Liz Ireland (14 page)

She stared at him, stunned. “Oat told you that?”

He nodded curtly.

She licked her lips, appearing almost feverish at having been tangled in her own lie. “All right! I was desperate, so I married Oat, but I couldn’t go through with it. Is that so terribly hard to understand? I realized I had made a terrible mistake and came here to look for my baby’s real father!”

Will shook his head sadly. Mary Ann’s duplicity almost made him lose his faith in women. It was a good thing he had brought Paulie along. She’d had Mary Ann pegged from the start—and she’d been dead right. But Paulie, though she recognized feminine wiles, didn’t seem to know much about using them herself, which was refreshing—and a good antidote to Mary Ann.

“Go back to Possum Trot, Mary Ann.”

She looked even more horrified at that thought than she had at the idea of having conjugal relations with Oat. “I couldn’t go back there!”

“Why not?” he asked. “It would be easier than working for Mrs. Worthington, less humiliating than begging a man to marry you. No one in town will know your baby isn’t Oat’s.”

“Of course they will!”

“How?”

“He told you, didn’t he?” she said. “Who else did he tell?”

Will remembered that Paulie and Trip had also been present when Oat revealed the details of his marriage. “Your secret’s safe,” he assured her.

“I can’t be certain of that,” she said. Her face had turned blotchy, and she rubbed her hands briskly against her arms as she paced in front of Mrs. Worthington’s home. “Besides, I don’t want to go back to Possum Trot. I don’t belong there. Don’t you see, you
must
talk to Oren for me. You must!”

“Calm down,” Will said, grabbing her by the shoulders. The thought of how duplicitously she had acted toward everyone made him almost physically ill, but he still felt a responsibility toward her. The woman had no one to advise her. “I know you’re in a bad spot, but we’ll figure something out.”

“If I can just get my hands on those bonds…” she murmured fervently.

Will decided it was time for plain speaking. “If you don’t mind my saying so, I think you should take a few days to think things through. You’re a widow now, with responsibilities and a child on the way.”

“Of course!” she cried hysterically. “That’s why I need you to talk to Oren!”

Nothing he said seemed to penetrate her pretty, thick head. Finally, he took a deep breath, admitting defeat. He doubted he could handle this woman alone. “Mary Ann,
I’m thinking about sending for your stepfather, Mr. Breen. Maybe if you went back to the farm, visited with your ma, and rested for a few days, things would look different.”

He awaited her reaction, which was amazingly swift—and severe. At the mere mention of the chicken farm, her pacing stopped, the fluttering of her hands came to an abrupt halt, and every particle of her appeared to go still. Her pink cheeks drained to a ghostly white, and right before his eyes, Mary Ann collapsed in a heap of blue onto the well-worn path in front of Mrs. Worthington’s house.

“A
widow!” Maudie exclaimed when she heard Paulie’s stunning revelation about her maid. “I didn’t even know the girl had a husband.”

“Her name’s Mary Ann Murphy.
Mrs.
Murphy,” Paulie said, sitting on the edge of the tester bed in the small room Mrs. Worthington had escorted her into. This chamber, with its wallpaper festooned with bunches of tiny violets, cheery yellow ruffled curtains, and fine carved cherry furniture, including a pretty bureau and a matching standing mirror next to it, was the nicest room Paulie had ever seen. And for the reasonable sum of five dollars, it would be hers for an entire week.

“Why, that sly girl! I took one look at her, and I knew immediately that she was hiding something.” Maudie sighed. “But I confess, I’m a weak one for a sad story, and that girl spun a yarn the likes of which you’ve never heard. All about looking for her long-lost brother. Yes, ma’am, my husband always did tell me I was a soft touch.” She turned back to Paulie, her hands on her hips. “You like the room, hon?”

Paulie blinked. Maudie Worthington looked so solid, and acted so brusque, she couldn’t imagine anyone pinning the
word
soft
on her. She nodded enthusiastically. “Oh, yes. Very much. I don’t believe I’ve ever spent the night in such a fine place.”

