by Beth Ciotta
Josh straightened, a devious gleam in his eyes.
“But that makes you my—”
“Employer.”
“Which makes this—”
“Interesting.”
“Awkward.” She frowned. “When did you figure it out?”
“Last night.”
In her delirium she must’ve mentioned Chance or the Desert Moon. Or maybe she’d shown him the telegram. He’d simply put two and two together. “How can fate be so warped?”
He grinned while urging Buckshot north. “Are you coming?”
She didn’t know which was more disturbing. Never seeing him again or seeing him every day. Logic told her to swing Sunny in the opposite direction. But with Emily shouting in one ear and Papa in the other, rational thought was impossible. She couldn’t imagine why she wasn’t more upset. Maybe because there was no real need to panic. It’ll be all right, she told herself. Everything happens for a reason. Trusting her instincts, she reined Sunny alongside Buckshot, casting Josh a wary glance. “About last night … ”
“Fuzzy on the details, huh?”
Her cheeks burned. “Will you clear it up for me?”
He didn’t look at her or smile but, she’d swear to heaven, he was amused. “Eventually.”
He’d married a lunatic. True, he hadn’t put up a fight when Seth had barged in with the preacher. As he saw it his friend was doing him a favor, saving him the trouble of having to try to reason with Paris. How did one reason with a woman who dreamed about juggling apples and singing rhymes, and professed that she didn’t need a husband to have babies? He hadn’t the slightest idea or the inclination. He’d wanted the deed done for his sake as well as hers, and he didn’t much care that they’d resorted to trickery. Thanks to the fever and Loss’s miracle remedy, she’d been incoherent when she’d mumbled “I do.” And she’d only said those words after Seth had prompted, “So do you really hear angels sing when Josh kisses you?”
Josh refused to feel guilty. He couldn’t, however, help but question his sanity. He’d actually thought, as ill as she’d been, that she’d sleep until noon. He’d thought it was safe to do some shopping, supplies for Mason’s, no, his, no their house. Thought he’d have time to arrange for a buckboard so she wouldn’t have to brave another day in the saddle. He’d thought that they’d discuss their shotgun wedding over a late breakfast. He’d even braced himself for a public tantrum, but he sure as hell wasn’t prepared for the news that his bride had skipped town with a prospector. Hellfire, he’d nearly punched the messenger. Seth had laughed, assuring him Harley was harmless, and wishing Josh luck because he was going to need it. His wife was loco.
She was also a beautiful, determined young woman. He glanced at the petite minx riding next to him. Sunburned cheeks. Bed mussed hair. Baggy trousers cuffed over her dusty boots, a faded yellow shirt and an ill-fitting brown vest. Most women wouldn’t be caught dead in men’s clothing. Most women would have spent the day in bed recovering, wrung out from the fever, whiskey, and five days on the trail. He knew she had to be hurting and yet she’d hit the ground running. Literally. Negotiated a mount and an escort, conquered her fear of horses and lit for Chance, aiming to fulfill her papa’s dream. He had to admire her dedication, which was just about the only reason he hadn’t shaken the stuffing out of her. That and the fact that he’d been so damned relieved to find her safe.
As payback, he’d meant to level her with the news that he was the owner of the Desert Moon. She’d barely flinched. His only consolation was that she didn’t remember the whole of last night. For sure as certain she didn’t remember promising to honor and obey. His mouth curved into a wicked grin. He’d let her stew for awhile. She deserved to suffer a little after scaring the devil out of him.
Thunder rumbled in the distance, a prelude to a nasty rainstorm. Paris seemed oblivious to the darkening sky, lost in her thoughts as their horses trotted over miles of terrain, bringing them nearer their destination. Either she was still trying to fit together the pieces of last night’s puzzle or she was plotting her retaliation. Not that he would let her back out of this marriage. What was done was done. At some point she’d realize her heart and recognize that she belonged with him rather than bouncing from stage to stage. He hoped, for the sake of his mental health, that it was sooner rather than later.
He looked to the horizon. To his future.
