The Outlaw Takes a Bride (8 page)

Cam lowered the letter, and they stared at each other for a long moment.

“Quick,” Cam said. “Give me the newest one.”

Johnny fumbled with the stack of envelopes and gave him the bottom one. Cam whipped a single sheet out of the envelope.

“Dear Mark, I cannot express my joy and delight on receiving your last letter. I know it is not the fashion to appear too eager, but if the truth were told, I do not wish to put off for one unnecessary minute being at your side. Yes, dear man, I happily will be your wife. It pains me to have to accept your offer of train fare, but I have been completely honest with you about my circumstances. I assure you, I shall make a frugal housewife, as I have had to learn those lessons in a hard school. As soon as you send it, my dear, I shall buy my ticket and let you know when to expect me in Beaumont. And now I must get to my sewing. Farewell, dear heart, and with God’s blessing we shall soon meet face-to-face. Sincerely yours, Sally Golding.”

Johnny’s jaw had dropped halfway through this recital, and it was all he could do to draw breath. His ribs squeezed his lungs too tight, and he thought he might never recover.

“Sounds like he’s gone and done it,” Cam said.

Johnny nodded slowly. Mark had planned to be married. And soon.

T
his could ruin everything,” Cam said, scrutinizing the final letter.

Johnny stood and strode to his side then snatched the letter from his hand. “When did she write this?”

“About two weeks ago.”

“Two weeks?” Johnny’s breathing came fast and shallow. “Cam, what do we do?”

“Calm down.” Cam paced to the stove and back. “First of all, are you sure that’s the latest one?”

Johnny went back to the bunk and riffled through all the letters. “Pretty sure.”

“It takes a while for a letter to get to St. Louis.”

“Not that long with the railroad lines.”

Cam snapped his fingers. “We need to check at the post office. There could be another one waiting there for Mark.”

Johnny put a hand up to his thick hair and grabbed onto a lock, tugging it until it hurt. “Why didn’t we think to check the post office when we went to town?”

“I don’t know, but we’ll do it today. No, wait.” Cam hurried to the peg rack near the door and took down his hat. “I’ll go. The postmaster probably saw Mark every single time he went to town. If anyone would know you wasn’t him, the postmaster would be a likely candidate.”

“What am I supposed to do?” Johnny managed to breathe now, but a tight knot had settled near his breastbone.

“You stay here. Read those other letters through, so we know everything she’s told him. And take particular notice of what she knows about him.”

“I can do that.” It made sense. Johnny walked over to the bunk and plunked down with the rest of the letters.

“I shouldn’t be more than an hour or two. At least the rain’s let up.” Cam clapped on his hat and went out, slamming the door behind him.

Johnny’s hand shook as he took the second letter from the envelope. What had they gotten into? He had finished reading it when he heard the hoofbeats of Cam’s horse as he loped off toward town. Sally had expanded on her daily life and her hopes of being useful and having a family of her own one day. She sounded like a nice young woman—churchgoing, hardworking, vulnerable, but with an inner strength. He opened the next one.

I come from a large family
, Sally had written.
I do miss my parents, and all of my siblings. I haven’t seen any of them in more than five years. I’m glad you still have your brother, even though your parents are gone. Maybe someday I shall have the pleasure of meeting him
.

Johnny’s heart raced. She was talking about him! Mark had told her that he had a brother.

He lay back on the pillow and stared up at the open rafters.

“Well, that tears it.”

The closer they got to Beaumont, the more nervous Sally became. Her palms began to perspire, and she peeled off her gloves.

What if Mark didn’t like her?

It was different, writing something in a letter and reading what someone wrote, than it was talking in person. What if he took exception to some aspect of her appearance, or her turn of speech, or the way she did things?

But no. He couldn’t write the things he had and be mean or stupid or thoughtless.

She didn’t need to take out his letters in order to recall what he had said in each one. She treasured them and had gone over them time after time in her attic room. Mark seemed open and eager to know everything about her. She had told him things she had never revealed to anyone else. Had she told him too much?

He had been so sweet and kind about her marriage to David.
You don’t need to tell me anything you don’t want to
, he had written in one of his last letters.
But I want you to know that you can tell me anything at all. I feel we are one in our hopes and dreams, in our faith and aspirations. I would not judge you harshly, because I know you now, and I am sure that you have always done what you felt was the right thing at the time. I know from things you have hinted at that you were not happy, even before Mr. Golding met his end. If you wish to tell me about it, now or later, I shall be a sympathetic listener. If not, I shall still be a staunch friend. It’s true I want to know every detail of your life, but my dear, the last thing I want is to put you in discomfort. So share with me those things that you want to tell and keep the rest in your heart for later, after you know me better and trust me more
.