The woman’s face bloomed with approval. “I
knew
you would! This was my daughter’s room,” she confided, coming closer. “The first moment I laid eyes on you, you reminded me of her.”

The comparison to the unknown daughter made Paulie swell with hope. If she could remind someone of a girl raised in a roomful of violets, maybe her prospects weren’t so dismal after all. “I did?”

“My Abra had a bit of the tomboy about her,” Mrs. Worthington said. “But she also had your lithe frame. Delicate, but wiry.”

Delicate?
Paulie puffed up a little more, and caught a glimpse of herself in the beautiful mirror. What she saw almost made her gasp in horror. A coating of dust clung to her skin and clothes, and her hair hung limply down her back. She looked puny, not delicate. But maybe that was because the shirt and britches she wore were dirty, and hung on her thin frame like old worn rags.

“Where is your daughter now?” she made bold to ask, praying nothing had befallen her fellow delicate creature.

“She married a farmer in New Braunfels. A German fellow—very hardworking.” She let out a laugh. “But he still has a hard time keeping up with my Abra!”

Suddenly, Paulie felt an intense liking for this woman. What would it have been like to have grown up with such a champion? Paulie’s father had been the most wonderful person she had ever known, and from what she could remember from her early childhood, her mother was a kind, gentle, beautiful woman. But she had to admit, sometimes during her adolescence and older years, she sorely missed having another woman to turn to for advice.

“Your daughter sounds like a fine person,” Paulie said. “I wish there was someone like her in Possum Trot.”

Mrs. Worthington pursed her lips knowingly. “If all you’ve had for company is that Mary Ann character, I can see why!”

“Oh, Mary Ann and I aren’t—” She cut her words short, suddenly remembering that she was supposed to be masquerading as Mary Ann’s friend.

“That girl’s worse than useless. Can’t even play cards.” Maudie’s face scrunched up as she eyed Paulie with renewed interest. “Can you?”

Paulie hesitated. She wasn’t certain whether she should ‘fess up to owning a saloon. Some women had peculiar ideas about what kind of businesses other women should be allowed to run, but she was beginning to sense Maudie wasn’t that way. “I know my way around a deck.”

“Good!” Maudie cried. “I haven’t had a regular partner since my Abra ma—”

The front door banged open below. “Mrs. Worthington!”

It was Will’s voice. The two women ran out to the stairs, which Will rapidly ascended with Mary Ann, unconscious, in his arms.

“Why, what happened to her?” Maudie asked.

Will appeared hesitant to give the reason for Mary Ann’s passing out cold, but he looked into Paulie’s eyes and saw that she had already let the cat out of the bag. “I told her about her husband.”

Maudie harrumphed. “As if an early death couldn’t be expected of any man unlucky enough to hitch his wagon to that creature!”

Paulie just managed to bite back a peal of laughter. What a relief to know there was someone else in the world who
didn’t think Mary Ann Redfern hung the moon and stars both!

Will looked uncomfortable, but Paulie couldn’t tell if it was because he disagreed with Mrs. Worthington or because Mary Ann was heavier than she appeared. “If you could just show me where her room is…”

Maudie jabbed her thumb toward the ceiling. “She’s got the attic room,” she explained, bustling ahead of them and mounting a dark narrow staircase on the right. “She earns two dollars a week, plus bed and board. But considering the amount of work she’s done so far, I’m considering turning the tables on her and having her pay me for waiting on her.”

Just then, Trip ducked his head out of the room Maudie had designated his and Will’s. His eyes rounded to see Mary Ann passed out in Will’s arms. “What the heck…?”

Poor Trip. He always seemed to come in on the confusing tail end of things.

But Paulie herself was too amused—and irritated—by Will’s playing gallant hero to explain the matter to her friend. “Shall we follow our landlady,” she asked Will, who was still standing there with Mary Ann in his arms, “or are you just holding her so tightly because you’re thinking of making a wager with Trip about her weight?”

