Texas Moon TH4 (15 page)

Peter didn't know. He couldn't promise her anything until he'd had time to talk to the Hardings. He'd been a fool to come here before he had the money in his hand. But for her, he smiled and spoke reassuringly. "We'll hire someone to pack everything and store it for us until we can claim them. I'll have to build you a respectable house to put them in. They'll look too grand for my cabin."

She almost smiled then—a teary, wavery smile, but it was more than she'd offered before. Peter felt something within him clench oddly at that look. She was trusting him. He didn't think this woman had ever trusted anyone in her life. He didn't know why she consented to this madness, but he wouldn't disappoint her. He would do everything within his power to keep his promises.

"I never thought my poor things would ever be considered grand, Mr. Mulloney. You must lead a very Spartan life."

He dared to touch her hair. "Peter. You must learn to call me Peter. And yes, my life has been positively barren these last years. I'm enjoying the idea of having someone to decorate it. Do you think your sister will like me?"

A shadow of uncertainty passed over her face. Peter felt the cold draft of it before it dissipated. Her face was closed and calm when she turned her gaze up to him.

"Betsy has never met a soul she didn't like, sir. She will be thrilled to meet you."

He didn't know why those felt like fatal last words. He dropped his hold on her and progressed to the detailed planning of his wedding day. Planning was what he did best.

Chapter 12

Janice watched Peter Mulloney stride off down the street as if he owned it. His broad shoulders filled the seams of his perfectly tailored frock coat. His Stetson sat on his head at just the right angle to indicate wealth and position and authority. Somehow, even his boots managed to gleam in the late afternoon sunlight. No one would doubt he was just exactly who he said he was: a rich man about to become richer.

She shuddered a little and clasped her hands as she turned from the window. She didn't know what she had done, but she had done it. In the days and weeks to come, he might come to despise her for consenting to his proposal, but he was the one who had offered. She hadn't tricked him into it.

She just hadn't told him the whole truth.

Nervously she brushed back a straying strand of hair and tried to apply her usually calm mind to the tasks ahead. Her thoughts swirled instead of lining up in progressive order. She had to get dressed. Peter was going to fetch the preacher. They would be married in few short hours. She had to find something to wear. She had to put clean sheets on the bed.

She considered her small bed with a frown and brushed that thought aside. She didn't have anything for a wedding dinner. She needed to decide what to pack in her trunk. How would they get to New Mexico? She couldn't remember if trains ran in that direction.

Why hadn't she told him about Betsy?

That thought ran under and around all the others as she tried to concentrate on one task at a time. She heated water for a bath while searching through her wardrobe. She found one of Betsy's hair ribbons in the pocket of one of the gowns she considered.

She poured water into her tin tub and stripped to her bare skin, and her fingers scraped along the pale stretch line left from carrying Betsy. She soaped hastily, but nothing could wash away the lie she had left in the mind of the man she was about to marry.

It shouldn't matter, she told herself throughout her bath and as she settled on the royal-blue gown with the extravagant lace on the sleeves. She donned her best linen and eyelet drawers and the matching chemise, but the refrain still danced in her mind. She should have told him. It shouldn't matter.

She would be his wife. He would take these clothes off of her and lay her down in that bed and put himself inside her, and he was going to know.

She couldn't bear to think about it, and it wasn't just her lie that she couldn't bear to consider. She had just agreed to be a man's wife, to give him full possession of her body, to allow him to do
that
to her. She didn't know how she would endure it. Other women did, so she supposed she would learn, but all she could think of now was the pain and humiliation.

She briefly entertained the thought that he wouldn't be interested in that way in an old-maid spinster. He was just rescuing her out of gratitude and he would be satisfied with the best secretary his money could buy.

Even
her
mind wasn't strong enough to buy that reasoning for more than a minute. She'd seen the lust in his eyes and knew it for what it was. Somehow, he had seen through her disguise to the sinner she was. He wasn't marrying her for any reason other than the one men usually married for. She would get his money and he would have the use of her bed and body.

She would just have to concentrate on his money and let the rest come as it would. Betsy would be taken care of for life. After what the Mulloneys had done to her family, she deserved that much. Betsy could go to the best doctors, go to private schools, have her own art teacher if she wanted. She would never have to suffer the horrors her mother had known. She would never have to suffer a man in her bed, either, if she didn't want. Betsy wasn't strong, but Janice was. She could carry the burden of life's troubles and let her daughter be free.

That knowledge helped her through the rest of the afternoon. She had told Peter she would meet him at the church at five. She didn't want to excite the interest of the town any more than necessary until the deed was done. Then they could gossip and whisper as they wished, but she would be the respectable wife of the wealthy Peter Mulloney and none of it would matter anymore. She would never lack for a roof over her head again.

Janice knew the dress she wore was too elegant to go without notice as she started down the street, but she was determined to make her wedding day all that it should be. Irish point embroidery tumbled from her collar and adorned the edges of her fitted elbow-length sleeves and the fashionable Marie Antoinette overskirt. The lace embroidery had been a gift from Georgina for her birthday last year. She'd never had a place to wear the gown before. She had made it for the sheer satisfaction of owning something beautiful. Janice wore it carefully now, holding it up out of the dirt as she entered town.

