, Mr. Jones had buried the bodies where they lay. When Zach had refused to allow his mother to rest anywhere near her killers, the farmer had loaded Sarah’s body into the back of his wagon and driven to the top of a nearby bluff. Mrs. Jones had tended to Zach’s shoulder while her husband dug the grave.

  Zach hadn’t shed a single tear when the farmer covered his mother with dirt, quoting Scripture and other religious nonsense. Then, the Joneses had insisted he accompany them back to their home. He’d stayed for a bit while his body healed, but the farm was too close to Cottonwood Creek. Too close to the Marstons. So eventually Zach had left, hitching up with a colporteur—a peddler of religious books. He’d begun the life of a thimblerigger.

  The memories were like a hot knife to the heart. Zach threw down the flower and began to walk. Emotion churned inside him, and his walk quickened into a lope. Then, he was running. Across the field toward no place. Away from nothing and away from everything.

  Until he saw his wife standing at the edge of the trees.

  Zach stopped a few short yards away from her. “Go away, Morality. You don’t want to be here right now.”

  “Why?” came her soft-spoken reply.

  Zach’s blood hummed. “Because I’m in a fever. I’m thinking of death and I’m thinking of life. Life. Yes, that’s it.” He took a step toward her, intending to frighten her away. “I need a woman.”

  Morality smiled. “That’s right, Zach. You need me.”

  God, she was so beautiful standing there. The prettiest flower in the field. Gruffly, he said, “You miss my point. I need a woman. I need sex, Morality. Sex.”

  She stepped toward him, her fingers going to the buttons of her bodice. “No, Zach, you need love. And I’m here to see that you receive it.”

  And so, in the field where years before blood had spilled and soaked into the soft East Texas soil, Morality took her husband to her body and began to heal his soul.

  “JUST CALL me Rip,” Zach muttered to himself. As in Van Winkle. He must have fallen asleep and awakened in a different world. Either that or his butter had slid right off his cornbread.

  Morality kept telling him she loved him.

  For the life of him, he couldn’t figure out what had happened. One minute she wasn’t speaking to him, and the next she was laying him on the ground like a picnic blanket. And what a feast they had shared.

  By mid-afternoon, as they lay in a field of wildflowers on the covers he’d fetched from the buggy, with Morality sleeping quietly beside him, Zach was feeling rested and replete and comfortable as hell. And maybe a bit sunburned on his backside. And definitely muddled.

  The woman hadn’t muttered a single word, simply stared at him reproachfully when he’d taken her and she’d experienced no pain—despite the time elapsed since their last lovemaking. She had to have known he’d lied about that, too. Why hadn’t she raised her normal fuss? What had happened between breakfast, when she’d looked at him with contempt, and noon when she’d gazed at him with desire in her eyes?

  He had a feeling in his gut that he’d best find out. He nudged her shoulder. “Morality?”

  “Hmm…?” she sighed sleepily.

  “Morality, what’s happened?”

  “What do you mean?” She nuzzled his chest.

  “What’s changed? How come you’re not angry anymore?”

  “Do you mean about your lies?” Her hand stroked lightly over his shoulder.

  Zach began to doubt the wisdom of bringing up the issue. “Yes…” he groaned as her teeth nipped his round male nipples.

  She rolled on top of him and lifted her head, gazing down into his eyes in a way that made him feel as if he were drowning. “I am angry about your lies, Zach. But my being angry with you doesn’t affect my love for you. I do love you, and I trust that in time you’ll come to see the error of your ways.”

  Love. Oh, hell. Zach stiffened, above the waist this time. “What do you mean by that?”

  Her smile was as sweet as a field of cane sugar. “I’ve had a revelation, Zach.”

  “Oh, Lord.”

  “Exactly.”

  He shut his eyes. “What fool idea has wormed its way into that head of yours?”

  She pressed little kisses along his jawline. “It’s no idea, it’s a certainty. You and I will work together to turn those lies of yours into truth.”

  He cocked open one eye. “Just which of my lies are you referring to?”

