The Outlaw Takes a Bride (20 page)

“I’m your wife. Wouldn’t I get it anyway? I mean, this is Texas.”

He hesitated. When it came down to it, Sally had lived in Texas a lot longer than he had. She knew the laws better. “I guess so. I just wasn’t sure what would happen if I didn’t have a will.”

“I suppose it would be better to have it on paper,” she said.

He nodded. “I’ll get started on that extra hot water. And can I move your things into the other room for you?”

“That’d be nice.”

Hauling the water one bucket at a time was hard work, but somehow Johnny didn’t want to ask Cam to help get his wife’s bathwater. It took him quite a while, and Sally had to help him heft and tip each pail up when he brought it to the kitchen, but at last both the stove’s reservoir and the boiler were full.

Supper was ready then, and he didn’t move her things until afterward. Sally had kept most of her clothing and personal belongings in her trunk so far. He would have to get Cam to help him move that into the bedroom, but he could take her satchel in, and her things from the little cupboard.

She was in there before him, shaking out the snowy new bottom sheet. Without asking, Johnny went to the other side of the bed and tucked in the edge.

She smiled big. “Thank you.”

He cleared his throat. “We’ll bring your trunk in later.”

“I’m in no hurry.”

He went out to the main room and brought the box cupboard in. It was light, with only a few things inside.

Sally stood by the row of six hooks. “I’ll leave you half.”

“Two is plenty,” Johnny said.

“All right, then, I’ll hang up my Sunday dress.”

“My ma always brushed hers on Saturday night,” Johnny said. “Us boys’ pants and jackets, too. She’d starch our Sunday shirts real stiff and press ’em.” He gulped. “We don’t have a flat iron. I’m sorry. I should have thought of it when we were in town.”

Sally turned her bright smile on him again. “Well now, I’m real happy to tell you that I can save you some money. I’m a dressmaker, you know. I’ve got an iron in my trunk.”

Johnny laughed. “No wonder it’s so heavy.”

Sally laughed, too. “You made a joke, Mark! I think you’re making progress.”

“What do you mean?” The way she said that made him feel like there was something wrong with him. Other than being a bold-faced liar.

She walked over and stood facing him, her arms crossed. “We can have a good life together, Mark Paynter. And we can have good times. Happy times. It’s up to us to make them.” She reached up and touched his cheek, sliding her warm fingers into his beard along the side of his jaw. “You’ve got to believe that.”

Johnny’s stomach went all wobbly. “I do,” he said quickly.

She held his gaze a moment longer. “All right. Well, maybe you can open that trunk and bring me the green dress, while I spread the quilt out.”

“Sure.” He escaped into the main room, feeling he had disappointed her. What did she want? He knew what he wanted. He’d been tempted to pull her into his arms and kiss her. But if he did that, and then she found out he wasn’t Mark, how much would she hate him? This wasn’t a game, and when he kissed her again—if he ever did—it had to be when she knew the truth.

He unbuckled the straps that encircled her trunk and opened the lid. Green dress, she’d said. Something blue and soft was on top. A shawl, maybe. He hadn’t seen her wear that yet. He pushed it carefully aside, thinking how pretty Sally would look in that cloud of fluffiness, with her blue eyes gazing into his.

Underneath was the sturdy, dark green material of the dress she’d worn for the wedding. He lifted it out. That was the dress, all right, the color of the pines in the Colorado mountains. He wondered if she had made it herself. The front was all full of tucks and folds, with shiny mother-of-pearl buttons right down the middle. As he lifted the skirt free of the trunk, something beneath it shifted. It looked like a packet of letters, similar to the one Mark had kept, only this batch was in Mark’s handwriting.

Johnny’s hands clenched around the folds of the green dress. Sally had kept all of Mark’s letters, the same way he had kept hers. She was familiar with Mark’s handwriting, which was nothing like Johnny’s. What would he do when she noticed that his writing was not the same as it used to be?