“Very funny,” he muttered, traipsing up the stairs with his cargo.

A few moments later Will laid Mary Ann out on the small bed in the corner of the tidy but diminutive room, which consisted of little else but the bed, a washstand with a basin, and a small wardrobe. He patted Mary Ann’s cheeks, trying to get her back to consciousness. Seeing that her servant was still out cold, Mrs. Worthington went to the pitcher next to the basin and poured a glass of water.

“Splash some of this on her face,” she said, handing the glass to Will. “Pour the whole jug on her if you have to.”

Paulie was too curious about Mary Ann to keep herself from opening the wardrobe, especially knowing she might never get another opportunity to go through her things. She threw wide the doors and was amazed to discover an array of clothes there—most of which she could recognize as Mary Ann’s from that woman’s trips into Possum Trot.

“Oat was wrong,” she said. “Mary Ann didn’t leave Possum Trot empty-handed.”

Will looked up at the clothes, but didn’t appear the least fazed. “Does it really surprise you to learn Oat didn’t have an eye for women’s clothing?”

Paulie shook her head. “You’d think he’d notice that
something
was missing.”

“Too bad.” Maudie turned slightly so she could angle past Will and get to the wardrobe herself. “Mary Ann will probably be brokenhearted about all these clothes.”

Paulie looked at her questioningly. “What do you mean?”

“Why, the poor lamb will probably hate having to dye all her clothes widow’s black.” She glanced mischievously at Paulie. “I know! Why don’t I do it for her and save her the trouble?”

Before anyone could voice an objection to the plan, Mrs. Worthington swept all the clothes into her arms and trotted quickly to the stairs.

Will shot Paulie a bemused glance. “You could stop her, you know.”

Paulie shrugged. “I know.”

Perhaps sensing the doom that was about to befall her wardrobe, Mary Ann let out a moan and lifted a hand limply to her forehead. Instinctively, Will reached out and touched her cheek.

Paulie moved a few steps closer to the bed, agitated by Will’s attentiveness to Mary Ann. He was so obviously touched by the distraught way she had taken Oat’s death—having forgotten that Oat most likely died from all the troubles his runaway wife had caused him. He probably wouldn’t believe that Mary Ann could be putting on this grief for his benefit. Men had so little imagination!

Mary Ann’s eyes fluttered open, and she looked up at Will, almost as if she couldn’t see him at first. Then, when she did recognize him, her dry lips mouthed his name and her eyes welled with tears. “Oh, Will…” she finally managed. Her voice was weak, but she circled a hand firmly around his neck, like a spider about to spin a cocoon around her prey. “I’m so glad you’re here!”

Will shifted his weight and glanced uncomfortably up at Trip and Paulie. Trip nodded questioningly toward the door, but Paulie wasn’t budging. Two things rooted her to the spot—morbid curiosity and protectiveness. She had to see how eager Will was to crawl into the spider’s web, and she wanted to be there to try to stop him when he climbed on.

“I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’tarrived, Will,” Mary Ann said in her thin, wispy voice. “You’ll help me now, won’t you?”

Will froze, as if he couldn’t quite decide what to say.

Paulie didn’t hesitate, however. “Don’t promise her anything, Will.”

Mary Ann lifted her head woozily. “Is there someone here with us?”

“Just Paulie and Trip,” Will told her.

She tugged him a little closer to her beautiful face and pleaded, “You said you would help me, Will. You promised.”

Paulie rolled her eyes in disgust. If Will had done anything
that stupid, he might be here forever untangling the snarled mess Mary Ann had made of her life. She wondered if any of them would ever see Possum Trot again.

Mary Ann fell back against her pillow, her blond hair spilling spectacularly around her across the starched white linens. “And don’t forget…my father loved you so…”

Will stiffened at the reminder, and suddenly Paulie knew they were lost. That
he
was lost.

