In hindsight, it might have been. “I needed to know my options.”
Pearl sighed. “I can’t fault you for what I taught you. A woman should always know her options, but did you have to go in full view of the town?”
“That might have been a mistake, but—”
“You were angry,” Pearl sighed, finishing the sentence for her. “That temper of yours will be the death of you one day.”
“I remember Pa saying that a time or two.”
“You do?” As always the mention of her father immediately softened Pearl’s demeanor. “I’m glad you remember that.”
“I remember he used to tell you I had spirit.”
“He did.” Pearl’s tone grew wry. “And all it took to bring out that spirit was to tell you no. You were never good with that word.”
Evie shrugged. “It doesn’t fit with my philosophy.” She bit her lip. They didn’t often talk about her father, mostly because it made Pearl sad. Even now, nineteen years after his death, there were tears in her eyes and her arms were wrapped around her torso as if to hug the memories close.
“You loved him very much, didn’t you?”
“Very much.”
“Did he love me?”
“Evie! What kind of question is that?”
“The kind that’s been bothering me for years.”
Shadows haunted Pearl’s eyes. “Every man loves his daughter.”
Which wasn’t the same thing as saying he loved her.
“You’ve been answering me that way for ten years. This time, I’d like the truth.”
“He fell in love with you the day you were born.”
Evie had heard the story a hundred times, how the midwife hadn’t been able to come and it’d just been poor Ed Washington there with his laboring wife. It was a favorite part of the Washington family legend. The romantic part was how Ed had delivered his daughter and taken one look into her blue eyes and fallen in love with his little girl. She remembered the love enough to miss it, but she didn’t remember why it had been taken away. Just that it had left long before her father’s death.
She didn’t want her mother to lie. Didn’t want her to smooth over the truth. “I remember that he didn’t seem to come home much after a while. That he’d look at me and get a funny expression on his face and then walk away.”
Without asking for the hug he’d always demanded before.
Pearl shook her head. “We had a misunderstanding. You got caught up in it, but he loved you.”
The urge to press for the nature of the misunderstanding built like a cough cutting off her air. She wanted to know. She didn’t want to know. “Was it because I was a difficult child?”
Pearl’s mouth opened. Closed. Lines of strain appeared around her eyes as her complexion paled. Fear welled in a black swirl, threatening to take Evie under. Like it had that snowy night so long ago when Uncle Paul had come and given them the news. Her father was dead. He wasn’t coming home ever again. Whatever Pearl was hiding, Evie suddenly knew she didn’t want to hear it.
“Never mind. I think I know the answer to that.”
Pearl caught her hand. “He loved you, Evie. More than anything.”
“There was just a reason he stopped showing it?”
Devastated
,
tortured
,
unsure
—all described Pearl’s expression. Her blue eyes, so much like her own, filled with tears. “Marriage is complicated. Things happen. Sometimes life interferes before there’s time for a resolution.”
Such as how a father felt about his child.
Pearl licked her lips. “You’ll find that out for yourself.”
“I suppose I will.” Or the knowledge would go the way her father’s love had gone. Somewhere else, with no explanation other than she had to have done something, because for sure, Ed Washington hadn’t stopped loving her mother. Evie remembered that, too.
It took a few seconds, but Evie mustered a small smile. Her father was dead. Her mother wasn’t, and it was way past time for a change of subject. “Before I learn that, there’s something else I need to figure out.”
Her mother, her indomitable mother, actually took a step back.
She forced her smile bigger, hurting for her mother, hurting for the secret they couldn’t share, longing for the rapport they’d just left, wanting it back. “What in the world am I going to feed Brad for lunch?”
Two heartbeats later, Pearl relaxed into the safety of the subject. “Well, one thing is for sure, you’re not going to cook, because if you do, the next one to be visiting the lawyer will be Brad, and likely he’ll get whatever he wants.”
“My cooking’s not that bad.”
“Fool yourself about a lot of things, honey, but don’t kid yourself there. The man could likely get a divorce based on your stew alone.”
She would bring that up. “People burn meals all the time.”
