Gerrity'S Bride (8 page)

“Who found it?” Matt’s voice was harsh as he tugged at the almost hidden object. “It’s a good thing she’s not heavy,” he said as he managed to loosen it and pull it from its place. “A man’s weight would have jammed this thing in good.”

Claude nodded in agreement. “As it was, ol’ Brownie just got a good scratch out of it. ‘Nough to set him off, though.”

“I found it, boss.” Tucker stood in the doorway of the tack room. “I was wipin’ down ol’ Brownie and saw blood on the rag. Took a look at the underside of his saddle and thought you’d better take a look.”

“Anybody been around?” Matt asked as he thumbed the sharp object he held.

“Dunno,” Claude answered. “Not that I saw. But then, I been out with the colts this mornin’.”

“Can’t imagine who’d do such a thing,” Tucker said mildly. “Could have really...” His voice trailed off as Matt shot him a glance.

“Well...someone did it. And when I find him...” Matt’s jaw tightened, and his eyes darkened with anger.

* * *

“She is a very stubborn lady.”

“You don’t mean Emmaline, by chance, do you, Maria?” Matt’s worry lines were soothed by the doctor’s pronouncement that Emmaline would be fine, and was in a mood to be agreeable.

But the woman standing just outside the closed bedroom door, holding a supper tray, did not appear nearly so pleased with the state of affairs.

“Mr. Matt, she says she will get up for supper tonight. And when I told her the doctor wants her to stay in bed for the rest of the day, she just said, ‘Pooh on him!’ And that’s no way to talk about our doctor.” Her indignation was simmering, but Maria had backed off from the battle, aware that Matthew Gerrity was much more capable of waging this war of words.

His grin bespoke confidence, and Maria gladly surrendered the tray to her employer. She hurried down the passage toward the front of the house, her head bobbing in time to the words she muttered.

“More like her papa every day. Just as redheaded and just as bullheaded.”

Balancing the tray on one hand, Matt turned the door knob and eased his way into Emmaline’s room. One knuckle rapped on the opening door as he called out a greeting.

“Emmaline, I found Maria in the hallway with this tray of food. How about sharing it with me?”

“You could have knocked before you opened the door,” she stated haughtily from her perch on the side of the bed. Slender white feet hung below the bedding, several inches from the floor, and the cotton gown she wore covered the rest of her admirably. Only her hands and face were left to his view. One hand had scabs already forming across the knuckles, the other wore a bruise that covered its palm and ran up beneath the ruffle that cuffed her sleeve. She was pale, and her mouth was pinched against the headache still plaguing her, but her face was unmarred. Her hair, haloing her head, was the sole spot of brightness against the white bedding and gown she wore.

“Do I look that bad?” she asked. “You’re frowning.” Her mouth formed a pout as she glowered at him from eyes that wore faint violet shadows beneath their lower lids.

“Yep, you sure do look like the very dickens, lady. And you sure as hell don’t look to me like you ought to be threatenin’ to climb out of there and trot right down to the dining room for supper.” He examined her for a moment. “In fact, I’d say your best bet is to lay back down on that bed and behave yourself.”

“Well, I would have been dressed and ready for supper in just a few minutes,” she said defensively, only too aware of the pillow behind her that beckoned her to return to its comfort.

“Not a chance, honey.” His smile was cheerful, but his stance belied his good humor.

She opened her mouth and closed it. Suddenly the thought of moving from the bed had lost its appeal, even though her pride was making demands.

“I’ve never been thrown from a horse before,” she admitted, brushing at the scratches on her fingers, unwilling to meet Matt’s eyes while she made her confession.

He relaxed. She was giving in, almost without a murmur. Lowering the tray to the table next to the bed, he paused for a moment to absorb her words. A smile twisted the corner of his mouth as he turned to her, one long finger lifting her chin, the better to see her face.

“Wish I had a nickel for every time I’ve eaten dust in the corral,” he admitted.

Her eyes swept open and widened as she gauged his words. “Really? You’ve been bucked off?”

