Seven

Jessie wore her new dress to the quiet ceremony. Standing there in the simple high-necked gray poplin, she could feel her legs shaking. In fact, her body trembled from head to toe as they stood before the minister.

“Do you, Duel, take this woman, Jessie, to cleave unto her in sickness and in health, forsaking all others, so help you God?”

Duel’s deep reply got lost in the whirling maze of her thoughts. Her palms grew moist. How could she vow to love and cherish a stranger she barely knew? Especially when a few weeks before, she would have died before she ever again gave any man control over her life. What was she thinking?

You’re not a wife. You’re just a good-for-nothing woman. You disgust me. For that, I’m giving you to my friends. You’ll pleasure them or you’ll die.

Jeremiah’s last words leapt through time, reminding her that she was anything but the fine woman Duel thought her to be. Even though she’d told him of her terrible crime, she couldn’t help feeling she was deceiving him. He didn’t know all.

She glanced sideways at the tall man beside her. The stiff, white shirt he’d worn under protest seemed out of place on someone who was more at home in buckskins and rough muslin. Yet Victoria had insisted that a groom of the McClain variety should be properly dressed when he wed. The still-damp ends of his hair curled over the high collar, the dark strands contrasting against the stark whiteness.

A tic in his jaw, ever apparent when irritation overcame him, marred the smoothness of his chiseled profile. Then she saw the nick just beneath his chin. The small cut reinforced her convictions. His nervousness in shaving told, far more than words, of an uncertainty that he’d chosen the right path.

He spoke of protecting and caring for her yesterday on the bluff, and no doubt he meant it, for he didn’t speak idly. But when they came for her?

Knowing he had doubts didn’t stunt the growth of her own. What gave her the idea that she could make a life with him—that she could compete with living memories of a dead woman?

“And you, Jessie, do you take this man, to cleave unto him in sickness and in health, forsaking all others, so help you God?”

The inside of her mouth became parched. She couldn’t utter a single sound.

One of the children coughed. The four sat prim and proper in a row beside their mother and father on the wooden pew. Marley Rose gurgled happily in Walt McClain’s lap.

“Ahem.” The reverend peered at her over his horn-rimmed spectacles.

The waves of panic refused to cease. Perspiration trickled down her back. The room began to whirl like a prairie cyclone, sucking up everything in its way.

You’re not a wife. You’re just a good-for-nothing woman.

Jeremiah always prophesied she’d never amount to a hill of beans. Yet she now had the audacity to think otherwise.

A warm, steady hand reached for hers. The room stopped whirling. Her gaze met Duel’s, and his expression startled her.

His smile, the light in his eyes, gave her courage.

Duel’s hand tightened around hers, then he winked. She trusted him. Honor and integrity were words he lived by. Maybe love would never come, but he cared for her, and that was enough.

“Would you like me to repeat the question?” the reverend asked quietly.

“No.” She fell under her knight’s dusky, amber spell, past his good heart and into his soul. The buzz inside her head stopped. She returned his firm grip.

She wet her lips and plunged. “I do. I promise to lo…to cleave unto him, in sickness and in health, so help me God.”

“I now proclaim you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride, Duel.”

The barest brush of his lips against her cheek filled her with a happy glow.

In the rush of well-wishers, Jessie caught his glance once more. It made the sunshine much brighter.

Duel came from a long line of promise keepers. He’d said so himself.

* * *

“‘Hush little baby, don’t say a word. Mama’s gonna buy you a mockingbird.’”

Jessie rocked Marley to sleep in the fancy rocking chair. Upon Duel’s disappearance after supper, unease had settled around her.

A man generally expected certain liberties on his wedding night. Though he’d touted their alliance as simply a business arrangement, would he change his mind? Even the ghost of a doubt was enough to twist her stomach into knots.

She smoothed the child’s dark curls and smiled. Marley Rose had gotten the best of her “papa” this day. After the ceremony that made them legally a family, he’d tried everything in his power to get her to drink the canned milk he bought at the general store. Yet the girl would have none of it. It was the goat’s milk or nothing. Airing more than a few damnations, he wound up having to tussle with the stubborn nanny after all.

