A Stranger's Wife

by Maggie Osborne

  Because she wanted this life. She wanted it badly.

  Peering into the mirror, she let her fingertips caress the fine cashmere and lovely embroidery, and a powerful yearning welled up inside, making her chest ache.

  Now that she’d felt satin and cashmere next to her skin, she never again wanted to wear homespun. Or shoes with holes in the soles. Or mended gloves. Or heavy shapeless stockings. She wanted beautiful, soft clothing with a longing so achingly deep that she trembled with the wanting.

  Extending shaking hands, she stared at the returning whiteness and smooth backs. She couldn’t remember having clean, neatly trimmed fingernails until now. Never, never, never again did she want to look at her hands and see rough, chapped skin and dirty fingernails. Or calluses as hard as horn.

  Oh yes, she thought, closing her eyes and swaying. She wanted Miriam’s life the same way she wanted air in her lungs.

  Disturbed by the intensity of confusing new feelings, Lily gave her head a shake, then caught up a small, beaded purse and slipped out of the house into the morning coolness.

  Drawing a deep breath and collecting herself, she looked about to make certain she was unobserved before she walked out of the gate then rushed along the adobe privacy wall and dashed around the corner, not slowing her pace until she was certain no one had followed.

  There she paused, inhaled deeply, and pretended to adjust her parasol while she let herself fully experience a moment she had dreamed of for five excruciatingly long years, the glorious unfettered weightlessness of freedom.

  Miraculously, she could go where whimsy directed. There was no one to stop her. No hard-eyed guards with carbines cradled in their arms. No Ephram Callihan to take away her supper or order her to work harder or raise his fist to her. There was no one to tell her to stand here or go there. And best of all, she was alone.

  Although Santa Fe’s streets and walkways were beginning to fill with traffic and pedestrians, she felt wonderfully alone. No one was watching, judging, criticizing, or crowding, pushing, or infringing on her small space.

  An overwhelming joy made her dizzy with pleasure and gratitude, and she feared she might faint to the ground and soil her beautiful new ensemble. She was free. Oh God, she was free. When the dizziness passed she laughed out loud and spun in a happy, unladylike circle. Then, smiling broadly, she unfurled her parasol, tilted it against the sun, and sallied forth to explore her newly restored liberty without a care in the world.

  During the next two hours, she happily wandered where fancy took her, fascinated by everything she saw. When she discovered a stone church that claimed to be the oldest in the Americas, she stepped inside and lit a candle for Rose. “We have to wait a little longer, but I’m doing this for us. I’ll come for you the instant I can.”

  The waiting wasn’t hard for Rose because Rose and Aunt Edna didn’t know Lily had been released from prison. They believed she was still in Yuma. And her friends in Yuma believed she was now in Missouri.

  It occurred to her suddenly that if something happened to her, she would never be missed. For an instant the realization alarmed her, then she decided it had to be that way for the impersonation to be successful.

  After a brief hesitation, she decided to light a candle for Miriam Westin, too.

  “I’m going to learn all I can about you,” she murmured, watching the flame flicker uncertainly, as if it might sputter out. “And I promise not to forget that my change of fortune came about because of your possible misfortune. I’ll learn what I must, and I’ll try not to bring shame on your name.”

  Eventually, she wandered back to the plaza where Indian and Mexican vendors sold pottery, food, silver and turquoise trinkets, and items they hoped would appeal to the broad mix of people spilling into Santa Fe off the trail.

  Aware that admiring eyes followed the stylishly draped sway of her bustle, and thrilled by the realization, she strolled around the plaza as she imagined a lady might do, trying to glide. After inspecting the vendors’ wares, she decided that she would use some of her go-home money to buy Rose a small trinket and send it to her.

  Leaning to examine an array of silver chains displayed on an Indian blanket, she pursed her lips and tried to choose which of the chains Rose would like best.

