"You recognize the woman bank robber?" Nathan asked.
"I'd swear on the bible that's the marshal's wife in Porter, the town I'm from."
Nathan felt disappointed and annoyed enough with the man that he would have cuffed him if there weren't witnesses. The saphead had gotten his hopes up for nothing. "That can't be, mister. Can't you read?" he snarled. "The poster next to hers is for Nathan Matthews. That's obviously her husband since they have the same last name."
The man looked at Nathan's poster, and Nathan groaned inwardly. That was foolish, he realized, to give the man a reason to study it. Nathan remained tense, ready to draw at the slightest flash of recognition in the man's eyes. He wouldn't shoot him there, but he'd hold him at gunpoint until he got him a ways out of town. Then he'd watch with great pleasure and no small amount of awe as the fattest gut he'd ever laid eyes on spilled its contents onto the ground.
But the man didn't pay Nathan's poster any mind. Instead, he returned his scrutiny to Elizabeth's photograph. A sneaky expression crossed his face. "I reckon you're right. It's not her. Good day."
The man waddled off abruptly and Nathan stared after him. That was odd. Nathan recognized the man's sneaky expression. He recognized it as the appearance of a man who thought he was about to win something and wasn't prepared to share it. What had the idiot lubber said? The marshal's wife in Porter? Nathan kicked a pebble. Poppycock. Porter was a solid day's journey from Bartow. It probably wasn't worth the trip.
Mounting his weary mare, Nathan yanked the reins to the side and spurred the horse toward the camp he kept with his partner outside of town. After a spell of hard riding, the mare's neck lathered with sweat and she panted. The sun set in the distance, finally allowing some relief from the heat. Nathan viewed smoke behind a knoll and the smell of rabbit meat filled his nostrils. Good. His no-account partner had managed to catch something.
Nathan greeted Tim with a scornful smile. "Finally able to put your muck forks to good use, eh? There'd better be some chuck left on the spit for me."
Tim grunted in lieu of speaking to him. The relationship between the two partners began as something resembling friendship, though neither knew the true meaning of the word, but disintegrated into a reluctant acquaintance that kept both with one eye open in the night. They'd started off as a foursome, but Tim slit the throat of one of their gang members, and Nathan shot the other between the eyes.
The motive for the murders was money. Originally the four of them planned to evenly split the money from the bank robbery in Dallas, which would have made each of them $25,000 richer. As the days passed, however, Nathan and Tim came to the agreement that the two of them deserved more than the others. Tim and Nathan risked their lives to rob the bank. The other two men merely provided the supplies and set up their camp. The partners agreed to kill the other two gang members so they could each keep $50,000. The killings went down without a hitch.
The killings, however, were for naught. Nearly apprehended a few days later while traveling west, Nathan and Tim escaped with nothing but their hides and their horses. A posse managed to recover the stolen money and ride it to safety before resuming the search for the outlaws. With the money successfully recovered, the sheriff ordered a reprint of Nathan's and Tim's wanted posters, editing them from "wanted alive" to "wanted dead or alive."
A problem formed as a result of Tim and Nathan's murders of their fellow outlaws. Their ease in committing murder made each man perfectly aware that one might kill the other to keep all the swag of any future heists. That was the downside of being a murdering thief. You couldn't damn well trust anyone bad enough to keep your own company. Still, it was unlikely either would murder the other just yet. They needed each other to rob the bank in Bartow. Then, if all worked out, the two would part ways rich enough. Nathan would capture his wife and drag her somewhere far away, where the arm of the law didn't extend.
Nathan used his sharp teeth to tear the rabbit's meat from its bones. He thought about what the mammoth-sized meddler said about Elizabeth's photograph and decided he might as well make the journey to Porter. He wanted to get an eyeful of the marshal's wife. Although he felt certain it was a fool's errand, it would be amusing if nothing else to see a woman who resembled his rib-on-the-run.