She wished she had a parasol or one of those English bonnets with roses on it to cover her hair, but she couldn't make those things herself. She had changed the ribbons on her straw hat to ones of blue to match her gown. That would have to suffice.

She didn't see Peter waiting for her at the church door, but he was no doubt being discreet. The preacher wasn't, however. The church bell rang out just as Janice stepped up on the wooden porch. The bell only rang for services. Everyone would know something was happening.

But it would be too late for anyone to do anything about it. Janice opened the heavy oak door and stepped into the dim twilight of the small wooden church.

When her eyes adjusted to the dusk, she distinguished the figures of the preacher and Peter standing by the altar. To one side waited the preacher's wife. To the other side stood Sheriff Powell shifting nervously from foot to foot. Janice almost smiled at the irony of Peter's choice of best man.

She approached unhurriedly, enjoying the rustle of her satin skirt and stiff petticoat in the still hush of the church interior. Everyone turned to watch her approach. She would milk this moment of pure pleasure for the short while it lasted. For the one and only time in her life, she was the object of attention, and she allowed herself to believe she was beautiful. She allowed herself to believe the lust she saw in her groom's eyes was all she needed. And she gave herself up to the fantasy of wealth.

The last echoes of the bell outside were dying by the time she reached the altar. Peter held out his hand, and she laid her gloved one in it. His grasp was firm and reassuring as the preacher greeted her.

She scarcely paid attention to the words of the ceremony. Love and honor were only words. They had little to do with scrubbing floors and working to dawn to put bread on the table. She was quite willing to do anything her husband wanted her to do as long as he kept her family fed and clothed. She gave her vows calmly, without inflection.

She was somewhat surprised when Peter didn't have a ring for her but pried off the one on his smallest finger to use when the preacher called for it. It was merely a thin gold band with some worn decorations on it, but she supposed there hadn't been time for him to look for anything suitable. Jewelry wasn't important to her. She'd never owned any.

When the service ended and Peter bent to kiss her chastely, she felt a smidgen of relief. His earlier kiss had nearly paralyzed her. It had been hot and demanding and more than possessive, and she hadn't known how to respond. But she could deal with this polite caress. She held his hand and pressed her lips to his and managed a rather crooked smile when he pulled away at the sheriff's nervous cough.

They turned to face their audience and accept congratulations. Several people had trickled in to see the cause for the bell, and they hurried forward to pick up any tidbits to be used as gossip.

As Mr. and Mrs. Mulloney, they signed the register and the license along with the witnesses. The preacher's wife hugged Janice while the sheriff shook Peter's hand. It almost seemed a perfectly normal, respectable wedding as they descended the aisle through the small crowd of well-wishers. Janice just wished Betsy could be here.

The feeling of isolation didn't surround them until they reached the street. People turned and stared at the sight of the schoolteacher and the recent prisoner dressed in their best clothes walking up the dusty street. Peter hastened past anyone appearing to want to talk to them. Janice was in full agreement. She simply didn't have anything to say to any of them.

But there didn't seem to be anything she could say to her husband, either. They remained silent until they reached the house and Janice remembered she didn't have a special dinner waiting. Her first night as wife and already she felt her inadequacy.

Unfastening her bonnet ribbons, she turned and met her husband's gaze steadily. "I didn't have time to prepare anything for dinner. I'm sorry. Will eggs and potatoes be enough?"

He seemed almost as nervous as she was. They had eaten together in this house the better part of a week. There shouldn't be anything strange about it. But he was wearing a fancy black frock coat and black tie and looked at her from beneath the broad brim of his gray hat, and she suddenly realized she had married a total stranger. The uneasiness of earlier returned with a vengeance.

"Eggs will be just fine. Whoever did the cooking for me this past week wasn't nearly as good as you."

Janice nearly jumped out of her skin at the low rumble of Peter's voice so close to her, even though she was looking right at him. Why hadn't she noticed before how his voice licked across her skin like that? She hurriedly pulled off her gloves.

"Very well. Make yourself comfortable. If you're not too hungry yet, I can make some fresh biscuits."

To her chagrin, Peter followed her into the kitchen, shrugging off his coat as he did so. She wanted to tell him to stay out of her kitchen, that this was her sanctum, but he had been welcomed here before. She couldn't throw him out now that they were married.

He didn't even ask how he could help. He just started adding wood to the stove, lifting down dishes, and carrying water. It made her nervous as all get out every time he brushed near her, but she wasn't about to complain when a man wanted to help. All too soon the newness would no doubt wear off and he would revert to normal. She might as well take advantage of his willingness while it lasted.

"Tell me more about New Mexico," she asked as they sat down to the table at last.

He helped himself to a generous portion of the eggs and fried potatoes. "There's not much out where we'll be going. Even the Apaches have left us alone. There're a few ranches, and a town at the base of the range. It's not as big as this. There's no railroad nearby. I won't lie to you. It's lonely as hell. But once we start toting gold out of that mountain, things will change.

"We'll hire miners, preferably ones with families. We'll build a town for them. We'll have to put in a rail line down the mountain and install a processing plant. That will bring in more people. The stage will come through more regularly. Once there are enough people, maybe we could get a railroad spur into town. You'll have to imagine the future when you see the place."