She smiled to herself as the train clattered onward. How could she ever trust him more? She had revealed to him her innermost secrets after that, even about the two babies. She had cried when she wrote the words and had to blot the letter before she could continue. But she had trusted him with the knowledge that each of her miscarriages had happened after one of David’s fits of anger. Mark could draw his conclusions from that.

It had only been fair to tell a man seeking marriage about it, and to assure him that the doctor had said he thought she would be able to have other children. She couldn’t enter into marriage without him knowing that, because most men—most normal men, she told herself—wanted children.

And how sweet and kind his reply had been!
My dearest, I have never spoken or written words like these before, but I want you near me. I want to take care of you, to cradle you in tenderness and protect you from violence. Dearest Sally, a woman like you should never have to endure those things. Yes, our life will be hard here on the ranch, but I hope and pray that it will be easier than what you have borne heretofore
.

She closed her eyes in prayer. Any man who could write a letter that sensitive must be a man of great faith and courage. He knew the worst, and he still wanted her as his wife.

“Please, Lord,” Sally whispered, “don’t let anything come between us now.”

When Johnny had finished the next-to-last of Sally Golding’s letters, he reread the final installment—the one Cam had read earlier. It all made so much sense now. And yet it didn’t in a way. He’d never dreamed his brother could be so eloquent, or so passionate. If anyone had asked him about Mark, Johnny would have described him as a no-nonsense ranchman who knew cattle and horses. He never would have said Mark had a tender side, no siree! He supposed every man fell for a girl some time or other, but most of the cowpunchers he knew didn’t act on it. They’d ride to town and ogle the saloon girls, or go to a community dance and sashay with the town folks’ daughters. But how many of them would up and propose? Not many.

Of course, most of them didn’t have their own spread. They wouldn’t have a roof to put over a wife’s head, even if they met a woman likely to say yes. Mark was different, all right. He’d worked hard and saved his money and bought his own land. He’d liked books, too, though there were only a few in the cabin. He’d wanted to be his own boss, and apparently he’d wanted a family, too. He’d never have that now.

And what about this poor Sally? She had poured out her heart to Mark, telling him things Johnny blushed to read, and some that made him angry. Mad enough to thrash this David man she’d been married to, if he hadn’t already turned up his toes in St. Louis.

They would have to tell her right away. Send a telegram, maybe. Why hadn’t he thought of that before Cam left for town? Because he hadn’t finished reading the letters, and he hadn’t known the whole story, that’s why. Sally was really in love with Mark and trusting him to take care of her for the rest of her life. And from what he could tell, ol’ Mark had it bad. He was just as deep in love as Sally, even though he’d never seen her.

Johnny held his head in his hands and moaned. How on earth could they fix this? Nothing popped out at him. Maybe Cam would have some ideas. Had Mark sent Sally the money for her train ticket before he died? It might be too late to stop her. That thought jolted him. He jumped up and strode outside. Reckless nickered from the corral. Johnny went over and leaned on the top rail.

“I really messed up, fella.”

Reckless rubbed his head against Johnny’s arm so hard he shoved Johnny off balance.

“Hey, watch it.” Johnny scratched the gelding’s head, under his forelock. Distant hoofbeats sounded, and he whirled toward the road, holding his breath. After a moment, he relaxed. Cam had come into view, galloping in on his pinto. They halted in a small dust cloud, and Cam hopped down.

“I was right. You had a letter at the post office.”

Johnny eyed him testily. “You mean Mark.”

“Right.” Cam took it from his saddlebag and thrust it into Johnny’s hand. The envelope was addressed in Sally Golding’s distinctive writing, with a St. Louis postmark.

“Did you have any trouble at the post office?”

“Not a bit,” Cam said. “I told the postmaster I was Mark’s new ranch hand, and he said he’d heard from the owner of the mercantile that Mark had hired someone. Made me feel right welcome.”

“Did he, now?” The guilt resurfaced as Johnny tore the envelope open. He pulled out the letter and scanned it silently. His chest tightened, and his throat seemed to close as he hauled in a new breath.

“What’s it say?” Cam demanded.

“She thanks him for sending the train fare. Cam, she’s on her way by now. Expects Mark to meet her at the train depot in town. And she says she’s fine with his suggestion that they—” Johnny cleared his throat, but that didn’t help. “That they get married right away. Sounds like Mark offered to have the preacher standing by.” Johnny met Cam’s gaze. “What do we do?”

“Don’t panic. Remember, Mark never got this letter. So that means the preacher doesn’t know.”

“Right. Unless he and Mark were chums and Mark told him all about his prospective bride.”

“Now there’s a depressing thought.” Cam scowled and reached for the letter.

“Half the town could know about Sally,” Johnny said.

“Naw, I don’t think so. Some of those men would have ribbed you a little the other day, if they knew Mark that well.”

Johnny wasn’t sure about that, and it was small consolation.

Cam’s eyes darted back and forth as he read the letter. He got to the end of the sheet and flipped it over. “Hold on.”