  That’s when an appalling realization struck her like a poisoned arrow. In prison she had constructed a fantasy of Rose that made her believe she knew her daughter. But she didn’t. She knew nothing about Rose. During her incarceration, Aunt Edna had written only two letters and both had been frustratingly empty of details. Perhaps Aunt Edna had hoped to spare her pain by not mentioning Rose. In any case, Edna had written about the farm and the weather and her quilting group, and ended by briefly mentioning, “Rose is healthy and a good worker.”

  Swaying on her feet, Lily blinked and swallowed hard. She didn’t know the color or texture of her daughter’s hair, didn’t know if Rose had inherited her lavender-blue eyes or Cy’s dark gaze. She had no idea if Edna had made Rose a corn-husk doll as she’d done for Lily when Lily was a child, or if Rose was timid or outgoing, quick or slow.

  When her vision cleared, she discovered she was staring at a plainly dressed woman and child, their sunbonnets suggesting they came from one of the immigrant trains. The little girl hung on to the woman’s skirt and gazed at Lily with large round eyes. When the child saw Lily watching, she smiled, then pressed her face against her mother’s hip.

  “Oh dear God.” With one glance, she knew more about another woman’s daughter than she knew about her own.

  Bitter tears blinded her, and she spun in a swirl of silk pleats, rushing away from the mother and child and headlong into the solid body of a man.

  “I . . . I’m sorry, excuse me.”

  “Lily?” When she dashed the tears from her eyes and looked up, Quinn was holding her by the shoulders, scowling down at her. “Where in the hell have you been? We’ve been looking for you for over an hour.” Then he saw the tears in her eyes. “What’s happened? Are you all right?” The scowl became threatening as he scanned the crowds around them, seeking the source of her distress. “Did someone offend you?”

  Squeezing her eyes shut, she pressed her fingertips to her forehead and shook her head. “It’s nothing like that. I just . . . is there a place to sit?”

  Taking her arm, he escorted her to a table beneath a tree outside a restaurant. When a waiter hurried forward, he ordered coffee, then studied her. The scowl returned to his lips.

  “Don’t ever do this again. Tell someone where you’re going.”

  “I need permission to take a walk?” Fumbling in her purse, she found a handkerchief and wiped her eyes, ignoring the tingle that burned along the arm he had held next to his body.

  “For all we knew, you’d boarded a stage for Missouri. You should at least have left a note. Where have you been, for God’s sake? And why didn’t you take someone with you? By now you know that a woman doesn’t go walking without a companion.”

  “You mean a guard,” she snapped, slowly regaining control. When she scanned the plaza, she no longer saw the mother and little girl. But there would be other little girls. And none of them would be Rose.

  A few hours ago, she had yearned to seize Miriam’s life and make it her own. Now, in an emotionally confusing about-face, all she wanted to do was go home.

  “There’s something you need to understand,” she said when she could speak, lifting her head to meet his steady grey gaze. “Right this minute I want to go home so bad it hurts my heart.” Even her voice quavered with her need to go. “But I ain’t,” she paused and ground her teeth. “I’m not going to bolt for Missouri however much I want to. I’m going to see this through and earn a future for myself and Rose.”

  She reminded herself that she wasn’t the type to cut and run. Quinn wasn’t the only one who would do what he had to to get what he wanted.

  “There’s another thing,” she said, staring at his hard mouth. “I don’t like rules, but I have a few I live by. W
hen I give my word, I honor the bargain. And I’m giving you my word that I’ll see this through, and I’ll do the best I can to convince everyone that I’m your wife.”

  The waiter served their coffee then, noting the richness of their dress and hovering until Quinn waved the man away with an irritated gesture. “Why were you crying?” he asked after a silence lengthened between them.

  “Why should you care about a doxy’s tears?”

  Irritation lifted his eyebrows. “It’s dangerous to assume you know what someone else is thinking.”

  She had hoped he would apologize for his remark. When he didn’t, she let her shoulders drop and glanced toward the sound of guitar music strumming out of a cantina. A pretty Mexican whore leaned against a grinning cowboy, wiping grease from her chin as she ate a rolled tortilla and watched the people strolling in the plaza. Unlike the man sitting at Lily’s table, that cowboy’s expression was open and happy and easy to read.

