Authors: Jo Goodman
They talked casually about the robbery as if she weren't there, or worse, as if her presence were of no account. It was an insult to her and an insult to the men who had died because of their profession. Michael made herself remember that—five colleagues had died simply because they were newspapermen. She owed them something. Her story, her account of the robbery, would be the best revenge. She didn't have to live to tell it in the
Chronicle,
she had to live to tell it in the court.
Knowing that kept her quiet and alert. If Ethan or any of the others wondered at her uncharacteristic silence, they never commented on it.
Michael shared Ethan's mount and the fit was uncomfortably tight. Every time she moved she was aware of him, aware of the hard wall of his chest, aware of the supporting cradle of his thighs. She tried not to move. She tried not to think of the way she had clung to him during the night.
The morning grew warmer, making the impending storm more threatening. Michael still wore the jeans Ethan had given her. Her skirt had been as stiff as Ethan warned. Her shoes wouldn't fit over the heavy socks so she carried them in her lap and clutched them because she was sometimes afraid she would clutch Ethan. He wasn't her ally, she reminded herself, no matter that he had made it his business to save her life.
The sky seemed to press against the mountain peaks. The clouds were heavy and thick and gray. The flakes that fell were a complete contrast, light, airy, and white. They drifted steadily to the ground, spaced widely apart, so that it seemed they fell around her but not on her. Yet when she looked at the blanket covering her shoulders there was a fine dusting of snow in the creases.
A bald eagle, disturbed by the passage of the men, horses, and mules, dove from its nest of sticks in a timber pine and made a threatening, elegant pass over their heads then dropped lower and skimmed the surface of a briskly moving stream for fish.
"How much you figure's in those bags agin, Ben?" Happy asked his brother.
"Sixty thousand if there's a penny."
"Damn," Happy said, grinning. "I like hearin' that."
"You must," Jake said, rolling his eyes. "That's at least the fourth time you've made Ben repeat it. There's none of it that's going to get up and walk away."
Happy's lower lip was distended from a wad of tobacco. He spit in the snow. "Hope not," he said. "Hate to think Obie and me stopped a perfectly good poker game for nothin'."
In his arms Ethan felt Michael stiffen. The bruise on her jaw seemed to darken as the rest of her pale face went ashen. "What are you talking about, Happy? What poker game?"
"When me and Obie interrupted the reporters, they were in the middle of a game. Looked like they was enjoyin' themselves, too. 'Course we took the pot and that kinda made 'em mad. Threatened to do a story about the robbery. You know Houston ain't in it for the glory."
As if there was any glory associated with what they had wrought. Michael wanted to scream. Instead she bit her lip until she tasted blood and tears came to her eyes.
"So you took it on yourself to get rid of them," Ethan said, not bothering to hide his disgust.
"You have a problem with that?" Happy asked, spitting to punctuate his question. "Seems I recall you offering to take that other fellow out yourself. Obie says you dispatched him without much fanfare."
Michael waited to see how Ethan would defend himself.
"I acted on Houston's orders," he said. "You acted on your own. Anyway, you know I was anxious to get away from first class because of Michael."
"So you shot her fiancé." He chuckled. "That's a good one."
Houston pulled up his mount sharply and called over his shoulder. "Enough! I don't need to hear a rehash of last night. What's done's done. It's not the first time any of us has killed."
But this time was supposed to be different, Ethan thought. Or what was he here for? He said nothing.
"Please," Michael said softly, her voice expressing urgency as she reached for Ethan's wrist and held on tightly. "I think I'm going to be sick." She started to wriggle out of the saddle even before Ethan had stopped. Her hand came up in a reflex action to cover her mouth. The small choking sound she made was muffled. "Let me down."
Ethan steadied her as she slid from the saddle. Although he dismounted quickly, Michael was already running for the privacy of some pines. He gave her a moment, waiting for the painful, retching sounds to end before approaching. "Better?"
His question incensed her. As he reached out to touch her Michael slapped his arm away. "Don't put your hands on me. I can't bear the thought of you touching me. What do you think made me sick? You and the others talk about killing as if those lives were of no account." She barely got the words out before she was sick again. "Get out of here," she moaned softly, turning her back on Ethan.
He didn't move. When he was certain she had emptied her stomach he offered her a handful of snow. "Take some of this," he said, unconcerned by her rebuff. "Rinse your mouth out."
Michael ignored him. A small tremor shook her body as she bent and scooped some clean snow herself.
"Jesus, lady," Ethan sighed. "Do you think I really care whether you take the damn snow from me or not? I'm surprised you saw the merit of my suggestion." He turned his palm over and let the snow fall back to the ground. "I never met a woman so purely stubborn as you." That said, Ethan turned on his heel and went back to his horse. He waved the others on when they looked at him questioningly. "We'll catch up in a few minutes," he told them, mounting. "Michael needs a little more time."
Happy rolled his eyes and shook his head slowly from side to side. He spit. "You ask her if she's pregnant?"
"She not pregnant," Ethan snapped.
"Didn't know it would make you so touchy," Happy said, grinning and shying away from Ethan with exaggerated movements. "Guess I'll take myself off." Under his breath he added, "But she
was
goin' to marry that reporter fellow."
Houston interjected, "That's enough, Happy. Move on. Obie. Ben. Jake. You all do the same." When he and Ethan were alone he glanced in Michael's direction with his cold black eyes. "I suppose the talk upset her."
Ethan shrugged as if it were unimportant. "Lots of things upset her."
"Why did you leave?"
It took Ethan a moment to realize Houston was asking about his fictional marriage. "I wasn't as ready as I thought I was to be settled," he said.
Houston looked at Ethan thoughtfully, measuring his response, then he nodded. His eyes strayed to Michael again. She was leaning against the trunk of a pine, her back turned to them. Occasionally she would raise one hand and brush at her cheek. He knew she was crying. "I wish you hadn't had to bring her along," he said.