Chapter 8 - He Knows
Grover walked home after a long day and breathed a sigh of relief when he saw Missy in the kitchen stirring a pot of stew. He felt relieved every evening upon seeing her, though it was unlikely she'd be discovered by bounty hunters or her first husband. He'd instructed her to stay at home while he worked and not wander the streets unescorted.
It bothered him that it wasn't safe for her to move about the town at will. In that way, their house became her prison. At any time, visitors who had seen her wanted poster in a different town might ride into Porter. A sharp person would recognize her, though she had taken efforts to disguise herself. She wore her hair half down, half in braids in a wreath around her head, unlike in her photograph, which showed her wearing a loose bun. Whenever they walked around town together and saw newcomers riding by, she pulled the tip of her hat down over her face to shadow as much of it as possible. Grover was glad that the picture on the wanted sign was blurry. That worked in their favor.
Of course, word spread that the marshal had gotten himself hitched. Curious townsfolk stopped by in the evenings to introduce themselves. Missy was shy, but she greeted everyone politely. Eventually she became friends with a few women around town, and the women would sometimes stop by during the day to visit her. Missy declined invitations to visit their houses during the day because Grover didn't want her out and about alone, but Grover and Missy went together to see them in the evenings occasionally. The husbands would drink and smoke, while the wives chatted about whatever it was that women liked to discuss. Grover enjoyed these outings because it allowed him to forget their unique circumstances and feel like any another couple in town.
Conspicuous in his absence, both at his house and at the jail, was Henry. This worried Grover. The shopkeeper often traveled to other towns to pick up supplies to stock his store. Knowing his penchant for meddling, Grover suspected that he stopped by the jailhouses in other towns to observe the wanted posters.
Feeling his worries fade away temporarily upon seeing his beautiful wife's figure in the kitchen, Grover hung his Stetson on the hook next to the door. "Hi, honey," he said. He didn't notice her lack of response.
Removing his revolver from its holster, he opened the cupboard near the front door and placed the gun inside. He unclasped his gun belt and hung it on a hook next to his hat before he noticed his wife staring at him, rigid and white as a sheet. The look in her eyes frightened him. In them he saw sheer terror.
"Sweetheart," he exclaimed, walking to her. "What is it?" He took her stiff little body into his arms, but she didn't relax. She said something against his chest that he didn't hear. "What? Speak up."
"He knows," she whispered.
"Who knows? What does he know?" Grover asked, his voice as loud as hers was soft. He had a very good idea about the answer to both of those questions.
"Henry," she said. "He knows who I am."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes. He stopped by earlier."
"While I was away? Despicable man! I'll have his hide." Grover grabbed her hand and pulled her with him to the sofa. He waited until she sat and then sat next to her. Holding her hands, he said, "Tell me what happened. I need to hear every detail, Missy."
She relayed the events of her afternoon.
# # #
Missy stirred the stew and wiped her forehead with the back of her hand. The heat from the fire and the sunbaked walls around her felt oppressive. She longed to walk outside on the streets and feel something other than the heavy, damp air inside. Every day she felt more like a caged animal. It was the first time she seriously considered going against her husband's order to stay inside. What could it hurt, taking a quick stroll around on her own?
She c
ouldn't work up the courage, though, and she couldn't stand the thought of disappointing Grover. She doubted her rear end would be too happy about it either, were he to hear tell of her disobedience. Although he hadn't punished her since the day he did so twice when he learned of her secrets, she could well remember the feeling of his hard hand during discipline, and it wasn't a feeling she cared to repeat.
She scolded herself for allowing herself to feel even a moment of discomfort over her circumstances. Her new husband risked his job, his freedom, perhaps even his very life to protect her, and here she stood bellyaching about the heat and having to stay home in a safe, mostly comfortable house. In her happiest daydreams, she imagined a life very much like this, with a good man, a child, and a home to call her own.