“All right, I’ll help you,” he said. But from his tone of voice, Paulie could tell that even he wondered just how much he was bargaining for.

Standing in the doorway of the general store, Will shoved his brand-new loaded Colt revolver into his holster and took a deep breath. For better or worse, he was ready to face Oren Tyler and demand that he do the decent thing by Mary Ann.

He’d given the situation a day, hoping that Mary Ann would calm down. But this morning she was still in bed, claiming to be too distraught to move and certainly too upset to do chores. Paulie had helped Maudie with breakfast, and when he’d left the house the two of them had been huddled around the cleared dining table with a deck of cards. He’d told them he was going for a walk, but they seemed so absorbed in their game he doubted Paulie even heard him. Trip had left directly after breakfast to hunt for a wedding ring good enough for his Tessie and cheap enough for himself.

That left Will to hunt down the gambler by himself, which was just as well. He strode across the patch of wooden sidewalk that the mercantile owner had erected in front of his store, passing up the spot where Oat’s horse was tethered, minus his saddle and blanket, which Will had swapped for the gun. He would have to repay Mary Ann
when he got his hands on some money, but for now he felt safer wandering the streets of San Antonio ready to defend himself. Maybe he would have more luck talking Tyler into matrimony with a gun in his hand, too.

He stopped at the street to let a rickety wagon pass, stirring up a small whirlwind of dust in the cool breeze. At the same moment, he felt the hairs on the back of his head stand on end. All morning he’d had an uneasy feeling he was being followed, and now it quadrupled. A blacksmith’s shop stood on the opposite corner, and Will walked toward it, careful to keep his gait easy as he passed its doors then turned left. After rounding the corner, he stopped and waited, leaning his shoulder against the wall of the building, his arms crossed.

Bootsteps hurried past the entrance of the blacksmith’s, following his own path. A second later, a small body plowed into him. Paulie jumped back, shocked to see him standing there, lying in wait for her.

“Will!” Paulie shoved her hat firmly on her head. She looked up at him as if he were the last man she ever expected to see. “What are you doing here?”

“I told you back at the house that I was taking a walk,” he said, curling his lips into a frown to hide a smile. Paulie really was a very bad actress. “The question I have is, why are you following me?”

She stared at him, wide-eyed. “I’m not following you. Can’t I decide to go out for a stroll, just the same as you?”

“That was a pretty brisk pace for a stroll.”

She shrugged, not budging from her stance. “I never did care for shilly-shallying.”

He pushed away from the wall and gave it to her straight. “I don’t want you coming with me. This is a job for one.”

She eyed him stubbornly. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” she said, lifting her nose a few inches higher.

“You know exactly where I’m headed. And I’m perfectly able to handle this business by myself.”

Her small booted foot stamped impatiently on the ground. “Darn it, if you’re so sure of yourself, what did you go and buy a gun for?”

A grin touched his lips. “You just happened to notice that on your stroll, too?”

Her face heated with a blush that didn’t fail to remind Will of the other times he’d seen her face redden. Back when she was a little kid, when he’d tease her about her freckles, or whenever she lost a poker game, or when he kissed her…

He shook his head, dragging his gaze away from her pouty lips.

“All right,” she admitted heatedly. “I was following you. Is it such a crime to want to help?”

“Help!” he repeated.

She jutted her chin forward. “I
could
help,” she argued. “You’ve never even seen Oren Tyler. I have.”

“How do you know that I’m trying to find him?”

The scowl returned, but somehow, when Paulie scowled, it didn’t seem unappealing. “Just a guess,” she muttered.

He tilted his head. Once Paulie got a notion in that hard noggin of hers, there was no dissuading her from doing exactly as she pleased. The best he could hope for was to negotiate a settlement.

“You can come point out Tyler if you’re so determined,” he agreed reluctantly, “but I don’t want you taking a step into Las Tres Reinas.”