Emmy (Gold Rush Brides Book 2) (6 page)

“Arrested who?”

Emmy huffed in exasperation, stomping her foot to get her point across.
 

“Roy Kirby, of course!”

Mason was completely bewildered. This woman may be beautiful, but she was completely off her rocker.
 

“What the devil are you going on about, Miss Gib—er, Mrs. Kirby?”

She was getting her balance back, and apparently her temper, too. Her face went pink with fury.

“Don’t you call me that! I can’t believe you let him get away?!” she yelled. “What kind of lawman are you, Sheriff?That man…that
villain
…was the man who robbed my stagecoach yesterday.”

“What?!”
 

“I recognized a strange scar on his wrist. It was the shape of a star.”

Blood drained from Mason’s face. He glanced back at the door, willing Kirby to walk through it, but it remained stubbornly shut. The leader of the Lone Star Gang — as Deputy Merchant had dubbed them — was standing not two feet away from him only an hour ago. He sat there and watched the man’s wedding, for cripes sake!

And now he had a good head start on Mason, which would stretch out to much more by the time he gathered up a posse. Once again, the man had slipped through Mason’s grasp.

~ * ~ * ~

Emmy watched in astonishment as the sheriff turned on his heel and bolted out the front door of the church without so much as a glance back.

“Wait!” Emmy cried after him, but it was too late. He was gone.

Desperate, she turned to the reverend.

“Reverend Owen, under the circumstances, this marriage can’t possibly be considered valid, isn’t that so? Please tell me I’m not legally bound to a worthless thief.”

Roy Kirby had tricked her into marrying him, lied about his profession and threatened to kill her. Surely no one could expect her to honor her vows to such a man.

“I’m sorry, dear,” the old man said, causing her heart to sink. “All the papers are signed so, in the eyes of God and the state of California, you’re married.”

Emmy paled and dropped onto the nearest pew, willing herself not to swoon again.
 

“But…the
marriage
,” she spit out the word as if it was poison. “It was never…consummated…”

She could barely bring herself to say the word, much less finish the sentence.
 

Reverend Owen nodded and rubbed his chin, thinking. “True, true. The only thing to do is to get an annulment.”

A faint tendril of hope took hold in Emmy’s heart. Perhaps there was a way out of this after all.
 

“How do I do that?”

“Oh, it’s just a signature on a simple legal document. Nothing to it, really. I could write it up in a jiffy.”

Relief washed over her. “Oh, wonderful! So I sign this paper and take it to a judge or something?”

“Oh. I’m afraid…I’m afraid I may have overstated the simplicity, now that I think on it.
Both
parties must sign it. You could take it to the court on your own, but he must sign it or you’ll have to petition the court, which could take months.”

Once more the room tilted out from under her, but she fought the feeling and regained her composure after a few deep breaths. She’d never been so angry in her life. How on earth was she supposed to get annulment papers signed by a certified fugitive of the law?
 

“You could file for divorce,” said Mrs. Owen, but she clamped her lips shut at the dark look her husband gave her.

“You know how we feel about divorce, mother. No, I’m afraid annulment is your best option, my dear, or else you might be tainted with an unsavory reputation.”

Emmy was stunned and could do little more than think about her next move. As much as it grieved her to think people would judge her for seeking a divorce under the circumstances, the reverend was probably right. Besides, this situation was a fraud from the beginning and she didn’t want to give it any hint of credibility.
 

The last thing she wanted to be was Roy Kirby’s former wife — or widow, once Sheriff Wilder caught up with him. She wanted no connection to him whatsoever, and there was only one way to ensure she got her way.

Mason was strapping a bedroll to his horse’s saddle when Emmy came marching up to him outside the Sheriff’s Office, where he and three deputies were getting ready to set out in search of Roy Kirby and his ring of thieves. Now that he knew who he was looking for, he wasn’t going to stop until he brought them down.

A flash of white caught the corner of his eye and he couldn’t help grinning at the sight of the pretty little filly stomping up the street in her wedding dress. His deputies stopped what they were doing and gawked, too.