Missy heard a knock at the door and her spirits lifted. She wasn't expecting any of her friends to stop by that day, so the knock came as a nice surprise. She dried her hands on her apron, took a quick look in the mirror to make sure she appeared presentable, and walked to the front door. Without looking through the window to see who it was, she turned the handle and swung the door open. There at the step stood shopkeeper Henry Martin.
Her feelings about Henry's presence evolved from surprise to disappointment to annoyance, but she remembered her husband's admonishment about not saying the first words that came to mind. She knew she needed to pretend to like the man even though he left her with a sour taste in her mouth. She determined to make up for their last meeting and do whatever she could to assuage his suspicion of her.
"Howdy, Henry. What brings you here?"
Missy considered inviting him inside, but she didn't like the idea of Henry staying for any length of time without Grover present. The man gave her the creeps. As it so happened, Henry didn't leave her with a choice. Shoving past her, he lumbered into the living room.
"Do come in," Missy said in a dry, flat tone.
Henry surveyed the main room of the house before pinning her with his beady eyes, which seemed tiny and sunken in his swollen face. "Real nice setup you got for yourself here. Must be a far cry from living on the run."
Missy felt a tremor go through her, but it didn't reach her face. "Not sure I get your meaning, Henry. Care for a glass of lemonade?"
"Why not?" He settled on the sofa, which whined under his weight, while Missy found a glass and poured the sweet liquid into it. She handed it to him.
"Thanks, Missy. Or should I call you Elizabeth?"
Missy felt the blood drain from her face, though she didn't move a muscle. She tried to keep the fear from her eyes. "Elizabeth?" she asked, hoping to sound more confused than terrified.
"Don't bother with balderdash, lady. I saw your wanted poster in Bartow. I know you're the wanted lady bank robber. Makes sense. You just showed up out of nowhere with a baby and no man. I knew there was something off with you. What I want to know is, does the marshal know what game you're playing? Is he in on it?"
Missy had a very important decision to make then. The way she figured it, she could only do one of two things—deny that she was Elizabeth Matthews to no avail or admit it and spare her husband. In a flash, she resigned herself to being caught and spending her life in prison.
"Okay, Henry. Yes, I'm Elizabeth Matthews. I expect you'll want to turn me in for the bounty. I'll go willingly, but Grover wasn't a part of this, so leave him out of it. I tricked him."
# # #
Grover jumped to his feet. "You said what?" he roared. "You admitted to being Elizabeth Matthews?"
Missy stood too. "He knew anyway, Grover," she said, her voice pleading with him to understand. "I didn't want you to go down with me."
"I-I can't even believe this," he sputtered. "Of all the foolish, careless, ruinous things you could have said. I thought it was understood you would never admit to being Elizabeth and that your name is Missy now." Grover stalked to the kitchen, placed both palms on the table, and leaned his weight into his arms, appearing to need the table to steady himself.
"I'm sorry, Grover," Missy said, her eyes filling with tears. "But it's better this way."
"Better?" Grover pounded his fist on the table and spun to face her. "Damn it, Missy. Nothing about this is better. You made the worst possible choice by admitting that. Do you really think I'd be better off if you went to prison or hung? I'd rather shoot my dick off and bleed to death."
"I thought I did the right thing. I thought of you. I thought of my daughter. I need you to take care of her, Grover. Henry knows who I am anyway. I'm telling you, he knows."
A tortured groan escaped Grover's throat. "He always thinks he knows! Henry thinks he's seen most every person on the wanted signs. He's been that way for years. If only you would have denied you were Elizabeth, I could have convinced him he was crazy, just like I've done before a hundred times."
Missy felt her spirits sink even lower with the knowledge that she had sealed her fate unnecessarily. "I didn't know that. I thought I did the right thing. I-I also gave him my mother's brooch in exchange for leaving you out of this. He agreed, so at least you don't have to worry about him trying to prove your involvement."
Grover's eyes widened. "You bribed him?" he yelled. "My God," he moaned, putting his hands on his head and shaking it. "This just gets worse and worse. Bribes don't work, Missy. All a bribe does is let someone know you're an easy target for blackmail."
