Outlaw's Bride

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Outlaw's Bride Page 8

by Maureen McKade


  Mattie froze at the anger in his voice. “You were the one who started it.”

  “With your permission.”

  Her face heated with humiliation. “You didn’t give me a chance to say no.”

  “When a woman puts her arms around me and opens her mouth to mine, that says yes to me. What are you afraid of, Mattie?” he asked quietly.

  Startled, she snapped her head up to look at him and found his anger was gone, replaced by concern. “Not a darned thing, Mr. Beaudry.”

  “The name’s Clint.”

  With her back against the wall, she edged sideways. “I have to start breakfast.”

  “I already made coffee—should be hot and ready.” The glint in his eye told Mattie the double meaning was intended.

  She didn’t rise to the bait. “I’ll call you when breakfast is on.”

  Before Mattie could flee, Clint took her chin between his thumb and forefinger. “I wouldn’t leave without paying for room and board,” he said softly, then his mouth gentled to a smile. “I’m not that kind of man.”

  An hour later, Mattie and Andy strolled into the churchyard in Green Valley. She had asked Clint if he wanted to accompany them to Sunday service, but he’d declined. Mattie suspected he hadn’t set foot in a church in a very long time.

  She greeted people she’d known most of her life as she walked into the building. Mattie always welcomed the break in the week to visit friends and take her away from the drudgery of her day-to-day work. Today, however, as she listened to the Reverend Lister drone on about the evils of drunkenness, Mattie found her thoughts straying to her too-handsome patient. Then the sermon shifted from drunkenness to temptation in general, and she slouched a little lower in her pew, certain everyone could see the guilt in her face.

  Finally, the tedious homily ended and the concluding hymn was sung. Mattie and Andy followed the crowd out into the churchyard, where Andy joined his friends Buck and Josh for a game of tag.

  Sheriff Atwater joined her. “Mornin’, Mattie.”

  She smiled fondly. “Hello, Walt. Have you been keeping out of trouble?”

  “Can’t get into much trouble with the gout actin’ up.” He chuckled. “Besides, ain’t I supposed to be askin’ you that?”

  Mattie’s face warmed. “Now, what kind of trouble could I get into out there by myself?”

  “I hear Beaudry’s still stayin’ with you.”

  She wasn’t surprised he knew. Walt made it his business to know everybody else’s business, which Mattie supposed was his job. “He’s still healing. That bullet nearly killed him.”

  “What about Kevin—where’s he been?”

  She glanced away guiltily. Kevin had only dropped by once since he’d returned, and she hadn’t even missed him. “I haven’t seen him much. I guess he’s been busy.”

  “I reckon there have been a lot of babies bein’ born lately.” He scratched his grizzled jaw. “It’s just that I been concerned about you, Mattie.”

  Impatience fluttered through her. “There’s no need to worry about me.”

  “Don’t get your hackles up. It’s just that I seen how you looked at him and how he looked at you. You been alone a long time, maybe too long.”

  “I’m not alone—I have Andy.”

  “You know what I mean, Mattie St. Clair.” Walt fingered the brim of his hat. “I’ll drop by for a visit later this week.”

  Mattie appreciated his fatherly concern; Walt was a good friend and she did enjoy his visits. She reached out and clasped his hand. “Remember to come around suppertime.”

  The lawman patted his somewhat generous girth. “I ain’t about to forget.” He donned his hat. “Good day, Mattie.”

  “’Bye.”

  She watched the lawman limp away, concerned that he was getting too old for the job. Her husband had been twenty-two when he’d been killed and Walt was a lot slower than Jason had been. She shook her head. When Walt came to visit, she’d have a talk with him, try to convince him to retire.

  Mattie heard her name called and joined a small group of women to hear the latest gossip.

  The next day after breakfast, Clint said to Mattie, “If you don’t mind, I’d like Andy to help me fix the chicken coop this morning.”

  She eyed him critically, noting his still too-pale cheeks and the way he favored his left side. “Are you sure you’re up to it?”

  “With Andy’s help, I’ll be fine.”

  “Can I, Ma?” the boy pleaded.

