Never Marry a Cowboy (21 page)

He watched the blackened sky turn a dark gray, pastel shades of blue weaving their way through to create an incredible tapestry. “What's happening there?” he asked.

She laughed lightly. “That's the dawn. Don't tell me you've never seen the dawn.”

“The dawn?” He shot out of the rocker. “I've been here all night?”

“That's all right. I enjoyed the company.”

“But your reputation!”

“I'm a widow. I've got no reputation to worry about.”

“Still, a gentleman would have left long ago.” He backed up and stumbled down the steps. “I apologize profusely—”

“If you apologize profusely to me one more time, I'm gonna knock you upside the head with my cast-iron skillet.”

He stared at her, then began to laugh. “By God, you would, wouldn't you?”

She rose from the chair, walked to the edge of the porch, and wrapped her arms around the beam. “Yep. No two ways about it.”

Briefly, he considered stepping back onto the porch and kissing her. “Elizabeth, thank you for inviting me
over. It has been a very long time since I've enjoyed the sum of an evening so much.”

She smiled softly. “I'll be cooking supper again tonight. You're welcome to join us.”

He'd never before regretted with such magnitude the words he knew he needed to speak. “I think it would be best if I didn't. You see, I'm betrothed.”

“Do you love her?”

Her frank question caught him off-guard. If he hadn't grown fond of her through the night, he would have told her the answer was none of her concern. “No, but our marriage will help strengthen both families.”

“Doesn't sound like you'll be doing much sitting on the porch watching the sunset.”

“Ravenleigh has no porch.”

“Reckon that's for the best.”

“Perhaps. Regardless, I thank you for a wonderful evening, night, and dawn. I shall remember them always.”

“Just a little Texas hospitality.”

He gave a curt nod before walking toward the buggy he'd hired. Duty called, and it was a harsh taskmaster.

K
it scrounged through the wreckage of the overturned stagecoach. Finding it had not been as difficult as he'd feared. Although Ashton had taken care in covering their tracks as she'd managed their escape, she'd also noted landmarks along the way.

She was truly remarkable.

And obviously disgusted by his confession.

He'd considered denying the truth, blaming his words on a confused mind, but she deserved his honesty. He'd hoped for absolution, but he was not surprised by the revulsion reflected in her lovely eyes. His image in the mirror often carried the same expression.

In truth, the confession was a blessing because the temptation to break his personal vow had never been greater than it was yesterday morning. He'd wanted to lay her down on the sweet green earth and bury himself so deeply within her that they would never again be separate.

Now, his vow would never again be tested. Once they made their way back to Fortune, she would re
turn to Dallas and the wait for death while he had already returned to hell.

“Where are the driver and the man who was inside the stagecoach with us? They were killed, but I didn't have time to bury them,” she said in a dazed voice as she gazed around.

His first thought was that animals had probably carted the corpses away, but he had no heart to tell her that. “Many of our personal effects are missing. Someone has been here. They no doubt gave them a decent burial.”

“What are we going to do?”

“Walk, I suppose. If we head back in the direction whence we came, we should come to that last small town where the driver stopped to change horses. If there's no stagecoach going to Fortune, we should be able to rent a carriage.”

“I can get passage there for a stagecoach going to Dallas.”

He narrowed his eyes. “You could, but I'll not have you traveling alone.”

She angled her chin defiantly. “I'm a grown woman.”

“You are also my wife, and I shall not leave you unprotected.”

“I could send a telegram to David—”

“The passage of time has no doubt brought him a child by now. Besides, it defeats my purpose in not taking you to Dallas right away, if I have to wait for David's arrival.”

She began to pace in agitation, her hands balled into fists at her side. “You don't have to wait—”

“Ashton, regardless of the low depths to which your opinion of me has plunged, I am not going to take your life. You are safe with me.”

She spun around, tears welling within her eyes. “
Why
did you kill Clarisse?”

“Because I could not bear to watch her suffer.”

“Who gave you the right?”

“
I
gave it to myself. I alone carry the burden of the decision.”

She studied him as though she wanted to see into his sordid soul. “How did you kill her?”

He rolled his eyes toward the heavens. “What possible difference can that knowledge make toward what you now feel for me?”

“I just want to know.” Her voice carried a slight quiver.

He sighed deeply, fisted his hands into tight balls, and glared at the leaves in the trees. “She was in pain. She asked for something to relieve it. A pinch of powder, the physician instructed me. I used an abundance.” He returned his gaze to hers, afraid she'd recoil if he reached out to touch the deep furrows within her brow. “She wanted the pain to end. It was the one wish I could grant her.”

