Never Love a Lawman (14 page)

“That’s what I’m saying. Maddox’s contract was acceptable to me, and his intent that we should have a conventional marriage didn’t cause me to hesitate.”

“Can you appreciate it’s somewhat different for me?”

“I can. I do. But it’s not my place to apologize for something I didn’t set into motion.”

Rachel stood abruptly, placed the flat of her hands hard on the table, and stared at Wyatt from the advantage of height. In carefully measured tones, she said, “If you expect a marriage that is generally defined by the usual practices of sharing a common dwelling, coital relations, and raising children together, then I must tell you that I won’t agree to it, but if you’re willing to accept marriage as the partnership I described earlier, I can give you my answer.”

Wyatt’s blue eyes narrowed in a glance that would have pinned lesser opponents to the wall. Rachel held fast, and he was forced to judge that what she’d just delivered was no threat but a serious statement of intent. He’d be a fool to test her now.

Wyatt recognized he was faced with making his first real sacrifice since signing the agreement with Clinton Maddox. He couldn’t blame Maddox for it, because even that crafty robber baron hadn’t foreseen this end. Who could have predicted that his journeyman opponent Rachel Bailey would so cleverly maneuver him into checkmate?

There was no point in standing up, not when she’d effectively cut him off at the knees. Wyatt simply extended his hand toward her and offered a shake. “I’ll take your terms, Rachel, and God help us both.”

The papers were drawn up four days later. Rachel and Wyatt were married the following evening, just about the time the first stars were appearing in the eastern sky. It was a private ceremony, conducted in Wyatt’s law office by a judge he brought in from Denver because Reidsville didn’t have its own, and two witnesses, Henry Longabach and Sid Walker. Sid needed help to negotiate the stairs because a storm was brewing somewhere distant, he warned them, and accordingly, his rheumatism made him as stiff as the stays in his wife’s corset. He’d thought up that comparison just for Rachel, he told her, because what with her being a seamstress and all, she knew about corsets. Usually, he went on to explain before anyone realized where he was going with his story, he just told the fellers he was as stiff as their wakin’-up peckers.

Rachel managed a weak smile while blushing to the roots of her hair. It was the only reason there was color in her face when she and Wyatt exchanged vows.

She wore a simply cut gown with a modest train that she had fashioned several years earlier. The fabric was a pale, creamy satin printed with clusters of pink poppies. The long sleeves were close-fitting except at the shoulder, where she had introduced and gathered more fabric to create a puffed look. Wyatt had admired her gown. She’d said nothing about his pin-striped lawyer suit.

Although their reasons were different, they were in agreement that the fewer people who knew about the wedding, the better. For Rachel, the decision was a practical one. Since they were going to live separately, and go about their business in the same manner, announcing they were married would only muddy the waters, not clear them. For Wyatt, the decision was more personal. He didn’t like the vision of himself as an object of pity because his wife did not want him in her bed.

Henry and Sid were literally sworn to secrecy by the judge, and the judge, being from out of town, had no reason to talk about it to anyone. That left Wyatt and Rachel to hold their own, and neither of them could imagine the circumstances that would persuade them to reveal their marriage.

What Henry and Sid passed along at the town meeting scheduled to follow the ceremony, was that Rachel Bailey had inherited Clinton Maddox’s share of the mine and the Calico Spur to boot. Sid, in particular, liked the “Calico Spur to boot” part of his speech, and found several ways to fit it in. Henry was more stolid imparting the news to the miners and business owners. He acknowledged all the speculation about the fate of the town since Clinton Maddox’s passing and knew that calling for a town meeting had raised hope and anxiety in equal measure. Now he was free to tell them what had taken place in the shareholders’ meeting in Wyatt Cooper’s office.

And then he solemnly introduced Rachel Bailey, just as if everyone in Reidsville didn’t already know who she was.

The applause was thunderous and prolonged. Rachel was embarrassed to accept this greeting and approval when she’d done nothing but put her signature to some papers. And marry Wyatt, of course.

When Henry and Sid gestured to her to join them on the dais, she shook her head. No one had breathed a word that she would be expected to speak. Wyatt, standing just behind her, put his hands on the small of her back and gave her a gentle, but firm, push.

“Reassure them,” he whispered. “That’s all they want.”

Having no idea what she might say, but certain she didn’t want Wyatt to nudge her again with his fingertips, Rachel accepted Henry and Sid’s outstretched hands to assist her on the step up to the platform. This gesture was seen by the crowd as largely symbolic of the new partnership, and when Wyatt joined them a moment later, the Commodore Hotel, which always hosted the town meetings, actually shook with the clapping and foot stomping that was a demonstration of the town’s approbation.