Matt’s chuckle was rich with humor. “Honey, when you break horses for a living, you might as well figure on hitting the ground once in a while.”

“I didn’t mean to cause all this fuss.” One hand waved at the supper tray, even as the other tugged the sheet up higher to cover the front of her nightgown. “I’m sure the doctor told you I’m just fine.”

“Not quite. The doctor said you probably have a mild concussion and need to stay in bed for a full day. If your head still hurts by the day after tomorrow, he wants to know about it.”

“He said that?” Her eyes blinked against the prickly tears forming, and she pulled away from the finger he’d propped beneath her chin. She’d turned down the tray Maria offered because she didn’t want to be a burden to anyone, but Matt certainly didn’t act as if she was a problem at all, if the concerned look he wore was any indication.

“Emmaline?” He squatted at the side of the bed, his face on a level with her own. “You’re not crying, are you? Do you hurt anywhere? Does your head pain you?” He eased her feet back up beneath the covers, his big hands warm against her ankles. And then he rose to lower her to the pillow, relieved when she offered no protest.

“No, I’m not crying. I never cry,” she said stiffly, blinking furiously at the evidence of her lie.

He settled at her side, within easy reach of the tray of food, and considered the problem. Then, with careful hands, he lifted her in his arms, her face buried against his chest and propped two more pillows behind her head, until she was elevated to his satisfaction.

She inhaled once more, catching a last whiff of his shirt, which held the faintly musky, male scent of him. “Do you know that men smell different than women?” she whispered whimsically, relaxing against the pillows.

His hands, ready to lift the tray, stilled suddenly as he glanced at her, his eyebrows raised in surprise. “Well, I reckon I knew that, honey. But I wasn’t sure that you did.”

Suddenly weary, she nodded solemnly. “I do now. Your shirt smells sort of like leather and horses and lye soap, but I could smell your skin, too.”

“Well...” He lifted the tray and held it on his lap, the grin he’d worn earlier returning to twitch his lip. The thought of that straight little nose sniffing at his chest brought to life another problem, and he gritted his teeth against the fullness he felt in his groin.

“I like having you take care of me, Matthew.” Emmaline blinked again, and then her eyes closed for a moment. “I can’t believe I’m saying such things to you. My head feels all muzzy inside again.”

“Probably the medicine Doc gave you,” he murmured. His hands were busy with the food, uncovering the soup Maria had prepared, unwrapping the napkin that held the thin slices of bread she had buttered and cut into narrow wedges. “You can chatter all you want, sweetheart,” he told her with a wry grin. “But I suspect you won’t be happy with yourself tomorrow, if you talk too sweet to me tonight.”

“I’m not talking sweet. I gave Maria a hard time, didn’t I?” she asked wearily. “Tell her I’m sorry.”

He grinned agreeably. “Yeah, you were a real pain in the patoot, honey. Now open wide.” Bringing the soup spoon toward her lips, he waited for her to obey, one hand holding a napkin beneath it.

She obeyed and savored the chicken broth for a moment before she swallowed it, murmuring her approval.

“Here, let me fix this.” With one hand, Matt spread the napkin across her chest, easing one edge beneath her chin and lightly smoothing the cloth into place. Beneath his palm he felt the rise of her breasts and her sudden intake of breath.

“Shhh...it’s all right,” he said quickly when she cast a startled look at him. “Just making sure your gown doesn’t get splattered with soup.”

“I think you’re taking advantage of me.” Choosing her words carefully, she peered at him from beneath heavy eyelids. “I’m not sure you should even be in my bedroom, you know.”

“Here.” He quieted her with another spoonful of broth. “We’re going to be married, Emmaline. I’ll be sleeping in your bedroom before long.”

She swallowed quickly. “My grandparents each have their own room. I think that would be a good idea for us, too. I’m not used to sharing a room with anyone, and I’m certain you would sleep better without me taking up half your bed.”

He held the spoon before her lips. “Quit arguing with me, Emmaline. We’ll settle it another day. Right now, I just want you to eat your supper. How about a little of Maria’s fresh bread now?”

