Martha must have heard the ring of steel in her tone, because she straightened up and held out both hands in mock surrender. “Now, now, don’t take offense. It’s just that you seem a pretty little thing and he’s…”
“Yes?” Molly prodded, and lifted one eyebrow, waiting.
The other woman smiled briefly and said, “No reason to load your guns and come hunting. All I’m saying is the man’s a hermit.”
“A hermit?”
“Folks say it’s because he killed a man once and doesn’t trust himself around people,” Martha went blithely on, bending her head to her task again. “But I don’t believe that one little bit.”
“You don’t,” Molly said, and added silently, You only repeat the rumors.
“Oh my no,” the other woman continued. “I figure what a man does is his own business.” She sighed, added up a column of figures and said, “Hardly see him more than once a week. And when he does come to town, he goes straight to Miss Cherry’s and—” Her voice faded off and a bright pink flush swept up her neck and blossomed on her round cheeks as her guilt-riddled gaze locked on Molly.
Miss Cherry. The embarrassed blush on Martha’s face explained exactly who a woman named Cherry was and what kind of business she ran. She curled her fingers into her palms until her nails dug small half-moons into her skin. Her throat felt tight as she recalled following her husband around the room all night, trying to force him to sleep beside her. She’d thought he was being stubborn and proud and—but he wasn’t being any of those things. He was simply waiting for an opportunity to come to town so he could visit a more experienced…and no doubt prettier woman.
At that thought, the tiny burst of anger within her sputtered into a boiling brew that turned her stomach. Only the anger wasn’t for the talkative woman in front of her who’d unknowingly spilled the beans. It was all for the man she’d married.
Was he there now? she wondered. Had he dropped her off to buy food and new dresses and then run right off to the floozies? Were they laughing together about his silly wife who slept on the floor and chased him around the cabin? Was he telling his lady friend that his new wife was a sorry little thing in shabby clothes? Was he holding this faceless woman? Kissing her? Touching her, as he refused to touch his wife?
Fury hummed through her body, drowning shame and embarrassment in a rising flood of anger so rich, so pure, she shook with it. Those questions deserved answers, she told herself firmly and, the moment she’d filled her order, that’s just what she’d get. And God help him, Molly told herself, if she found him where a married man had no right to be.
Martha looked as though she wanted to bite off her tongue. But it was better, Molly thought, to know the truth.
“Molly, honey,” the woman began, “I’m sure that—”
Whatever she might have said was lost as the front door swung open, sending the bell hanging above it into a jangling dance.
Emily MacIntyre strode in and paused on the threshold, letting her eyes become adjusted to the dimmer light within the store. And Molly looked at her sister-in-law as she would have the cavalry riding to the rescue.
Horace Baker slammed his hammer down onto the anvil and the red-hot horseshoe atop it. Sparks flew into the air, twinkling in the air briefly before dying. Again and again, the hammer rang out in a steady rhythm, like some ironclad heartbeat. When he finished his task, he used a pair of tongs to drop the finished shoe into a bath of water. The red-hot metal hissed and steamed, sending a cloud of vapor rushing into the air.
Jackson marched into the forge, tore off his hat and wiped his forehead with his sleeve. Damn, it was always hotter in here. He didn’t know how Horace stood it, this close to the roaring fire that looked and sounded like the doorway to hell.
“Morning, Jackson,” the blacksmith said, picking up another horseshoe and tossing it onto a glowing coal bed. He pumped the bellows with one hand while stoking the coals with a poker.
“Horace,” he said with a nod. “You seen Lucas?”
“Sure did.” The man’s broad face split into a grin. “Stopped by here a few minutes ago. Wanted his horse shod.” His brow furrowed as he stared for a long minute. “I don’t believe I ever saw you without that beard.”
Inhaling sharply, Jackson blew the air out in a disgusted rush. He wanted to clap a hand to his face, to hide the scar that was now out in the open for God and everybody to look at. But he’d need both hands to beat the hell out of Lucas, so that wouldn’t work.