His broken arm would help for another month or so. No one expected him to do much writing while it healed. But there would come a day when he had to write something, and Sally would be there to read it.

Maybe he could tell her that the broken arm had changed it somehow. It had made his bones heal back differently, and that made his handwriting different. Sloppier, for sure. Mark had always written more neatly than he did. Johnny figured he stood a fairly good chance of getting Sally to believe it.

More lies.

He hated himself for even thinking it, for planning to lie to her again. But if he didn’t, she would unmask him. Even if he wrote a simple will to benefit her, or if he went off on a cattle drive and sent her a note to tell her he was all right, she would know, or at least suspect. But he couldn’t go the rest of his life without writing anything.

He sat down on the hard boards of the bunk with the dress spread across his knees. This wasn’t right. It hadn’t been right from the start, and it still wasn’t. But if he told her, would she be more hurt than if he didn’t? She probably wouldn’t want to stay with him, but what would she do? Would she go back to her folks? She hadn’t when her first husband died. Would she be too mortified to face them again if she learned her new marriage was a fraud?

“Mark?” Sally came to the doorway of the new bedroom, smiling. “There you are. I thought maybe you’d gone out to the barn.”

He stood and walked across the room, holding out the dress. “No, I’m here. This is the dress you wanted, isn’t it?”

“That’s the one.” She took it and held it up with a satisfied glint in her eyes.

“I was recalling how pretty you looked in it,” Johnny said. “Did you stitch it yourself?”

“Uh-huh.”

He looked at it again. “You’re really good at sewing, aren’t you?”

“I’m not bad. And I meant what I told you before.… If we ever truly go broke—I mean, if something terrible happened and we lost all the cattle or something—I might be able to help earn some money by sewing again.”

“Thanks. I hope you won’t ever have to worry about that.”

“So do I, but I wanted you to know that I can if we need it.”

He nodded. The last thing he wanted to do was ask Sally to support him. He’d already done enough to ruin her life, if she only knew.

He was tempted again to kiss her, and he turned toward the door. “I’d best see if Cam needs anything else.”

That evening, while Sally took her bath in the new room and he leaned on the corral fence watching the calves, and later, when Sally got out her Bible and read aloud from the book of Romans, he kept brooding about Mark’s letters. If he could read those letters, it would certainly help him out some. He would know what Mark had promised her and what Sally had expected when she got off the train in Beaumont. And he might learn a few other things from his older brother—like how to win a woman’s love.

He knew Sally liked him, but that was only because she thought he was Mark. Deep down, he wanted her to like Johnny, too—all right, to love Johnny. Because he already understood why Mark was attracted to her. Just reading her letters, he had fathomed that. Now that he’d been living under the same roof with her for several days, he truly wished he were Mark so that he wouldn’t have to disappoint her.

S
ally patted her hair into place and eyed herself critically in the small hand mirror she’d brought along from St. Louis. Maybe someday, she and Mark would have a fine ranch house and a big, beveled mirror. For now, the little cabin with its rough addition and her brass-framed hand glass would have to do.

She hoped she would pass muster with the ladies at church. Mark had seemed to like her green dress. He’d really opened up a little yesterday. Or so she had thought, until it was time to retire.

She frowned and reached for her small pendant with the green stone. It was the only piece of jewelry she owned besides her two wedding rings and an onyx mourning brooch her aunt had sent her after David’s death. She was married now, and she would not wear the brooch again, but the pendant held happier memories. Her father had traded supplies for it and a turquoise necklace for her mother to some Comancheros. Sally was only twelve years old at the time. Her mother had said it was a waste to trade for jewelry, but the men offering it needed supplies, and they didn’t have much else to trade. They claimed Sally’s was an emerald, but her father said it probably wasn’t real. Later, they’d heard the Comancheros traded people as slaves, and her father regretted doing business with them. But Sally loved the square green stone on its gold chain.