She nodded slowly and accepted the narrow slice he gave her, biting and chewing with precision. “Hmmm...don’t you think it’s about time for me to win an argument?” she asked, waving her hand at him imperiously as she savored the fresh bread.

He shook his head. “Not this one, honey.” Reaching out, he claimed her hand and examined it for a moment. The scratches and bruises would heal quickly, he thought, but the memory might take longer. She was feeling the effects of the medicine Doc had given her this morning and Maria had dosed her with later in the afternoon. Tomorrow might be a different matter, when the recollection of her fall was not clouded by medication.

Lifting her other hand in his, he pressed his lips to the scraped flesh and touched the tip of his tongue to the injured skin. Then with gentle care, he placed it in her lap, only to pick up the other hand and give it equal treatment. The bruise would remain for a while, he decided. Already it had turned dark, and he pulled up the ruffle at her wrist to view the extent of it. Once more he lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed it with soft, silent brushes of his lips.

“Matt?” She lay back, her hair tangled and curled against the pillow.

“Hmm?” He tucked the second hand beneath the sheet and bent to press a kiss against the pale skin of her forehead, where the bruises cast a purple shadow.

“I remember when I was very small, my father used to kiss my bumps and scrapes for me. He said a kiss would make anything better.” Her voice was wispy and unsure, as if the memory was faded and blurred in her mind. “I shouldn’t be able to remember that, should I? I was so young when my mother took me away.”

“We always remember the important things, Emmaline,” he said soothingly, his breath stirring the curls at her temple.

“I’m glad you kissed me.”

“Which time?” His lips moved against her forehead.

She was quiet, and he lifted from her to look into her face. Eyes half-closed against the lamplight, she peered at him, her skin pale and translucent. “Tonight,” she decided. “And the other time, when you acted like you really liked me.”

“Oh, I really like you, honey,” he assured her, with the same cocky grin she had elicited from him earlier.

“Will you kiss me a lot after we get married?” Smothering a yawn, she watched him closely.

He could no longer contain the laugh. It bubbled up within him, a relief from the tension of the long day and the worry of her injury. “I’ll be doing a lot of kissing, Emmaline. And so will you.”

Her eyes were closed. “I don’t know how,” she whispered.

“I’ll teach you,” he promised.

* * *

“You look mighty fetching in the moonlight.”

“I haven’t given you leave to speak to me with such familiarity.”

His laugh was low and raspy, and the jingle of his spurs told her he had moved closer. “You owe me more than the right to make a pretty remark, lady,” he growled.

She stepped back, measuring her length against the back wall of the barn. “I don’t owe you anything...yet,” she said in a voice that fought to be calm.

“You didn’t say you wanted her dead,” he reminded her with chill emphasis. “You just wanted her scared enough to go back east.”

Her words were whispered, but no less cold than his own. “If it comes to that, can you do what has to be done?”

He laughed again—it was a sound of anticipation. “I reckon I can do anything I have to, if the reward is rich enough.”

Her smile sparkled in a ray of moonlight that broke through a cloud. She stepped closer to his still figure.

“I told you how much it’s worth to me to have her out of the way. Didn’t you think it was enough?”

His eyes swept her form, and his smile took on a feral quality. “Not unless the rest of my payment comes up to snuff,” he whispered roughly.

Her eyes flashed a promise. “I think you’ll be pleased by what I can give you,” she purred.

His hand reached for her, and she sidled out of his grasp.

“Not yet,” she whispered softly. “Be patient.”

“S
amuel’s will is cut-and-dried,” Oswald Hooper stated emphatically. “I made sure of that when I wrote it for him.”

“Didn’t mean to get you in an uproar,” Matt said from across the desk in the lawyer’s office. “I just wanted to be sure her grandparents couldn’t give me any trouble.”

Oswald’s eyes raised in a silent question. He cleared his throat and waited, dignity denying him the privilege of asking it aloud.