Henry called for order before the timbers collapsed on them, and when it was quiet enough to begin, he motioned Rachel forward. She stood flanked by Henry and Sid with Wyatt just off to one side, but he was the one she looked to when her confidence flagged. He made a small nudging motion with his hand and oddly enough, it was just the encouragement she needed.

“Good day, everyone,” she began. “I’m Rachel Bailey.” There were some hoots of approval, especially from the miners who had taken leave of their shift at last minute and crowded in the back. “Mr. Clinton Maddox was a dear friend to my family, and a person of great influence in my life. I know your genuine mourning of his passing has been mixed with considerable personal concerns. It seems to me to be a perfectly natural response when the fortunes of all of us, and therefore the town, are irrevocably linked to the fortunes of the California and Colorado Railroad.”

This engendered a low hum of agreement throughout the crowd, and Rachel continued. “I hope you are heartened to learn that Mr. Maddox shared your concerns and made plans years before his death to see that Reidsville could continue to operate its mine and its businesses and provide a decent livelihood for its hardworking citizens.”

There was another round of generous applause, and for the first time, Rachel believed she could see this through. “You all know that Clinton Maddox was a man of vision who knew how to seize an opportunity, or create one. He was, first and foremost, a financier who took the stake his father gave him and increased it a hundredfold in his own lifetime. He didn’t do this by being a generous man in his business interests or by making financial decisions based on putting money in the public’s pockets. Yet, through his self-interest, he invested in all of you and continues to do so by passing ownership of the Calico Spur to me. It is now also in my interest, as a member of your community, to see that the spur survives, that the No. 473 and the Admiral engines continue to make their runs, and that goods and services and gold and silver are transported to Denver and from there to all points east and west. I promise you that Mr. Maddox did not misjudge my resolve to honor his legacy and profit equally from the gift and the responsibility he’s given me.”

Rachel looked over the crowd, picking out faces that she knew better than others. She saw Mrs. Longabach regarding her with a fulsome smile, and Ann Marie Easter nodding her head at just the right moments. Ed Kennedy had his thick arms folded across his chest and his head cocked to one side, consideration in his posture. Abe Dishman and Ned Beaumont traded elbow jabs now and again when they liked what she had to say. Mr. Caldwell and Jacob Reston regarded her with rapt attention, and sometime during her speech Artie Showalter began making notes for the weekly paper he published.

“I can assure you,” Rachel concluded, “that when I profit from Clinton Maddox’s trust, so will you.”

The applause went from thunderous to deafening. People who were not already on their feet, jumped to them. Having no clear idea how she was supposed to remove herself, Rachel glanced back at Wyatt a bit uneasily. He stopped clapping long enough to discreetly wave her over. She eased from between the bookends that were Henry and Sid and sidled up to Wyatt.

Out of sight of the crowd, Wyatt found Rachel’s fingers and gave them a squeeze. He half expected her to yank her hand away, but whether it was the chance of being observed or the fact that she truly needed the support, she left her fingers in his until he released her.

Henry and Sid were looking at him expectantly. “Just reassure them,” Rachel whispered, lightly mocking him with the same encouragement he’d given her. He took his place front and center and the crowd settled almost immediately.

“You folks who remember my father know that he was a cynic and a contrarian, but if Matthew Cooper were here this evening, he’d tell you that he never made a mistake trusting Clinton Maddox’s instincts. And Maddox? Now, he would tell you that it was never instinct that guided him, but experience and study and knowing what he wanted to achieve.

“The other day I overheard Estella Longabach telling Gracie Showalter that Miss Rachel Bailey has a gift. And if Estella doesn’t mind, I’d like to tell you what she meant by that.” He looked directly at Estella, received her firm nod of approval, and then addressed the town. “Everyone here knows that Mrs. Longabach operates her restaurant with a firm hand on the till. Isn’t that right, Henry?”

Henry nodded hard, rousing laughter from his friends and neighbors.

“And she’s not generally of a temperament that allows her to spend money on what she considers frivolous things.”

“That’s right,” Henry said. “She’s real practical that way.” There were murmurs of agreement and approval in the audience, and even Estella was nodding her head.

“That’s why,” Wyatt continued, “when Rachel Bailey was able to sell her, not one, not two, but
three
new gowns at a single sitting, all of them to be cut from the finest fabrics, Mrs. Longabach was moved to tell her friend Gracie that Miss Bailey surely has a gift.”

“Three
gowns, Estella?” Henry called from the dais. “Good God, wife, did you take leave of your senses?”

