“Yes, sir,” John replied.
The judge shifted his gaze to Abbie, taking in the flowers and the ring. “Looks like Julio’s on the job.”
Abbie smiled. “He’s a nice boy.”
“And quite a salesman.” As Connor rocked back on his heels, his gaze narrowed to John and darted back to Abbie. John understood he was sizing them up and deciding what to say. He took his job seriously, just as John did.
He addressed Abbie first. “Where are you from, miss?”
“Back East.”
The old man eyed John. “And you, Mr. Leaf?”
“I’ve been here awhile.”
As the judge weighed the evidence at hand, John realized he and Abbie were woefully unprepared to answer questions. In spite of Julio’s flowers, they looked like what they were—two people marrying for less than ideal reasons.
“So how did you two meet?” the judge asked.
Abbie looked up at John who thought of the telegram that had led to this moment. “We’ve been corresponding.”
Frowning, Connor said, “So this is one of those mail-order marriages. Since you two don’t know each other very well, I’m duty-bound to point out a few things.”
John wanted to tell the old goat to hurry up. They were here to make things legal, not to hear a lecture. But Connor was already glaring at him.
“We’re going to start with you, Mr. Leaf. This woman isn’t a plow horse you can whip or a slave you can boss around. If she burns your dinner, eat it anyway. If your shirts are wrinkled, shut up and wear ’em. And one more thing—I don’t tolerate wife-beating. Is that clear?”
John didn’t care for the assault on his character. “I certainly do. I intend to treat Miss Windsor with the utmost respect.”
The judge shifted his gaze to Abbie. “Life is hard here, miss. Whatever you do, don’t start whining. Men hate it when women fuss about nothing. It makes them ornery, and that’s when the fighting starts. Do you understand?”
“I certainly do.” Abbie’s snappish tone caught John’s attention. Her jaw had tightened and she was clenching the flowers hard enough to make them shake.
The judge gave a nod. “You two are making a trade. With a little luck, you’ll fall in love. If you don’t, look for the good and tolerate the worst.”
John fumed in silence. Where was the talk of love and honor? Even with the limits of this commitment, he wanted to make Abbie happy. The day called for something more. A kiss would have smoothed the rough edges of the judge’s lecture, but John had promised at the creek that he’d never touch her that way again. All he could do now was look at her, hoping his feelings showed in his eyes as the judge recited the vows.
“Do you, Abigail Moore Windsor, take this man to be your lawful husband, in sickness and in health, for richer or for poorer, for better and for worse, as long as you both shall live?”
“I do.”
“And do you John Horatio Leaf take this woman to be your lawful wife…”
John knew the vows by heart, so he focused on Abbie. Her eyes were burning with an anger he understood. For all their good intentions, Judge Connor seemed to be sentencing them to a loveless marriage. Abbie was mad about it and so was John. In fact, it couldn’t be tolerated. He couldn’t kiss her the way a bride deserved to be kissed, but surely she’d welcome a brush on the cheek.
“Mr. Leaf?”
John had missed his cue, but it didn’t matter. As he wrapped his hands around Abbie’s, the flowers stilled and he spoke from his heart. “I, John Horatio Leaf, take this woman to be my lawfully wedded wife, for better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health until death us do part.”
The judge wrinkled his brow. “I guess you were paying attention. All right, then. You may kiss the bride.”
Gazing into his wife’s eyes, John raised his hand and touched her cheek, gently tipping her face to his. He hoped she saw the good intentions in his eyes—the love he felt for her, the promise to keep her safe. Bending to her, he closed his eyes. But instead of feeling the silk of her cheek against his lips, he got whapped in the nose by her hat. As he opened his eyes, John saw Abbie glaring at the judge. “Are we done?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Connor replied. “It’s official. You two are man and wife.”
Clutching the flowers, she spun on her heels and raced out of the room.
Abbie had been Mrs. John Leaf for all of thirty seconds and she already wanted to murder him. He had tried to kiss her. He had sworn that he’d never touch her again, but she had seen the look in his eyes. She’d also smelled smoke on him. That had been the last straw in a stack of ugly memories.