“Nasty scar,” Horace commented.
Everything inside him tightened, preparing for the questions that were bound to follow. But Horace surprised him.
“Got a few myself,” the man said simply before turning his attention back to the fire.
Relief pulsed through him. The man hadn’t stared for long. Hadn’t been repulsed by the jagged wound that sliced along Jackson’s cheek. But how many people would react as this man had? Not many, he’d wager. Most would be curious. Most would gawk and whisper. And he’d just have to put up with it until he’d had time to grow his beard back. But for now…
“Where is Lucas?” Jackson asked, his gaze darting around the enclosure and the stable beyond.
“Left,” he said, and lifted the shoe out of the fire, draping it across the narrow end of the anvil.
“Left for where?”
“Wouldn’t know.” Wide shoulders shrugged.
“Perfect,” Jackson muttered. He half turned to shoot a glare down the middle of Main Street like a bullet.
“Your wife make it to the cabin all right?” Horace asked.
“Hmm? Yeah.” Turning back to face the man, Jackson said, “I brought your wagon down, but I’m gonna need to rent it again to take all the supplies she’s buying back to the cabin.”
“Probably be cheaper just to buy it,” Horace said thoughtfully.
Maybe so, Jackson thought. But if he went and bought the damn wagon, then it’d be permanent. It’d be admitting that Molly was staying. And though he knew he wouldn’t be the one to walk away from a legal marriage…from his responsibilities…he still had a fond hope that Molly might up and quit.
So he’d rent the blasted wagon by the week if he had to and cling to the illusion that soon he’d be alone again.
“No thanks,” he said, and dug into his pocket for the rent money. Then he stalked off, still hunting Lucas.
In the next half hour, he covered the whole damn town. The barber, the gunsmith, the restaurant, everywhere. And everywhere he went, he was just a minute or two behind Lucas. He had to give his younger brother credit. Defiance was so small, he wouldn’t have thought it possible for anyone to hide for long. But Lucas was managing it just fine.
And Jackson’s temper bubbled furiously, building each time he was told he’d “just missed” his brother. Folks were beginning to get caught up in the search. He spotted one or two people taking up positions in easy chairs where they could watch him stride up and down the street. Merchants came out of their stores and leaned against the porch posts. Shoppers gathered in tight knots, debating on just what would happen once Jackson caught up to Lucas. And others simply stared at him, as he’d known they would. Their gazes locked on his cheek, he could almost hear their thoughts. What in the hell happened to him? Isn’t that awful? Must have been mighty deep. Think he got it in the war?
The spot between his shoulder blades itched and he twitched uncomfortably beneath the stares directed at him. This was Lucas’s fault, too, he told himself. He was here, in town, making a spectacle of himself because his younger brother had gone out and hunted him down a wife. A wife who’d shaved him clean in his sleep. A wife who drove him to distraction with her constant talking and humming. A wife who filled his dreams and tortured his waking moments. A wife he wanted to touch, caress, kiss. A wife, for God’s sake!
On his second pass through town, the door to the Western Union office swung open and Lucas stepped out.
Jackson stopped dead, fists clenched at his side, mi
nd racing. He almost heard the onlookers’ quick intake of breath. Expectation rattled the air. Anticipation simmered through the gathered crowd. There was nothing people liked better than a good fight. Everyone in Defiance was watching as Lucas strolled across the boardwalk and stepped off into the dirt.
“Morning, Jackson,” he said warily. “I heard you were looking for me.”
“Lucas,” Jackson said through gritted teeth. He’d been waiting for this. Planning this since the moment Molly had told him Lucas was behind her being at the cabin. He’d itched to smash his brother’s pretty face in. But now, facing the man who was his only family, the man he trusted above everyone else, he was torn. This was his brother. Blood of his blood. They shared ties that no one else could even touch.
“How’s Molly?” Lucas asked.
And Jackson plowed his right fist into his younger brother’s face.
