by Sharon Ihle
He laughed bitterly. "Far better to ruin a man's life, I suppose. Is that it?"
"Cain, we never—"
"Morgan." He ground his teeth as he spoke. "My name is Morgan. I'll thank you to use it—or better yet, try calling me Marshal Slater."
She couldn't look at him any longer. Not as Cain Law, Marshal Slater, or Morgan... the father. Mariah turned away from him as she solicited the one answer she feared the most. "She—that little girl playing jack-straws in the alley—she was your daughter?"
Her voice was so soft—like the whisper of an angel, Morgan thought—he could barely hear her. He toughened himself against the sound. "Yes."
The word came out sounding like a hiss, and it may as well have been, for Mariah could swear she felt the fangs of a deadly serpent sink into her heart. She'd guessed as much, but to hear it confirmed from his lips, to know for certain that the man she loved had a daughter, struck her like a fatal blow. The fact that he most surely had a pretty blond wife to go along with that child was too devastating to even think about.
At Mariah's silence, Morgan moved up behind her. "How could you have kept my girl from me that way, or let all these weeks go by without her so much as getting a wire from me? She thinks I forgot all about her. Doesn't that bother you at least a little?"
"Of course it does." She whirled on him, grief- stricken for them both. "It never occurred to me, or any of us, that you might have been a family man. I didn't know—how could I?"
"You knew all you had to." His expression darkened, as did his tone. "You knew my name. And you deliberately chose to keep it from me."
There was no real way to deny that, or to rationalize the decision they'd made, and again, Mariah had to turn away from him, away from the terrible disappointment she saw in those hard green eyes.
She looked out the window to the mountains beyond. A great bank of dark black clouds had gathered there, one of those instant mountain storms that hadn't been there just moments before, and she could feel the temperature falling, plummeting along with her pulse. It would rain soon, maybe even snow, deluging the area with thunder and lightning. Mariah thought for one crazy moment of rushing headlong into the violence of that storm, of forcing herself to be pummeled and punished for the terrible sins she'd committed against the man she loved.
Cain—she continued to think of him by that name—stood close behind her, waiting, she supposed, for more answers. Mariah felt as if she'd been turned inside out, emptied of words, of thoughts, of emotions. She quietly said the only thing left to her: "I'm sorry for everything. Terribly sorry."
Sorry, he thought to himself. As if such a tiny word could wipe away even one of her cruel, heartless lies. It made him furious to think that Mariah had been the mastermind behind this betrayal. She'd altered his life without permission, reshaped his very soul, and never once thought to seek his consent.
Morgan was furious, yes, but even worse, he felt profoundly bereft. And he had more than just an idea of why he felt that way. He and Mariah would never again share what they once had, never again have that special something he'd never had with Virginia or any other woman—that special something he'd spent his entire life avoiding at all costs. Until Mariah had tricked him. Until Mariah.
Morgan studied her trembling shoulders, his gaze lingering at the mass of unruly dark hair spilling down to below her waist. Desire came alive in him, hot and urgent, and for the first time, painful as well. Morgan didn't know how it was possible after what he'd discovered today, but God help him, he wanted her still—wanted her so badly, it was all he could do to keep from taking her that instant. In fact, he couldn't remember ever wanting her more.
Again his gaze fell to her shoulders, and he was surprised to find his fickle hands hovering there, poised and ready to plunge into that river of thick ebony waves—to do that, or to take her by the throat and squeeze until he could squeeze no more.
Had he regained his memory only to discover that he'd gone completely mad? What kind of a man had he become during that period of forgetfulness? He sure as hell wasn't Cain Law any longer, but he hadn't quite returned to the old Morgan Slater, either. He just plain didn't know who the hell he was anymore. Morgan only knew that if he continued to stand there thinking about how much he once cared, how he wanted her still, he really would go mad.
To protect himself against those feelings, he dwelled on the anger. Then he called up a few memories of what her lies had wrought.