Estella pursed her lips, gave him a dismissive wave, and otherwise ignored him.

When the crowd had finished having their laugh at Henry’s expense, literally, Wyatt concluded making his point. “It seems to me that when Estella was speaking of Miss Bailey’s gift she was remarking in the same way my father did about Mr. Maddox’s instincts. We all know that like finds like. It’s the nature of things. So is it any wonder that Mr. Maddox saw in Rachel Bailey the very things that made him a successful entrepreneur? Experience. Study. And knowledge of what she wants to achieve. Time will prove he was right to name her to succeed him as our partner in the mine and as owner of the Calico Spur.”

It was going on ten o’clock before Rachel and Wyatt were able to make their exit from the hotel. The crowd was slow to disperse, partly because people wanted to seek Rachel out and voice their confidence, and partly because they were waiting for Nigel Pennyworth, the English émigré who owned the Commodore and liked to be called Sir Nigel, to open his wine cellar and stores of fine brandy to further their celebration. Sir Nigel held out as long as he could but surrendered to the inevitable when the miners began making noises about blasting a tunnel to the cellar.

Wyatt saw Rachel shiver when she stepped out of the hotel. “Here,” he said, removing his pin-striped jacket. “Take this. It was considerably warmer when we were at my office.” She didn’t object, so he fit it across her shoulders like a cape. He moved protectively to the outside of the sidewalk and waited for her to fall into step. “You did well this evening.”

“I don’t know,” she said honestly. “There was a moment there when I felt as if I were running for office.”

“Maybe you should. Ted Easter’s coming up for reelection soon. Could be Reidsville could use a new mayor.”

“Could be I want to be sheriff.” Rachel gave him a sideways glance, but away from the hotel lamps, it was too dark to make out his features except in shadowed profile. “What? You don’t think I could?”

“Actually, I was thinking what a tough opponent you’d be.”

She laughed. “That’s kind of you.”

“Not kind. Truthful.”

For reasons she didn’t entirely understand or care to consider at length, Rachel was warmed more thoroughly by his response than by the jacket he’d flung across her shoulders. “Did you know we would have to speak tonight?”

“I thought it might be expected, yes.”

“I wished you’d warned me.”

“Are you certain? I thought it would have been cruel.”

She considered that and nodded slowly. “You’re right. It would have been.” It was too easy to imagine herself collapsing under the weight of the anticipation. “Do you remember exchanging vows?” she asked. “I’ve been trying to, but I don’t think I was there.”

He chuckled. “You were. And you said your part beautifully.”

“Did I? I’ve been wondering. How did you do?”

“I was very definite, I think you’d say. Firm.”

“That’s good.” They walked in silence for a while, the celebratory noises from the hotel fading behind them with each step. “It was a little bit like a wedding reception, wasn’t it? Back at the Commodore, I mean, with everyone offering their congratulations. I found myself thinking it a couple of times, which surprised me since I can barely recall the wedding.”

“We could go back and tell everyone,” he said. “Make it a reception in fact.”

There was a hint of sadness in her answering smile. “No, we couldn’t.”

“All right,” Wyatt said. “But I feel certain that Sir Nigel was holding back his finest liquor right up until the end. Could be a marriage announcement would get him to bring it out.”

The edge of sad regret vanished from her smile as laughter lifted the corners of her mouth. “Perish the thought,” she said in a fair imitation of Nigel Pennyworth’s clipped West End accents. “There is no doubt that you would spend the rest of the night rounding up inebriates and putting a period to the worst sort of licentious behavior.”

“In other words,” Wyatt said dryly, “picking up drunks and stopping orgies.”

“Precisely.”

“Well, then, I suppose that walking out and moving on was the right choice.”

Rachel found herself wishing, perversely, that he’d offer more argument. She disgusted herself with that thinking, so she didn’t dare share the drift of her thoughts with Wyatt. She said instead, “How did you come to overhear Mrs. Longabach talking about me to Gracie Showalter?”

He shrugged. “The same as I overhear most things. In passing.”

“Meaning they were passing you.”

“That’s right.”

“Do you sit outside your office in the dead of winter?”

“Lord, no. There’s not much in the way of traffic. I get around, though, checking on people, listening to what they find interesting.” Wyatt took Rachel’s elbow as they came upon the end of the sidewalk at Aspen Street, and she teetered on the edge. “Whoa. Careful.” He helped her down, and they turned the corner together. “Do you feel the storm in the air?”

She held her step and breathed deeply. An icy undercurrent almost stole the breath back. She pulled Wyatt’s jacket more closely around her and wondered that he seemed impervious to the cold. “Is it snow coming, do you think?”