The Superstition Mountains loomed ahead. Desert flora dotted the rugged slopes, softening the craggy range’s otherwise forbidding appearance. Wonder flowed through him as he studied the magnificent view.
He imagined Mason admiring a similar vista the evening of the accident. How easy it was to allow one’s mind to wander in the face of such raw beauty. Had the old man been daydreaming about the opera househe’d built at the base of those peaks? Or maybe contemplating the legend of the Apache’s thunder gods or the mystery of Peralta’s lost gold mine? Since the day he’d stumbled upon the abandoned treasure that had made him a wealthy man, his uncle had become obsessed with the myths and tales surrounding the Superstition Mountains. Had his obsession contributed to his death? Had he been so distracted that he simply hadn’t reacted swiftly enough when his horses bolted? It was the only explanation that made sense. Guiding Buckshot through a dense patch of jumping cholla, mesquite, and palo verde trees, it was plain that the man’s team couldn’t have gotten far at a dead run. Mason must have been thrown from the buckboard almost immediately.
Josh rolled back his tense shoulders. He thought he’d put his uncle’s death in perspective. An accident. God’s will. But traveling his last route, seeing the Superstitions as he’d last seen them, brought the absurdity and unfairness of it all back to light. His gut clenched thinking he was only minutes away from taking up where Mason had left off. Due to a quirk of fate he’d been handed a new life. He realized with sudden clarity that it was up to him to make the most of it.
“Are you thinking about your uncle?”
Paris’s soft-spoken inquiry caught him off guard. He kept expecting her to ask him about the Desert Moon, the size of the stage or the make of the piano. Her accommodations and salary. The length of her engagement. It struck him as uncharacteristic that she wasn’t the least bit curious, but maybe she was too nervous to ask. They hadn’t discussed their relationship, professional or personal, since he’d intimated that she still had a job. Truth told, she had a right to be nervous.
“Mason took a day-trip to Florence to pick up a supply of liquor,” he finally said. “He was on his way back to Chance when something spooked his horses. The buckboard flipped and he broke his neck. Happened somewhere around here.”
“That’s terrible.”
She shivered and he wondered if she was thinking about her mishap with the runaway stage.
“One minute you’re here, and the next … ” Her voice caught. “It’s not fair. People shouldn’t have to leave this earth until they’ve realized their dreams.”
Spoken like a passionate artist. Ignoring the hitch in his heart, he reached over to caress her cheek. “Honey, if you’re fretting over Mason you can stop. He realized his dream. He built the Desert Moon.”
She stared hard at the craggy mountains, her voice a ragged whisper. “What about Mr. Wiggins?”
“I could tell you stories about old Moe that would make your ears blush. You needn’t worry that he died unfulfilled.” He tucked her hair behind her ear. “I’m thinking you’re upset about someone else. Someone you knew a little better than Moe and Mason.”
She reined her horse to a stop.
He shifted in the saddle, noting with pride how comfortable she looked sitting astride the mare. He respected anyone who faced their fears. Riddled with insecurity and misguided loyalty, Paris faced her demons on a daily basis. He no longer thought of her as reckless so much as absurdly brave. Her courage terrified him at times, but it was wholly admirable. Like now. She looked apprehensive, but when she squared her shoulders and stared him dead in the eye, he knew to
brace himself for a blow.
“I have four brothers,” she blurted out. “London, the oldest, inherited the Gilded Garrett. He’s an ace accountant and has Papa’s eye for talent. He’s one of the most respected theater owners in San Francisco. Athens is a state legislator, a dynamic politician and the devoted father of a little boy and girl. My other two brothers are the best in their field.” Her cheeks flushed but she didn’t look away. “They’ve been on the cover of more dime novels than, well, they’ve been on a lot of covers.”
“I guess that makes them pretty famous,” he said, amazed that even now she felt it necessary to withhold the Wells Fargo agents’ names. Ridiculous since she’d just revealed her last name by mentioning the Gilded Garrett. In addition, every sibling had been named after a major city. Dime novel heroes? He’d have tobe an imbecile not to come up with Rome and Boston Garrett. He didn’t take the insult to heart. The fact that she thought she could pull something over on him was damned amusing.
