Renegade Bride (32 page)

Mariah's eyes flicked to Creed to find him staring uncomfortably at his feet. "A bath..." she repeated. "Yes, that would be nice."

"Seven o'clock at Sadie's, Creed." Seth slapped him on the shoulder. "Try and make it. I want to hear all about your trip."

"Pretty boring stuff,
oui,
Mariah?" Creed said, meeting her gaze at last. "She can tell you everything you need to know. You two go on. Tell Sadie not to hold dinner for me."

Mariah tried to smile, but her face seemed to crack. Instead, she just watched him ride down the street without her.

* * *

Creed followed Wallace Street past the rows of shops and houses toward Van Buren. The sound of a concertina playing, "Sweet Betsy from Pike" poured out the door of
The Bale of Hay,
a lively house of gambling and drink already crowded with customers.

The streets were alive with miners and the even scruffier pilgrims who worked for a daily wage headed home after working since dawn on their claims, lugging pickaxes and gold pans. The fragrant scents of a bakery drifted on the evening breeze, mingling incongruously with the pungent dried fish and raw meats hanging in the open air stall of a Chinese grocer.

There, amidst all that humanity, Creed had never felt more miserably alone. Walking the horses slowly, he allowed the noise of the crowded street to cushion his raw emotions. He was in no particular hurry to be anywhere, he mused glumly, except maybe to cozy up to some bar and get roaring drunk.

But Seth expected him to come to Sadie's tonight, and it wouldn't help Mariah's cause any to show up soused, looking as wretched as he felt. But he could hardly stomach the thought of trying to swallow dinner while watching Seth and Mariah together.

Hell.

He'd seen it in her eyes. She was scared. She wasn't any more ready to meet Seth there on the street than he was. It was all Creed could do to look Seth straight in the eye.

How could he have let it happen?

How?

Dammit, he hadn't meant for things to go that far with Mariah, but it had all seemed to slip out of his control. He had never felt for a woman what he did for her. She was the most beautiful, independent, argumentative woman he'd ever—

You love her.

He slammed his eyes shut at the unbidden thought. "No," he said aloud.

Admit it, Devereaux. You're in deeper than you ever wanted to be. Just because you're not good enough for her doesn't change the facts. You want her. And not just in your bed. In your life.

"No!" he nearly shouted, causing a miner ahead of him to leap out of Creed's path with an alarmed look.
Hell.

He gave Petunia's reins a yank and scowled. They'd had this discussion in the cabin. He'd never mentioned the word
love,
but then neither had she. They were bound together by the simple fact that they'd survived the harrowing trip down from Fort Benton. He suspected it was gratitude, not love, that Mariah felt for him. It was a natural thing that they should become closer for it. She was young, impressionable, and he'd taken advantage of that. Stolen her most precious gift. For that, he'd never forgive himself.

He'd lost control. Lost the edge that had kept him going these past few years. Now, he was about to lose not only the best friend he'd ever had, but the only woman who'd ever meant anything to him as well.

He wanted to scream, howl at the moon at the injustice of it all. Instead, a quiet desperation stole over his soul. Creed kicked Buck into a trot, glancing at the dozens of new buildings under construction along the muddy street. A blue-smocked Chinese with a black queue dangling beneath his basket hat was putting the finishing touches on the sign above a new cooper shop:

A.K. KNOPF COOPERAGE AND WOODWORKS BARRELS, BUCKETS, COFFINS MADE TO SPECIFICATION—AFFORDABLE PRICES

It was amazing how much a town could change in just the two weeks he'd been gone, he mused. New buildings were being erected at a pace of a hundred a week. Green lumber, cut and freighted into the gulch by ox-team freight wagons, were stacked in strategic piles along the road. The hillsides had long since been stripped of the alder wood which had given the gulch its name, leaving them desolate and barren.

The main thoroughfare spanned five hundred feet of mud and horse dung that looked as if a hog had rooted it up. Older one-room shanties made of logs, mud, and stone lined the avenue like so many toadstools sprouting out of the fertile Montana soil.