The doorknob turned, and Duel kicked the mud off his boots and removed his hat before he stepped into the room. His brief glance touched her before he looked away.

“She asleep?” He hung the hat beside the door.

“Finally.”

He came closer. “Let me take her to bed.”

Jessie stopped rocking. When Duel reached for the babe, she trembled slightly—more from the tender care he displayed than anything else.

“You okay?” Sincerity rang in the softly spoken words.

“This is going to take some time to get used to.” She held the child out, and his hand grazed hers as he scooped the limp bundle into his arms.

In all the years with Jeremiah, she’d never once experienced such a wonderful, warm sensation. Perhaps she was simply tired. Perhaps the crackling fire in the hearth made the room so heated. Perhaps there were worse fates than sharing a bed with this man.

Marley Rose sighed, then snuggled against his wide chest. A lump formed in her throat as she watched him amble to the sleeping area separated only by a curtain from the living area. The small bed he’d made for his little darling perched at the foot of the larger one—the one in which she’d soon find herself.

Tightness gripped her bosom as Duel tucked the blankets around the small form. A misty film covered her vision. He made a wonderful father, despite his reluctance to use the word.

Marley whimpered in her sleep. He crooned gently to soothe away her fears, then bent to kiss her forehead.

Lest he catch her watching, Jessie rose and grabbed a dishcloth. Busily putting away the supper dishes, she didn’t hear his footsteps. His voice startled her when it shattered the quiet night.

“We have to talk.”

Apprehension hammered in her chest as she took the chair he held for her. Was this when he told her everything had been a mistake—that he didn’t need her?

“Your horse. We have to decide what to do with it.”

“I don’t know what you mean.” The horse? What did Cinnabar do that they must arrive at a decision tonight?

“I’m trying to protect you until we can clear your name. The sorrel bears the Diamond J brand. Anyone sees the mare here, they’ll start putting the pieces together.”

“Oh.” The blood drained from her face at the possibility.

“I know a buffalo hunter who’s passing through Tranquility. He’ll take the sorrel off our hands in exchange for a few staples. With his wandering ways, the man’ll ensure no one’ll ever find the horse.”

A long sigh broke from her lips. She clasped her hands together tightly in her lap.

“I suppose we must.”

“Questions about you are going to fly around town as it is. No need to add further worries to our full plate.”

That Duel simply wanted to shield her against trouble brought an onrush of emotion, and she blinked away the tears. Not since she was a child had anyone protected her.

“You’re right, of course. It’s just that I raised Cinnabar from a foal, and to…”

She closed her eyes, trying to keep the tremor from her voice. Cinnabar was her baby. Duel’s comforting touch on her shoulder cracked the dam of her composure. She swallowed the thickness that blocked her throat. It wouldn’t help anything to make a babbling fool of herself.

“If you’d rather, I’ll think of something else.”

“No. It’s stupid of me to try and hold on to something that would harm not only me, but you and Marley as well, Mr. McClain.”

Her shoulder felt cold when he abruptly removed his hand. He straightened in his chair.

“There’s something else I mean to get straight tonight. Don’t call me ‘mister.’ A wife should call her husband by name if he asks her to. From now on you’ll call me Duel.”

His large hand engulfed hers. Her lips parted on a silent gasp when he brushed the tips of her fingers against his lips.

“I’ll never do anything to hurt you. I’ll keep you safe.”

His tenderness sent waves of surprise, then a much stronger feeling of pleasure over her. She was falling head over heels into a bright light.

“And will you call me Jessie?” she asked, almost breathless.

“If you want me to.” Slowly, seemingly with reluctance, he released her hand. Only then did she find it easy to breathe again.

“I’d like that…Duel.”

The chair scraped against the wood floor when he rose.

“The bed is yours. I’ll make mine in the barn.”

Suddenly the light around her dimmed. She should feel relief, or deliverance, or gladness. Instead, a growing disappointment filled her heart. True to his promise, their joining was to be nothing more than a business arrangement.

“Duel?”

He paused at the door. “Sweet dreams, Jessie.” Then he was gone.

