Never Love a Lawman

by Jo Goodman

  Rachel blinked, facing daylight for the first time as she drew back the drapes. She secured them, then belted the robe. “What would you like for breakfast?”

  “You’re going to allow me to choose?” he asked, arching an eyebrow at her.

  “As long as it’s griddle cakes, applesauce, and a boiled egg.”

  “That sounds about right. Coffee?”

  She nodded. She was already halfway to the bed when the knock came. “I’ll only be a moment.”

  Wyatt watched her go. He heard her talking softly, thought he recognized Mary Beatty’s voice repeating Rachel’s order. There was some lingering conversation, none of which he could make out, and a high-pitched girlish giggle that he knew was certainly Mary’s.

  “It’s a good thing Will doesn’t laugh like that,” Wyatt said when Rachel returned. “I’d have to put him down.”

  Rachel understood and sympathized. “Is Mary one of Will’s sisters? I’ve never asked.”

  “Next to the youngest. A little silly still, but good-hearted.”

  “She noticed I was wearing your robe.”

  “Ah. That explains the giggling, then.” He turned back the covers and patted the space beside him. “Come here. There’s time before she comes back.”

  Rachel stared at the place he’d made for her. It was different now. If she went, she was choosing it. It had been easier when she’d simply awakened there.

  Wyatt shook his head. “Don’t do this, Rachel. Don’t make it so difficult.”

  Was that what she was doing? “I’m trying to be practical.”

  “Practical?”

  “About us. About our situation.”

  “It’s a situation now?”

  “Well, what would you call it?”

  “Our honeymoon.”

  Rachel made a dismissive sound at the back of her throat. “You know very well that’s supposed to be the sweet first month of marriage. That hardly describes our experience.”

  “I didn’t plan to get shot.”

  “And I didn’t plan to go to bed with you.”

  They stared at each other, neither willing to give way.

  The absurdity of their predicament made Wyatt’s mouth twitch first. Her composure already strained, Rachel couldn’t hold her own against that wicked, ironic smile. The light of humor touched her eyes.

  “Oh, very well,” she said. “But I’m prickly. And if you think I’m not, just try to touch me.” She approached the bed and waited for him to remove his hand from the space he meant her to occupy. When she was seated beside him, her back to the headboard, she drew her knees toward her chest and held them there by locking her arms around them.

  “You’re like a pill bug with spikes.”

  It was a uniquely unattractive description. “Some people would say I’m like a hedgehog.”

  “Sir Nigel would say that, but that’s because he likes to remind folks he’s a Brit. I’m not. You’re like a pill bug with spikes.”

  “You’re not winning me over. Is this how you charm Rose LaRosa?”

  Wyatt folded his pillow in half and slid his arm beneath it to raise his head another few inches. It was a delaying tactic only. When he was done making himself comfortable she was still waiting for an answer.

  “I don’t exactly charm Rose,” he said.

  “No? She likes you.”

  “And I like her, but I pay her the same as every other man that she takes to her bed.” He watched Rachel struggle with his answer. “That’s what you wanted to know, isn’t it? How long has that been sticking in your craw?”

  “In my craw? If you keep sweet-talking me like that, Wyatt, I’m going to ask you for money.”

  He chuckled. “All right. How long have you wanted to know?”

  Rachel shrugged. “I suppose since I saw you standing on her balcony. I don’t remember when that was. A few weeks before we were married, I think.”

  “You could have asked me any time.”

  “No, I couldn’t. I’m not certain I have the right even now.” She smoothed his robe over her knees, fiddled with the trim. “She talks about you sometimes when I’m fitting her for a gown. Small things. Like how you brought her back a picture frame from Denver one time, or how you’re just about the best dancer in Reidsville.”

  “Just about?” asked Wyatt. “Who’s the best?”

  “I don’t know. I didn’t ask.”

  “I bet she thinks it’s Will. She likes him.”