"Well, well, Mariah." The sound of his own voice was sharp and harsh, more venomous than he'd intended, but Morgan forged ahead, using that tone to help insulate himself against her charms. "You must really be proud of your little charade. You did such a good job, you even tricked me into proposing marriage."
She turned on him at this, eyes ablaze. "That was never my intention. The last thing in the world I ever expected, or wanted from you, was marriage. The proposal was your idea, and yours alone."
She'd never, but never, looked more beautiful than she did at that moment, and he knew that no amount of dredging through his memories of Mariah would ever change that opinion. She was a beautiful, desirable... liar. "Nice try, but I know a conniving female when I see one. You did everything you could to push me into marrying you—up to and including that vile-tasting love potion you concocted for me."
"What?" A sudden jolt of anger drove her onward. "If you aren't the most arrogant, conceited—"
"It must have seemed like a good idea at the time, having a lawman in the family—someone who couldn't lock you and your crooked operation up once his memory returned. Nice plan, Mariah. Too bad it didn't work. Too bad you had to make such a 'personal' sacrifice for nothing."
Even in her anger, Mariah recognized the incongruous word. "'Sacrifice'? What are you talking about?"
He leaned in close, his eyes glittering with a rage that touched her soul. "Why else would you have let me... spoil you the way I did, if you weren't trying to trick me into marriage?"
Mariah drew in a sharp breath, and lowered her gaze from his all-knowing eyes. Because I loved you, she thought. Because I knew all along we'd only have a short time together, and I wanted it all. Everything a man and woman could experience together, I wanted with you. The future didn't matter to me. But she said nothing. She let her chin fall until it touched her chest.
Morgan hated her posture, the defeat in the set of her shoulders, but the wounds to his soul were too fresh, and Mariah's betrayal too grave, for him to douse the flames of his anger. "Were you and your thieving family so intent on looking legitimate that as a little insurance you all gathered around and decided to offer a sacrificial virgin?"
Mariah's lid blew. Every last drop of remorse or shame evaporated as the fire in her blood surged to the forefront. "You dirty... rotten... hastard." And with that, she took a swing at him.
Morgan caught her hand in midair. "Careful, little princess. I doubt you want to add 'assault on an officer of the law' to the charges against you." Still gripping her wrist, he pulled her up close. "I'm not quite through with my interrogation. Tell me about that name, Cain Law. Where the hell did you come up with that?"
Mariah wrenched her arm loose and took a backward step. Her voice a whisper, just this side of smug, she said, "Remember I told you about that big yellow dog I had as a kid?" She paused dramatically, gratified to see a flicker of understanding in his dark green eyes. "That dog was always in trouble or raising some kind of Cain or another, so we named him Cain. You reminded us a lot of that dog."
"You named me after a damn dog?"
She tossed her head back, flipping a few ebony waves over her shoulder. "I don't know what we could have been thinking of, insulting our dog that way. We always liked him."
A new kind of rage charged through Morgan at her flip comments, a kind he'd never felt before. But he didn't stop to examine it. "In that case, I suppose naming me after your dog was a pretty appropriate thing to do. You folks did kind of turn me into your own trained pet, didn't you? 'Cain do
this, Cain do that.' My little performances must have been worth a few laughs, if nothing else."
On the defense again, Mariah lashed out at him. "You had at least a little of it coming, you miserable bastard. You treated us like dirt back in Bucksnort, as if we were no better than common thieves."
"Looks like I was right, doesn't it?"
This time, Mariah whipped her arm around so fast, Morgan never saw it coming. Her open palm cracked against his cheek, the sound ringing in his ears long after he'd grabbed her wrists and jerked her off of her feet. "Damn you, Mariah. Damn you for the lying, thieving bitch that you are. How could you have cared at all and still done any of this to me? How?"
Her knees buckled, and she hung there by her wrists, suspended only by his grip. Mariah's throat went dry and the tears began to fall. Her bottom lip wobbling, she said in a choked whisper, "Oh, Cain—I never wanted this to happen. I really am sorry."
