Just This Once (8 page)

“Matter of fact, there is.” Ethan was
already weaving his way down the alley, dragging Josie with him. He
scooped up the valise on his way, but never slowed.

“Tell me where I can find a justice of the
peace.”

* * *

The groom wore a sneer. The bride wore
pants. The justice of the peace, half awake and with his boots,
trousers, shirt, and waistcoat pulled on hastily over his
nightshirt, mumbled his way through the vows, while his wife, the
witness, at the last minute whisked a handful of faded daisies from
a vase on the whatnot shelf and thrust them into Josie’s hand as a
makeshift bouquet.

Josie peered dazedly at the wilted flowers,
then at the flabby jowls of James Ezekiel Collins, the justice of
the peace. His words droned in her ear. She felt as if she were
floating in some dim and disturbing dream. The little parlor felt
very warm and close after the chill breeze of the night. There were
doilies on every crowded surface, atop the piano and the tables.
Fussy fringed pillows were mounded on the sofa, the heavily
patterned wallpaper was barely discernible for all the silver and
gilt-framed watercolors displayed upon it, and the occasional
tables, dresser, mantel, and whatnot held dried flower arrangements
and little carved animals and collections of china plates.

She felt as if she were being smothered by
all this furniture, all this warmth and closeness, even by the odor
of the fried chicken and onions that Mrs. Collins had apparently
cooked for dinner and that still lingered in every dark, crowded
corner of the parlor. She couldn’t breathe.

There was only one consolation. A judge’s
house was the last place Snake would come looking for her—if he was
looking at all. She was safe for the moment.

Golden lamplight reflected upon the hard
planes of her new groom’s face. His eyes were beginning to lose
their overbright luster now, and the liquor was slackening his
muscles, but there was still about him an air of dark, reckless
energy even more intense than what she’d glimpsed this afternoon.
Of course, he hadn’t been drunk this afternoon. He hadn’t had
bruises on his face, or blood on his vest—and he hadn’t been
possessed by this driven fury. He’d been angry, true, but not like
this. Nothing like this.

Josie was already plotting her getaway. He’d
pass out soon, surely, and she could run off. Why should she keep
her vows to a man who’d forced her into this marriage, no less than
Snake had forced her into the other one?

At least she was legally married to Snake.
This man didn’t have a clue that the ceremony being conducted for
his benefit was nothing but a useless farce.

The moment he falls asleep, I’ll make a dash
for it.

But suddenly Justice Collins’s droning
voice—asking her if she took this man to be her husband—was
interrupted by a furious knocking at the door. As Josie’s heart
thundered in her chest, Mrs. Collins admitted a harried-looking
little man with a swollen red bruise on his jaw.

“No one invited you,” the bridegroom
snarled.

“Trust me, my lord, you don’t wish to go
through with this.”

“The hell I don’t. You said I needed a wife.
I’m gettin’ me one.” Ethan spun back toward the justice, his
expression grim. “Go on, get it over with.”

Poor Justice Collins threw a glance of
horror and dismay first at Josie, pale and disheveled in her
flannel shirt and jeans, and then at the tall angry man beside her.
Josie almost felt sorry for him, he looked so confused.

“You sure you want to go through with this,
little lady?”

“I do.”

“There. She said it, we’re done.” Ethan
seized his bride by the arm and started toward the door.

“Sir, you haven’t taken your vows yet!” the
justice exclaimed.

Ethan froze. He turned back, scowling.
“Haven’t I?” He searched his memory. “Well, then, what the hell are
you waiting for? Hurry up or I’ll start shooting at your feet, you
old windbag.”

The wife gave a screech of terror, and Ethan
threw her a cool glance. “Sorry, ma’am. Don’t normally cuss in
front of a lady.”

Josie swore the smile he gave her would have
melted coal. Mrs. Collins sank down in a chair as if her legs had
been knocked out from under her.

“Do continue, James,” she croaked out.