  “That no-account Beatty boy?” Rachel shook her head. “No, you’re wrong. She doesn’t have a nice word to say about him.”

  “Don’t you think that’s peculiar, considering she’s got a kindness for everyone else? She even talks nice about Estella behind her back.”

  Rachel realized he was right. It was peculiar. “Will Beatty and Rose LaRosa. Why didn’t I know that?”

  “You study other things,” he said. “I bet you could tell me all about that fabric you’re fiddling with.”

  Startled, she glanced down at her fingers. She drew them in, self-conscious. “I could,” she said, “but I’ll spare you.”

  Wyatt reached up and covered his hand with hers. “Ask me what you really want to know about me and Rose.” He squeezed her hand lightly when she hesitated.

  “Are you going to have reason to pay her again?” she asked.

  “No.”

  “What if you and I never…that is, what if I don’t want to…” Her voice trailed off. “We don’t have a real marriage,” she said finally.

  “We don’t? I told you, Rachel, I’ve been married. This is what it is.”

  She mulled that over, then shook her head. “You loved your wife. This isn’t like that, Wyatt. I’m not comfortable with your comparison, but I’m also realizing that I’m selfish. I don’t like the idea of you going to Rose’s bed. Or the beds of any of her girls.”

  “That’s not something you have to worry about.”

  Rachel expelled a long breath, satisfied with his answer. “Good. It’s settled, then. You’ll go to Denver when you want a woman.”

  Wyatt gave her no chance to avoid him. He dragged her down beside him. The struggle she gave him at the outset quickly vanished, just as he knew it would. She’d put too much time and effort into healing him to see all of her good works undone now.

  He pinned Rachel to the mattress, holding her wrists in check at the level of her head. “I suppose you have a specific brothel to recommend.”

  “The Fashion,” she said. “Rose says that it’s—”

  “You need to stop listening to Miss LaRosa.” He silenced the bubble of laughter that came to her lips by kissing her. When he drew back, she was smiling. “You think you’ve gotten precisely what you wanted, but you haven’t, Rachel Cooper. Not yet.”

  He kissed her again, more deeply this time. She pushed a little against his hands, testing his strength. He held her easily but threw one leg across hers for good measure. “Denver,” he whispered against her mouth. “You must have enjoyed saying that.”

  “If you’d seen your face…” She couldn’t finish the thought for laughing again.

  Wyatt gave her a mock growl, nuzzling her neck. It was the knock from the hallway that interrupted their play. He released Rachel reluctantly and sat up. “I’ll get it,” he said. “Don’t move.”

  Not for a moment did he imagine she would listen to him, so he was pleasantly surprised to find her still in bed, if not lying down any longer. He set the tray on the bed, climbed in, and crossed his legs tailor-fashion. “I smell bacon,” he said, staring at the covered plates as if he were about to place a bet in a shell game. He sniffed out the right cover and lifted it. Six strips of crisp bacon neatly lined the plate. “Aha. I refuse to believe this is all for you.” Just to make sure that it wasn’t, he stole a strip and bit into it.

  “Very well,” she said. “You may have that one.” She plucked another off the plate. “And this one, I suppose.” Because he looked as if she’d handed him manna from heaven,
she waved another in front of him. “This, too.”

  “All in good time,” he said, directing her to put one of them back on the plate. “This deserves to be savored.”

  Rachel returned both and uncovered the rest of the dishes. There was a plate of griddle cakes for them to share. She took the boiled egg for herself and gave him the ones that were scrambled. The applesauce was for both of them, but she put hers on top of her griddle cakes while he soaked his in maple syrup.

  “I suppose you’ll want to go out today,” she said.

  “I don’t know. Is one of my choices to stay in bed with you?”

  “No.”

  “Then I’ll be getting out. Finally.” He looked at her curiously. “What makes you think I’m ready?”

  “Your appetite, for one thing.”

  “I thought it might be my appetite for two things.”