The door opened then, and Zack crossed the threshold, with Oda directly behind him. It took only an instant for him to see that the marshal had Mariah by the wrists, and that she was crying.
"Here's your things, Marshal," he said, crossing the room. "You get your hands off my girl, and you get 'em off now. She ain't the one done you wrong, anyways. I am."
Brought to his senses not by Zack's words alone, but by his protective tone, Morgan released Mariah and turned to the old man. "You've all done wrong, and every one of you knows it."
Oda, bristling like a banty hen, stepped in front of her husband as the marshal approached them. "Don't matter what we done in the past. You promised not to hurt our girl if I left you alone with her—you promised."
"I didn't hurt her—certainly not as much as this family has wounded me." Done with talk, Morgan reclaimed his badge and studied it for a moment, wondering how he ever could have forgotten this, the most significant part of his life. Then he pinned the gold star to his shirt beneath the Brother Law coat.
After taking his gun belt from Zack's outstretched hands, he fastened it around his waist, lifted the Colt from the holster, and spun the chamber to make sure it was still loaded. He gave the old man a narrow gaze as he asked, "What about my hat and jacket?"
"Your hat blew away like we told you, and your horse run off with your saddlebags. I expect your jacket was inside one of them."
Morgan was none too pleased to realize that he'd have to wear his Brother Law garb a little longer. "And my wallet? I know Amigo didn't run off with that."
Amigo? As he recalled his missing horse, something disturbed him other than the fact that the animal had taken off for parts unknown. There was something else there, a little sliver of memory at the back of his mind, but before he could work it up to examine it, the old man dropped the wallet into his hand, along with his gold watch.
Morgan stared at the timepiece a long moment, and then quickly counted the money. When he came up better than a hundred dollars short of what he knew he'd had with him, he said to Zack, "Where's the rest of my money, old man?"
Zack shrugged. "Went for your expenses, mostly. I bought you them clothes you're wearing, and don't forget—you borreyed twenty bucks not once, but twice." He glanced beyond the sheriff to Mariah. "You still got the twenty dollars you asked for this morning?"
After snatching her reticule off the bed, she hurried forward, pulling the bills from her bag. Mariah handed the money to the marshal, careful not to touch him. "I only borrowed it to buy you a new hat so you wouldn't have to wear the skimmer except at show time. We didn't quite make it to the store, if you'll remember."
Morgan didn't look at her as he took the money. He didn't dare. "What about the twenty dollars you took from me in Durango? Where'd that go?"
"Oh... that." She backed away from him. "Your expenses, mostly."
Morgan turned on his heel, his expression incredulous. "What kind of expenses could you have incurred on my behalf?"
Her gaze darted to both Zack and Oda in a plea for help, but before they could come to her aid, Mariah remembered the vow she'd made to herself. She raised her chin high and told him the truth. "I gave the money to Artemis. He used it to buy up all the newspapers in the hotel the last two days we were in Durango. He must still have part of it left."
"He did . . . what?" Morgan glanced at Zack, and the old man nodded, the confirmation offered along with a grim expression. Looking back at Mariah, Morgan went on. "Why would you make him do a thing like that?"
"I knew you liked to read the paper each day. I accidentally found out that the Herald was planning to run a story or two about the Doolittle Gang and the marshal who was after them. Since you were that marshal, I thought it'd be in the best interests of the medicine show if you didn't read about it."
The Doolittles. God almighty. They'd completely slipped his mind. "The hell with the show's best interests. Do you have any idea the danger you could have put me in by not telling me about that gang of thieves?"
Alarmed by the depth of anger flashing in his dark eyes, Mariah backed another few steps toward the window. "I did think of the danger, so I had Artemis help me keep a lookout for the Doolittles. I'd have told you about them if either of us had spotted one of them."
"You, spot one of the Doolittles?" He laughed bitterly. "Now there's a hell of an idea. I guess it takes one to know one."