  “The one about the railroad, for a start. You’ll abandon your revenge. You’ll learn to see beyond your pain and , you’ll choose the proper course.” Her mouth hovered scant inches above his own. “I love you, Zach, and before long, you are going to love me, too.”

  “The hell you say,” he mumbled, just before she touched her lips to his. They were the last words he spoke for quite a long time, and the last curse word he uttered until he tried to pull his britches over his sun-blistered backside.

  ONE OF the mercantile matrons spotted them first and raised the hue and cry. The Burkett Bastard had finally brought the Miracle Girl back to Cottonwood Creek.

  The ladies shouldered their way through the emporium’s front door and congregated on the boardwalk to watch the audacious display. The bleats and clucks of their disapproval caught the attention of the men in the shaving saloon next door and they came outside to investigate the ruckus. And so it went, the news blowing down Main Street like a polecat’s perfume.

  Morality took it all in stride. She squared her shoulders, smiled graciously, and waved to acquaintance and stranger alike. Zach had figured she’d be nervous, but if she was, he couldn’t tell. Of course, she’d been fooling him a lot lately.

  Their sojourn among the wildflowers had cost them an extra night on the trail, but neither of them minded. Zach had awakened the next day feeling strong enough to knock the white off the moon, so he’d summoned up the courage to visit the bluff where his mother was buried.

  Morality had prayed aloud, calling the graveside stop a “healing of spirit.” Zach hadn’t bothered to mention that he left the site more determined than ever to see his scheme through to the end. Another result of his reflection on the events of that day was a renewed determination to get his hands on Sarah Burkett’s diary.

  That was one reason he decided to head straight for Joshua Marston’s house as soon as they got to town—right after he made arrangements for the stolen horse, that is. Morality was another. About an hour out of Cottonwood Creek she’d started going on and on about Patrick Callahan—how he was, if he’d missed her, if his hand had healed. She’d nearly choked Zach to death, hugging him so hard, when he told her they’d skip a stop by the cabin and head directly to town.

  By the time they turned the corner onto the Marstons’ street, she was sitting on the edge of her seat. “What if they are not here, Zach? What if Reverend Uncle gave up on me and left town on schedule?” Morality fixed her gaze on the three-story house toward the end of the block.

  “Oh, he’ll be here,” Zach replied. “He’s not going to give you up without a fight, Morality. You’re the reason his revivals are a success. You’ve nothing to worry about, of course. I’ll be here to take care of you. And he has had some time to get used to the idea. Ginnie promised to spread the word of our elopement.”

  She wrinkled her nose. “As if I’ve not taken care of myself all these years. Besides, I’m not overly worried about that. Once I’ve had the opportunity to explain my calling to lead you toward the Light, it’ll all be just fine. As long as Reverend Uncle is still in Cottonwood Cr
eek, that is.”

  Not in the mood to argue, Zach shrugged and kept quiet until they pulled up in front of Joshua Marston’s house. They heard a shout from an upper story and looked up to see young Patrick waving, his smile as big as Texas.

  Morality returned the greeting while fussing at Zach to hurry and stop the buggy. The boy surprised them both when he swung a leg over the sill and climbed out onto the roof. Morality gasped with fear when he sprang for the limb of a huge cottonwood tree.

  “The boy’s a monkey,” Zach observed, jumping from the carriage as Patrick scrambled down the tree.

  Morality’s gaze was glued to the tree. “I’m going to bless him up and down for pulling such a stunt.”

  “Bless him up and down?”

  “You would cuss him out, I believe.”

  Zach helped her from the buggy, and as soon as her feet touched ground, she picked up her skirts and ran toward Patrick. The pair embraced, and Zach found himself grinning widely, until the front door opened and Louise Marston walked out onto the porch.

  Zach spoke to Patrick. “Is Harrison here now?”

  “No,” the boy replied, suddenly starting to squirm. “Ah, Morality, don’t be kissing on me. We’re in the front yard.” He looked at Zach. “Reverend Harrison has his work wagon parked down by the waterfront now. He’s over there thinking up his sermon for Sunday. He’s preaching at the Baptist Church these days.”

