Heart of Mine (Bandit Creek)

by Michelle Beattie

  Behind him the house door opened and closed. Jake hung his head and took a deep breath. His bride was ready.

  Mid-April mornings in Montana weren't warm. Though the sky was blue and endless, the air was crisp. Seeing Laura on his porch, wearing a threadbare coat and old, worn boots had him gritting his teeth. He'd seen with his own eyes, her working at least two different jobs in town. She should be able to buy herself decent clothes. But then, why would she need to when she planned on using his money to do so?

  Anger percolating, Jake crossed the yard.

  Still as the mountains that surrounded them, Laura watched him approach. She'd tidied her mass of auburn hair into a long braid down her back. She seemed a little pale to Jake, and as he closed the distance between them he noticed that her gaze wasn't nearly as stoic as the rest of her. It swirled with guilt, trepidation and, damn it, fear. She had pushed her way into this, why in hell would she be scared now when she was getting what she'd sought? Marriage to a wealthy man.

  He pointed to the buckboard he'd hitched while he'd given her the time to wash and dress. Bitterness crept into his voice when he said, "Let's get this charade over with."

  Laura worried her lip with her teeth. "Jake--"

  "One confrontation with your father is more than enough. It's been almost an hour, let's go, before he gathers a posse and hunts me down."

  Despite his feelings, Jake offered her a hand into the buckboard. As she rearranged her skirts, he took his seat beside her on the bench, grabbed the reins as if they could somehow get him out of this mess.

  He was marrying Laura to avoid the noose, but as they drove the short distance toward Bandit Creek, Jake swore he felt the rope tighten around his neck anyway.

  ***

  Jake couldn't put it off any longer. After the farce of his wedding, he'd avoided the house and instead busied himself outside tending his animals and doing chores. He'd been caught, quite literally, with his pants down. No matter how much he racked his brain to remember, no details of his night with Laura came to mind. And now she was his wife. What the devil was he supposed to do about her? He couldn't very well sidestep her forever. Neither could he imagine having polite conversations with her as though he hadn't been deceived into marriage.

  And he sure as hell wasn't going to march into the house and demand his marital rights. Not after seeing the fear in her eyes that morning. He had no idea if he'd raped her or not. He'd never abused a woman in his life and couldn't imagine he'd have started now, but he knew she'd been frightened. Which meant, regardless of the specifics, she hadn't enjoyed their coupling.

  Besides her fear, however, was the fact that he didn't like her. He'd never bedded a woman he hadn't, at the very least, been attracted to before. It took more than a warm body to get Jake interested.

  "Or so I thought," he muttered into the night as he realized he'd done just that with Laura.

  Dusk was settling in and still he had no answers. But answers or not, he couldn't delay the inevitable any longer. Five years ago, he'd built an expansive log house, not because he saw himself needing the rooms for his future children, but because he loved big spaces and he'd have felt trapped in a small one-room abode. His residence was open, with thick-notched logs overhead and plenty of windows to let in the daylight. Normally, stepping into his home filled him with comfort, a sense of belonging, a sense of peace.

  He felt none of those things when he stepped into the covered back porch. With a clear opening to the kitchen, he clapped eyes on Laura. It was as though something whooshed through the room and took all the air along with it.

  She stood by his stove, a flush to her ivory skin. With a strike of heat to his loins he remembered how soft her skin had been that morning when he'd swung a leg over hers, when his fingers had found flesh. She wore the same yellow blouse and brown skirt she'd worn to town, her hair remained tied at her back. For a brief moment, he saw it spilled across his pillow, pictured her wearing nothing but a sheet.

  He jerked. What the devil was he doing? He'd lived in the same town as Laura for years, had watched her grow up, for Pete's sake. Though only a few years separated them, he'd never entertained such thoughts about her.

  "I wasn't sure what time you'd be in, but I kept supper warm." She gestured to the stove where the smell of beef and onions originated, but his gaze was on the table.

  Two place settings. A lantern flickering. It looked inviting, as did the delicious scent that reminded him of two things: he hadn't eaten all day and he couldn't remember the last time he'd had a home-cooked meal he hadn't had to make himself. Damn, he could get used to this.

