Outlaw’s Bride (3 page)

Patch folded the letter and addressed it to her father and stepmother. She put everything away and retrieved her purse as she stood and turned to the clerk. “Can you direct me to the post office?”

“It’s at the end of Main Street,” Gilley said. “In the rear of the Oakville Mercantile.”

“I’ll be back soon.”

“I’ll have that bath ready,” Gilley promised.

Patch stepped out into the sunlight once more and headed toward the mercantile. She walked as though she had an egg in each hand and a stack of books on her head—the way they had taught her at the fancy school she had attended in Boston. What she didn’t realize was that her natural physical
grace made her body sway in a way that had every cowhand up and down the boardwalk gawking at her.

Patch had learned a lot of rules in Boston, most of which began with
A Lady Never
 … Patch figured she had broken about ten of them in the past twenty minutes. She found it difficult to always act like a lady, but she was determined that for Ethan’s sake she would epitomize that feminine ideal. No matter how hard it was, she would follow the rules—except when it was absolutely necessary to break them.

Patch politely nodded her head to the local ladies and kept her eyes straight ahead when she passed the cowboys on her way to the mercantile. She didn’t care to be accosted by any of them. It was a little harder to ignore the trickle of sweat that snaked down her back. But she was a lady now, and that meant enduring certain discomforts.

Oakville’s main street wasn’t very long and consisted of two saloons, two hotels, the livery, a jail, a bank, several eateries, and the mercantile. Patch welcomed the cool difference in temperature when she stepped inside the oak-shaded one-story wood-frame building that Gilley had told her housed the Oakville Post Office. She introduced herself to Mr. Felber, the postmaster and owner of the store, and was assured that her letter would be on its way to Montana on the next stage.

“I’d also like to buy a few things,” she said.

“Help yourself, Miss Kendrick,” Mr. Felber said. “Help yourself.”

Since Patch had supposedly been heading for Boston, she didn’t have the sort of clothes packed in her trunks that she needed for a jaunt on horseback. Fortunately, her parents had given her enough funds for the trip to Boston so that she could afford to buy what she needed.

As Patch discovered, Mr. Felber never came out from behind the counter. When he’d said, “Help yourself,” it was because he couldn’t be bothered. While she searched out a pair of Levi’s, a chambray shirt, socks, and boots, she watched Mr. Felber sit on his stool and play solitaire. He stopped only long enough to take payment from a lady who bought pins and another who bought peaches.

Patch’s attention was drawn to the door when the bell rang to announce another customer, mainly because Mr. Felber got up off his stool and walked all the way to the end of the counter. Apparently, whoever was entering the mercantile was a person of some importance.

The tiny young woman who stepped inside had hair as black as coal, dark brown eyes, and the face of an angel. She was dressed every bit as modishly as Patch herself. Patch had never in her life seen such a beautiful woman. She knew she was staring, but she couldn’t help herself.

Patch was chagrined when the woman not only noticed her stare but smiled and walked right up to her.

“Hello,” the beauty said. “My name is Merielle. What’s yours?”

“Patch—Patricia Kendrick.”

“I haven’t seen you before,” Merielle said.

“I just got into town today.”

“Would you like to come to my house to play?”

“To play?” Patch was confused by the invitation, which made no sense. To play what?

“Merielle!”

The tiny woman jumped at the shout from the door. She turned and her smile widened as she hurried up to the sun-browned cowboy standing in the doorway, his hat in his hand, his black hair awry. “Frank! I’ve found a new friend. Come and meet her.”

Merielle took the cowboy’s hand and drew him into the store. Patch stared again, because the cowboy was as tall and handsome as the woman was tiny and beautiful. He also had black hair, but his eyes were gray. There were lines beside his eyes and around his mouth, but Patch didn’t think he had gotten them smiling.

“Howdy, ma’am,” the cowboy said, nodding his head in a jerky motion. He turned his attention to the young woman. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you, Merielle. I wish you wouldn’t run off like that.”

Patch frowned as she listened to the way the cowboy was speaking to the woman—as though she were a child. Merielle was tiny, but she had a woman’s body. As Patch watched the man and the woman together, it became increasingly apparent, however, that Merielle had a child’s mind.

“Can Miss Kendrick come home and play with me?”

Patch saw the cowboy’s jaw harden, saw his lids drop to cover the melancholy in his eyes.

“Maybe we could get together another time,” Patch said to Merielle, hoping to smooth things over.

The cowboy slanted Patch a grateful look before he focused his eyes on Merielle. His features were troubled. “I don’t think your pa wants you bringing home company today.”

“But we could have fun. I just know it!” Merielle said.

Patch set her purchases on the counter, then reached out and took both of Merielle’s hands in her own. “I promise I’ll come visit soon,” she said. “You go with Frank now.”

“You promise?” Merielle asked worriedly.

Patch wondered why Merielle didn’t also have a child’s trust. She smiled at the other woman. “I promise.”

Merielle’s whole face brightened. “All right. I’ll see you soon.” She turned and linked her arm through Frank’s. He nodded to Patch, then slipped his hat on. Patch noticed that he leaned down to listen earnestly to Merielle as he led her from the store.

When Patch turned around to pick up her purchases again, she found Mr. Felber shaking his head and
tsk
ing.