  Zach nodded, then his gaze slid to Louise. “I have some business with Mrs. Marston, Morality. Why don’t you and Patrick catch up on what’s been happening while I speak with Louise.”

  Morality’s brows dipped in a concerned frown. “Burkett, you’re not going to—”

  “Don’t worry, angel.” With that, he crossed the lawn and climbed the front steps of his father’s house.

  Louise Marston didn’t appear the least bit surprised at his action. Nor did she look nervous. Zach took it as a bad sign. He nodded hello. “Mrs. Marston, I wonder if I might have a few moments of your time.”

  “Certainly.” She gestured him inside.

  Zach took off his hat and held it at his side as she showed him into the ladies’ parlor, shutting the door behind them. “Is your husband home?” he asked, wanting to know what problems he might face.

  “Joshua is at the office this morning.” Louise took a seat in a rosewood ladies’ chair. “Please sit down, Mr. Burkett. May I offer you a lemonade?”

  “No, thank you. I don’t expect you to be polite to me, ma’am. This house doesn’t exactly bring out my best social manners, anyway.”

  “I imagine I know what it is you wish to discuss.”

  “I reckon so.” Zach sat carefully on a dainty brocade sofa, figuring it to be the sturdiest piece of furniture in the parlor. “You sent my wife out into an ice storm, Mrs. Marston. That’s caused her quite a bit of grief.”

  “You did marry her, then?”

  He nodded.

  “Then I see that I have caused her trouble,” she said with a sniff.

  Zach couldn’t argue with that. Instead, he said, “I trust you have sent for the book?”

  “Mr. Burkett, some things have changed since your last visit to my home. I no longer fear any power you may seek over me and mine. I have put my trust in the Lord.”

  “You, too, huh?” Zach wondered if it wasn’t something in the water. “I’m proud for you, ma’am, but I still want the book. I reckon you’ve had time enough to get it here.”

  For a long moment, Louise remained seated as her gaze trailed slowly over him. “You have his look, don’t you? The eyes, the breadth of shoulder. You’re a Marston through and through.”

  “No, ma’am, I’m a Burkett.” Zach’s temper went to slow burn.

  “I’m not able to have children. Since I first learned about you, it has never seemed quite fair.” Before Zach could react, she stood. “If you will wait a moment, Mr. Burkett, I’ll bring the book you need.”

  She left him cooling his heels for a good fifteen minutes. When she finally returned, Zach’s gaze went immediately to the leather-bound book in her hand.

  There it was. Whatever was written on the pages of that thick black book had meant enough to his mother to be one of the last things on her mind as she died. Zach held out his hand, disconcerted a bit because his fingers trembled slightly.

  Louise Marston said, “Read this, Mr. Burkett, and learn the Truth.”

  Zach licked his dry lips, then looked down. His chin dropped. “This is a Bible!”

  “I gave your mother’s diary to another for safekeeping. It will be returned to you in due time.”

  “Damn.” Zach dropped the Holy Book to the floor. “Who the hell has it?”

  Louise straightened her shoulders and looked at Zach with clear conscience. “I have been placed in an untenable situation. I consulted my minister on how best to proceed, and I accepted his advice. My minister has the diary, Mr. Burkett. He will negotiate with you as to the circumstances under which it will be returned.”

  Zach lifted his gaze to the ceding. “Just let me guess who your minister is. Reverend J. P. Harrison.”

  She nodded. “Take the Bible, Zachary. My faith has helped me through so many trials. It could help you, too.”

  He stepped over it and walked from the room.

  Once outside, he looked around for his wife. Neither she nor Patrick were in sight. “Where the hell has she gone?”

  GOLD LETTERING on the side of the red wagon spelled Church of the Word’s Healing Faith, Reverend J. P. Harrison, Spiritual Leader. The lines of the conveyance revealed its past as a circus wagon, or perhaps as the former home of Gypsies who, for a time, had roamed South Texas.

  Morality and Patrick were deep in conversation as they approached the waterfront and the vehicle that served as Reverend Uncle’s office.

