Boot Hill Bride (7 page)

like leaving the hen house door open with a fox sitting

nearby.

Belinda sat back in her chair, huffed out what she must

have thought was a refined gasp of air. She put him in mind

of a washed up stage actress and not a very good one.

Thurston rubbed his palm over his pant leg. "I just wanted

to ask my daughter if this was the union she wanted. A father

needs to be sure his daughter marries well." Almost as an

afterthought he added, "And is happy."

Randi's head snapped up. Her face held a dumbfounded

daze.

Howard frowned. Was there a glimmer of hope in her

eyes? She couldn't possibly believe her father's line of

bullshit. His jaw tightened as he declared, "You didn't seem

too concerned about that when you were pointing a shotgun

at my chest."

Everyone's mouth fell open as they stared at him. Howard

shrugged. "You didn't." He included his mother in his round-

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about glance. "None of you were willing to listen to a word

either one of us had to say."

Ma plopped the pot in her hand down on the table with a

thud. "It was just the shock of it all. Not at all what we

expected," she said.

"It wasn't what we expected either," he said.

"Hog—"

"Mr. Quinter—"

His mother and Randi's father started speaking at the

same time. Howard held his hand up, stopping them both.

Snake appeared, riding into the yard with two carpet bags

tied to his saddle.

"Randi's belongings have arrived." Howard turned to her.

"Is there anything you want to say to your father?"

Her eyes glistened with unshed tears. After a moment of

hesitation, she shook her head.

"All right then. I'm sure you'll all excuse us." He didn't wait

for anyone to answer, just scooped her into his arms and

carried her to the tent.

She didn't say a word, and he didn't encourage her to

speak, for if she had, he wouldn't have known how to answer.

His mind was awhirl with the morning's events and with the

work that was not getting done. He'd always known a woman

could cause more havoc than a hunting party of braves, but

he'd never believed he'd experience it firsthand.

He set her inside the flap and handed in the two bags

Snake passed to him. "I'll make sure no one comes in."

"Thank you," she whispered as the flap fell back into place

behind him.

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He stood outside the tent wondering what to do next.

"You doing all right?" Snake asked.

Howard walked a few feet away from the tent, lowered his

voice. "Why the hell did you go find a preacher?" His fingers

itched to grab his brother's shirt collar.

Snake held up both hands in defense. "Don't blame this on

me." His brother, who was barely a year older, clicked his

tongue as he pointed one finger and thumb and made the

age-old sign of a pistol and closed one eye as if he were

setting the gun's sights. His smile was wide, as if he'd just

told a joke everyone enjoyed.

Howard glared.

Snake lowered his hand and shrugged his shoulders. "You

were the one who went and got the preacher for Ma when it

was Kid and Jessie, and Skeeter and Lila." Shaking his head,

he added, "You know what Ma's like."

Howard rubbed both hands over his face. In the twenty-

four years he'd been alive he'd rarely seen a time when any

of the boys defied their mother. "Yeah, I know." One hand

went to massage the tension in his neck. "Hell, a wife's one

thing, but one who has a slimy politician as a father—that's a

whole different recipe." He glanced toward the group still

sitting outside Ma's tent. "I should have let her shoot me."

"Aw, come on, little brother, it can't be that bad." Snake

slapped a hand on his shoulder.

Howard let his eyes fire stones at his brother faster than a

good sling-shot.

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Snake shrugged them off like water rolling off the brim of

his floppy leather hat. "Look at Kid and Skeeter, they're

happier than catfish in the mud."

"Yeah, and look at all the hell they went through." A tidal

wave of anxiety rippled over Howard's body.

Snake opened his mouth, but closed it again and nodded.

"You got a point there."

Howard pointed to Thurston Fulton. "That man is going to

make our lives a living hell. Count my words."

Snake let his gaze linger on the group engaged in their

unorthodox tea party for a silent length before he asked,

"What can I do to help?"

"I don't know, yet, but as soon as I do, I'll let you know."

Howard looked around the site and could almost see his

dream slipping away. "I gotta go talk to Bug, let him know

what needs to be done today. Stay here and make sure

neither that man nor his wife bother Randi."

"All right."

Howard started to walk away, then stopped and turned

back to his brother. "No peeking either. I'll only be gone a few

minutes. And I'll be watching."

Snake let out a short laugh before swallowing the rest of it

to nod, but the stupid grin on his brother's face made Howard

wish he'd been fortunate enough to have been born an only

child.

Randi had held the tears at bay while her new husband

carried her across the field. She'd come to Dodge to escape

her father's plan of marrying her off to a stranger, and yet,

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not only had he found her, but he'd succeeded in his goal. As

he always did.

She pinched her lips and closed her eyes. What she

wouldn't give for the simple everyday life she'd known before

learning Thurston Fulton was her father—taking care of

mother, cooking, baking, gardening, not having to face

anyone for weeks on end. Later when mother had become an

invalid, there was a time or two she'd wished for a visitor,

wanted to talk to someone whose deep ragged coughs hadn't

made speech too much work to endure. But even on those

days, when she wished for company, she'd never wished that

company be her father.

She was sure—even though she couldn't recall—there had

been a time she wanted to see her father, know the man who

sired her. Perhaps when she was little and mama wasn't ill

she had wished for a real family. But in those carefree days of

her early childhood, mama had been all she had—and

needed. They'd had each other and that was enough. Mama

never talked of him, never wondered where he was or when

he'd return, so neither had Randi.