Wife beating! Dear God, did it show? Did the judge know that Robert had blackened her eyes and cracked her ribs? Could he see that her husband had raped her and burned her with his damned cigarettes? Memories had exploded in her mind as the judge spoke, and she’d come close to telling him to shut up.
That’s when John had steadied her hands and spoken his vows, meaning every word. She had wanted so badly to believe in those promises. She had curled her fingers around the bouquet and imagined the pretty flowers in a vase on John’s kitchen table. They were a testament to hope and new beginnings. With tremors of longing rippling through her, she had looked into John’s brown eyes and ached to be seventeen again.
If only…maybe…
But icy fingers had squeezed her heart. She was dead inside. Barren. Damaged. The old panic had welled from the depths of the past. She knew how to fight it, so she had gotten hopping mad and stormed out of the judge’s office, down the hall and into the street. Julio was nowhere in sight, so she tossed the flowers in the hedge and tried again to pull off the ring.
John strode up behind her. “I’m sorry that wasn’t easier. The judge jumped to conclusions.”
“The judge!” Abbie clawed harder at the ring. “You’re the one I’m mad at. We’ve been married two minutes and you’ve already broken a promise.”
John’s sympathetic gaze hardened to irritation. “Which one? You look mad enough to hang me, but it’s not till death us do part—at least not yet.”
“You know what you did.” She tightened her jaw. “You promised you wouldn’t kiss me again.”
John’s face turned to stone. “A kiss is expected.”
“I don’t care if it’s expected or not.” She tugged harder on the ring. Why, oh, why wouldn’t it come off? After heaving a sigh, she lowered her hand to her side and clutched at the reticule hanging from her shoulder. Only the weight of Huckleberry Finn stopped her from turning her back on John completely.
“If we hurry, we can catch an earlier train.” Turning abruptly, she paced down the boardwalk.
Stay angry…stay strong…
But tears were pressing behind her eyes. Even now she wanted to believe in the vows they had just taken. She had so much to give and John had so many needs. Abbie swallowed back an ache. If she lost control, she’d slide into a crying fit that would last for hours. She couldn’t let that happen. She had to remember that John was just like any other man—arrogant, bossy and hardheaded. He snored and left dirty clothes on the floor. Plus he smoked cigarettes. She smelled them all the time.
The human chimney caught up to her with four strides. “Abbie, have a heart. My side’s killing me.”
She didn’t want to slow down for him, but how could she not? The wound had healed, but she was practically running. She eased her pace, only to have John step right in front of her, forcing her to come to a halt.
“We have to talk now.” He motioned to a narrow alley between two storefronts. “This way.”
Abbie turned the corner. Walking in front of John, she paced by woodpiles and trash until she found a private nook behind a staircase. With her back against the siding, she said, “So talk. I’m listening.”
As he planted his hands on either side of her head, the scent of bay rum filled her nose, mixing with the smokiness of his hair and clothes. His eyes burned into hers. “I had
no intention of kissing you like a bride should be kissed.”
She could see the early shadow of his beard and the black slash of his brow. His jaw had tensed but his lips were slightly parted, as if he wanted to kiss her as he had at the creek. Her belly quivered with awareness.
“You’re lying,” she insisted. “I saw it in your eyes.”
The starch in his shirt had mixed with the heat of his skin. The scent was uniquely his…and alluring. He leaned an inch closer. “I never said I didn’t want to kiss you. I said I wouldn’t do it.”
But the wanting was enough. Desire kept a person up at night and caused a pain that tore a woman’s heart in two. She knew that for a fact, because she wanted to kiss him right now. Here in the alley with fury racing through her blood and the train whistle blasting through the air. With wagons clattering down the street and the sun beating down on them. Her breath caught in her throat.
Stay angry. Stay strong…
He brought his head an inch closer, then closer still. If he kissed her now, she could kiss him back. She was mad enough to fight fire with fire. His eyes were burning into hers and she could see the pulse in his throat. He parted his lips and closed his eyes. She waited and hoped…but instead of plundering her mouth with his, he turned his head and heaved a sigh.