“But they don’t wrap them up in a ribboned basket and bring them to a box social.”
“You told me to show up, and not to come empty-handed.”
Pearl rolled her eyes. “Don’t try that on me, young lady. You wanted to drive off Peter Simmons.”
“He was a pest and a pig.”
“So we all figured when he came charging out of the woods wearing that blackened mess.”
He’d not only run out of the woods; he’d run screaming she’d tried to poison him. Peter Simmons’s continual rantings over the next few months that only through the grace of God and a spilled pot had he avoided death had kept the gossip mill churning. Evie folded her arms across her chest. The Simmonses were not the brightest pigs in the poke. Neither were the townsfolk if they believed those claims. She was an intelligent woman. If she’d wanted to kill him, she would have been a lot more efficient. “He also tried to take liberties.”
“Which is why your uncle had a talk with him, but since we don’t want your husband thinking you’re trying to poison him, too, a few of my friends have agreed to . . . support you for the first few weeks.”
At last some good news.
“I’d do it all,” Pearl continued, “but you know I’m leaving next week.”
Her mother’s yearly buying trips back East for fabric and supplies were planned far in advance and carefully scheduled for good weather.
“Uncle Paul’s still going with you?”
“Of course. I couldn’t travel all that way alone. It would be too dangerous.”
“Very. And thank you for arranging for me to have help.”
Evie would put up with anything if she didn’t have to cook. Even her mother’s friends poking their noses into her business.
Tugging her gloves up on her wrist, Pearl nodded, sending the fake bluebird on her hat bobbing. “Only for the first few weeks though.”
“A few weeks would be wonderful—”
“During which time,” Pearl continued, cutting her enthusiasm off, “you will help Millicent over at her restaurant and learn to cook properly. “By the time I get back from my buying trip, you’ll be competent in the kitchen.”
Considering how bad Evie was at cooking, competent was probably optimistic. “I will?”
Pearl gave her that hard look that brooked no resistance. “You will. The Reverend’s a good man. A good preacher. We can’t afford to lose him.”
They expected her to move into that huge mausoleum of a parsonage today and just become the perfect wife? “So keeping him here is all on me?”
Pearl turned and adjusted her hat before heading toward the door. “You married him.”
Evie couldn’t resist retorting. “Not by choice.”
With a wave of her fingers, Pearl got in the last word. “Doesn’t make him any less yours.”
She guessed it didn’t. And surprisingly, while the thought of living in the parsonage was going to take some getting used to, she kind of liked the thought of owning Brad.
BRAD ENTERED THE saloon, blinking against the sudden dimness after the morning sunshine. He couldn’t count the number of times he’d made the same transition. Couldn’t count how many times the stench of stale beer and smoke had wrapped around him, drawn him in with the promise of forgetfulness. He needed it today. Pushing his hat back, he surveyed the near-empty interior.
“Morning, Rev.”
The greeting came from the rear of the saloon. Squinting through the dimness of the interior, Brad saw Cougar sitting, back against the wall, watching the door. In front of him sat a bottle and a series of shot glasses neatly arranged.
“Morning, Cougar.”
Nodding to Mark, the bartender, Brad wandered over, the hollow thud of his footsteps as he crossed the uneven floor settling the chaos inside him. Sometimes a man had to get back to what was familiar to keep perspective. Cougar kicked out a chair with his foot. “Have a seat.”
A quick glance told Brad that Cougar had been here for a bit. The whiskey bottle was only half full and all the glasses were used.
“Must be a hell of a day for you to be drinking before noon.”
Had to be a hell of a day anyway. Cougar wasn’t a man to indulge often or much. He valued control too much. Cougar didn’t straighten, just took another pull on his whiskey.
“Pretty much over, as far as I’m concerned.”
He poured whiskey into one of the empty glasses and shoved it toward Brad. “Seeing as you’re here before lunch, yours can’t be going much better.”
Brad spun the chair around and straddled it. “You could say that.”
“Heard tell your wife went to the lawyer.”
“Her impulses lean toward provoking.”