  “I’m not sure about this, Morality,” Patrick said, worry plowing a frown across his brow. “He was awful mad at you. Maybe it would be better if you waited for Mr. Zach.”

  “No. Zach has funny ideas where Reverend Uncle is concerned, and he’s liable to complicate matters with that sarcastic tongue of his. It’s better I explain what happened alone.” Morality gave his hand a squeeze. “It’ll be all right. Once I explain the situation, he’ll be as happy as I am. It’s a wonderful feeling, Patrick. Finally, I know my calling.”

  “I’m pleased for you. Pleased for myself, too. Cottonwood Creek’s a good place to live, and I like Mr. Zach. Do you figure he’ll be keeping all the puppies? I’ve been taking care of them while y’all have been gone, and I’ve gotten real attached to ’em.”

  “Patrick Callahan, you’d become attached to a fly if it would light anywhere long enough.”

  He grinned for a moment, then glanced at the wagons wooden door and grew serious. “I think I should go with you.”

  “No. There’s hardly room in there for two people, much less three. Quit worrying, Patrick. Everything will be fine.” At least, she thought all would be well. If not for her faith, she’d be frightened. As it was, she knew a touch of trepidation. Morality took a breath, then climbed the steps and knocked on the wagon’s door. “Reverend Uncle? It’s Morality.”

  She heard the scrape of a chair and then footsteps. Slowly, the door swung open.

  Reverend Uncle studied her with impenetrable eyes. “Morality,” he said flatly. “Well. You’re back.” Stepping aside, he added, “Come in, my dear.”

  “Hello, Reverend Uncle.” Morality smiled up at him. “I hate to interrupt your work, but I have so much to tell you.” Stepping inside the wagon, she waited for his reply.

  Her uncle didn’t speak. He closed the door, then quietly turned the lock.

  Morality’s smile dimmed a bit at his action. “Reverend Uncle?”

  His hand lifted slowly. His fingers flexed, then folded into a fist. He’d a ghost of a smile on his face.

  Morality’s chin dropped in disbelief even as the blow connected to her temple.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
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br />   “SLUT”, REVEREND UNCLE SPAT as he hit her again. “Betraying bitch.”

  She stumbled backward from the force of his blow, and he kicked her leg with his hard-toed boot. “All these years I’ve waited. I fed you and clothed you.” Slap. Through her pain, she heard him growl. “I molded you. I made you who you are. I made your miracle.”

  Another cuff grazed her eye and caught the bridge of her nose. Morality brought up her hands to block her face and cried, “Reverend Uncle. Please.”

  “I won’t give it up, you hear? I’m too close. I’ve worked too hard. You were to marry me, not that smooth-talking Texas bastard.”

  A frantic knocking sounded on the door. “Morality? Reverend Harrison?” Patrick’s voice called out.

  She could feel her eyes beginning to swell as pain swept through her in waves. “Please, stop. You don’t understand. Let me explain!”

  “I don’t need any explanation.” He lifted his hand yet again.

  “No!” she said, twisting away. He couldn’t hit her again. She wouldn’t be hit again. Glancing around, straining to see through her clouded vision, she spotted a walking stick propped against the wall. She swiped it up and held it like a club. “Don’t, Reverend Uncle. It’s not your place.”

  His breaths sounded heavy and harsh in the sudden silence. “It is my right to discipline you any way I see fit. I stand in place of your father, and it is a father’s duty to punish a child.”

  Am I a child or a woman? You want to be both my father and my husband, and I don’t think that’s possible, Reverend Uncle.

  Morality’s head pounded and she was fast losing the ability to think.

  Or maybe she was thinking more clearly.

  Again, she heard Patrick pounding at the door, and Harrison turned an angry look in that direction.

  Patrick can’t be caught in the middle of this. She hurriedly called, “Everything is fine, Patrick. Why don’t I meet you in a little while at the Marstons’?” She licked the stinging split in her upper lip, then addressed her uncle in a pleading tone. “I wanted to explain. I’m sorry if my actions hurt you. You must know that was never my intention.”