A wagon rolled by in the mud, loaded with a lonely coffin, bound for Cemetery Hill. The driver played a soulful mouth harp in lieu of a funeral procession. The dead man apparently had few friends.

Creed watched it pass, wondering if that was the way he would end someday, then he pulled to a stop at Denton's Livery. Dismounting, he tied the two horses to the hitching post outside the wide double doors. The fragrance of ripe horseflesh and clean straw drifted to him as he pulled open the set-in door.

"Well, if it ain't Creed Devereaux." The middle-aged Missourian in worn overalls glanced up from the gelding's hoof he was doctoring and grinned. "I see you ain't got yerself kilt... yet."

One corner of Creed's mouth turned up. "Disappointed, Hasty?"

Hasty Denton dropped the horse's hoof with a thud and brushed his weathered hands against his denims. "Well now, that's a downright ungenerous remark comin' from a man who wants me to look after his hoss." He slapped the mare on the withers and sent Creed a wicked grin. "Less'n you got me writ up in yer will."

"I'll be sure to remember to take care of that," Creed allowed, extending his hand. "I have a couple of horses to board this time. You have the room?"

"Reckon as how I do. I thought you was up Fort Benton-way pickin' up Travers' sweetheart."

Creed plucked a stalk of hay from a manger and stuck it between his teeth. "That seems to be common knowledge around here."

"Travers is a popular feller. I reckon some folks didn't think you had that kinda kindness in ya, pard."

"Maybe I don't," Creed mumbled in reply.

Hasty harumphed. "Anyway, Travers, he was in a real tizzy about you two after hearin' what happened at the stage stop."

Creed's brows drew into a frown. "You mean about the stage robbery?"

"Nah. About John Lochrie an' his wife."

Creed's body went rigid. "What about them?"

"Dead. You didn't know? Dead as doornails, them and their help."

Creed felt as if he'd taken a physical blow to the gut and he struggled for air.
John and Hattie, murdered? Le bon Dieu.
It didn't seem possible. Then his mind raced to yet a more horrifying thought.
Mariah...
if she'd stayed there like he told her...

"Yeah," Hasty went on, "they was kilt by some somvabitches who, ah... took turns with the woman a'fore they strangled her." Hasty shook his head and his lips drew into a grim white line. "It were downright indecent what they done. Kilt them some driver who'd been shot once before, too, who was layin' abed in their house." Hasty shook his head in disgust.

Creed braced one hand on the splintery wood of the stall and rubbed his temple with his fingertips. "When? When did it happen?"

"Oh, week or so since they died... it appeared."

Just about the time Pierre would have started after me.
A sick feeling rose in his throat.

"Got the sad word when the A.J. Oliver coach finally come in yestiddy evenin'. Real shame. Nice folks they was, too. Bought some hosses from me a while back."

Damn LaRousse. Damn him to hell!
He slammed his hand against a thick wooden beam. He'd find that son of a bitch and kill him if it was the last thing he did!

Hasty frowned and reached up to untether the horse's lead from the wall. He clucked to the mare, who ambled down the wide corridor to her stall. "The Lochries personal friends o' yourn, was they?"

Creed stared sightlessly at the rough grain of the barn wood, his jaw working. "You could say that."

"You know who done it, don't ya?"

"I've got a damn good idea." He raked a hand through his hair, started to turn away, then remembering his initial purpose, turned back. "Hasty, my horses are tied up outside. Brush them down and give them an extra ration of oats and don't scrimp on the hay,
oui?
They've had a rough couple of weeks."

Hasty nodded. "You got it. You know the rates. Dollar a day, four bits fer oats, another two fer rub-down. Hay's included in the price."

"Bon,"
Creed said and shook his hand, but he wasn't really listening. He was thinking about LaRousse and how long it would take to find him again.

"How long?" Hasty asked.

Creed's head jerked up. "What?"

"The
horses,"
Hasty said. "How long they gonna be here?"

"Oh." Creed ran a hand over his beard-roughened jaw. "The mare, Petunia, belongs to Seth's fiancé, Miss Parsons. The gelding's named Buck, and I'll be leaving within the next day or so."