The roar of the crowd drew them from the store. Martha darted out from behind the counter, raced to the door, flung it open and disappeared down the boardwalk. Molly and Emily were only a step or two behind her.
People were gathered in a loose circle in the middle of the street. Dust and mud flew into the air and Molly caught a quick, brief glimpse of two bodies rolling around on the ground at the feet of the crowd.
“What in heaven?” Emily muttered.
“It’s a fight,” Molly said, and grabbed up the hem of her new dress before jumping off the boardwalk and racing toward the battle.
“Molly, wait!” Emily cried.
But she didn’t stop. Something pulled her onward. She’d seen plenty of fights on the docks near where she’d grown up and had long ago ceased to be amazed at how people would throng together to watch two men beat each other to a pulp. Ordinarily Molly wouldn’t have bothered. She would have shown her disapproval by staying clear of the whole mess.
But somehow, this was different. She tossed her hair back behind her shoulders and hitched the hem of her deep blue skirt even higher to avoid the patches of mud. Her feet slipped and skidded for purchase as she pushed her way through the crowd. She heard Emily right behind her, but she didn’t slow down. Didn’t wait.
“Watch his right,” someone shouted.
“Hey, no hittin’ below the belt!” another man called, clearly offended.
“Git ’im, Lucas!”
“Lucas?” Emily echoed from behind her.
She’d known it, Molly thought. Somehow she’d known it was her husband and his brother rolling around on the ground like a couple of dockside brawlers. And these people, she told herself, with a wicked glare at the excited faces of the crowd around her, were egging them on.
Relief and disgust warred within her, each of them vying to be recognized. On the one hand, her husband wasn’t with some nameless floozy. But on the other, he was beating his own brother with his fists. A flash of anger shot through her, sending Molly into the fray. Gone was the notion of stunning her husband with how beautiful she looked in her new dress. Of making him forget that trollop of his by seducing him with her own beauty. Now all she could think about was stopping this fight.
She launched through the edges of the crowd into the middle of the fight like an arrow from a bow. Lucas sat astride Jackson’s chest and as she watched, drew his fist back to deliver a blow. Outraged, she gasped, grabbed that fist and held on.
Lucas never looked back at her, just shook her off, like a minor annoyance, flinging her into the mud where she landed on her backside, legs sprawled. The crowd laughed and cheered in appreciation, but she heard Emily’s shocked voice through the babble of sound, shouting, “Lucas, stop that this instant!”
Thick, black mud oozed into the fabric of her new dress, soaking through to her skin. Molly shivered before pushing herself to her feet and staggering over to the two men still fighting fiercely. Every blow landed with a solid smack and, though a part of her wanted to deliver a few sharp blows herself, Molly resisted temptation. By this time, Emily too had joined the fray and her pale face was dotted with splotches of mud that contrasted nicely with the yellow paint streaks.
The two women stared at each other for a long moment, then together, took deep breaths and shouted their husband’s name.
“Lucas!”
“Jackson!”
Instantly both men froze. Quiet dropped over the crowd like a thick, uncomfortable blanket. The mud-covered men slowly turned to face their wives as the bystanders, sensing real trouble about to start, began drifting away.
Chapter Seven
The fight was over and a new fight was just beginning.
“So let me understand this,” Molly said, pacing back and forth in front of her husband and his brother. The sodden, mud-soaked skirt of her new dress clung to her legs, making her kick the fabric out of her way as she walked. “You,” she said, stabbing her index finger at Lucas, who drew his head back as if that finger was loaded, “advertised for a bride in Jackson’s name, knowing he didn’t want one.”
Lucas shifted uncomfortably, shot a look at his wife, found no sympathy in that quarter, then turned back to Molly. “Yes, but—”
She cut him off. He’d already had his say when he’d explained how he’d come to advertise for a mail-order bride without bothering to let Jackson in on his plan. “You lied to me, tricked your brother—your family—never caring one way or the other how this might affect us.”