Matt did not disappoint him. His big shoulders lifted in a shrug, and he smiled with wolfish pleasure.

“I wired for her things from Lexington first thing this morning.” His teeth gleamed as his smile widened, and he leaned forward in his chair. “I told them we were getting married,” he confided. Glancing at the clock on the wall of the small office, he rubbed the fingers of his right hand against the hard muscle of his thigh. “Should be getting an answer back pretty soon.”

Matt stood and reached for his hat from the peg by the door. “Guess I’ll take a walk over to see Harley Summers at the train station and see if they’ve had enough time to wire me back.”

“When is the wedding?” Oswald asked, rising from his chair.

“I’m going to see the preacher after I talk to Harley. Might be as soon as tomorrow, if I can find a dress at the dry goods for her to wear,” Matt said. “And I’m plannin’ on lookin’ real hard.”

* * *

Matt’s mouth drew down with irritation when he heard the news from Harley Summers. No answer from Lexington. Probably shocked them right out of their socks, he thought as he headed for the small parsonage next to the white church.

He’d tied his buggy to the hitching rail in front of Abraham Guismann’s Mercantile Establishment, and he wished for a moment that he’d ridden into town. Only the fact that he wasn’t sure how much he’d be buying at Abraham’s place had prompted him to use the single-seated buggy this morning.

All this walking is good for only one thing, he thought, stomping his way down the wooden walkway that fronted the line of buildings. Managing to get rid of his aggravation halfway to the parsonage, he had to chuckle at his own impatience. He hadn’t been this eager for time to pass since he’d been a kid waiting for Christmas, back in his early days, before things got bad.

The visit at the parsonage was successful, and Matt’s mood improved as he headed for his next stop. Reverend Tanner would be happy to officiate at his wedding at a moment’s notice. Josiah Tanner had not been surprised by his visit, and Matt had grunted his thanks, fully aware that the whole town was privy to his plans.

Thanks to Deborah, everyone in the county knew he was getting a bride along with the Carruthers ranch. Emmaline had pegged her right.

Ruth Guismann greeted him as he made his way across the wide-planked floor of her husband’s store.

“Good morning, Mr. Gerrity,” she said, with the formality he had come to expect from her.

He nodded and tilted his hat back as he approached. “Good morning, ma’am.” Feeling the eyes of several of the womenfolk of the town upon him, he was suddenly reluctant to complete his mission. Might as well bluff it out, he decided after a moment.

Sliding his hands into his pockets, he looked at the bolts of fabric that stood at attention on a shelf behind the polished walnut counter. Next to them, a wall of drawers climbed to the ceiling, each containing bits and pieces of women’s fripperies and men’s underwear and stockings. To his right a series of shelves held folded garments, and it was to these that he directed his attention.

“I need to see a ready-made dress.” His tone was low, designed to carry just across the counter and no farther.

“What size would you need?” Mrs. Guismann asked, her eyes gleaming with mischief at his discomfort.

“She’s not very big.” His big hands formed a circle and his head tilted as he estimated the size of Emmaline’s waist. “Well, a lot smaller than Maria,” he added helpfully.

Ruth Guismann’s mouth tightened to hide the smile that threatened and she turned her back on him to sort through a stack of dark-colored clothing.

Matt cleared his throat again. “Ma’am?”

She turned, a navy blue shirtwaist dress in her hands. “Yes, Mr. Gerrity?”

He pointed briefly at a section farther along where bright colors vied for attention. “I don’t want anything quite that somber.” He nodded toward the dress she held.

“Is it for a special occasion?” she asked brightly.

He looked about him, and the women whose eyes had been focused on him immediately turned away, their whispers silenced as they enjoyed his quandary.

Enough was enough, he decided. He refused to be the center of this gaggle of women’s amusement. Standing erect, he pulled his money from the front pocket of his denim pants and flourished the small roll of bills.

“I need a wedding dress for my bride,” he announced loudly, a dark frown in place. “I want something bright, maybe green or blue, with some ruffles or bows or something to dress it up. It needs to be about this big around the middle.” Once more his fingertips touched, his thumbs spread wide, to show her the size of Emmaline’s waist, as best he could remember.