“My lord.” The little Englishman could
contain himself no longer. “You are making a grievous—”

In less than the blink of an eye, Ethan drew
his Colt .45 and pointed it straight at the balding little man.
“One more word out of you, Latherby, and it’ll be your last.
Savvy?”

Swallowing hard, the Englishman nodded.

Ethan holstered the gun and nodded to the
justice, whose face was now sheened with sweat.

“Uh, do you sir, s-solemnly take this
woman—what’s your name again, miss?”

“Josie. Josephine Cooper.”

“Josephine Cooper, to be your lawfully
wedded wife, to have and to hold, in sickness and in health, for
better or for worse, till death do you part?”

Ethan shrugged. “That’s what I’m here for,
isn’t it?”

“Sir!”

“I sure as hell do,” he muttered.
“Satisfied, now? Okay, lady, let’s go.”

“The ring, sir! You didn’t place the ring on
her finger.”

Ethan stared blearily down at the ring he
wore on his own hand. The one memento he’d kept of his past. He’d
never been sure why. It had once belonged to his grandfather, whom
he dimly remembered as a kindly old gentleman with very sharp blue
eyes who had once given Ethan a puppy. And when his grandfather had
died, he’d left Ethan this ring, a heavy gold signet ring,
emblazoned with a square, glittering emerald.

“The ring, sir... you must put the ring upon
her finger.”

“Not this ring,” he said roughly, glowering
into the pale, drawn face of the thief. He rounded on the
Englishman. “Latherby, you wearing a ring? Take it off.”

The Englishman opened his mouth to speak,
took one look at Ethan Savage’s fierce features, and clamped his
lips together. He slipped his own gold ring off his finger and
handed it over.

Grimly, Ethan slid it onto the girl’s much
narrower finger.

“I now pronounce you man and wife. You may
k-kiss the bride,” the justice murmured doubtfully.

“I don’t think...” Josie started to back
away, bumped into a chair, began to tumble down with it, but
Ethan’s strong arm grasped her and yanked her upright, then jerked
her hard against his chest.

“It’s gotta be official,” he muttered
against her lips, half to himself, and then his mouth closed upon
hers.

She shut her eyes, horrified, praying the
kiss would be short and peremptory. Surely with all these people
watching...

But the presence of others didn’t seem to
bother her new bridegroom. His mouth claimed hers with the same
arrogant force he’d displayed ever since she’d dropped into his
arms from the overhang less than an hour ago. It was a hard kiss,
hungry and devouring and strangely enthralling. It tasted of anger
and mockery and raw physical need. His imperative mouth captured
and held hers for what seemed an eternity. An eternity in which
Josie forgot to struggle or try to push him away.

The last man to kiss her had been Snake.
Snake, with his handsome, leering face, his wheat-blond beard
scratching the flesh of her neck, his greedy hands ripping her
dress.

The terrifying memory made her stiffen
instinctively. Her new husband, somehow sensing her resistance
despite his inebriated state, lifted his head and stared mockingly
into her widened eyes.

“That’ll do for now.” He no longer sounded
drunk. He sounded tired, drained. And very grim.

He pushed her away. “Latherby.”

“Sir.” The Englishman stepped forward, his
head tilted to one side as he awaited further instructions.

“Keep an eye on my precious bride. Don’t let
her out of your sight.” His voice had thickened, and Josie saw with
a glimmer of hope that his face now looked weary and ashen. His
lack of sleep was taking its toll. Her opportunity was coming.

“Reckon I’d best... get some shut-eye.”

“Shut-eye?” the solicitor repeated blankly,
but even as he spoke, Ethan slid to the floor, his head thumping
against the leg of the sofa.

Josie, who’d tried to catch him and missed,
now stared down at his prone form in dazed horror. Blood streamed
from the reopened cut on his temple.

“Hell and damnation!” Justice Collins cried
in a harried tone. “Now what the hell are we going to do?”