Abbie saw three shades of red, but then her temper faded to a washed-out pink that matched her wrapper. To her shame, she wanted to cry. Needing to hide her weakness, she ducked from under his arms and smoothed her skirt. “I’d say that proves my point.”
John muttered a mild oath. “I don’t know what the hell just happened.”
But Abbie did. The burned-out pine of a man still had a fire burning in his belly. So did she, but she couldn’t stand the heat when he poked at the coals. Taking pity on him, she said, “I’ll think about going home sooner than I planned. In the meantime, I need to move out first thing in the morning.”
John looked her in the eye. “If I can’t find a place for you, I’ll stay at the hotel.”
“That would be fine.”
In silence they walked out of the alley and headed for the train depot, each lost in private thoughts that were very much the same.
After three hours of silence on the train and the strained conversation at the supper table, John had escaped to the porch. Lounging in his chair, he snuffed out his fifth cigarette and considered lighting another one. The sun had set hours ago, and he’d been staring at the stars trying to figure out what the devil was wrong with him. In spite of telling Judas to settle down, John had finished kissing Abbie in that alley a dozen times, with each daydream more intense than the last.
Annoyed, he looked at the butts in the tin of sand. Smoking was a poor substitute for where he really wanted to put his lips. He hadn’t been this lustful since he’d been a kid in his first whorehouse. Sure, he noticed women. But noticing and imagining were two different kinds of fire. The first was a match he could snuff with his thumb. The second was an out-of-control blaze. God help him, John had a forest of thoughts ready to go up in flames. Every time he blinked, he was back in that filthy alley, kissing Abbie, wanting to mold his body to hers, wanting to do more than kiss her. But not everything, he consoled himself. For that he wanted the privacy of his bed.
John stifled a low moan. He’d always imagined temptation as a snarling beast he could fight, but his attraction to Abbie was more like a boulder he couldn’t move. Just a blink brought a picture of her body so vivid he ached to make love to her. He had tried going over the boulder by thinking about Sunday’s sermon, but “love thy neighbor” had turned into “husbands love your wives.” He’d tried tunneling under the rock by smoking himself half to death, but he’d just gotten a headache.
The stars offered no comfort at all. Twinkling and bright, they matched the ring Abbie had finally coaxed off her finger with soap. Nor did the full moon ease his restlessness. The silver glow reminded him of the shimmer in her eyes, and the shape of it matched the curve of her breasts. Wincing, John pinched the bridge of his nose. Left to his instincts, he would have asked her to walk with him to the stream. They needed to talk about the fiasco in Raton, but mostly he wanted her company.
So ask her…kiss her again…
John told Judas to shut up and looked at the stars. Where was God when a man needed a cold rain to settle him down? John knew the answer. The boulder of temptation had to go, so he bowed his head and blasted it with prayer. He prayed that Abbie would find peace and joy in a new life. For himself he prayed for the wisdom to know what she needed and for the strength to resist his own desires.
After a final glance at the moon, John pushed to his feet and walked into the kitchen. As he poured himself a glass of water, the grandfather clock chimed twice. He was about to head to his room when he saw a dim glow under the door to the bathing room. It was too late for anyone to be in there, but he still paused to listen for sloshing. Hearing only silence, he tapped on the door, waited a few seconds and then opened it. A cloud of steam swirled around him, dampening his face and making him look at the claw-footed tub that wasn’t empty after all.
There, in all her Eve-like glory, was his wife. Eyes closed and relaxed with sleep, she lay with her hair spilling over the edge of the tub and her arms resting on the porcelain sides. With her neck arched and her lips parted, she could have been in the throes of making love.
She’d be angry if she caught him looking, but John didn’t much care at that moment. His gaze traveled from her hair to her flushed cheeks, down the column of her throat to her breasts. He remembered them from Kansas, perfect white mounds that had shaped themselves to his hands. He was lost in that memory when his gaze honed to a line of ugly red welts—each as round as the tip of a burning cigarette.