“The one wish you could grant her,” she rasped, horror reflected in her gaze. “The night you proposed you told me that you'd been able to grant her only one wish. That was
it
? Death?”

Anger surged through him at his own inadequacies. “Do you not think that I wish that I could have granted her something else? But of the many things
she wanted, death was all that remained within my power to give her.”

“I thought love made you send flowers to her grave every day. But it's guilt, isn't it?” she asked.

“It's impossible to separate one from the other when you murder the object of your affection.”

She stared at him as though he'd grown horns and a tail. No doubt he would, once death held him within its grip and he truly plunged into hell.

“If you had it to do over,” she asked hesitantly, “would you kill her?”

“Yes.”

She simply nodded as though she'd expected his answer, but was still disappointed by it. “I suppose we need to begin our final journey together,” she said.

He was about to agree when he heard a low neigh. He spun around as his horse plodded toward him. “Lancelot, you beautiful beast. I've never been more glad to see you!”

Reaching out, he rubbed the horse's neck, welcoming the contact, warmth, and absence of rejection. At least the beast could not understand the gravity of his master's actions. Kit wasn't certain he could accept any more condemnation. The sooner they began the journey, the more quickly he could see his wife safely returned to her brother.

Unfortunately whoever had visited the overturned stagecoach had taken his saddle. With reluctance, he turned to Ashton. “Come on.”

She cautiously approached.

“It'll be just like when we rode him bareback along the shore,” he assured her.

But as he placed his hands on her waist and felt her stiffen, he knew it would be nothing at all like it. Before, she had relished his touch. Now she loathed it.

Last night in the cave, they had slept closely together but never touched. Not once.

He swung her onto the horse's back. “Hold onto his mane,” he ordered.

He grabbed what remained of the rope that had held the animal tethered to the stagecoach. He was grateful that he had shot the rope so it was short enough not to get tangled in the brush. He would have hated knowing Lancelot had perished because of his actions. He began to walk along the side of the road.

“Aren't you going to ride with me?” Ashton asked.

“No, I doubt the horse has had proper nourishment since our encounter with the outlaws. He's too weak to carry us both.” He was certain some truth resided within the lie, but the absolute truth resided within his heart. He could not tolerate being near her knowing that she not only despised his touch but hated him for being the man he was.

 

“We'll stay here for the night,” Kit said as he brought the horse to a halt.

Ashton glanced around the clearing. “Shouldn't we have reached that small town by now?”

Looking up at her, he held her gaze. “I've decided to avoid towns until we reach Fortune.”

Irrational fear gripped her. “I'm not going to tell anyone you killed Clarisse.”

Disappointment mingled with sadness filled his eyes. “That was not the reason behind my decision. I know it will make for a more arduous journey, but I have concerns regarding Jasper. Although he isn't a bright fellow, if he thinks I'm still alive, he may have his men stationed along the route. If he thinks I'm dead, then he may be off planning his next stagecoach robbery. Or he may at this very moment be riding into Fortune. But since I don't know exactly where he is, I prefer to ensure that if we do meet, it will be on my terms.” He held up his arms. “Come along. Let me help you dismount.”

When she voiced no objection, he slipped his hands onto her waist and lifted her from the horse, setting her on the ground with only a hair's breadth separating them. “You may announce my sin to the world and it will make no difference. I won't be held accountable here for a murder I committed in England.”

“Your reputation would be ruined.”

“My reputation has never been anything I valued, and I can walk away from Fortune without a backward glance.”

She stepped out of his embrace and wrapped her arms around herself. She watched as he saw to his horse's needs. “Will you build a fire?” she asked.

“A small one, if you're cold.”

She shrugged. “It's the middle of summer. I doubt I'll get cold.”

“But now you fear things in the dark that you've never feared before,” he said in a low voice.

“Are you deliberately trying to frighten me?”

“No need to try. I seem to have succeeded.”

“I'm not afraid of you,” she said firmly.

He stepped toward her, and she stepped back.

“Aren't you?” he asked quietly.

“Right now, I don't know what I feel or what I think,” she snapped.

“At least you're honest. Do you want a fire?”

“Do you think it'll attract attention?”

“Probably.”

She took a shuddering breath. “I can go without one, then.”

“I have nothing for you to lie on but my shirt.” He began unfastening the buttons.