She put her face in her hands. "I did everything wrong."
"I couldn't agree more! You might as well have clamped yourself in irons and instructed the man to take you to Dallas. Maybe packed a few lunches and provided him with a map."
"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." Missy continued to hold her face in her hands, unable to look at him for the foolishness she felt.
She heard her husband pacing the room while she cried in her hands. "Missy, Missy, Missy," he said. After some time, she heard his pacing come to a halt. A moment of silence followed. He said her name again, and she could hear that he faced her and was looking at her when he said it.
"Missy."
His tone was both gentle and stern, a tone she knew well. Like salve caressed over a wound, it brought soothing and ache at the same time. Her face still in her hands, she felt his big arms wrap around her. She melted into his chest and committed to memory the way his comfort felt, knowing that soon it would be nothing more than that.
Grover ran his hand over the top of her head. "What you did shatters me, my love. You know why? Because a criminal, a bad person, someone who deserves to go to jail, wouldn't sacrifice herself for others. You're so good, honey. You're the last person who should be punished by the law, and your good heart and inability to deceive are what's making you fail at this plan. My poor girl. I don't know what to do, but I promise I'll think of something. I'll come up with a new plan, and we'll get through this together. Okay?"
"Okay, Grover," was all Missy could say.
What Missy couldn't bring herself to tell him was that she'd already come up with a plan of her own, a plan she knew he wouldn't like, but one that would ensure both his safety and that of her daughter. He would have to understand and resign himself to her decision. There was no other way.
Chapter 9 - What Fools Do
In the late morning of the next day, Grover paid Henry a visit. Whereas Missy felt inclined to bribe Henry, Grover felt inclined to threaten him, but he didn't indulge in that notion for long. He decided his approach would be to reason with him. Perhaps the shopkeeper possessed a shred of compassion and would come to view Missy as he did—as a victim, not a criminal. As he walked to the shop, he felt sad. He knew it was next to impossible that Henry would be moved, but he had to at least try.
Grover walked in and got right to the point. "Henry, I hear you talked to my wife without my being at the house, and I'm not pleased about it."
In a cowardly move that didn't go unnoticed by Grover, Henry walked behind his counter, using it as a barrier between them. He eyed Grover suspiciously. "I'd think a lawman would be more displeased to disc
over his wife's a bank robber than by a concerned citizen paying her a visit."
Grover plucked a strip of black licorice from the glass jar on the counter and took a bite. He pointed the licorice at the shopkeeper. "Let's get one thing straight, Henry. I knew who I married when I married her. I helped her disguise her identity. She lied to you yesterday about me not knowing."
A look of surprise crossed Henry's face before he grunted. "Seems she's real good at lying. She's a liar, and you're a fool, Marshal."
"That's just the thing, Henry. She's not a good liar. She's terrible at it because she's a good person. That's why I'm here—to try to convince you of that. You're probably right about me being a fool, though. I can see I'm barking at a knot right now."
"She robbed a bank. You think she's a good person? What kind of a marshal are you?"
"I'm a damned fine one," Grover growled. "I protect this town from people like her first husband, who abused her and threatened her into joining him on his bank heist. I'm only a man, I make mistakes, but I've always done my level best to serve the citizens of this town bravely and honorably, and that's always included you, Henry."
"The law's the law, Marshal. You broke it. She broke it. It's as simple as that. You're trying to befuddle things, but I won't be befuddled."
"What do you plan to do with this information, Henry?"
He shifted nervously and averted his gaze. "You think I'm going to tell you? I don't see you as my marshal anymore. You're as bad as any criminal, and my plans are none of your concern."
"If I were as bad as any criminal, you honestly think you'd still be alive? I have a gun in my holster I could draw as quick as you drew your next and final breath. What you know could ruin my wife, take away her freedom, maybe even her life, and yet here I am talking to you man-to-man with no intent on harming you."
Missy Meets the Marshal (Lone Star Love Book 2) Page 7