She wanted to run after him, to pull him back. It didn’t make sense to consider her feelings one minute and the next push her away. Had she completely mistaken the affection he’d shown? After all, she was merely a stand-in for the woman who filled his soul. No use kidding herself. All her new husband felt for her was pity.

* * *

Almost a week after Jessie and Duel spoke their vows, Luke McClain dismounted in front of El Paso’s jail. It felt good to straighten the kinks out. Every bone ached from too long in the saddle. Bright sun glinted off his silver Texas Ranger star. He pulled his hat lower to block the rays and squinted at the sheriff sign that creaked in the slight breeze.

The message he’d gotten from Maj. John B. Jones, the commander of the Frontier Battalion, gave him a respite from an assignment that kept him one step from purgatory. Six months and still no end in sight.

Major Jones had requested he contact Sheriff Bart Daniels in El Paso, pronto. He didn’t state what problem needed his attention, just to get there fast. Curious, Luke stepped into the office.

“Bart, you old desert fox. If you weren’t so danged ugly I’d kiss you.”

The man whirled from the potbellied stove, sloshing hot coffee onto his hand.

“Yeee doggies! Ain’t that just like a Ranger to sneak up on a man.” Bart dried his hand on the back of his trousers, then blew on the scalded area. “You kiss me, you whippersnapper, I’ll throw your mangy carcass in the pokey an’ throw away the key.”

“You wouldn’t do that to your dearest friend.”

Luke watched the lines around Bart’s eyes crinkle with mirth. The two had a longstanding friendship, and he loved bantering with the old lawman.

Bart set the cup on his desk before he slapped Luke on the back affectionately.

“You done been without a woman too long, son. Shore don’t want any man a-kissin’ on me.”

“I’m just so danged glad for another assignment, I got carried away. Been chasing Victorio all over hell and half of Georgia and still no closer to catching the slippery Mescalero chief.”

“Sit down, Luke, an’ give me the lowdown. I heard him and a hundred and twenty-five warriors escaped from the reservation a while back.” Bart smoothed his bushy mustache, which looked more like an array of pine needles that stuck out from every angle. “Want some coffee? Just made a pot.”

“’Preciate it.” Luke took a chair and propped both feet on the sheriff’s desk. A grin settled on his face as he watched Bart shuffle to the stove and back.

The man handed over the cup, staring at Luke’s choice of a footrest. “Just like you Rangers. Come in here and take over.”

“Aw, Bart, if I didn’t give you something to gripe about now and ag’in, you’d think I didn’t like you. Besides, you sent for me, remember?”

The man squinted from beneath bushy eyebrows that matched his mustache. “Ain’t forgettin’ a dad-burned thing. Ain’t so old I can’t turn you over my knee either.” His eyes twinkled as he eased into his chair.

“Well?” Luke sipped the hot brew. Would the man ever get down to business? He had Indians to round up, outlaws to lasso, and horse thieves to corral. A Ranger’s work was never done. “What’s got your tail feathers ruffled?”

“Murder. Jeremiah Gates Foltry of the Diamond J got hisself shot, and eyewitnesses say his wife done the shootin’.”

“You need me to arrest a woman? Don’t have the heart for it, huh?” Luke pushed his hat back with a forefinger.

“Nothin’ worse than a smart-assed Ranger.” Bart leaned forward, propping his elbows on the desk. “I’d arrest her if I knew where in blazes she’s gone. Thing is, Jessie disappeared after she pumped Foltry full of holes.”

“No chance the eyewitnesses could be mistaken?” It wouldn’t be the first time one of Foltry’s people lied for him. Luke knew the rancher well. Couldn’t say he liked him much.

“She also shot one of them when they tried to stop ’er. Pete Morgan’s laid up over at the doc’s if you wanna ask him some questions.”

“When did this one-woman massacre take place?”

“Couple of weeks ago or thereabouts. I tracked her and the sorrel she stole past Devil’s Ridge before she put the slip on me at the Pecos River.”

Luke had to admire a woman who could outwit old Bart. The sheriff’s reputation as an expert tracker was well earned. “With the head start, she could be most anywhere by now. Any idea where? Relatives who might hide her out? A lover she ran off to link up with?”