As to Mark, she had lain awake for hours last night, debating whether or not to touch him or to say something. He had kept to his side of the new bed and didn’t seem inclined to cross the invisible line between them. Sally didn’t know what more to do. If her father were here, she’d ask him to have a frank talk with her husband. But there was no one. She certainly couldn’t discuss the topic with Cam. Her hopes had slowly waned until his even breathing told her he had drifted into sleep, and she had held back the tears that hovered so close to the surface.

She sighed and fastened the clasp to the necklace. Best not to get upset thinking about it now. If they didn’t leave for church soon, they would be late.

Mark was waiting in the dooryard. He had Reckless brushed and harnessed. Her husband looked even nicer than he had the day they got married. She couldn’t help smiling as she walked toward him. Surely if she kept praying about it, they could work things out. He was a very nice man, and he seemed willing to do anything to assure her comfort—except the one thing that would make her feel truly married.

His velvety brown eyes smoldered as he gazed her way. Sally took her time walking over to where he stood by the wagon.

“You look…real fine,” he said.

“So do you, Mark. Very nice.”

“Thanks.”

With his good hand, he helped her onto the wagon seat. Sally arranged her skirt and shawl and set her Bible in the wagon bed behind them, while he climbed up and gathered the reins.

“You couldn’t talk Cam into going?” she asked.

Mark shook his head. “I don’t think he’s of a mind for it.”

“That’s too bad. You did want to go, didn’t you?” She hoped he wasn’t just driving into town and sitting through church for her sake.

“Of course. I shouldn’t have quit going so long.”

“I’m glad you’re taking me.” She slipped her hand beneath his elbow. Of course, he had to hold the reins, but he squeezed her hand against his side a little with his arm. Encouraged, Sally set about to keep him talking. “What’s the minister like?”

“Oh, he—” Mark frowned. “Uh, he’s all right. You met him.”

“Yes, but only for our wedding. How are his sermons? Is he fiery or pedantic, or…”

“Um, I guess I’d say…he’s about average.”

She smiled. “Mark Paynter, you’re a hard man to get information out of, do you know that?”

“Sorry. I know he spends some time preparing his sermons.”

“That’s good. A preacher ought to study God’s Word a lot.”

“Well, sure.”

“And I know he’s married,” Sally said. “What’s his wife like?”

Mark seemed to have to think hard about that one. “She…uh…she cooks a lot. Bakes bread.”

Sally laughed. “What’s her name?”

“Uh…Myra, I think.”

“Well, that’s something. Will you introduce me to her?”

“Sure.”

“Maybe she’ll give me her bread recipe.”

He eyed her sidelong, as though wondering whether she was serious.

“Do they have children?” Sally asked.

“Uh…I’m not sure. I don’t really know them very well.”

“I see.” Sally would just have to get to know Mrs. Lewis and ask her about the family.

They arrived at the church on time, and Mark was settling Reckless with a measure of oats when the bell pealed. He took her Bible from the wagon and handed it to her then offered his arm.

Sally felt very self-conscious as they walked to the steps. Everyone seemed to be staring at her. Two women were talking just outside the door. One of them, a middle-aged woman dressed in lavender, turned and smiled.

“Mr. Paynter! Won’t you introduce me to your lovely bride?”

Mark hesitated and then drew Sally forward.

“Surely, ma’am. Uh, this is Sally. And Sally, this is Mrs. Lewis, the preacher’s wife.”

Relieved at the woman’s overt friendliness, Sally extended her hand. “I’m so pleased to meet you, Mrs. Lewis.”

“We’re very happy to have you here, my dear.”

“Thank you. And thank you for the bouquet you sent to the church last week. It was lovely and much appreciated.”

Mrs. Lewis waved a hand as though it was not worth mentioning. “Now, we have just a minute before the second bell. Let me introduce you to a few of our ladies.” She smiled coyly at Mark. “You won’t mind sharing her, will you, Mr. Paynter?”