Never Love a Lawman (40 page)

She looked up in anticipation of his entrance as the last lamp was extinguished in the parlor. Her smile was in place when he appeared on the threshold.

Wyatt looked her over and shook his head, unconvinced by what he saw. “Foster should have charged you with fraud.”

Rachel’s smile faded, but there was some relief in knowing that she hadn’t fooled him. “I didn’t know what to expect from you.”

“You should have,” he said, unbuttoning his vest. “I was thinking earlier that you knew me at least that well.” He approached the bed, took the brush from her nerveless fingers, and set it on the nightstand. Bending, he kissed her cheek. “It’s going to be fine, Rachel.”

“How can you know that? He has a warrant.”

He straightened, shrugged out of his vest, and laid it over the top of a ladder-back chair. “He has a document that he’s calling a warrant. It’s signed, but there’s no raised seal to attest that it’s from the court. To execute it in this state, it requires at least that much authenticity, and as I am the person charged with serving it, I have to be certain of its origins.”

“But you track men all through these mountains with no more than a telegraphed notice from the detectives’ association.”

“That’s entirely different. I trust every member. I don’t trust Foster Maddox.” He sat down to pull off his boots. “Are you trying to talk me into sending you back to Sacramento?”

“No!”

The right side of his mouth lifted. “He could have written that document himself, Rachel. I don’t believe he did, but I don’t think it has the authority of the court, either. I imagine he had an attorney draw it up for him. It’s just a ruse to justify his appearance here.”

Rachel remained silent, thoughtful.

“He would be happy, I think, to have you accompany him back to California, but happier yet if he can wrest control of the spur from you on the return.”

“I didn’t understand what he meant when he said it seemed providential that you were the man that I married. He thought he would have the cooperation of the town’s sheriff when he came here.” Her smile was wry. “It explains why he tried to hit you when you told him we were married.”

Wyatt pushed his boots aside and began removing his socks. “Imagine how angry he’ll be when he learns that his own grandfather arranged the match.”

“Does he have to know?”

“I don’t see how it can be helped. He’s going to ask to see the papers.” Wyatt stood, unfastened his shirt. “What about that concerns you?”

Rachel hadn’t realized her distress was so transparent. She paused in turning back the covers. “He’ll think our marriage isn’t real.”

That caught Wyatt’s attention. “Are you saying it is?”

She was quiet.

“Rachel?”

“Isn’t it?” she asked softly.

From memory, he quoted her, “A marriage is generally defined by the usual practices of sharing a common dwelling, coital relations, and raising children together. That’s what you told me. Do you remember?”

She did, and the recollection pained her. “I was as ignorant as I was arrogant.”

Wyatt moved to sit beside her. “You were terrified.” He caught her chin and tilted her face toward him. “And arrogant.”

That made her smile, though the edges of it wobbled a bit. There was an aching press of tears behind her eyes. “I love you, you know.”

He released her chin and let his hand rest lightly on her knee. “How about that.”

She laughed a little at what she thought was his quiet conceit. “I suppose you thought it was inevitable.”

“Inevitable?” Wyatt shook his head. “Maybe you remember exchanging vows differently than I do.”

“No, I’ve come to recall every word I barely spoke.” She laid her hand over his. “I wish now that I had been able to say them with my heart.”

“It was honest,” he said. “Was Foster telling the truth? About you wanting a church wedding?”

She shrugged, and then because he waited her out, she nodded. “He must have overheard me talking to Mr. Maddox. Foster wasn’t part of the conversation. It was just idle talk while I was working on someone’s bridal gown.”

Because it was clear that she did not want to make too much of it, Wyatt let it go. “Under the covers. You’re starting to shiver.”

Rachel’s hands and feet were still cool to the touch when Wyatt finally joined her. She tucked them under his body to warm them and sighed agreeably. “This was unexpected,” she said, cozying up to him. “No one told me about this part of marriage. It’s really quite nice.”

“It’s lumpy.”

Unperturbed, she left her hands and feet where they were until she judged them sufficiently warmed. “Better?” she asked.