  Amusement filled Mattie—she’d never heard Andy beg to work before. “All right, but I want you to keep an eye on Mr. Beaudry and make sure he doesn’t overdo it. If he starts getting tired, you make sure he sits down and rests.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Enthusiasm rang in his young voice.

  “And who’ll make sure you don’t overdo it?” Clint asked softly.

  Mattie quickly looked away, uncomfortable with the compassion in his eyes. “I wasn’t the one who was shot.”

  “You’re driving yourself so hard, you’re going to drop in your tracks one of these days.”

  “A little hard work never hurt anyone.” She stood and gathered their plates. “What about you, Herman? What’re you planning to do today?”

  The old man shifted uneasily in his chair. “I reckon I can give Andy and Beaudry a hand, if they need me.”

  Mattie turned toward the sink to hide her smile. The hopefulness in Herman’s voice told her he would prefer they didn’t need him.

  “I appreciate it, Herman. This way we can probably get it all fixed today,” Clint said. “Let’s get to work. The sooner we finish, the sooner you can go fishing.”

  The scraping of the chair legs told Mattie they were leaving and she turned to watch Clint place his hat on his head. Her gaze lingered on his backside as he left.

  Though she usually did indoor tasks on Monday mornings, Mattie decided to work in the garden before it got too hot. Her decision had nothing to do with the fact that the garden was only thirty feet from the chicken coop and that Clint would be in her sight the entire time. No, of course not.

  With a bonnet on her head and gloves on her hands, Mattie knelt in the rich soil, the loamy smell surrounding her with familiar comfort. Though the garden had been weeded three days ago, new weeds had already taken their place. She tugged them out, crooning to her carrot and pea plants like she would to a baby.

  The sound of laughter drew her attention and she paused, watching Clint hold a board for Andy as her son hammered a nail into it. Her throat tightened at the camaraderie that was growing between her son and the puzzling gunman. As sure as she knew her vegetables would grow if they were nurtured and cared for, she knew the same could happen with the blooming friendship between Andy and Clint. But Clint wouldn’t stay long enough to allow the seed to germinate.

  After she completed the weeding, she pulled some carrots and picked some peas for lunch. If there was time in the afternoon, she’d check the peach trees. A peach pie would round out supper nicely.

  Mattie took her bucket and sat on the porch to ready the vegetables. She popped the pods open and skimmed her finger beneath the line of round peas so that they dropped into the pan in her lap. It would be nice to have the coop fixed up for the coming winter. She’d despaired of having it last through the violent blizzards, and if she lost her chickens, she would lose a part of her livelihood and a food source.

  She noticed Clint press a hand to his side as he leaned against the coop. Setting aside her bowl, she stood, determined to make him take a break.

  As she approached him, he caught her eye and shook his head stubbornly. “I’m fine.”

  “You need to rest.”

  “I’m too old to be mothered, Mattie.”

  She was all too aware of how grown-up he was. “I’m your nurse, remember?”

  “Not anymore. Now I’m just a boarder.”

  “But—”

  “No buts.” A corner of his lips lifted in a jaunty grin. “I hope we’re having thos
e peas and carrots for lunch.”

  “Provided you can hobble over to the table when it’s ready.” Spinning around, Mattie strode across the yard. “Damn stubborn man. Why do I even waste my energy worrying about you?”

  “Because you care about me,” he called after her.

  Mattie’s face flamed and she didn’t dare turn to see his amused expression. If she were a man, she’d punch him, but she wasn’t.

  And therein lay the heart of the matter.

  Chapter 7

  Mattie had just finished doing the lunch dishes when she heard a wagon roll into the yard. She glanced out the window and recognized the red-fringed surrey as Orville Johnson’s, the owner of the Green Valley Bank. Amelia, Orville’s wife, had told Mattie that she would be coming by to pick up her husband’s shirts, which Mattie laundered and pressed every other week.

  She removed her apron and smoothed her hair back from her brow. Although Amelia was always friendly, the woman’s expensive and beautiful wardrobe always made Mattie feel like a country cousin.

