He leaned close. "I've put half of the men on this street in jail for one reason or another. Drunkenness, brawling, that kind of thing."
"Looks like some of them are still at it." She watched a pair of men fall out of a saloon's open doors and tumble onto the boardwalk, fighting and cussing.
Wyatt laughed. "I guess I made little difference in the long run, no matter how hard I tried." The shadows in his eyes were gone, replaced by crackling humor. "See? My steady job turned out to be just as unproductive as hunting for gold. Maybe less."
"You're a good man either way," she declared without doubt, deep and true.
Wyatt Tanner was the best man she'd ever known. He walked with confidence, his shoulders wide, his chin set, and an easy command in his stride. Whether he wore his miner's Levi's and a simple cotton shirt or a deputy's badge on his chest, she was proud to be seen with him.
Wyatt led her through the storm and into the grandest establishment Garnet had ever seen. The heated air washed over her. Chandeliers winked overhead, catching and throwing light into the wall of mirrors that glittered behind the expansive bar. Decanters glistened from their places on the fancy shelves. Fine wood tables and chairs were occupied with neatly dressed men, who gambled in low, quiet voices.
An elegant woman in luxuriant silks stepped into the room. Wyatt leaned close to whisper in Garnet's ear. Agreeing to stay by the door and out of trouble, she watched him cut through the peaceable crowds to the fascinating Madame Dumont. Something stuck hard like a knife in her belly. She watched the sophisticated-looking woman, a woman of the world, cast a welcoming smile at Wyatt. The two spoke warmly like old friends reunited.
Garnet looked away. She wasn't jealous. She wasn't! No, that stab in her chest had to be hunger. That's all. They had missed supper, deciding not to stop on the trail.
Wyatt wove back toward her, his eyes bright and his smile wider than before he had talked to the beautiful and sophisticated woman. Garnet felt plain in comparison.
"The only minister likely to be working this late is the one who lives on the north side of town." Wyatt reached out and covered her hand with his bigger one.
"Then let's hurry!" Desperation drove her. What if they were too late? Garnet pulled him out onto the crowded street. "Which way is north?"
His rich chuckle warmed her in the way nothing could. "Left."
The streets were crowded, and she felt like a trout charging a river in spring flood. Her hand stayed tightly on Wyatt's as she led the way through the masses of men and brightly clad working girls. Urgency enveloped her. They had to hurry. She could feel it deep in her heart. They were running out of time.
She blinked hard against the falling snow, and cold air burned in her lungs. She searched the streets as she ran, scanning any number of strange faces, desperately hoping she would spot Golda and Lance in the crush of people. Hoping they had not found a minister yet.
"Here!" Wyatt tugged her off the main street and down a dark alley. Deep ruts had filled with ice and water, and without light gleaming from the business windows, she couldn't see a thing. The earth gave out beneath her and she fell in a deep puddle, wetting her skirts and her foot all the way up to her knee.
He caught her elbow and gently helped her up. "Are you hurt?"
"I don't think so." Her chest twisted at the concern in his voice. She limped onto safer ground.
"It's the house on the left," he directed.
The little shanty, small and boxy, had one curtained window that shed a meager bit of light into the alley. She tugged Wyatt after her and bounded up the front steps. Fearing the worst, she knocked loudly on the door.
Please, don't let us be too late.
Her heart pounded hard, once, twice as she waited for someone to answer the door. It gave her plenty of time to imagine the worst. Perhaps Golda and Lance had already been here to make arrangements for a wedding tomorrow. What if they were sharing a hotel room?
The door flung open. A plump woman stepped into the lamplight and peered out into the night. "Another couple in love wanting to get married. My, what a busy night. Otis will be with you right after he joins these nice young people in holy matrimony."
Chapter Eleven
Wyatt watched Golda whirl from her place before the minister. He wasn't surprised to see rebellious rage souring the girl's face. There was no doubt Garnet loved her sister, or she otherwise wouldn't have a single motive in trying to save the girl from a foolish fate.
Lance Lowell didn't have more than a few ounces of gold to his name, was too lazy to work his claim, and was in debt all around town.
The kindly minister took one look at Garnet pushing her way into his parlor and blanched. "Miss," he called nervously from his place before the mantel with the wooden cross on it, "you'll have to wait until I'm done."
"Garnet!" The plump girl puffed up like a rebellious chick. "I am a grown woman and you no longer have any say over me or my life."
"Why, I–"
"Look at you!" Golda gestured at Garnet's clothing. "You look about as attractive as a drowned cow in a flood. I've never seen you look so disheveled. You're just jealous, that's what this is about. You know you will never have a man fall in love with you the way Lance has fallen in love with me."
"Is this how Lance has influenced you? To turn against your own sister?" Garnet halted halfway across the room, obviously torn and confused.
Wyatt pushed at the door, ready to step in and stop the argument. But the kindly minister's wife called him a ruffian and tried to shut the door in his face.
He could only hear Garnet's voice as he wrestled to open the door and step inside to save her.
"Please, Golda. Listen to me. I just want you to stop and think about what you're doing."
"You just don't want anyone to be happy because you can't be." Golda's chin bobbed upward, hatred boiling in her eyes. "You want me to be as unhappy as you."
"That's enough!" He forced his way into the parlor and saw Garnet in the lamplight, looking a little worse for the wear.
The ride had been hard. Her cloak and the hem of her dress were stained with mud from the trail. Her bonnet now hung limp and lifeless by its strings from her neck, and her hair fell in a rumpled tangle down her back. Yet she looked sensual and passionate, a real beauty in comparison with her sister's superficial looks.
"It's too late anyway." Golda's face wrinkled into an unattractive grimace. "I'm already married and I don't need either one of you."