  “You don’t care about anything but yourself and your all important ambition to be governor,” Lily said, turning her gaze back to him. “You’ve made that clear.”

  He’d maintained a distance even in the confined space of the coach, gazing out the window with a brooding expression while Paul taught her how to speak and how to sit and all the rest. Quinn hadn’t been part of the transformation process. Instead, he’d withdrawn into a solitary silence and pulled it around him, shutting out the world.

  “You have no idea how much that statement sounds like something Miriam would say.” Patting his vest pockets, he found a cigar and clipped the end, then leaned back as the waiter jumped forward with a light.

  Lily watched the subservience he so easily commanded. As she became more familiar with Quinn and Paul and more comfortable around them, it was easy to forget they were wealthy powerful men who effortlessly conveyed that impression to those in their sphere. A tiny chill skittered down her spine. She’d do well to remember they could send her back to prison on a whim.

  “Do you ever wonder where Miriam is?” she asked, recalling her promise to Miriam in the church.

  A humorless smile curved his lips. “Haven’t we discussed this already?”

  She didn’t like the feeling that he was toying with her. “Something is strange about Miriam’s disappearance,” she said irritably. “Do you ever think about her?”

  “Oh yes,” he said softly. “I think of Miriam every time I look at you.” Leaning back in his chair, he crossed an ankle over his knee, scanning the people in the plaza. “Everything in my life is geared toward the election. You’re damned right it’s important to me, and I care about winning. That doesn’t mean I don’t care about my wife.” He turned his head to look at her. “You and I are strangers, Lily, and we will always be strangers. There is no reason for either of us to confide in each other or discuss personal matters.”

  “You don’t like me, do you?”

  Sunlight highlighted dark flecks in his grey eyes, smoothed the lines near his mouth. She was aware that women cast sidelong glances at him as they passed the table, and a surge of jealousy brought a sharp taste to her mouth. She didn’t want to feel anything for Quinn Westin, didn’t want to fall into his quicksilver eyes or think about his sure hands or tall, solid body. Most of all, she didn’t want to care how he felt about her and could have kicked herself for asking a stupid question.

  “I’ll never know you because you’re trying to be someone else. That’s how it has to be. I have to see Miriam when I look at you. And there’s no reason for you to know me any better than an actress knows her leading man. We’re strangers whose lives will intermingle for a time and then never again.”

  She listened carefully, then nodded. But she couldn’t let it go, couldn’t halt the words burning her tongue. “Do you dislike me because of who I am, or because I remind you of Miriam?”

  His head came up, and his expression froze in granite. Surprised, Lily watched the color of his eyes flatten to cold slate. Apparently she had struck a sore spot.

  “What in the hell are you suggesting?”

  She spread her hands, intrigued by his reaction. “Perhaps I asked the wrong question,” she said softly, wondering how far she could push this. “Perhaps I should have asked if you liked Miriam.”

  “Finish your coffee,” he ordered abruptly. Pulling a gold watch from the pocket of his trousers, he consulted the time, then snapped the lid. “Paul has a full day planned for you, and I need to check the schedule for the stage to Denver.”

  There had been trouble in the Westin marriage, she was sure of it now. When Quinn looked at her and saw Miriam, she sensed he felt the anger and resentment that had existed between himself and his wife. It wasn’t Lily he disliked as much as the memories she evoked. As he’d pointed out, he didn’t know her and never would. But he had known Miriam.

  Standing, Lily smoothed her gloves over her skirt, then accepted his arm with reluctance, knowing the heat of his body would shoot through her like a bolt of lightning. The instant her arm wrapped around his, she drew a quick soft breath, and they both stiffened.

  Ten years ago she wouldn’t have understood the push/pull between them, the moments of accord swiftly followed by small explosions of temper. And even now, though she knew better, she tried to deny the hot weakness that sapped her strength when she felt the muscles in his arm go rigid at her touch.

  But she was experienced in the ways of men and women. And she could deny the electric attraction between them until the cows came home, but that didn’t alter the fact that she trembled at his touch, and her mouth went dry. She didn’t want this complication and would resist it, but she was drawn to him, and the attraction was powerful.