“Sheriff Wilder, you
must
take me with you,” she demanded.
 

He was torn between amusement and irritation at her don’t-take-no-for-an-answer attitude. Didn’t she understand that she was asking to join a manhunt for a stone-cold killer?

“Mrs. Kirby—“
 

She cut him off with an imperious wave of her hand. “Don’t call me that. Miss Gibson will do nicely, thank you. Now when do we leave?”

A bray of shocked laughter burst out of him. This woman certainly had some nerve.
 

“
We
—“ he pointed to his deputies and himself “—are heading out straightaway.
You
are staying right here.”

Her ringlets bounced as she shook her head furiously. “No, I’m afraid that’s not at all acceptable, Sheriff. I must insist on joining you, as distasteful as that may be to both of us.”

Now his deputies were chuckling under their breath, not wanting the wrath of this vixen raining down on their heads. She glared at them just the same, which shut them up right quick.

“Mrs…
Miss
Gibson, are you touched in the head? Did your brain jiggle loose when you fainted in the church? We’re on the hunt for a murderer, here, not out for some day ride.”

“A
murderer
?” she gasped, taking a startled step back. “I thought…well, now it’s more important than ever that I go with you.”

Mason rolled his eyes and turned back to packing his horse. It was still early and Kirby had been caught unawares. They might get lucky and chance onto his trail before it got too cold.

“You ain’t coming, and that’s that.”

The silence behind him was unsettling and it was all he could do not to turn around to see if she was still there — or maybe had pulled a knife on him or something. Then he heard a sniffle and had no choice but to turn to her.

“Aw, hang it all, what’re you bawlin’ for?”
 

There was nothing that made a man more wretchedly uncomfortable than a crying woman, and here was the prettiest one he’d ever laid eyes on weeping openly. Her big blue eyes were looking up at him and tears plopped right out of them onto her pale pink cheeks. She batted them away with the longest eyelashes God had ever seen fit to attach to a human.

“Please, Sheriff. You have to understand. I have no more money for the hotel and I don’t know anyone else in town. I was hornswaggled into marrying a…a murderer, and I
must
get the marriage annulled if I want to protect my reputation. And quite honestly, Sheriff, that’s all I have left. I have no family, no friends and no money. If I can at least maintain my good name, perhaps opportunities will present themselves. Regardless of what you may think of me, I
can’t
be the wife of a murderer. I can’t.”

Her voice cracked and faltered on her final words, and she broke down into great heaving sobs. Before he knew it was happening, Mason found himself gathering her up in his arms and pressing her face to his chest, smoothing her hair. His deputies stared in amazement at their leader but all he could do was shrug at them.

Emmy sniffed and pulled back, her hands on his chest and her shimmering eyes gazing up at him. Her vulnerability was intoxicating. It’d been far too long since a woman had looked at him that way, like he was her hero. He hated to admit that he missed it.

“So you’ll take me with you?” she whispered, her gaze pleading.

Part of him wanted to say yes, to never let her out of his sight again. But then he saw something other than tears shimmering in her eyes. He wasn’t sure what it was, but it sent a cold shiver of suspicion down his spine.

Gently pushing her away from him, he tipped his hat and said, “I’m sorry, miss, but the answer is no.”

His suspicions were confirmed when Emmy’s tears dried up and her pleading gaze turned to daggers of hate.
 

“No!” she yelled, stomping her foot like a four-year-old who didn’t get her way. “How am I supposed to get this paper signed? You take it and make him sign it before arresting him!”

Mason wasn’t about to take on the burden of carrying around her annulment papers, and he certainly wasn’t going to make it a priority to get Kirby to sign before arresting — or, more likely, killing — him.

“Well, miss, quite frankly, you’re just gonna have to wait till we bring ol’ Roy in. ‘Course a man like that, it’s a toss up whether he makes it back here alive. “

“And where do you suggest I stay until you return?”
 

She crossed her arms tightly and huffed at him. Boy, did she know exactly how to irk him! Luckily, he had a feeling he knew how to irk her right back.