"Right'o. Say—you got an idear about them good folks' killers—talk to Sheriff Fox. He'll be wantin' to hear what you got to say. I hear they's a ree-ward fer the murderers," he said, but Creed had already turned away. "Evenin' to you, Devereaux."

"Evenin', Hasty," he muttered, and walked out.

* * *

Mariah jumped at the sound of the knock on her door and realized she'd been staring vacantly at her reflection in the looking glass. Outside the window, the sky had grown quite dark and she wondered how long she'd been sitting there thinking.

"Mari, it's me." Seth's voice came from the other side of the door. "Are you ready?"

She plaited the last of her still-damp hair into its braid and tied it off with the strand of fringe Creed had torn off his shirt for her that day by the river. Her fingers hovered on it for a few seconds before she got up and pulled the door open for Seth.

"I'm as ready as I'll ever be, considering," she said, smiling brightly into his gray-blue eyes.

"Considering what? That you're the most beautiful girl Alder Gulch has ever laid eyes on?" He crossed the threshold and withdrew a bouquet of bright orange flowers from behind his back.

"Lilies—" she whispered, taking them. "What a... sweet thing to do. Thank you, Seth." She reached up and kissed his cheek. His arms caught her before she could withdraw.

"Mari, it's so good to see you."

His breath was warm and sweet against her forehead and she could smell the spicy scent of his shaving soap. Her gaze traced his face from his strong jawline upward. Though partially hidden by his mustache, she knew the corners of his mouth turned up even when he wasn't smiling, giving him a perpetually boyish look.

The years had deepened the grooves in his cheeks that appeared when he smiled; his nose was strong, aquiline, but she'd always thought it suited him. His hair, sandy brown and streaked blond by Montana sun, was cut neatly and combed back, away from his face. All in all, it was a face anyone would love. And he was smiling down at her, believing that she did just that.

She thought of the hundreds of times she'd fantasized about him doing this when she was younger. I do love him. I do.

Not the way you love Creed.

It doesn't matter. I'll make it work.

He doesn't make your heart pound, does he?

Shut up.

He doesn't make your breasts ache just to be near him, does he?"

Shut up, shut up!

"When, you wrote to tell me your grandmother had died and you were coming here, I admit I had serious doubts," he said. "Virginia City is nothing like Chicago. I was afraid you'd hate it."

"Montana's the most beautiful country I've ever seen—truly."

A pleased smile creased his cheeks. "I love it here, too. Virginia City's growing fast. I know what it must look like to you now, but families are moving in. We'll be happy here, Mari." His gray eyes darkened as his hands roved over her shoulders. "May I... may I kiss you, Mariah?"

Her fingers tightened around the bouquet and she smelled the fragrance of the crushed stems. Seth's mouth hovered a breath away.
Don't ask me. Just kiss me. Long and hard and prove me wrong about us, Seth.
Instead, she simply nodded.

His closed lips brushed hers softly with tender reverence and moved across her mouth with a bristle of whiskers, tickling her nose.

Please, let me feel something. Let my pulse race, my knees buckle. Anything.

She wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed herself closer, brazenly urging him to deepen the kiss. She felt his mouth slacken in surprise, but he responded by touching her lips with the barest of brushes with his tongue. A tremor went through him as her lips parted, welcoming his kiss. She felt the evidence of his desire hard against her as he pulled her closer.

She was reminded of the comfortable old slipper she'd so foolishly mentioned to Creed. Kissing Seth was comfortable, even pleasant, she admitted. But it didn't weaken her knees like Creed's kisses did. It didn't rob her of breath and sanity.

God help her, it didn't do that.

Abruptly, Seth ended the kiss, pulled back to look at her and swallowed hard. "Ah, Mariah." Passion and a hint of surprise thickened his voice, made his breath come fast. "You can't know how long I've wanted to do that. You're so... so lovely. You've grown up." His fingers brushed down the side of her cheek. "I want us to be married right away. The circuit preacher from Bannack is coming through here next week. I know you always pictured a church wedding, but I'm afraid this place has no church yet. But I'll make it nice for you, Mari, I promise."