  The thought came unbidden and left him shaking his head. First he'd imagined her naked, and now he was thinking how nice it was to have her cook a meal for him? He'd been blackmailed into this marriage and he'd be wise to remember that.

  "Next time, don’t wait on me," he grumbled, disconcerted by his reaction to her.

  Her eyes latched onto his and he swore he heard the crack of a bullwhip.

  "I don't like eating alone, if it's all the same to you. Now, if you want to wash, I've got some water warming for you."

  With a towel, she lifted the kettle off the stove and stepped into the porch. She poured the heated water into the washbasin he kept on a long shelf by the back door. He noticed the towel next to it was neatly folded and the mirror hanging over the basin was free of smudges and spots. Yes, indeed, he could get used to this. Which meant he needed to keep his guard up. He didn't trust her. She had to be up to something, because he didn't believe for one moment that her only goal was to tend to him.

  After he'd washed, he took his seat at the table where he was promptly served a hearty meal of fried beef and potatoes, onions, carrots and corn biscuits. Laura sat across from him and they ate in silence. Wood in the stove shifted and hissed. She was up to add more before he could push away from the table. When he was done eating, she exchanged his empty plate for a smaller one filled with a large slab of spice cake. His coffee was poured, hot and fresh.

  The more she waited on him, the more it grated. She and her father had forced him into a marriage he hadn't wanted. He wouldn't be swayed from that reality by a little doting on her part.

  He grabbed her wrist when she moved to take away his dessert plate.

  "If you wanted to endear yourself to me, Laura, you might have tried that before you ingratiated yourself into my life."

  All the times he'd passed her by on the street with little more than a glance and a nod marched through her mind causing a bitter laugh to spill from Laura's mouth. If Jake had noticed her before, had seen her as anything but the poor girl in town, she may not have had to resort to 'ingratiating'. Hiding behind a bluster she didn't feel, she yanked her arm free and said, "I'll cook and serve the meals as I choose. As of today I live here, too."

  Jake's eyes narrowed. He shoved from the table, came to his feet. "There are four bedrooms upstairs. I don't care which one you decide to sleep in, but stay away from mine."

  Laura's stomach fell. She'd worried all day about where to put her things and in the end had decided on Jake's room. She'd hoped that perhaps even a little of him was attracted to her.

  "Your things are already there, aren't they?"

  "I didn't know…I wasn't sure…I'll move them right away." Grabbing her skirts, glad she'd thought ahead and lit the hallway lights, Laura raced up the wide staircase and into Jake's room. When she'd come up earlier to turn down the bed, she'd left a light burning softly. The room looked cozy and inviting. Welcoming. Her heart pinched. He didn’t want her there; he'd never want her there.

  "Idiot," she muttered, thinking that even after all these years, she had the same foolish dreams about Jake she'd nurtured since her youth. Turning away from what would never be, she hastily grabbed her things. Luckily, she'd only brought up the bags, and hadn't been stupid enough to unpack them. Hands full, she turned for the door.

  She nearly ran into him.

  He filled the doorway. Bro
ad shoulders, long legs. A face that, even in anger, made all others pale in comparison. His chest rose and fell with his breaths. His hands braced on narrow hips. His eyes went to the bed before meeting hers. Again it felt as though she couldn't get enough air.

  Had he changed his mind? Did he want her there, after all?

  "This may be our house now, but this room is mine. I can make my own bed and if I need the sheets washed, I'll leave them in the hall."

  He may as well have slapped her. But flowers would bloom at the top of Turtle Mountain in January before she'd let him see it. She had very little in this world, but she had her pride.

  "Fine." She was relieved her voice held strong. "Then if you'll step aside, I'll get out of your way."

  He did and she'd barely made it through the opening when she heard the hard slam of the door shutting behind her.