“Such a shame,” he said. “Poor Trahern.”

That name struck a strident chord with Patch. “Trahern?”

“That was Merielle Trahern. Jefferson Trahern’s
daughter. I don’t know how Frank can stand to see her like that.”

“What is Frank’s relationship to her?”

“He’s Trahern’s foreman. He and Merielle used to be sweethearts a long time ago. Whole town knew those two kids were in love. Wasn’t ever going to come to anything, though.”

“Why not?”

Mr. Felber played a red nine on a black ten. “Frank Meade was dirt poor. Trahern would never have let his daughter marry a sod farmer’s son.”

Patch told herself she wasn’t going to ask, but the words were out before she could stop them. “Has she always been like that? Childlike, I mean?”

“Nope. And that’s the shame of it.”

Patch felt the gooseflesh on her arms but forced herself to ask anyway. “What happened? What made her like that?”

“Poor girl lost her mind when Ethan Hawk raped her.”

“Hold it right there!”

A towheaded hoyden in hitched-up trousers stood on the porch of a rundown ranch house, holding a rifle aimed at Patch’s heart. The girl reminded Patch vividly of herself at twelve or thirteen—except she had never carried a gun. The shadow of fear in the girl’s hazel eyes was countered by the pugnacious thrust of the youngster’s chin.

Patch shifted in the saddle but didn’t attempt to dismount. “I’m looking for Ethan Hawk’s place,” she said with a smile meant to ease the child’s anxiety.

“You found it.”

“Do you know Ethan?” Patch asked.

“Guess I do. I’m his sister.”

Patch was stunned. She had never thought of Ethan as having a family. He had always seemed so … alone. Obviously, she didn’t know as much about Ethan Hawk as she had thought. She met the girl’s brazen stare and asked, “What’s your name?”

“Don’t think I’m gonna tell you.”

Patch bit back a retort and asked with ladylike calm, “Is he here?”

“Who wants to know?” the girl demanded.

“My name is Patri—Patch Kendrick. I’m a friend of your brother’s.”

The girl harrumphed in disbelief. “Ethan don’t have no friends in this town.”

“I came here all the way from Montana especially to see him.”

The ragamuffin’s eyes narrowed. “What if I say I don’t believe you?”

Patch issued an unladylike snort. “How many females have come here hunting for Ethan?”

The girl shrugged. “You got me there. He usually tracks down Jewell at the saloon if he needs a woman.” She kept the gun aimed at Patch.

Patch forced down a stab of jealousy at the mention of another woman’s name. It had never occurred to her that Ethan might be involved with somebody else. Her common sense rescued her from further distress. No Soiled Dove could hope to compete with an honest-to-goodness lady when it came to claiming a man’s love. Could she?

“Do you mind if I get down off this horse?” Patch asked. “It’s been a while since I did a lot of riding. I have to admit I’m discovering muscles I’d forgotten about. I can explain everything, if you’ll let me.”

A weak voice from inside the house called out, “Leah, let her come on in.”

“But Ma! What if Trahern sent her here to spy on us?”

“Leah! Do as I say!” the voice from inside commanded.

Patch let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding as Ethan’s sister lowered the Winchester.

“You can come in,” Leah said, “but don’t try anything, ’cause I’ll be watching you.”

Patch had been appalled at the decrepit condition of the ranch house and outlying buildings, but even the sorry state of affairs outside hadn’t prepared her for the shambles the house was in. Patch stepped into a parlor that reminded her of the days when she had been a runny-nosed kid keeping house for her widowed father. Unkempt didn’t half describe it.

The horsehair sofa was threadbare, but it was barely visible beneath the collection of dirty clothes, leather tack, and yellowed newspapers that were strewn across it. A hat rack held a filthy saddle blanket and a pair of spurs. The rolltop desk provided a snug haven for a calico cat and a litter of nursing kittens.

Through an open doorway Patch could see pots and pans stacked around the pump in the kitchen. The trestle table still held plates and silverware from a previous meal. A baby raccoon played with a coffee mug on the kitchen floor, tracking through the puddle of coffee that had apparently been spilled when the cup landed.

Patch had spent enough time at Ethan’s cabin when he lived in Montana to know he hadn’t put up with such squalor then. So she didn’t understand the mess now, especially since it appeared
there were at least two females, mother and daughter, living here with him.

“Leah, bring her in here,” Ethan’s mother called.

“Ma’s sick,” Leah said. “Don’t you go bothering her,” she warned.

“Is it serious?”

Patch saw the flash of panic that shifted across Leah’s face despite the girl’s confident, “Ma’ll be fine. Just a little upset stomach she can’t seem to shake.”

When Patch stepped through the bedroom door and saw the older woman’s sickly pallor, she knew Leah’s mother was every bit as ill as the girl feared. The delicate-looking, white-haired woman lay in the center of a maple four-poster bed. She was dressed in a plain chambray nightgown that was tied primly at the neck. Her skin was stretched thin across high cheekbones, and her silvery gray eyes looked sunken in their sockets.

Despite the chaos in the rest of the house, here everything was clean and neat. The lace curtains had been drawn aside and sunlight streamed across the patterned quilt that was pulled up under the older lady’s arms.