  She snorted delicately. “Eat. We are still negotiating the other.”

  Wyatt gave her a steady, knowing look, though he was far from certain of the outcome of any deal they struck, or even if there would be one. He turned away and applied himself to his breakfast.

  “Where will you go?” she asked after a time.

  “Hmm? Oh, you mean when I go out.” He shrugged. “To my office, first. See what Will’s made of it in my absence. Then to the livery to check on Raider. He’ll have missed me, and I owe Joe Redmond for keeping him.”

  “I paid Mr. Redmond. He said he could wait until you got around to it, but I didn’t think there was any reason that he should.” She caught his slight frown. “Was I wrong?”

  His face cleared. “No. I’m not used to someone paying my way.” He cut into his griddle cakes with his fork. “I’ll walk down to see Artie. Probably go by the depot and see how Abe’s doing.”

  “He seems to have it all in hand. He was a good choice for the Calico.”

  Thinking about Abe made Wyatt recall the last time he’d spoken to Rachel’s most persistent suitor. It had been at Longabach’s the same morning that Rachel had offered Abe the job, and it wasn’t long after that Wyatt had confronted Morrisey and Spinnaker making their escape.

  “What were you doing in my office, Rachel?”

  “What?”

  “On that Monday. What were you doing there? Come to think of it, I’ve never asked.”

  She’d been very aware of his lapse. It came to her from time to time, and she tried never to dwell on it. “I was there to see you, obviously.” His look told her that he wanted something more than that. “If you must know, I wanted to speak to you about our target practice the day before.”

  “What about it?”

  “Well, I was wondering how Mr. Dishman knew about it. At the time, I thought we’d agreed not to make any association between us known to others.”

  “I don’t recall agreeing to that. We agreed we would keep our marriage a secret.” He put up a hand, staying her reply. “I know. I know. I was the one who spilled it, but you must admit that the circumstances were extraordinary. As for the other, I imagine Abe found out from Will. I’m fairly certain I told him why I was leaving with the Colt.”

  “Didn’t you consider how he might interpret that?”

  “There was nothing to interpret. I was on my way to teach you to shoot. Will’s fairly straightforward in relating information.”

  She sighed. “Abe found out from Ned, by the way, and I don’t know where Ned came by it, but when Abe told me about it I had the distinct impression he thought you were courting me.”

  Wyatt’s face cleared of confusion. “And that’s when you decided to march down to my office and tear a strip off me. Is that right?”

  “Yes, but none of that matters now.”

  “Maybe. Maybe not.”

  “Now, what does that mean?”

  He shrugged. “What if I was courting you?”

  “Were you?”

  He waggled his fork at her. “I asked first.”

  Rachel sipped her coffee as she considered his question. “I suppose if I’d considered it in that light, it would have made me wary. I don’t know if I’d have gone with you.”

  Wyatt nodded, satisfied. “That’s what I thought.”

  “So you were courting me.”

  “I didn’t say that. And you were right, none of that matters.”

  Rachel’s mouth flattened momentarily. “So now you agree with me.”

  “I do.”

  She gave him a narrow look. “Of course you do.” She picked up a strip of bacon and broke off one crisp end. “Did you court Sylvianna?”

  “Yes.”

  “How?”

  “In the usual fashion. Flowers. Asking her to write my name on her dance card. Letters. Carriage rides along the Charles.”

  “That is usual.”

  “I told you.”

  “I think I’d like to go shooting again,” said Rachel.

  Wyatt was careful not to smile. “I thought you might.”

  There was no point in remaining at the Commodore once Wyatt was substantially on the mend. If word of their marriage had never gotten out, Rachel would have returned home alone, but because there was no one in Reidsville who didn’t know the truth, she felt she had no choice but to allow Wyatt to come with her.

  She never issued a formal invitation, but she never indicated that she expected anything else. Wyatt did point out that there were certain advantages to remaining in the hotel. The conveniences of the Commodore meant there would be fewer chores for each of them, but Rachel preferred privacy and was adamant that she didn’t mind hauling water or preparing her own meals to secure it.