Oh, he didn’t like that and his stormy expression proved it. One of his eyes was swollen—like Jackson’s—but he narrowed the other at her. “Of course I cared,” he said in his own defense, “but—”
“Oh aye, I know,” she interrupted him again with a wave of her hand, dismissing his argument. “You had reasons.” And such reasons, she thought, mind racing between sheer fury and righteous indignation. She’d been a pawn. A joke. She’d left her life behind, left all that was familiar and traveled halfway across the country to be married to a man who had never wanted her. Which, she admitted, she already knew. Hadn’t Jackson himself told her he didn’t want a wife?
“You bartered my life so you could gain ownership of a mine and a saloon, for pity’s sake!” Humiliation stung, but she fought to hide it.
“They’re all we have,” Lucas said, offering what she thought was a pitiful defense. “Well, and the ranch.”
“You had no right,” she snapped.
“But he did it and it’s done,” Jackson told her.
She looked at him, trying to read the one eye that wasn’t swollen shut. “Aye, it’s done and look at how well it’s all turned out,” she said, facing the man who was her husband, but not.
He winced at her words, but she didn’t stop. “You and your brother beating each other to dust in the street.”
“Oh,” Lucas said, “that happens all the time.”
“And that makes it all right, does it? Just like it’s all right for you to toy with other people’s lives?”
“It wasn’t all his fault,” Jackson said, standing up for the brother he’d been pounding his fist into only moments before.
“Really?” she asked, hands at her hips, “So you told him to send for a wife, then, eh?”
“No, but—”
“No, you didn’t.”
“No, he didn’t,” Lucas interrupted. “But he didn’t turn you away once you were here, did he?”
Molly swung her head to look at him. She’d liked him when she first met him, and one day she might like him again. Not, however, today. “Jackson,” she said slowly, “is a gentleman.”
Lucas snorted and her eyes narrowed.
Jackson stepped between them, laying one huge hand on her shoulder. And that warm, steady hand was like oil poured on churning water. It soothed, calmed, even as the heat of his touch sank deeply into her bones.
Molly took a breath, glanced at Emily and felt a momentary sense of comfort swish through her. Here was someone who understood what she was feeling, thinking. And though Emily had married Lucas for the same reason—at least she’d known she was e
ntering into a business contract. She hadn’t lain awake at night dreaming of love. Of finding the one man who would want her, need her. Someone to whom she could be the most important thing in the world.
Her stomach trembled and tears burned the backs of her eyes. But she wouldn’t cry, by heaven. She would not give them the satisfaction.
Them. The MacIntyre brothers. Her gaze slipped from one muddy man to the other, both of them watching her through wary, blackened eyes. They looked worried, as well they should, she thought. She’d half a mind to “whale” into them, as her uncle used to say. But there’d been enough brawling this day already.
Moments of silence drifted into minutes and the tension was strung tautly across the saloon. There was more she wanted to say. But she was suddenly so tired she felt as though she were standing ankle deep in the ocean with the tide rushing out, dragging her in, pulling her down.
Jackson cleared his throat and it sounded like a gunshot. Her gaze shifted to him as he tightened his grip on her shoulder.
“What Lucas did is between him and me,” he said. “And that’s been settled.”
“You’re wrong,” she said flatly, and watched him wince. Couldn’t he see what this had done to her? Didn’t he know that to her, marriage was forever? And what kind of life could they have in a marriage that was based on a lie?
“None of this matters, Molly. It’s done,” he snapped. “Over and done.”
“Is it?” she asked, watching him.
“You’re my wife,” he answered in a low rumble of sound, his voice scraping along her spine, sending shivers throughout her body. “I’m your husband. It’s finished.”
“I think…” Lucas began, and they both turned steely-eyed glares on him. Shaking his head, he closed his mouth and folded his arms across his chest.
“It doesn’t matter anymore how this got started, Molly,” Jackson said quietly.
“It’ll work out, you’ll see,” Lucas said, standing up but keeping a safe distance between himself and his sister-in-law.
Shotgun Grooms Page 19