“You’re more than welcome to sleep in one of our empty cells until such a time as it’s occupied by a proper tenant. Hopefully one that shares your new last name.”

He wasn’t proud of his little jab, but it shut her up and let him mount his horse in peace. Rallying his deputies behind him, he halted his horse abreast of Emmy, who was scowling at something off in the distance.

“Good luck to you, Miss Gibson,” he said, and then rode off in search of her new husband.

~ * ~ * ~

Emmy didn’t so much as glance at the sheriff as he rode out of town, but instead stared blindly toward the end of the street. She was in a fine pickle now and no one would help her out of it.
 

She was reminded of her final days in New York, when she’d lost all hope and had almost resigned herself to a miserable fate. When she found a copy of
The Nuptial News
, it was like she’d been drowning and God threw her a life preserver ring. Only it turned out the life preserver was made of lead, and now it was dragging her down even deeper.

She’d never had to take care of herself before — her father and many would-be suitors had provided all she’d ever wanted her entire life — and her first attempt at taking the reins had failed miserably. Perhaps she wasn’t cut out for it. Perhaps she should have stayed in New York. At least she wouldn’t have had to fend for herself then, she wouldn’t have to make decisions. She would have been fully provided for, of that she had no doubt.

But the price had been too great.

And now, here she stood in the middle of the street, with nowhere to go and no one to help her. If anything was to be done, she’d have to do it. Only, she didn’t know what to do.

Her eyes slowly focused on what she’d been blankly staring at, and the answer was right before her.

“Jake, why don’t you go patrol around while we make camp,” Mason told one of his men. It had been a long, frustrating day, but Mason had hope they were finally on the right trail.
 

“You got it, Sheriff,” said the eager young man, grabbing his rifle and quietly disappearing into the gathering gloom of night.
 

Each man had a job — Jake was off on patrol, David prepared the brace of rabbits he’d popped off earlier in the day, Fred collected firewood and Mason tended to the horses. In a few minutes, dinner was roasting over a tidy little fire, the bedrolls were laid out and coffee was being poured all around.

“I’ll wait till Jake gets back before pouring his,” David said. “You know how cranky that pansy gets when his coffee is cold.” David and Jake prodded each other something fierce but they were truly the best of friends. Fred often joked that they should take their show up to the camps, insisting that their constant ribbing was so funny that they’d come home with big bags of gold. Mason was relieved when they ignored Fred — they were two of his best deputies and he’d hate to lose them.
 

The next few minutes were spent in reverie, mulling over the progress they’d made — or, more accurately,
not
made. Their first stop had been Kirby’s place out in Rough and Ready, but they hadn’t found anything in the way of clues with the exception of a stagecoach schedule, which could be explained by the impending arrival of his bride. No loot, no guns, nothing.
 

But during their search, Mason
had
stumbled across Emmy’s letters. There were only three, the first being a simple response to Kirby’s ad. The second was long and flowery and full of sentiment and sad stories. The last was short and sweet, accepting Kirby’s proposal of marriage and detailing her itinerary west.
 

The woman was in a right awful hurry to get hitched, that much was obvious, and Mason couldn’t help wondering why. Her letter hinted to her father’s death and subsequent poverty, but little else. A beauty like her should have no shortage of suitors back in New York willing to take her on, as challenging as she might be.

Guilt tugged at his gut for not taking her paper with him. Would it have been so bad to at least try to help her? California was a rough enough place without having the specter of a cursed marriage to a murderer hanging over your head. Of course, even if he caught Kirby alive, the scoundrel would never sign the paper anyway. A man like him would try to use it to his own advantage somehow.

Besides, little miss back there had made her own bed. She was probably used to people — men, especially — helping her out of fixes of her own doing. Now it was time for her to learn some hard lessons, not the least of which was the consequences to one’s actions. A tarnished reputation wasn’t the worst thing in the world to recover from, and maybe it would teach her to think before she acted,
and
that she wasn’t going to get her way any old time she wanted.