Cougar still didn’t look up. “How provoking?”
“Enough.”
At that, Cougar looked up, his expression guarded. “You hurt her?”
“Maybe her pride.” Tossing back his whiskey Brad asked, “How ’bout you?”
“I did hurt her.”
He had to be talking about Mara, which left only one response: “Bullshit.”
Cougar drained the last of his glass. “Now, is that any way for a preacher to talk?”
“Some situations call for the plain facts.”
“Uh-huh.” The glass clicked on the table. “Mark, I’m running out of glasses.”
“And I’m sick of cleaning them. Reuse what you’ve got.”
Cougar reached down and pulled the big knife out of his belt. The one that had earned him the nickname Gut’m McKinnely. He set it on the table. “Now, that is a shame.”
A soft curse from Mark. “More glasses coming up.”
Brad eyed the knife and what he could see of Cougar’s expression under the brim of his hat. It wasn’t like Cougar to threaten pointlessly.
“I don’t think you need another glass.”
“Mind your own damn business.”
Light swung into the dim interior with the opening of the door. Backlit from the sun, the only clues to the newcomer’s identity were the shocks of hair standing up on top of his head.
“Morning, Doc,” Brad called.
Doc strolled over. The shadows faded, revealing his exasperation as he got closer. “Thought I’d find you two here.”
Cougar grabbed the bottle. “Mara tattle?”
“You know darn well that woman wouldn’t say a word against you.” He looked at the near-empty bottle. “Mark, bring us over another.”
“You’re drinking, too?”
“Might as well. Doesn’t look like the day’s going to get any better.” Doc dragged a chair from another table. He gave Brad his attention. “Heard tell you made a fool of yourself on your wedding night.”
“Not hardly.”
“That’s not what I heard this morning.”
Brad rolled his eyes. There really was no getting around everyone knowing your business in a small town. “She’ll get over it.”
Cougar rumbled. “Or else you’ll find your bags packed and sitting in the street.”
The thought of Evie leaving him sent a dark mood swinging over Brad’s complacency. He took a drink, letting the burn feed his discontent. “That’s not going to happen.”
“Might be possible, if Pearl gets her teeth into the subject,” Doc interjected.
“Why the hell would Pearl want that?”
“Pearl isn’t the complacent sort, any more than Evie,” Doc explained. “She’s just a bit more devious about making her point.”
“What does that mean?” Brad growled.
“I think it means you’d better have another drink.”
“So should you.”
Cougar poured the alcohol. “Why?”
“I just got done dropping Dorothy off at your place.”
Which explained Doc’s bad mood. Dorothy refused to ride a horse and Doc hated to ride in the wagon. Claimed it shook his bones up.
“What kind of mood is Dorothy in?”
“Well, she’s madder than a wet hen at you for upsetting Mara, and pleased as punch she’s going to have a baby to spoil.”
Cougar shook his head and tossed back the last of his drink.
Mark put another bottle on the table, along with a tray of glasses. “Congratulations, Cougar.”
Cougar took the bottle out of his hand and flipped a glass over. Despite the amount of liquor he must have consumed, the glass landed precisely where he wanted it and his speech was perfectly clear. “I’d rather have my wife.”
Doc held out a glass. “It’s not an either-or thing, son.”
Cougar ignored the request. “You said she wasn’t a good candidate to bear children.”
“I’m just a country doctor, what the hell do I know?”
“Enough to save Mara when she miscarried.”
The truth of that lay heavy in the silence.
Doc grabbed the bottle out of his hand. “Lots of women as small as her have babies without problems.”
“She’s already had a problem.”
With a lift of his grizzled eyebrow, Doc held the bottle over Brad’s near-empty glass. What the hell. Brad nodded. There were worse things a man could do on a Saturday morning. One of them being all but raping his wife in a church where anyone could walk in.
Doc poured the whiskey and then picked up the conversation. “She had a miscarriage, that’s not the same thing.”
“Feels like it to me.”
“I always thought it’d be an outlaw that took me down.” The glance Cougar cast Brad was heavy with irony.