The navy blue dress was folded quickly, and Mrs. Guismann stepped briskly along the shelving to sort efficiently through several items. Her search bore fruit, and she turned about with a flowered garment that, even folded, gave evidence of ruffles that peeked from its depths. Unfurling it, she held it before her for his inspection and waited for his approval.

Matt’s eyes narrowed as he imagined the shapely form of Emmaline Carruthers within the hourglass lines of the blue flowered dress. It surely had enough ruffles to please any woman, he thought judiciously. They lay in layers from midway down the skirt to the hem, and the dress even boasted one about the neckline, in place of a collar.

“This has elastic at the waistline,” Mrs. Guismann pointed out as she stretched it across her ample front. “It will fit nicely, if you have gauged her right.” She laid the sleeve on the counter before him and fingered the mother-of-pearl buttons that fastened the wide cuff. “These are the latest fashion in New York,” she said with pride.

“Kinda hot with those long sleeves, isn’t it?”

“A lady never exposes her arms in public,” she answered primly, tugging at her own sleeve, which came exactly to the bone at her wrist.

He nodded, deferring to her better judgment, and took the dress from her hands. He held it before him. The length was about right, he decided as he brushed the hem close to the floor, estimating the level of her head against his chest.

“This will do fine,” he said gruffly, aware of the audience of women who had stopped their own shopping and were openly watching him. “Do I need anything else to go with it?”

Mrs. Guismann was coming into her own, and she beamed benignly at him. “Why don’t I just see what I can find?” Not awaiting his permission, she turned to a wall of drawers he feared would contain enough female froufrou to relieve him of all the money he’d brought along this morning.

“Yeah, whatever you say.” He rested his weight on one foot, then the other, eager to be on his way—at any cost.

The pile before him grew, and he watched in stoic silence, finally turning away when he caught sight of a fragile fabric that looked suspiciously like silk. Or at least what he imagined silk to resemble. Resigned to it now, he shrugged and grinned at the nearest woman, Hilda Schmidt, who approached at this first sign of encouragement.

“We heard there was going to be a wedding,” she said cheerfully. “I told Mr. Schmidt just yesterday the sewing circle was going to make a quilt for your bride.”

Matt’s eyes darkened. “How long have you known?”

“Oh, several days now. Ever since Sunday church service.”

The day after Deborah’s visit to the ranch, he recalled grimly. She hadn’t wasted any time. He’d have to be sure to congratulate Emmaline—she’d pegged Deborah as a blabbermouth right off the bat.

“We’re not havin’ a real wedding,” he said firmly. “Just a private ceremony at the parsonage.”

“That’s all right,” she allowed, though her mouth curved down in obvious disappointment. “We’ll come calling after the honeymoon.” Her head nodded firmly, speaking for the listening ladies who had drawn closer to the morning’s entertainment.

They nodded in return, almost in unison, and Matt suppressed a groan. Like hens in a chickenyard, they gathered about him, and he turned to the counter once more.

“Have you got it all gathered up, Mrs. Guismann?” he asked, a note of desperation apparent in his voice. He was determined that, no matter what her answer, he would be on his way.

She tipped her head to one side and bit at her lower lip, her eyes scanning the pile of merchandise. With a nod she indicated that her work was finished, and then reached for the roll of paper that stood upright just to her left. Estimating the length needed, she pulled the cut edge toward her and reached for the pair of scissors that hung from a ribbon at her waist. She cut the paper, laid it on the counter and, with swift calculations, jotted down the prices of the items she had chosen for him.

His eyebrows lifted a bit as he glanced at the total, but without hesitation he peeled off the bills required and handed them to her. Slipping the money into her pocket with a polite murmur of thanks, she lifted the pile of clothing to smooth the length of paper beneath it. With deft movements, Mrs. Guismann wrapped his purchases and, reaching above her head, pulled several yards of string from a holder suspended from the ceiling. Securing the bundle quickly, she tied it with a double knot and clipped the ends with her scissors.