“All of my brothers are extremely accomplished,” she went on.
“I’m sure your pa wouldn’t have loved them any different if they’d done less,” he said, getting to what he guessed was the heart of the matter.
She lowered her lashes. “My brothers didn’t get along very well with Papa.”
“Why not?”
“They thought he neglected Mama.”
“Did he?”
“It wasn’t his fault that we lived so far away from the theater. He wanted to spend more time with us. He must have said so a thousand times.” She glanced up, her eyes shimmering with hero worship. “He was a wonderful man.”
Josh wished he could feel that way about his own pa. It was hard to worship a man who forgot he even had a son after his wife died. He resented his pa for drinking himself to death. For not being stronger. For not loving him enough to want to stick around. Yet wasn’t he to be admired, even a little, for adoring his wife so much that he couldn’t live without her? A week ago that thought wouldn’t have even crossed his mind.
“That’s why I can’t let him down. He asked so little of me, Josh, and I promised. Promises are sacred.”
An invisible hand squeezed his heart. “What did you promise, honey? Specifically.”
She gripped the saddle horn. “If I tell you, do you swear you won’t yell?”
“I won’t yell.”
“Or curse Papa?”
“What did you promise?”
She took a deep breath, let it out. “On my ninth birthday, well, the day after because he’d gotten tied up at the theater and missed my birthday. Not that it mattered,” she added.
“Go on.”
“He told me how proud he was of me. How I was destined to become a famous musical actress. He asked me to reach for the stars. I promised to lasso the moon. M.B.’s, Mason’s, advertisement read: Hitch Your Star to the Desert Moon.” She reached over and squeezed his hand. “Don’t you see? It’s a sign.”
Fate.
“Two days later Papa was killed. Ten years ago this month. When I saw the advertisement … ” Her eyes misted. “Thank you for letting me appear at the Desert Moon.”
He closed his eyes and swore.
“I know you’re not happy about me singing in asaloon,” she plowed on. “But the Desert Moon is an opera house. And I’m sure Chance is a lovely town.”
He near about choked. “Chance is a mining town. There’s nothing lovely about it.”
“How can you say that?” She smiled while gesturing toward the jutting, imposing range. “Just look at those mountains. They’re beautiful.”
He shook his head at her unique perspective. Maybe she wouldn’t mind the primitive town and rustic log house after all. “Beautiful or not, those mountains are treacherous. Thunderstorms. Flashfloods. Bobcats, bears, Gila monsters, scorpions, and snakes. A man once said everything in the Superstitions bites, stings, pricks, or eats meat. That man was right.”
“What’s a Gila monster?”
“A big, ugly lizard with powerful jaws. Let’s just say you don’t want to make him mad.”
She laughed. “You’re just trying to scare me.”
Damn straight. “This is a rough patch of territory, Paris. Wild terrain. Wild men. I want you to remember that, and I want you to listen to me once we get there. No wandering off. No midnight excursions.”
“If by excursions you mean traipsing off in search of a piano, that won’t be a concern. There’s a piano at the Desert Moon.” Her smile slipped. “Isn’t there?”
“As I recall it’s a pretty fancy upright.” Mason had taken pride in giving him the grand tour each time he’d visited the Desert Moon during and after construction. Unfortunately, due to professional obligations, he’d only made it to Chance three times in the last six months. His only solace was that he’d never seen his uncle happier.
He gazed into Paris’s soulful eyes, thought about her determination to keep a childhood promise. Her loyalty, her passion, her courage. On the surface they couldn’t be more different, but their inner convictions, what made them tick … It was as if, in some bizarre way, they were kindred spirits. Was it possible Mason had done him a favor by willing him the Moon and a wife?
“Paris.”
“Yes?”
“Why did you tell me about your brothers? Your pa? Why now?”
“I’ve been thinking it over all day, and I decided since we’ll be working so closely together, and you’ve been so kind to me, I thought I should be … you know … honest.”