  She walked past Clint, who sat in a rocking chair on the porch resting before going back to work on the chicken coop. Andy and Herman, however, had returned to their task after Clint had given them directions. Recalling Herman’s look of disgust, Mattie grinned.

  Conscious of Clint’s gaze on her back, Mattie strolled into the yard to welcome her visitor. “Good afternoon, Amelia.”

  The woman smiled. “Hello, Mattie.” She stepped down from the surrey, careful not to step on her hem. Shading her eyes with a gloved hand, Amelia gazed toward the porch, where Clint was half hidden in the shadows. “That must be the wounded man I heard about.”

  “That’s right,” Mattie said cautiously. “He’s healing quite nicely.”

  “He looks just fine to me,” Amelia said with an inquisitive gleam in her eyes.

  Though Mattie agreed with her, it didn’t set well that another woman also found him appealing. “If you had changed his bandages five times a day and cared for him while he was unconscious, you might have a different opinion.”

  “I’m sorry, Mattie. I’m sure it was quite a burden for you to bear, along with caring for your son.”

  Jarred by the woman’s sincere sympathy, Mattie said awkwardly, “Thank you for your concern, but I’m doing fine.” She motioned toward the house. “Why don’t you come in and have some coffee?”

  Amelia eyed Clint again and nodded. “Thank you.”

  As Mattie led her to the house, she glanced at Clint, and found his attention was also on Amelia. Her hackles rose. How dare he proclaim to want her one moment, then eye Amelia like she was a piece of chocolate cake—with frosting? She should have known she couldn’t trust a man like him.

  She stopped so suddenly Amelia almost bumped into her. Pasting on a sweet smile, Mattie said, “Amelia, I’d like you to meet Clint Beaudry. Mr. Beaudry, this is Mrs. Amelia Johnson, the banker’s wife.”

  Clint put two fingers to the brim of his hat. “Mrs. Johnson.”

  “Mr. Beaudry,” Amelia said. As she turned away from him, Mattie spotted something akin to desperation in the woman’s eyes. “On second thought, I should get right back. If Orville comes home and I’m not there, he’ll have a fit.” She laughed nervously.

  Puzzled by her abrupt change of mind, Mattie said, “I’ll get Orville’s things.” She went inside to retrieve the finished laundry. On her return, her arms full, she turned to use her shoulder to open the screen door. Clint’s low voice made her pause, and Mattie leaned closer to listen.

  “Does he know?” Clint asked Amelia.

  “No, and I’d like to keep it that way,” the woman said in a husky voice.

  What was going on? Did Clint and Amelia know each other?

  “I won’t tell him. But he’s bound to find out sooner or later,” he said. “It’d be best coming from you.”

  What would be best coming from Amelia? Was there something between her and Clint? How could there be? Clint had only arrived in town the day before he was shot.

  “I don’t know what he’ll do when he finds out,” Amelia said, and Mattie detected fear in her tone.

  Peeking out, Mattie saw Clint step over to stand in front of the woman. “If he loves you, he won’t care.”

  “You don’t know Orville.”

  Clint put his arms around Amelia and jealousy punched the air from Mattie’s lungs. They obviously knew each other well. An odd sense of betrayal cut her to the bone. Yet how could she fault Clint for his attraction to Amelia? The woman was young, with nice clothes and smooth, creamy skin. Mattie glanced down at her blunt fingernails and rough, chapped skin, then ran a palm across her patched and faded dress. What man wouldn’t choose fresh Amelia over careworn Mattie?

  She stepped a few feet back into the house and called out with forced cheerfulness, “I think I have all of Orville’s things.”

  Mattie pushed the door open and stepped onto the porch, not surprised to see Clint and Amelia standing far apart. Clearly, they didn’t want her to know about their … acquaintance.

  “Here you are.” Mattie held out the stack to Amelia.

  “I’ll take it,” Clint volunteered, taking the pile from her arms.

  “Thank you,” Amelia said, her face pale. She dug into her reticule and handed Mattie some money. “I’ll come by next week with another load.”

  Mattie tucked the coins into her dress pocket and merely nodded. She crossed her arms and watched with narrowed eyes as Clint escorted Amelia to her carriage. She didn’t like the churning in her stomach, any more than she liked the way Clint’s hands rested on Amelia’s waist as he helped her into the buggy. Why should she care that the two of them wanted their relationship kept a secret?