  TWO

  When the numbers on the ledgers blurred for what felt like the hundredth time, Jake pushed his chair away from the desk. He kept a small office at the Golden Nugget Hotel, which was owned--despite talk of selling and retiring--by his grandfather, Zachariah Evans. Jake's mornings were spent at Ellis Mine, thanks to his inheritance from his uncle, but since Jake had a head for figures, afternoons were spent at the hotel where he tallied receipts and kept the numbers working in Zachariah's favor. A task he was failing at miserably today.

  Coming to his feet, Jake stepped to the window and leaned heavily against its frame. A cool draft crept around the glass and tickled his face. His office was on the ground floor of the hotel and looked onto the wrap-around veranda. Nobody was strolling its wooden length today. Nor were there more than a half-dozen wagons rattling down Main Street. Not with the cold wind that had decided to roll down the surrounding mountains and howl through Bandit Creek.

  The wind matched his mood perfectly. If only he could holler for hours on end maybe he'd feel better. Instead he felt as though he were trapped in his own goldmine and no matter what he did or which rocks he moved, more just fell back onto his head until he felt crushed by their weight.

  He wanted to go home, build a fire, and sit beside it with a hot cup of coffee. But if he went home, he'd see Laura. With her in his house, enjoying a quiet evening at home wasn't a possibility. Not that he could avoid her indefinitely. Luckily, he'd managed to so far today, as her bedroom door had been closed when he'd gone downstairs for breakfast. Still, it had surprised him to see the kitchen cleared of last night's meal and hot porridge and fresh coffee waiting for him.

  He wasn't sure he deserved it.

  Yes, she'd tricked him, and no, he wasn't likely to forget she was after his money, but she'd cooked him a nice meal last night and instead of saying thank you he'd growled at her. And he'd hurt her feelings. He'd seen it on her face, even though she'd fought hard not to show it. Which made her cooking his breakfast even more bewildering. Unless…

  "Unless it's not all a lie," he said as a sheet of dust blew past his window.

  "Unless what's not a lie?"

  His grandfather, tall and robust despite his eighty years and head full of snow-white hair, stood next to the desk. That he'd come so far into the room without Jake noticing showed just how preoccupied Jake truly was.

  Zachariah Evans folded himself neatly into a chair and clasped his wrinkled hands in his lap. "I've never heard you talking to yourself before. This wouldn't have anything to do with the scuttlebutt going around town that you went and got yourself married yesterday, now would it?"

  Jake couldn't believe his rotten luck. He'd hoped to tell his grandfather himself but he'd been waiting for the right words, something that sounded better than, "I took a woman to bed and don't remember but since I compromised her, I had to marry her." The truth left an ugly taste in his mouth. He could only imagine how his grandfather would feel. With a sigh, Jake turned from the window and took his seat behind the desk.

  "I'm sorry, Granddad. I should have told you myself, but," he shrugged, held out his open palms. "I had no idea how. The last few days haven't been my finest."

  The older man cocked a white, wiry brow. "It's true, then, what they're saying? You married Laura Gibbs?"

  "It's true and I'm sorry you didn't hear it from me."

  "I thought you'd never marry."

  "I never planned to." Jake respected his grandfather too much not to tell him everything and soon the whole ugly truth was out.

  "It could be worse, Jake. At least Laura's a good woman."

  "Didn't you hear what I just said? She's after my money, Granddad. Her and her no-good father."

  Zachariah leaned back in the chair, crossed his legs. "I agree with you where Hugh is concerned, but I've never seen any similarities between him and his daughter. Laura works hard, she's always polite. She strikes me as being very trustworthy."

  "She deceived me!" Jake roared.

  "Maybe it wasn't her idea, Jake. Did you ever think of that?"

  The memory of Laura's tear formed in his mind but he shoved it aside. Likely it had been a ploy to play on his emotions, make him think she was innocent. He took a calming breath, lowered his voice. "Laura's not a child. Even if it was Hugh's idea, she could have said no. But she didn't. And do you know why? Because, like her father, she's after my money."

  His grandfather's thin lips curved. "Is that so? Funny then, isn't it, that I passed her on my way here this morning."

  "What? You couldn't have, she was in her room when I left."

  "Apparently not. She was heading to the boardinghouse when I saw her." Zachariah's eyes sparked with humor. "Seems strange, though, does it not, for a woman who is clearly only after your money to get herself to work at dawn the day after her wedding?"