“There you go, Mr. Gerrity.” Her smile gave away her satisfaction as her fingers slid into the pocket that held the money he had given her. “I’m sure your bride will be lovely,” she added, turning to make her way to the big cash register, which gleamed darkly on the shelf at the back of the store.

As he opened the door to leave, Matt turned back for a moment and tipped his hat once more to the other women, who had murmured their own farewells in his wake. The cheerful ringing of a bell signified the deposit of his money into the register, and it blended with the closing of the door as he made his escape.

It was late afternoon when the buggy stopped before the barn. Earl stepped from the darkness beyond the wide doorway and reached up to hold the head of the chestnut mare, who had every intention of hauling the buggy into her stall.

“Whoa, girl,” he muttered in a husky voice. “Your supper’s a-waitin’. Let’s just get you out of this harness first.” He watched Matt climb down over the high wheel of the vehicle.

“Need any help, boss?” he asked, wondering at the parcel that filled the right side of the seat.

“Nope, I can get this.” Matt grasped the large package firmly, carrying it by the string that was wrapped about it several times. After all the discomfort he’d gone through to buy the blasted things, he planned on carrying them in the house and right to Emmaline’s bedroom himself.

“The rest of that stuff has to go in the tack room,” he told Earl, indicating his purchases from the blacksmith’s shop.

He made his way to the house, the reply from Lexington resting in his shirt pocket. Fighting to suppress a smile of triumph, he thought of its contents. Harley Summers had scratched out the words on lined paper and handed it to him over the counter at the train station.

They hadn’t even argued, they’d just agreed to send her belongings. In a week or so, she’d have the contents of her wardrobe all lined up in his bedroom.

He’d move them both into the big room at the far corner of the house, he decided as he climbed the two steps to the porch at the back of the house and entered the kitchen door. Maybe he’d have Maria do it while he took Emmaline into town for the wedding. The vision of her black kid boots and slippers lined up at the foot of the bed next to his own boots tickled his sense of humor, and his mouth widened in a smile of pure pleasure.

The screen door banged behind him and he made his way across the empty kitchen to the dining room doorway.

Emmaline sat in her usual place, with Olivia across from her and Theresa on her left. Maria was just about to place a platter of meat and vegetables before his own seat at the head of the long mahogany table when she turned to look over her shoulder at him as he entered.

“We waited for you until the meat was getting cold,” Maria said with a shrug. “Come and sit down.”

His eyes sought those of Emmaline, but she was busily placing her napkin across her lap, and he grew impatient at her dithering.

“Emmaline,” he said quietly, standing just inches from her chair.

She looked up reluctantly, and her eyes were defiant. “Yes?” The single word was sharp and crisp.

His mouth thinned with the force of his irritation. The package fell from his hand, and the soft thud as it hit the carpet by her chair brought not a sliver of response from her.

From the other side of the chair came the hopeful voice of his sister. “Did you bring me something, Maffew?” she asked as she looked up at him over Emmaline’s head.

“Matthew.” The correction came in Olivia’s firm voice. She ignored Tessie’s glare. “We’ve discussed this, Theresa. You are old enough to speak your brother’s name properly.”

Matt looked exasperated. “Do we need lessons at the supper table, Olivia?”

Her look was startled. “I’m only trying to—”

“Not now.” His voice boomed in the silence and Olivia cast her gaze into her lap, where her fingers knotted tightly.

“Maff...Matthew...” Tessie mumbled the name, unwilling to give up her chosen version of his title.

“Yes, Tessie.” Matt bit off the words, barely moving his lips.

She repeated her question bravely. “Did you bring me something?”

He shook his head firmly. “Not this time, Tessie.”

“That whole parcel is for Emmaline?” she asked with wonder, leaning almost into her sister’s lap to view the paper-wrapped package.

“Every bit of it,” he said, stepping back to take his seat at the head of the table. The confounded woman was in a snit over something, and he’d probably not find out the reason until after they ate.