“You don't have to give me your shirt.”

“You are still my wife, and therefore your comfort is my responsibility.” He pulled the shirt over his head and extended it toward her. “You can at least use it as a pillow.”

They had stopped to eat late in the afternoon when a fire wouldn't be visible. For the first time in her life, she hated the night. She took his offering, dropped to the ground, rolled Kit's shirt into a tight ball, and tucked it beneath her head. His masculine scent surrounded her.

He sat nearby, the rifle across his lap.

“Aren't you going to sleep?” she asked.

“I'll stand watch for a while.”

She studied the silhouette of the man she thought she'd loved. She remembered writing in her journal long ago that she would gladly allow him to break her heart. How was she to have known then the pain that action would cause?

“Did she know?” she asked quietly.

“Did who know what?” he asked.

“Did Clarisse know you were killing her?”

Silence, thick and heavy, filled the distance between them.

“No,” he finally shot out. “She knew only that she was weary and drifting off to sleep.”

“So you gave her no opportunity to say goodbye to everyone.”

“Christopher said goodbye to her each time he left her room. She said goodbye to me thinking I was he so she had her final farewell.”

“But she didn't give it to the man upon whom she wanted to bestow it.”

“I am certain that Christopher and Clarisse had ample opportunity to share their feelings. I denied her nothing.”

“Except life.”

Suddenly, she was cold and wished she had asked for a fire. “What about your mother?”

“What of her?”

She heard the impatience in his voice. “Did you kill her as well?”

He barked out his laughter. “Dear God, Ashton, are you to suspect me now as the murderer of everyone who dies of an illness?”

She sat up, trying to sort out her feelings. “You told me that you held Clarisse as she died. You were reading to your mother when she passed away. It's a logical assumption that you might have taken her life as well.”

He sighed heavily. “My mother was not in agony. I did not hasten her death.”

She felt relief and a bit of the warmth returned.

“You should sleep. We'll leave before dawn. Tomorrow will be a long day,” he said.

She settled back into place. “Kit?”

“For God's sakes, Ashton, I may as well have built a fire. Your incessant babbling will notify anyone within hearing distance that we're here.”

“I just wanted to say that I'm not afraid of you.”

“Perhaps ‘disgusted' is a better word,” he said caustically. “Or how about ‘disappointed,' ‘disillusioned,' repulsed?'”

She buried her face in his shirt, allowing the silent tears to fall, wishing she could understand not only him, but her own feelings as well.

 

“Marshal! Land's sakes alive, we thought you were dead,” Mrs. Gurney said as Kit escorted Ashton into the boardinghouse.

Kit had never in his life felt so exhausted. Avoiding towns and traveling straight to Fortune had made for some uncomfortable nights, but he didn't want Jasper and his comrades to get word that he was still alive until he'd reached Fortune.

They'd arrived in Fortune just after nightfall. He'd taken his horse to the hostler so the man could see after the beast and stable him properly. Now all he wanted was to get Ashton settled. “Only weary, Mrs. Gurney. We'll need a room for the night.”

“'Course, you need a room. Can't have you and your bride sleeping on that old cot in the jail. Mrs. Montgomery, the room you had before is still available if you want it.”

“That would be lovely, Mrs. Gurney. Thank you.”

“You both look like you need a hot meal and a hot bath. I'll get both started as soon as I let your brother know you're here. He's been worried sick.”

“David's here?” Ashton asked, and Kit heard the profound relief in her voice.

“No, ma'am, not your brother. The marshal's.”

Kit felt as though a punch had been delivered to his midsection. “My brother? You mean Christopher?”

“Yep. He had half the state searching for you.”

Kit watched her tromp across the front room.

“You weren't expecting a visit from your brother?” Ashton asked quietly.

Still stunned, he answered as though from far away. “No.” Then a horrible thought struck him. He spun around and captured Ashton's gaze. “He knows nothing of what I did regarding Clarisse. I beg you, please, don't tell him.”

“I didn't think you cared about your reputation,” she said.

“I don't, but I do have a regard for his feelings. He allowed me to see her. I don't want guilt sitting on his shoulder because of my actions.”

Ashton hesitated before nodding mutely. Relief swamped him at the same moment that the door to a corner room opened, and Christopher strode through it. Mrs. Gurney skittered out of his way and headed toward the kitchen.

“Good God, man, you look like you've been to hell and back,” Christopher said as he took Kit's hand and pulled him into his embrace. “I feared the worst.”