"Hell, Houston, do you think it's what I wanted? Once I realized she was on the train I did everything I could to avoid her."
"She's trouble."
"I'm not denying it."
"We can't let her go."
"I know that."
Houston nodded again. "Good," he said finally. "Try to keep her in line, Stone." He kicked his horse and rode off to catch up with the others.
Ethan glanced over his shoulder. Michael was approaching. "He says I'm supposed to keep you in line."
Michael raised her arms for Ethan's assistance to mount.
He helped her up and when she was settled he repeated Houston's statement. She made no reply and her silence annoyed him. "He won't ask me to kill you," Ethan told her. "He'll ask one of the others or do it himself. Keep that in mind."
Michael's response was quiet and firm. "I don't know that I'll enjoy your hanging, but I
will
be there."
* * *
Snow fell steadily as they rode on. At noon they stopped for hot coffee and cold jerky. Michael chose to eat outside the circle gathered around the small fire. No one asked her to join them or inquired if she was cold. The only time she elicited a response from them was when she needed privacy to relieve herself and began to walk out of their sight. The hot blush covering her face was all the answer they needed when Ben asked her where she was going.
Houston took advantage of her disappearance to discuss how they would handle her presence as they rode into town. "Any of you given it any thought?"
"I'm keeping her with me at Dee's," Ethan said. "I can't let her out of my sight much. If I absolutely have to, I can lock her in."
"You gonna tell folks she's your wife?" Ben asked.
Ethan shook his head. "I don't want a lot of questions. Too hard to explain how I met up with a wife no one knew I had. Detra can know. That's all."
Obie lifted his hat, smoothed back the crown of his thick hair, then lowered his hat again. "I don't know, Ethan. Who you gonna say she is? And how did we come across her?"
"Look," Ethan said lowly. "No one's going to associate her with the train robbery. Obie and I made it look like we killed her. The emigrants in the rear car witnessed it. There'll be a search for the body, but when nothing turns up they're going to think animals got it, not that we have her. If we return to town with a woman, don't you think most folks are going to assume we brought her in for Dee?" His blue-gray eyes focused on each member of the circle in turn. "That's what we tell them then. Michael's one of Dee's girls."
Everyone except Houston chuckled. He was thoughtful. "And what are you going to do when someone wants their turn with her?" he asked.
Ethan didn't hesitate. "She's mine," he said.
"That's not how Dee usually likes to do things," Obie said. "Folks might begin to wonder."
"Dee's customers will just have to get used to it. Michael's not available to anyone until I'm tired of her."
Happy poked his half-brother in ribs. "Whaddya think, Ben? About another twenty-four hours and he'll be passin' her around?"
Except for blinking Ethan didn't move. It was his very stillness that brought Happy McAllister up short.
"Didn't mean nothin' by it," Happy said, glancing at Ethan's gun. He went on defensively. "You're the one what can't seem to figure whether to kiss or kill her. When you make up your mind let the rest of us know." He stood and tossed the dregs of his coffee on the fire. It sputtered and snapped. He stomped off to take care of his horse.
"Happy's got a point," Houston said, breaking the uneasy silence. "It's probably in everyone's best interest for you to decide what you're doing with Michael."
The men moved off one by one, leaving Ethan alone by the fire. "She's mine," he whispered, when no one could hear. He put out the flames with a handful of snow. "Mine."
* * *
Michael said nothing as they started their journey but Ethan had his suspicions. "How much did you hear?" he asked.
She didn't pretend not to understand. "Enough."
"Somehow I doubt that. Don't you have any questions?"
One of his hands held the reins, the other rested lightly against her waist, tightening only when the terrain demanded they shift their weight. Michael thought that one of things she hated most was the fact that she was becoming accustomed to the feel and closeness of him. He turned her away from the wind, adjusted the blanket around her shoulders and ears, and without seeming to think about it at all, would occasionally brush snowflakes from her cheeks and forehead. "I didn't think you'd answer my questions," she said.
"Depends on what they are."
"Is Detra a madam?"
"Saloon keeper."
"Then if I'm going to be one of her... her girls..." Michael folded her arms across her stomach, suppressing the uneasy churning. "That means that I won't be expected to... to—"
"I'm not letting you loose with the customers, no. Not the way you mean. I don't trust you that much."
It was about trust, Michael thought, not about protection or what was decent. "I see," she said slowly.
"Somehow I doubt that, too."
Michael didn't ask any more questions. Instead she closed her eyes and pretended to sleep. Gradually it became a fact.
* * *
The posted sign at the edge of Madison listed the population as "700 give or take a few." Except when it came to mining, preciseness did not much concern the town. Fifteen years earlier the population had swelled to 2500 with the discovery of silver. Many of the mines had tapped out quickly, others held their treasure too deeply to be excavated without special equipment which simply didn't exist at the time. Although men by the dozens drifted away from Madison to seek their fortunes elsewhere, their desertion had little effect on the heart of the town. Far from ever being a boomtown, Madison's central growth had been slow and cautious. When miners left they carried their canvas homes on the backs of their mules. People who built homes stayed.
Madison's main street was a wide muddy track in the spring, a frozen, rutted thoroughfare in the fall and winter. The stores were embellished with impressive false fronts and porches that stretched the width of the buildings. There was a feed store and mercantile, a barber shop, boarding house and eatery, a jail, three saloons, a dressmaker's, a livery, and a bank. The lone church was situated at the far end of town, isolated from the stores and gambling halls. During the week it was used as a school house, the minister's wife was also the teacher. Children from the two streets on either side of the town center often met at the penny candy counter in Tweedy's Mercantile and Hardware before setting off together.