“I never said it wasn’t good.” Wyatt turned onto his back and took Rachel into the crook of his shoulder. “I’ve been thinking about this matter of a ring.” He felt Rachel begin to lift her head to look at him, but he threaded his fingers in her hair and drew her back gently. “Hear me out.”

She nodded, though not without a sense of unease.

“I have one of my grandmother’s rings,” he said. “That’s my grandmother Cooper. She died shortly before my father and had already made provision for him to have her ruby. I’m not entirely sure why. She was as unhappy about the decisions he made as anyone in my mother’s family, but lately I’ve been thinking that perhaps the ring represented a change of heart. And if that’s the case, then there’s no one who deserves to wear it more than you.”

She hesitated. “I’m not sure I understand.”

“Don’t you?” he asked. “You changed my heart, Rachel.”

She felt her throat constrict, making any reply impossible.

“Rachel?” Her silence rarely made him uncomfortable, but this time he had no clear view of her features and no way to gauge her reaction. He wondered if he should have made a more straightforward declaration. “Did you hear me say I love you?”

She turned her cheek into his shoulder. “I heard you.”

He gave her a corner of the sheet to dab at her eyes. “Are you going to cry when I give you the ring?”

“Probably.” She sniffled. “Why?”

“Just wanted to make sure I have a handkerchief.”

Wyatt produced the ring at breakfast, having awakened Jake Reston at dawn to open the safe at the bank. Rachel stared at the ring for several long moments before she extended her hand and allowed him to slip it on her finger. The ruby appeared flawless to her eye, resting in an exquisite platinum filigree and raised a mere fraction so that it seemed to float above the setting.

Turning her hand this way and that, Rachel admired the deep claret color through eyes that watered just enough to lend the stone a dozen more facets than it had. She only accepted Wyatt’s handkerchief when he dangled it in front of her.

Throughout the meal, her eyes strayed to her hand so often that Wyatt had to tap his fork on his plate to focus her wandering attention. “Would you like more coffee?” he asked when she finally lifted her eyes to him.

Rachel was surprised to see that he was holding out the coffeepot so that it hovered over her cup. “Please.” By way of explanation for her distraction, she added, “I don’t recognize my own hand.”

Wyatt leaned back to set the pot on the stove. “My grandmother didn’t wear it all the time, probably for the same reason.”

“I’d rather get used to it,” she said, “though I don’t imagine it’s practical when I’m washing dishes or working with lace.”

He grinned. “Probably not.” Reaching in his pocket, he produced a black velvet bag no bigger than his palm and handed it to her. “This is for those times, so you don’t lose it.”

“Perish the thought.” She placed the bag beside her plate and smoothed the velvet with her fingertips. “Where were you keeping this?”

“The bank.” He told her about rousing Jake Reston from his slumbers. “I sent Sylvie’s jewelry back to her family, and I buried her with her wedding ring, but this was never hers. I couldn’t think of a better place to keep it than the safe at the bank.” His tone became wry. “Men like Morrisey and Spinnaker aside.”

Chilled at the reminder of those men, Rachel wrapped her hands around her coffee cup. “I don’t imagine Mr. Reston opens the bank early for just anyone,” she said, changing the subject. “There are certain advantages to being sheriff, I suppose.”

“Perhaps, but nothing is more persuasive than owning the bank.” When Rachel’s stare went from blank to accusing, Wyatt held up a hand as though he could deflect it. “Not me. I don’t own it. That would be my family.” He saw this announcement had no palliative effect. “I know I told you they’re all bankers on my mother’s side. They wanted me to become one of them, remember?”

“You might have said something like that,” Rachel said slowly, drawing on a maddeningly elusive memory. “Perhaps when you told me about Sylvianna’s expectations that you would remain in Boston, but you never hinted that the Reidsville Bank had anything to do with you.”

“That’s because I have very little to do with it. My father established the bank right after the first gold strike. It was more than merely practical. He saw it as a way to get my mother to join him. He even named the town after her.”

“Reid,” Rachel said softly, mulling it over. She blinked as it came to her. “You’re a Reid.”

He nodded, frowning slightly. “You’ve heard of them?”

“From Mr. Maddox. They were investors in his eastern rails before the war.”