  Johnny Winslow, Ned Beaumont, and that no-account Beatty boy helped with the move from the hotel. Sir Nigel Pennyworth looked as if he might cry when the wagon pulled away from the Commodore’s wide front porch, but then Wyatt had been his longest and most reliable tenant, and there was always peace of mind for the guests and gamblers when they learned the sheriff boarded there. Wyatt’s presence kept all but the most foolish troublemakers away.

  Rachel had always found her home to be on the large side when she was rattling around in it by herself. It was true that each room had functionality, and there was none that she didn’t use, but they were all generously sized and easily accommodated her. The same space became proportionately smaller once she was sharing it with Wyatt.

  She could not even point to the fact that he had a lot of possessions. When the wagon was loaded, nearly half of what it held belonged to her. In two short weeks, she’d managed to bring almost the entire contents of her workroom to his suite, while in seven years at the Commodore, he didn’t have much more than what he wore or what he could carry.

  Still, it seemed to Rachel that his clothes crowded hers. The addition of his books stuffed the shelves. His clock looked ridiculous on the mantelpiece beside hers. There were boots with spurs in the mudroom and a leather strop hanging from the washroom door. His comb, razor, and lathering brush and cup were jarringly out of place among her pots of cream, atomizers, and delicately scented soaps.

  He was always in her way or around when she wanted to be alone. They had worked better in the kitchen when he was only a visitor. Then they’d managed to skirt direct confrontation. Now she felt as if she had to watch her step constantly or risk bumping into him. It was inevitable that several times each day she would put the wrong foot forward, and they always danced awkwardly when that happened.

  When she regarded the pantry with a critical eye, it looked inadequately stocked. Wyatt Cooper ate as if each meal was his last, and he never missed one. He was never even late. What did it matter if she had plenty of firewood if there was nothing but water to boil?

  It was a mercy that he left the house each morning. On Sundays, he got up earlier, went to his office, then met her at church. It was his shortest day out unless someone came to him with a problem that demanded his personal attention. If that happened, it was usually something at the saloon that took him away, and she could depend on him to
be gone for the better part of an afternoon but arrive home for supper as though he were tracking it.

  He still rode out on Thursdays, taking a sack of biscuits with him. It was the only day she ate breakfast and lunch alone, but that was only if she bothered eating. His absence from the house meant that she could sew undisturbed, and she did not waste the opportunity. It wasn’t that he interrupted her work with questions, or even that he spoke much. It was simply that he was there and his presence loomed large.

  He overwhelmed her, but nowhere more so than in the bedroom. She was the one who had defined what their relationship would be there, and she didn’t want him to join her harboring any misconceptions about her view of their marriage. It stunned her at the time that he hadn’t argued, but in retrospect, she viewed his agreement as unflattering. Recognizing that there was a certain perversity to her thinking did not help her change it.

  She had some sleepless nights in the beginning, not trusting him to honor the bargain they’d struck. She hugged her side of the bed, putting herself so close to the edge that she was in danger of falling out. He noticed it, because it was his nature to notice things, but whatever thoughts he had about it remained unspoken. While she slept fitfully, he slept like the dead. While she occupied a distinctly narrow portion of the bed, he sprawled across it.

  Their experience in bed had more in common with range wars than a marriage. It was fences against wide-open spaces, the farmer opposing the cattleman. Rachel had no idea how to alter the terms of their agreement, or even if she wanted to, and it seemed unlikely that it would be changed serendipitously.

  If she ever rolled to the middle of the bed, she was unaware of it. Sometimes she dreamed that he was holding her, but when she awakened, she was always just out of his reach. More often than not, she was the one staring at his back. His natural inclination seemed to be to sleep on his right side, which kept him turned away from her. She couldn’t very well suggest they switch sides.