“Don’t disturb yourself,” Latherby said
quickly, even as Josie knelt down beside the fallen man. “I’ll
manage everything.”

“But Mr. Savage is bleeding all over my
wife’s new rug.”

“Dear me!” Mrs. Collins shrieked.

“Get me a towel,” Josie ordered, not
glancing up. Her fingers tore at the collar of Ethan’s shirt,
loosening it.

Concern and rising fear had replaced her
hope of only moments before. All thoughts of fleeing had
temporarily vanished.

The gunslinger’s skin was ashen beneath its
normal bronze, his breathing very shallow. Blood poured from the
gash.

“Hurry!” she breathed. “Hurry with that
towel.”

Then she saw that the others had not moved.
They stood gaping in frozen confusion—even Latherby remained rooted
to the spot.

“For God’s sake, don’t just stand there,”
Josie cried. “He’s reopened his cut, and I must stanch the blood!
Hurry! There’s no time to lose—or do you want to watch him bleed to
death all over Mrs. Collins’s new rug?”

“No!” Latherby shook his head fearfully.
“Good God, no!”

“Then do what I say.” Josie reached up and
tore a lace cloth from the occasional table, heedless of the
knickknacks that went tumbling. She rolled it up and pressed it
firmly against the gunslinger’s cut. “Get me a towel, and a basin
of water, and then fetch a doctor.
Quickly.
”

A
profusion of
summer flowers bloomed across the Missouri countryside as the great
black train thundered along its mammoth swath of iron tracks. With
sunlight dappling the windowpane beside her, Josie leaned back
against the upholstered seat of the first-class train car and
stared unseeingly straight ahead. One finger absently stroked the
frayed cuff of her sleeve—she’d changed this morning back into her
reliable gingham gown—but she was unaware of the gesture. Beside
her was her valise, and within it, still, were her treasures, along
with the scrap of letter that was more precious to her than
gold.

But everything else was different. Her life,
her future... so different than it had been yesterday this time.
Yesterday her only thought had been to scrabble together enough
money to purchase a second-class train ticket east, and eventually
to try to raise enough for passage to England. And to try to stay
two steps ahead of Snake while she did it. Today...

Today she was married to a stranger,
traveling in a luxurious first-class railroad car to New York and
then on to England. She shook her head a little, dazed by how
quickly her circumstances had changed and how, last night, after
that unorthodox marriage ceremony, the efficient little Mr.
Latherby, true to his word, had indeed “managed everything” with
wizard-like skill.

While Josie had stanched the blood of her
unconscious bridegroom’s wound, Mr. Latherby had at last sprung
into action, summoning a doctor in the middle of the night, seeing
Ethan Savage carried upstairs to Justice Collins’s spare bedroom,
ordering everyone about with a clipped authority that brooked no
argument. He’d somehow managed to keep Josie in his sights at all
times, as if worried she would slip away, which she’d been far too
busy to do, and yet he had also arranged, through Mrs. Collins, for
three first-class tickets to New York on the 8:15 a.m. train and
had managed to bundle all three of them aboard without mishap.

Josie had felt only a kind of drained relief
this morning as the train chugged out of the station. There had
been no sign of Snake since that one glimpse in the alley
yesterday, and he hadn’t seen her at all—and now she was headed
east, where he wouldn’t possibly think to look for her.

She ought to be able to relax. But she was
on edge, her nerves frayed by the strangeness of her circumstances,
as well as by the lack of food and sleep, for she’d scarcely had
the time or the inclination for either one. As she sat alone in the
plush red seat of the first-class car, she thought of the man she’d
married last night, and realized that the strongest effects of the
liquor must be wearing off by now. In the cold light of day, just
what must Ethan Savage think of the situation he’d plunged both of
them into?

His words about his father and his reasons
for marrying her made little sense. But Josie sensed that beneath
the handsome gunslinger’s anger and drunken sneering, there had
been pain. Deeply hidden pain, but pain nonetheless.