“That’s right. It’s one of the reasons my father turned to Clinton Maddox when he needed a railroad to join Colorado to the rest of the country.”

“And a line that would join Reidsville to the rest of Colorado.” She shook her head slowly, trying to take it in. “I had no idea how long you and Mr. Maddox had been engaged in these enterprises.”

“Not me,” said Wyatt. “But yes, his association with the Reids goes back to when he was first putting down rails in the East.”

“Then what is it that your father did that so disappointed everyone? He struck gold and silver, founded a town, created a bank, established what amounts to a sustainable trust for the citizens, and helped bring in rails to make it all viable. How is any of that disappointing?”

Wyatt’s shoulders settled heavily. He held his mug in both hands and stared at it. “Matthew Cooper’s sin was that he never returned.”

It was then that Rachel truly understood the depth of Wyatt’s own struggle. “Your mother lived here for a time, didn’t she?”

“Now and again. You have to remember that the town was considerably less developed. It had a bank and not much else. She had five children, no help, and a good memory for the amenities she’d left behind. She came west expecting that my father would manage the bank and assume a position in the town that was more fitting of his accomplishments. Instead, he continued to mine and explore the mountains, and was as much a stranger to her as he’d been when she was in Boston. He even hired someone else to keep the bank’s affairs in order.

“I don’t know how they arrived at the decision that she should leave. No one ever talked about it. My father came with us as far as St. Louis, and I think he hoped she’d change her mind every step of the way. She never did, though, and he stayed until we boarded the train. Nicholas begged to remain behind, but my father refused. For himself, I believe he would have been pleased to have Nick, but there are few things so clear in my mind as my mother’s distress when she thought Nick would leave her.”

Wyatt took a sip of his coffee and then set the mug down. “My mother did see my father one more time. It was during the war, not long after Nick’s death at Chickamauga. My father got leave, and they met in New York.”

“I imagine it was a bittersweet reunion.”

He nodded faintly. “My brother Morgan was born nine months later.”

“Really?”

Wyatt smiled. “Really. He’s just eighteen now.”

“Did your father ever see him?”

“Photographs only. They wrote regularly.”

“And you? Do you write?”

“I do. Not as frequently as Morgan would like, but that’s because I have to be cautious of every word. He’s been hinting at coming west, and I can’t encourage him.”

Rachel thought about what he’d said earlier about his mother’s distress. “What if he did come? Would your mother hold you responsible?”

“For a while.” He considered that, and added, “A long while. Morgan’s been at the center of her life for a lot of years. When he goes to Harvard, she’ll have reins that stretch from Beacon Hill to Cambridge.”

“Was it like that for you?”

“When I went to school, no. But earlier, when Nick left with the regiment from Boston, and I ran away to join him, it felt as if I was straining at a bit.”

“You were twelve, Wyatt, and you were running off to a war. Your mother should have had you hobbled.”

“I’m sure she wished she had.”

Rachel stood to clear the table. “Would you do any part of it differently?”

“No, not if I were twelve again. I don’t think I would be able to help myself, even if I knew what lay ahead. I was…
am
…curious. There’s at least that much of my father in me. I regret the pain I caused my mother, but then…
then
I had no real understanding of it.”

“Yet you had already seen how she felt about losing Nick.”

“And I never thought once that she might feel the same about me.”

Rachel carefully placed the dishes in the washtub. “Perhaps you didn’t want to.”

“Could be.” He held on to his coffee cup to keep her from taking it off the table in her second sweep. “It probably made it easier for me to leave.”

Rachel wiped the table. “Just the same, when our boy is twelve, I’m going to hobble him.”

“Good idea.” He watched Rachel straighten at the table and turn to the sink. She looked rather grim, scraping plates with more ferocity than was called for. “Are we going to have a twelve-year-old boy, Rachel?”

His question broke her concentration. Her hands were still in the tub, and she turned her head to regard him sideways. “I haven’t decided. If I have to worry about giving him up at twelve to wanderlust, I just don’t know.”

Wyatt quickly raised his cup to hide his smile. “Aren’t you putting the cart before the horse?”

“Maybe we should only have girls.”