Yet, a few moments ago, Thurston Fulton sounded proud

of her, and said he wanted to know if she was happy. Had he

loved her—and mama—all these years and work had simply

kept him from being with them? Her swirling mind had

wondered why he'd told Howard she used to host his parties.

She'd never played hostess in her life—he'd always had

Belinda for that, even while mama was alive.

When Howard had released his hold, lowered her feet to

the floor of the tent, and said something, she'd murmured her

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thanks and twisted, afraid he'd see the tears in her eyes. As

soon as the tent flap slipped closed, the tears fell in earnest.

Brushing them away didn't help, they continued to flow. Now,

through the blur, she bent down to pick up the bags Howard

shoved through the flap.

She hesitated before lifting the bags. On the other side of

the canvas, Howard's brother, Snake, said something. Randi

leaned closer to the flap.

Footsteps thudded as the men walked a few steps away.

She eased the flap open a touch, held an ear near the

opening, and listened. Her body began to tremble from head

to toe. She slapped a hand over the gasp emitting from her

lips and stepped away from the flap. Eavesdropping only hurt

the dropper, the pain ripping at her chest proved it. Her bags

felt like thousand-pound feed sacks. She half-carried—half-

dragged them to the bed. Howard's anger-filled voice echoed

in her ears as she collapsed onto the mattress.

"Why the hell did you go find a preacher?" he'd said.

She shouldn't feel this hurt, he'd already told her he didn't

want a wife. But he'd been so nice about it all, so kind to her.

To hear his furious tone while talking to his brother shattered

the ounce of happiness she'd felt at the way he'd stood up for

her.

What had she expected? He was forced to marry her. The

question was—what was she going to do? All of a sudden the

small alcove at the brothel didn't seem so dismal, almost felt

like a safe haven. Dread lowered onto her, even that little

hovel was no longer an option. By now everyone at the house

knew she'd been living there.

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She glanced around the tent. There was no way she could

stay here. Not with the way Howard felt. A deep sinking

feeling filled her stomach. Perhaps she could go talk to her

father and ask him to take her back to Topeka with him. A

quiver ripped up her spine. The couple of months she'd lived

at her father's house had been awful, to say the least, but

what else could she do?

Light filtered through the canvas, and she peered around

the space. Even living in a tent with barely enough room to

turn around in would be heaven compared to living with

Belinda again, but she had to be fair. She was not Howard's

problem and couldn't expect him to provide for her—hastily

married or not.

Conversation sounded outside the door. The thought of

ignoring it did occur, especially since she recognized Belinda's

voice, but for some reason she couldn't. Pushing the air from

her lungs, she rose and moved to the flap.

"Howard said no one's to disturb her." Snake's wide

shoulders blocked the opening.

"But he surely didn't mean me. I'm her step-mother, and

she may need assistance fastening her gown," Belinda

answered.

Snake didn't answer, and a moment later someone tapped

the side of the canvas. The material slapped and rippled all

the way to the other end.

"Randi, do you need any help getting fastened?" Howard's

voice rang clear.

She stepped back and scurried to the bed. "No, no, I'm

fine. I'll be out in a few minutes." Garments flew out of the

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bag left and right as she ruffled through until finding what she

needed. Belinda knew full well her gowns all buttoned up the

front, knew she didn't need any help. A new shower of horror

descended upon her, returning to Topeka with her father and

Belinda was the last thing on earth she wanted. She'd broken

free, and never, ever would go back. No matter what.

The voices outside the door continued, but hushed enough

she couldn't make out a single word. As fast as possible she

pulled off the pants and shirts and put on her own clothing.

The pitiful wrinkles of her underclothes were tolerable, but

the deep creases marring the pale yellow dress would

infuriate her father. She tried to stretch a few of the deeper

ones from the material, but it was hopeless.

Unfastening the buttons, she pulled off the yellow dress

and grabbed the dusty blue one she'd made last summer. It

had tiny white stripes, and seersucker didn't show creases

like linen. Pushing the last pearl button through its fastening

loop a thread snapped. The tiny button slipped from her

fingers and bounced across the floor. She flinched.

Her father would be just as mad if she came out with a

button missing, and his ire was nothing to mess with. Now

she had no choice but to wear her gray skirt with matching

jacket. But the traveling suit was highly unsuitable for a day

dress, her father wouldn't approve at all.

Nerves boiled in her stomach. She flopped onto the bed

just as Howard's voice sounded again. "Randi, are you all

right in there?"

"Yes." She tried to keep the sobs from sounding in her

voice.

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The flap opened a touch. "Are you dressed?" he asked

uncertainly.

"Yes." She wiped at her eyes and nose with both hands.

He walked in, took one look at her, and scurried over to

kneel in front of her. "What's wrong?"

It had all become too much. The sobs building in her chest

burst. No one had ever been this kind to her. She was a pitiful

creature with nothing to offer, dependent on the kindness of

strangers. She sobbed again.

He clutched her hands. "Randi?" he asked, softly.

She had to answer, but what could she say? "I—I lost a

button," blurted out her mouth.

"A button?" he asked, sounding dumbfounded.

She buried her face in her hands.

"A button ain't nothing to cry over."

"I-I c-can't go out th-there without a b-b-button," she