  She tried to tell herself it was none of her business, yet she couldn’t deny the ache of betrayal deep inside, any more than she could deny the hunger that Clint had awakened.

  The carriage rolled down the driveway and Clint walked back to join Mattie. She waited for him to explain the relationship between him and Amelia, but the silence stretched out, broken only by the cawing of a crow and the cackling of the chickens.

  Mattie’s fingers curled tighter into her palms. What did she expect? Clint had been a mystery ever since he’d arrived, remaining reticent about his past.

  And wasn’t that the way she wanted it? The more she learned about him, the more she lowered her guard against him. It was better to remain strangers to one another.

  “Hey, Mr. Beaudry. When’re you comin’ back to help us?” Andy called out.

  Clint grinned and etched lines appeared at the corners of his eyes, showing her he was a man who had laughed and smiled often in the past.

  “I’m ready right now,” he hollered back.

  Mattie opened her mouth to warn him to be careful but stopped herself. Instead, she glanced at him and their gazes locked.

  “I will.” Clint winked.

  Flustered, Mattie looked away. It was disconcerting to have someone read her mind, especially him. She hurried into the house, afraid of what else he might see.

  Mattie’s feet carried her to the hearth. Lifting a hand, she ran her finger lightly over the music box’s smooth surface. She raised the lid and the gentle strains of the familiar waltz encircled her.

  She closed her eyes, picturing her mother and father waltzing in their small cabin. The love they’d shared had been more valuable than anything money could buy.

  Opening her eyes, she snapped the lid shut. That had been a long time ago—when she had still believed in love and promises.

  The moment Clint rolled over to get out of bed, he knew he had overdone it with the chicken coop yesterday. It wasn’t just his healing wound that ached, but muscles he’d rarely used in the past year were also stiff. He’d forgotten how strenuous manual labor could be.

  He drew on his clothes, then splashed water on his face and lathered his whiskers with soap. As he shaved, he intoned quietly, “Maybe today, Em.”

  But I hope
not.

  The thought surprised him. He’d chased after death for so long, but now there was a stronger will to live—and he knew why.

  “Breakfast is almost ready,” Mattie called from downstairs.

  “I’ll be down in a minute.” Clint finished shaving, and finger-combed his hair, then joined Mattie in the kitchen.

  “Good morning,” Mattie said as she spooned scrambled eggs onto four plates.

  “Morning.” He inhaled appreciatively and smiled. “Smells real good, Mattie.”

  Pink flushed her cheeks. “Thank you. Why don’t you sit down before it gets cold? Andy and Herman’ll be here in a minute.”

  As if they’d been waiting for their cue, the boy and old man came through the doorway.

  “The chicken coop didn’t leak at all last night,” Andy said, plopping onto his chair.

  “Did it rain?” Clint asked.

  “Buckets. Didn’t you hear it?”

  Surprised he’d slept through a rainstorm, Clint shrugged. “I must’ve been tired.”

  “After all the work you did, I’m not surprised,” Mattie said. She took her seat and they bowed their heads to say grace.

  “Amen,” Clint murmured, remembering himself as a boy surrounded by his own family. It left him feeling oddly bereft.

  “Me and Herman are goin’ fishing, Mr. Beaudry. You want to go with us?” Andy asked.

  Clint glanced at Mattie. “Did you ask your mother first?”

  Andy’s expression fell as he turned to Mattie. “Can I, Ma?”

  “Sure, you worked hard yesterday. Just be home by lunch.”

  Clint suspected Mattie would be doing Andy’s tasks as well as her own this morning. When he’d been Andy’s age, he’d helped his pa from sunup to sundown most every day. Once or twice a week, his father would reward him and his brothers with an afternoon of fishing. Clint had fond memories of those days, listening to the lazy buzz of the flies and the odd rattling of grasshoppers’ wings. He could almost smell the hot summer days, the thick rich odor of dirt and green grass and pond water.

  “Do you want to go?” Andy asked Clint again.

 

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