That goddamned son of a bitch! Robert Windsor had branded his wife like livestock. He’d taken the greatest gift God could give a man—a loving wife—and he’d hurt her, both inside and out. John wanted to kill him.
A gasp jerked his eyes from the welts to Abbie’s face. With her eyes blazing, she crossed her arms over her breasts and slid into the soapy water to hide herself.
“Get out!” she cried.
She could have been holding a gun to his head and John wouldn’t have budged. He hated bullies, brutes and bastards with his whole heart. He’d been beaten, too. He had felt the pain, the helplessness, even the degradation of peeing himself. He’d been nine years old when Isaac Leaf had come at him swinging a pickax like a sword. Trapped against a wall, John had lost all dignity. But even so, his humiliation seemed small compared to what Abbie had endured. Married or not, when a man forced sex on a woman, John called it rape.
He’d seen it once. A member of the Too Tall gang had taken a girl out into the darkness beyond their camp. John had heard her cries for help and stopped the jackass with a kick to his ribs. The girl had wanted to stay with John, but he’d said no. Her hair had been reddish and loose across her shoulders, like Abbie’s was now.
John held her gaze. “If Windsor weren’t dead, I’d kill him for you.”
“I would have done it myself if I could have.”
Her voice shook with a thirst for vengeance that John understood. The rebellious girl in Kansas was still alive. He wanted to say how much he admired her, but first she had to get out of the tub. For that maneuver she needed privacy. Keeping his eyes on her face, he said, “I’ll wait for you in the kitchen.”
“No, don’t.”
He was about to say they had to talk, when she pushed up from the water. Streams glistened down her breasts, dragging his gaze to her waist, her womanly hips, the apex of her thighs, the swatch of hair that protected her most private place. He stared with both wonder and male appreciation. This lovely creature was his wife, a woman to treasure and enjoy, but loving her meant denying himself that privilege.
Holding back an oath, John turned his head to the side and stared at the wall, praying for the strength to do the right thing.
“Go ahead and look,” sh
e said sarcastically. “You might as well see everything.”
John’s whole body clenched. He wanted to see and smell and taste every inch of her. He wanted to hear her cry out with pleasure and sigh when it was over.
But by “everything” Abbie had meant her flaws. That misconception had to be laid to rest right now. In John’s eyes she was perfect, so he turned his head and looked. He let his eyes linger over the length of her legs, the slope of her belly, the mole below her breast, her nipples, the scars. When he reached her face, he said, “You’re a beautiful woman from top to bottom.”
She looked down and focused on the scars. “You’ve already seen these,” she said, tracing the welts with her finger. “I have to wear high collars even in the summer. Evening gowns used to be a problem. The other wives would be wearing all sorts of pretty things to fancy dinners, and I’d be dressed like a governess.”
She had uttered the last word with disgust, reminding him of the ash-gray dress she’d worn on the train. No matter what else happened between them, Abbie would leave Midas with a trunkful of pretty clothes.
“I also have a bad shoulder. It got dislocated when Robert slammed me against a wall. He was mad because I had to feed Robbie.” She pointed at a fan of silver marks on her belly. “He said these were my fault because I got so fat with Susanna.”
John wanted to stop the lies, but Abbie had to finish. Looking bleak, she held up her right hand. The lamp caught the shadow and exaggerated her fingers against the wall, turning them into a claw. “My fingers are crooked from being broken. That’s why the ring wouldn’t come off this morning.”
She lowered her hand and looked straight at him. “I was trying to lock my bedroom door when he pushed his way inside. I fought him, but he was so much bigger. He pushed me against the wall and hit my face. He broke my ribs and then he—he raped me.”
“Abbie—”
“I have other scars that don’t show.” Her voice started to wobble. “I don’t see well out of my left eye. It’s full of spots. And I can’t—” She clamped her lips tight against the sobs, but she couldn’t stop the tears from spilling down her cheeks.
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