“Her mother and father live here in El Paso. Zack an’ Phoebe Sutton couldn’t shed any light on where their daughter’d be going. Anything else, your guess is good as mine.”

“Even the lover part?”

“I don’t think so. Shoot, if Foltry even sensed another man sniffing around his wife, he’d have killed her a long time ago.”

Luke sipped on the coffee, speculating. “You’re not giving me much to go on here, Bart. A cold trail, no intended destination. Hell, I was having better luck with Victorio.”

“Quit your bellyachin’. Thought you Rangers didn’t need any help, could do most nigh anything if you set your mind to it.”

Luke grunted and downed more of the fortifying coffee. “It’d be nice for once if someone handed me something easy. Bet your whittling knife ol’ Luke’ll eventually get his man—or woman.”

“The more you sit here jawin’, the farther the lady’s gittin’.”

“Jessie Foltry may not even be alive. The desert has a way of exacting its own justice.” Luke lifted his boots from the desk and rose to his full height.

“Oh, I almost forgot.” Sheriff Daniels stopped him on his way to the door. “Your sister sent a telegram if you happened to come through here.”

“Vicky?” It’d been a year or more since he last visited Tranquility. With his heart doing double time, he took the crisp envelope and ran his finger beneath the seal.

“Don’t suppose it’s anything you’d like to share with a lonely old man?” Bart squinted up at him. “You know you’re like fam’ly to me.”

“Well, I’ll be!”

“What? What are you ‘I’ll being’ about?”

Ignoring him, Luke finished reading the message. The news indeed thrilled him.

“Are you gonna stand there grinnin’ like a possum, or are you gonna tell me?” Bart sputtered, his nosy nature getting the best of him.

“It’s Duel.” Luke couldn’t wipe the grin from his face. He never passed a chance to tease the curious-minded man. “Best darn news I’ve heard in a coon’s age.”

Bart stood and put his hands on the pearl-handled six-shooters that hung from his girth. “If I hafta shoot you to find out, by God that’s what I aim to do. Now, what has that brother of yours gone an’ done?”

“He’s got himself hitched, Mister Nosy.”

“Married? Whooee! You’re darn tootin’ it’s good news. Does Vicky say who the lucky woman is?”

“Only that he brought her home with him. So, I take it Vicky didn’t know her.” Luke folded the telegram and stuck it in his pocket.

“That all she says? No other news?” Bart craned his neck.

“If you ain’t the beatin’est old codger I ever saw in all my born days. Time was when a man’s privacy counted for something.” Luke’s smile stretched from ear to ear.

“I’m a-thinkin’ there’s more. You wouldn’t have wrinkled your forehead if there hadn’t been.”

“Christ sakes! You know, Bart, maybe I should take you with me. Maybe the reason me an’ the boys can’t catch Victorio is because we sit around wrinklin’ our foreheads too much.”

Luke dodged the empty tin cup Bart threw.

“Quit funnin’ an old man. You know you’re hidin’ something.” Bart scratched his head in frustration. “Duel passed through here a while back and looked like the devil hisself was ridin’ on his back. Tore me up to see him like that. A changed man from his bounty-huntin’ days. Now, there was one tough hombre. Only thing separatin’ him from those killers he brought in was a heart of pure gold.”

“Duel lost his reason to live when Annie and his son died.”

“Great God in the morning! I wanted to ask, but you know I respect a man’s privacy.”

“When pigs fly! It’s more like he never gave you a chance.”

Bart gave a wounded sniff. “Be that as it may…suppose somethin’ happens with another wife? Most likely be the end of poor Duel. Quit your stallin’ and spill the beans. Anything else of interest in the damn letter?”

“If you have to know, Vicky says if I’d mosey back up there, I’d find another surprise waiting.” The smile faded. Lord knows he needed to visit his family. Suddenly Luke was homesick. “Didn’t say what in hell the surprise was.”

“Well, son, guess you’d best go find out.”

“I’ll see where Mrs. Jessie Foltry’s trail leads, and then, I might just do that.” Who knows? Maybe the trail would take him within shouting distance. Nothing’d thrill his heart more than to see his brother happy again.