If that didn’t beat all. He swept off his hat and dragged a hand through his hair. “You and I need to talk.”
“About my position at the Desert Moon?”
“About last night.”
Paris suppressed a flutter of panic. Maybe honesty wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. She’d spent the past few hours trying to conjure a vivid account of last night while Josh rode along in aggravating silence. Now that he was ready to fill her in on the scandalous evening, she wasn’t so willing to hear. Judging by the knot in her stomach, she’d be happier carrying on in blissful ignorance.
She still reeled from the fact that he, and not M.B., was the proprietor of the Desert Moon. The only consolation being that he was willing to honor his uncle’s telegram. Maybe he did understand her after all. Allowing her to pursue her aspirations, in spite of his obvious reservations, was certainly a good sign. Of course they hadn’t discussed details, but she figured there’d be plenty of time for that after they reached the opera house.
“Tell me one thing,” she said, willing her voice not to crack. “Did we … were we … together?”
He reached across the space that separated them and grazed his thumb along her bottom lip. “Trust me, honey, when we make love, you won’t forget one amazing second.”
His searing gaze melted her bones. Had he not steadied her, she would have swooned. When. Not if. And it would be amazing. Except … “Given our new relationship, I’m not sure that being intimate would be … appropriate.”
“Given our new relationship it’s extremely appropriate.”
She didn’t understand. Thinking straight was difficult when he looked at her with such blatant desire. “London says it’s dangerous to mix business and pleasure.”
“He’s probably right.”
“And you said … before we … you wouldn’t … unless … we were married.” If only she’d remembered that earlier, she would’ve saved herself a day full of worry.
“About that,” he said, reaching for her hand.
Thunder and lightning clashed against the darkening sky, setting the scene for something ominous.
Like a proposal.
Heart pounding, she jerked away, squealing with relief when she spied the perfect diversion. “Is that Chance?” Not waiting for an answer, she kicked Sunny into a lope and headed for the flickering lights.
“Stick close,” he called, but Sunny had already broken into a gallop.
Paris tried to slow her, but appa
rently the horse was equally eager to reach their destination. They cleared the edge of town just as a trio of brawling men burst through the front door of a two-story building. One man flew over the hitching rail and plowed into Sunny, knocking Paris out of the saddle. She landed on her backside, dazed and winded, amidst a deafening flurry of bullets. She circled her wrists. Once … twice …
Cursing, Josh scooped her up and hauled her out of the direct line of fire.
“Are they crazy?” she wheezed, when he dumped her behind a rain barrel.
“No, that would be you!” He jammed a finger in her face. “Dammit, I told you—”
“Sunny!” She popped up from behind the barrel and squealed. That stupid horse stood in the midst of gunplay, calmly drinking out of a water trough. “They’ll kill her!”
Josh gave two short whistles. The palomino took her cue, joining Buckshot on the sidelines.
Paris drew a breath of relief. “Why are they shooting at one another?”
“They’re drunk,” he shouted over the fiery exchange. “Don’t imagine they mean any harm. They’re shooting at the cactus, not you. Unfortunately, excessive amounts of whiskey affect a man’s aim.”
“Well, make them stop!” A bullet zinged by, embedding itself in the prickly body of an innocent saguaro. “You’re a sheriff. They have to listen to you!”
“Was a sheriff.” He put his hand on top of her head and mashed her down behind the barrel. Drawing his Colt, he darted into the fray.
She shoved back her fedora and peeked over the barrel’s rim. Excitement skittered down her spine as she watched Josh weave his way toward the hell-raising cactus-slayers. He dodged a slew of renegade bullets without flinching, his confidence and experience apparent when he calmly advised the men to holster their weapons. She nearly fainted when a lone bullet sliced through the crown of his Stetson.
In a flash, he shot the revolver out of the offender’s hand and disarmed the remaining two hooligans. One drunkard was crazy enough to take a swing. Josh ducked the roundhouse, knocking the man cold with a swift uppercut. Stunned by their friend’s misfortune, the other two staggered back into the saloon.