  What made things confusing was that despite his aloofness and occasional coldness, she had observed Quinn watching her and had seen the heat in his eyes. Had sensed his struggle to pull away from whatever emotions she aroused in him.

  People flowed around them as they stood frowning at each other. Something hard and sensual flickered at the back of Quinn’s gaze, and an involuntary tremor shot down Lily’s spine. Her knees shook, and she felt as if her insides were turning to liquid.

  Her fingers tightened convulsively on his arm, and she licked her lips. And suddenly she wondered what their sleeping arrangements would be when they began to live together as man and wife.

  * * *

  “Do you believe her?” Paul asked, waving a crisply clad Mexican waiter away from their table.

  “There’s no reason I should,” Quinn answered, finishing the last of his steak. “But I do,” he added with a shrug. “At some point we have to trust that she won’t cut and run at the first opportunity. She didn’t today. She says she won’t in the future.”

  They were dining at the Santa Fe Men’s Club, which reminded Quinn of his club in Denver. The dining room and smoking lounge were paneled in aged cherrywood and hung with hunting scenes. Cigar smoke thickened the air, and the room buzzed with a low hum of male voices. If it hadn’t been for the stuffed iguana and armadillo atop the fireplace mantel, he could have believed he was in Denver.

  “Before we discuss Lily,” he said, putting down his fork, “we need to address the alterations you made in my speech for the territorial legislature.”

  Paul lifted a hand. “I know your objections, we covered them yesterday. You’ll cut your own throat if you propose regulatory measures for the mining industry.”

  “When’s the last time you rode up to the mines? Slag piles are disfiguring the landscape.” He leaned forward, his gaze focused and intense. “That dirt is coming from deep inside the mountains, Paul. Nothing will grow on it. What I’m proposing is that the mining industry clean up its mess. Bring in some topsoil and cover the slag. Otherwise, Colorado residents are going to be looking at a blighted landscape for a hundred years.”

  “The small operators will walk away, and you’ll never find them to enforce such a regulation. The financial burden will fall on the big operators. That means you’d be impos
ing additional costs on the very men who are financing your campaign. The silver barons will never support this measure, Quinn. Or you, if you propose it.”

  “The cost is small compared to long-term benefits.”

  “Small? Hiring a platoon of day laborers to dig topsoil, then haul it up the side of a mountain? The silver barons will insist that future Coloradoans repair the damage if they don’t want to look at slag piles. Quinn, the name of the game is profit, and you know this. You threaten the mining industry’s profits at your peril.”

  Leaning back in his chair, Quinn raked a hand through his hair, tousling the dark waves. Frustration made his shoulders ache.

  “There are days when I ask myself why in the hell I’m running for office. For every goal I want to accomplish, you have four reasons why it can’t or shouldn’t be attempted.”

  “That’s politics, my friend,” Paul said, smiling. “I’ve been at this longer than you, long enough to know whose toes not to step on. You don’t trample the men whose money will get you elected.”

  He leaned back as the waiter removed their platters. “Maybe Lily’s suggestion had merit. Perhaps I should use my own money and run as an independent.”

  Paul ordered brandies, then leaned forward and folded his hands on the white-damask table linen. “Only a political innocent would suggest such an expensive way to lose an election. Understand that I agree with many of your ideas, and in a perfect world I’d help you fight for them. But I absolutely guarantee you’ll lose this election by a landslide if you enrage the mining industry by proposing regulations that will slice profits. Or if you offend the religious community by espousing divorce. Or if you throw the ranchers up in arms by demanding water controls. Or, or, or. Your ideas are farsighted and good. But this isn’t the right time.”

  Brooding, Quinn gazed out the windows overlooking the territorial governor’s residence. He knew how the game was played; he just didn’t like it. First get elected, then introduce controversial issues. It was the misrepresentation that stuck in his craw. He would rather have been elected based on full disclosure of what he hoped to accomplish rather than win based on sidestepping real issues in order to avoid offending the money men.