Need. As if people were only to be used and tossed away when someone better–or more gullible–came along. Wyatt's mouth soured. His mother had been that way and so had his former wife, who threw away his love as if it were of no great value.
Garnet's heart sank. "Is it true? Is the ceremony finished? Are we too late?"
The squinty-eyed minister nodded. "I just pronounced them man and wife. The groom was about to kiss the bride."
Golda's eyes flashed. "You can't do anything now, big sister. Lance and I are truly wed."
"Then I wish you well." Garnet's voice was quiet, but thick with unfallen tears. "I didn't mean to be unkind. I only wanted to protect you. That's all I've ever done. I hope you understand. I was trying to do my very best."
"I doubt that," Golda challenged.
But even now Garnet refused to lash out, refused to hurt the sister she loved. Garnet Jones was nothing like most women Wyatt knew, nothing like the one who had broken his heart. She was everything he could believe in, everything he could ever want. Somehow, Garnet had come to mean more to him than anyone or anything in his life.
He set his hand on her slim shoulder. She gazed up at him with hurt in her eyes. His chest ached for her, and he pressed a kiss to her forehead before leading her to the door. The minister's wife rushed to open it, and they stepped out into the night.
"She doesn't want me." Tears choked Garnet's words. She stepped out into the slick street, dusted with glistening snow, her chin up and her spine pole-straight.
"She'll come around. She's just trying to grow up." He drew Garnet against the nearest building. Just enough light fluttered down from an upper story window so that he could see the pain on her face.
"I wish . . ." Her face crumpled, and she said nothing more.
"You did what you could to care for someone you loved, Garnet. You are a good person."
"How would you know?"
"What does that mean? I used to be a deputy. I know what a bad person looks like."
"Like you?" A glimmer of humor in her watery eyes.
He laughed, so she would feel better. "Yes. Gruff. Alone. Has a dirty coffeepot."
"Not anymore."
"No. You changed that." He dared to reach out and draw her hard against his chest. Their sodden clothes squished as their bodies met. She felt so good there, against his chest, in his arms, tucked beneath his chin. "Besides, don't give up all hope. Golda's marriage might work out. Who knows? If it doesn't, then she can come home to you in Willow Hollow and try to apologize for what she said. Marriages start and end all the time around here and nobody pays them much mind."
"Oh, that makes me feel better." But she almost smiled. "You make me feel a whole lot better."
"Tell you what. It's snowing like the dickens out here, in case you haven't noticed. Why don't I go find us a hotel, dry clothes, and a hot meal? When was the last time someone took care of you?"
"Why, it was you. Right now. And earlier today, when you bought the horses and supplies and I came to town and everything was all ready for us. And before that, when you bought me coffee."
"Then I've started a tradition I don't want to break. Let me take care of you tonight, Garnet. Come with me."
As she gazed up into his eyes, all tears and open heart, he thought she was going to say no. Then she smiled in the most beautiful way and made all his senses spin.
* * *
Garnet tried to keep a hold of her emotions as Wyatt booked her a room and asked that both a fire be lit and a bath be filled for her. A hot bath, just as he had promised. Her entire heart lit with a brightness she'd never known.
He stayed behind in the lobby, his black gaze unreadable as he told her to follow the rail-thin youngster upstairs. His tender voice, low and promising, echoed in her mind. This was no cheap hotel, she discovered as she stepped into the room.
She'd never seen such comfort. The carpet was as soft as wool, clean and sedate and elegant. And the wallpaper, why, she'd give anything to have such a beautiful floral pattern in shades of forest-green and raspberry in her house. Two upholstered wing chairs were set a comfortable distance from a stone fireplace, and the rich curtains matched the quilt on the wide bed.
A steaming tub sat in the corner of the room, and white fluffy linens were stacked on a nearby bureau. Her valise was on the trunk beside the carved wardrobe, although it was wet through from the trip. She immediately unpacked, hanging her dress and nightgown and underthings in the wardrobe, hoping they would be dry by morning. Only then did she strip out of her wet clothes and slip into the deep steaming water.
Soothing heat lapped at her skin. The cold in her bones and the hurt in her heart melted as she sank down to her chin. The water was scented with lavender; it filled her head and eased away the last of her worries.
She'd done everything she could for her sister, her father, her family. It was time to take care of herself.
She leaned back and closed her eyes. Slowly the soreness eased from her muscles and her fanny from riding that saddle astride all evening. She felt like a new woman, free of old responsibilities and heartaches.
A light knock rapped on her door.
"It's me." Wyatt's familiar voice mumbled through the thick plane of wood. "I picked up some things for you."
"What things?"
"New clothes. Yours are wet. I had to guess at the size. Let me in."
"But I–" She couldn't very well hop out of the water and answer the door without a stitch of clothing on. She stretched for a towel and stood. "Just a moment."
"Sure, go ahead and tease me. I know you're naked."
"Wyatt! You think you're funny, but you aren't. Just a minute." She stepped out of the tub with a splash. Water sluiced down her legs and puddled on the floor. She dried herself as fast as she could. The soft towel felt good along her warm skin.
"Hey, let me in. I won't mind if you're naked."
"You're a man bound for disappointment." She wrapped the luxurious towel around her, careful to cover every bit of her breasts she could. Unfortunately, it wasn't enough. She looked like those women who danced on tabletops in saloons. Well, it couldn't be helped.
Holding the towel together, she padded to the door. "I'll just open up so you can slip the package through."
"Not a chance, lady." His voice was muffled by the wood door. "You'd better let me in if you want to wear dry drawers tonight"
"Now you're resorting to threats and bribery."
"Or force if I have to." Trouble rang in his voice, the sort of trouble she was starting to like. The hinges creaked. "Open the door."
She did. He towered above her in the hallway, all dark eyes and smile. Her heart missed a beat.