The marshal's tone had gotten so vicious and hateful, Zack decided it was time for a little interference. "That'll about do it, Marshal Slater. I know you're a mite upset, but you got no call to holler at my girl that way. 'Tain't fittin' and 'tain't right."
"I don't mind explaining, Dad." Mariah's gaze flickered from her father to Cain. "The day I went to collect Daisy from the sheriff, Artemis and I saw a Wanted poster for the Doolittle Gang. We studied the pictures, and figured we could recognize them if they were in the area."
Artemis. The Doolittles. Again he had that feeling that there was something more, a small fact which in this case could make all the difference between life or death. His own. Then it came to him. A name... that Billy? It didn't seem likely, and yet there was some connection there. He was sure of it.Billy. Was that the reason the young man had quivered and quaked that day in the outfitter's store? Could the brother of Artemis be
Morgan headed for the door, stopping to pause by the dresser. He stared down at the silver cigar case, a deep sense of anger along with a fair amount of regret stinging him from within. He glanced at Oda and gave her a sharp nod.
Then, toughening his voice, he said, "Don't try to leave town—any of you—until I say you can. That"—he swept an authoritative finger at the Penny family—"is a direct order from the United States Marshal's Office. I suggest you obey it."
Then he headed for the stables.
Chapter 17
Artemis sat with his back against the stall door, his arms snugged up tight over his head. Another clap of thunder rolled through the little town, ending this time with a particularly sharp bang. Artemis hated storms. Not the rain, sleet, or snow so much, but the accompanying uproar from the skies and brilliant flashes of light; omens all, to his way of thinking, of the end of the world.
It had been a very strange day all around, now that he thought of it. First, Oda racing—she who usually wobbled, racing—into the livery, then huddling with Zack, whispering privately. After that, the pair of them rummaging through the supply wagon, and then hurrying out the door, on the run as before.
Now this. Artemis looked up to see Cain stalking down the length of the barn, coming right at him. His stride was determined, almost angry. What in tarnation was going on around here?
"Get up, Artemis. We have to have a little talk." Morgan glanced around, spotted an empty stall, and directed the young man to follow him into it. "I have a few questions." Remembering Artemis's strange behavior at Naegelin's Livery, he decided to begin there. "Let's start back in Durango with that horse you left behind."
Artemis gasped. He'd always known the marshal would recognize his own horse—hell, any man worth his own
salt would. Why had he ever let Mariah convince him otherwise? "Th-that weren't my idea. Not a bit of it."
"What wasn't your idea?"
"The part about rubbing that red Colorado mud all over his pretty silver mane and tail so's you wouldn't recognize him. Mariah and her ma done that. I said, don't know why you're bothering with that mess, ladies, that fellah's gonna know it's his own horse no matter what you do. But no, they wouldn't listen to dumb ole Artemis. Nuh-uh."
Until then, it hadn't occurred to Morgan that the horse in Durango might have been Amigo. He'd simply been wondering about something he had overheard that day—something about a man named Tubbs. His fists closed, but he managed to keep his voice on an even keel. "What did you do with my horse, Artemis? Did you sell him?"
"Yep." Delighted that the questions continued to be so easy, he laughed and gave a carefree shrug. "Mr. Naegelin at the livery bought Big Red. Gonna rent him out, I expect, but I'm sure he'll sell him back to you if you've a mind to go fetch him."
His fists tightened further. "He's going to use him, stone bruise and all?"
Artemis laughed. "Mariah made that stone bruise business up so you'd leave me and Big Red behind. Ain't nothing wrong with him that a good bath won't fix."
So Mariah and Artemis were working together. Had Billy Doolittle been involved somehow as well? Morgan tabled that thought, too confused over his feelings for Mariah to consider it just yet, and went on to the next question.
Morgan figured Mariah and her family must have sold Amigo right out from under his nose to keep him from remembering the horse, along with his former life. His voice grew deceptively soft as he went on. "Where did you get that sorrel in the first place? Did someone sell him to you?"