  Jake dropped his head into his hands. Nothing made sense. For the first time in his life he couldn't remember sleeping with a woman. Immediately afterward he was being blackmailed into marriage. And now the wife who'd married him for money was back at her job at the boardinghouse. How had she even gotten to town?

  Another gust rattled the glass. The temperature had hovered above freezing all morning and he'd needed gloves on his ride in. Heck, he'd seen his breath most of the way to town and the early spring wind had pierced his jacket.

  A thought grabbed him and pushed him to his feet. Laura didn't have a horse and none of his had been missing when he'd left. Which meant if she'd left before he had, she'd walked.

  Jake set his teeth. Whether he wanted one or not, she was his wife and he wouldn't have her walking to town in near-freezing temperatures. He grabbed his coat, noticing as he did that his granddad pulled his pocket watch out and checked the time.

  "She's likely done at the boardinghouse now. I'd check Angeline's Dress Emporium; she does sewing there in the afternoons."

  Jake didn't know how his granddad knew Laura's comings and goings, and he didn't take the time to ask.

  He had a wife to find.

  ***

  Laura had thought her wedding day a nightmare, but it was nothing compared to what she'd endured since arriving in Bandit Creek that morning.

  Apparently, her father had wasted little time jawing about his daughter's marriage because from the time she'd stepped into the boardinghouse to begin her morning's work she'd heard the whispers, felt the stares, witnessed the sneers. Of course, not all were discreet about it. One had been so bold as to come up to her calling her a gold-digger. Another, not five minutes ago, had stormed into the dress shop and called her a no-good whore for what she did to Jake.

  The name-calling didn't help her mood. She'd barely slept last night and was up before dawn, quietly cleaning the kitchen and making breakfast before walking to work. She'd known it would only be a matter of time before the rumors began to fly, but she'd hoped that by continuing her regular duties, she'd prove to them--and to Jake-- that she wasn't after his money. That she wasn't a whore, that she really was a good person. That despite being Hugh Gibb's daughter she had morals.

  Even if she hadn't yet figured out how to get out of her
father's reach.

  Distracted by her troubled thoughts, Laura pricked herself with the needle. "Darn it," she mumbled.

  She was working on a blue silk gown for one of the wealthy women who lived along River Road. Since blood would ruin the garment Laura popped her fingertip into her mouth before any could drip onto the material.

  "That gown has to be ready by Thursday," Angeline reminded her. "You don't have time to dawdle."

  Laura had been working since seven that morning. Five hours at the boardinghouse and so far two at the dressmaker's. Her shoulders hurt, her eyes burned, and she could only spare another hour if she wanted to get Jake's supper on the table before he arrived. She removed her finger, ensured it wasn't bleeding and resumed her sewing. It wasn't more than a minute later that the door burst open. Cold wind billowed around the bolts of material, crossed the room and blew its frosty breath on Laura's face. She grimaced. Apparently, she was in for as frigid a walk back to the ranch as she'd endured to get to work.

  "Oh, Mr. Evans," Angeline said. "What a surprise."

  Laura's attention snapped from her stitching. Jake's gaze was about as warm as the wind he'd brought in.

  "I came for my wife," he said, his stare never wavering from Laura's. His jacket was unbuttoned, as though he'd been in too much of a hurry to fasten it. His lips were a hard, flat line.

  "Oh, but she can't leave. She has another hour at least. As it is I'll be lucky to have that dress ready by Thursday."

  Jake's gaze sliced to Angeline. The woman backed up a step.

  "My wife no longer works here."

  "What?" Both Laura and Angeline gasped. Angeline didn't move, but Laura set the partially finished gown on her worktable and came to her feet.

  "Where's your jacket?" he asked.

  "Where it'll remain until I'm done for the day. If it's supper you're after, I assure you I'll have it hot and on the table by six o'clock."

  "Where's your jacket?" he repeated, his voice low and hard. Jake strode further into the shop, found Laura's coat hanging on a rack. He rounded the counter and thrust the garment at her. "We're going home."