Emma smiled, sniffing back a few tears and turning crimson. “I can’t wait either.”
Mitch kept an arm around her and faced the judge. “Hitch us quick, Brody.”
The judge nodded and proceeded with the ceremony. Emma was amazed at how the rowdy crowd quieted. She and Mitch spoke the usual wedding vows, and Mitch placed a plain gold band on her finger.
“I’ll get you something fancier in Virginia City,” he told her.
“I don’t want anything fancier,” she answered. “I’ll treasure this one the rest of my life.”
“I now pronounce you—”
“Wait,” Mitch interrupted the judge, studying Emma intently. “I have one more vow to make.”
The crowd quieted to the extent that Emma was sure she could have heard a piece of straw fall to the ground.
“I promise you, Emma Brady, that I will never bring you harm, to your body or your feelings—ever. I promise you will never have to be afraid of anything or anyone again. I promise that I will never betray your trust.”
Emma couldn’t stop her tears then. She reached up and threw her arms around his neck and they shared a passionate kiss that brought thunderous applause from the crowd while the judge yelled as loud as he could, “I now pronounce you man and wife!”
Piano and fiddle music poured from saloons, and the prostitutes began to mingle among the miners, some carried off in men’s arms, screaming and laughing. People surrounded Mitch and Emma as they descended the platform steps arm in arm.
The afternoon was filled with wild celebrations, more food than Emma could possibly eat, and men downing buckets of beer, while gift after gift was presented to Mitch and Emma. There were quilts, kettles, pans, and other kitchen goods, a set of china in a box of straw, candles, lanterns, feather pillows, and an array of items to set up house. Emma wondered how on earth everyone had come up with so many gifts so quickly. They even received two crates of canned goods, and one rancher promised ten pounds of smoked beef.
Len told Mitch that men were already building a one-room house at the end of town so Mitch and Emma would have a place to call their own until they decided where they would live and what kind of home they wanted. Emma realized they hadn’t even discussed those things.
“Ma Kelly has shooed her boarders out for the night,” Randy told them. “You’ll have the whole place to yourselves. Ma will stay with Sarah and we’ll take all your gifts there, too, till you have a place to put it all.”
Music, dancing, eating, and more dancing… Emma had never felt so special, not just because of Mitch’s love for her, but because of the surprising generosity from a horde of people who barely knew her…but they knew Mitch, and their joy for him only told her she’d made the right choice—that Mitch Brady was every bit the honest, trustworthy man she’d already judged him to be.
Day turned to dusk, and everyone paraded Mitch and Emma to Ma Kelly’s. Ma opened the front door and Mitch carried Emma inside to hoots and whistles and laughter. Mitch kicked the door shut and kept Emma in his arms, carrying her to his old room, where Ma had put clean bedding on the iron bed, as well as setting out clean towels and a washbowl and pitcher.
“Well, Mrs. Brady, how does it feel to be married?” Mitch laid her on the bed.
“It feels wonderful.”
Mitch removed his hat, boots, and string tie, opening his shirt partway. He spied a bottle of wine and two glasses someone had left for them on the dresser. He uncorked the wine and poured a little into each glass, bringing them over to the bed. Emma sat up and took the wine, and Mitch sat down beside her.
“I hope you noticed I didn’t drink today,” he told her. “I dearly wanted to get stupid drunk, I’m so damn happy, but I didn’t want to ruin tonight.”
He faced her, and Emma studied him lovingly. “Thank you.”
“But we can have this one drink.” He raised his glass. “To us.”
Emma raised her own, and they touched wine glasses. “To us,” she answered.
They each sipped some wine. Mitch stood up then and removed his shirt. Emma noticed the scar at his side where he’d taken a bullet the day he saved her from Hugh Wiley and his men. It reminded her that the man still lived a dangerous life.
“Mitch, will you continue being a lawman? I’m scared for you.”
He set his glass aside and removed his pants, then crawled onto the bed. “I don’t know yet. We’ll decide together what to do next. Right now I just want to spend the rest of the night making love to my new wife.” He took her glass from her and pulled her off-shoulder dress farther down, pushing it and her camisole past her breasts and grasping them gently in his big hands.
Emma closed her eyes and drank in the joy of his lips gently parting hers as he laid her back on the bed.
Mitch rolled her onto her side, unbuttoning her dress. Emma enjoyed the ecstasy of letting him undress her, the keen pleasure of lying naked beneath him then, letting Mitch Brady taste every inch of her, touch all the secret places that brought fire to her blood. His kisses were delicious, a taste of wine on his lips, fire on his tongue. She had no idea when he’d managed to remove the rest of his own clothes. She only knew he was touching and exploring her body more intimately than the day before, perhaps because yesterday he didn’t want to do too much too soon—another sign of how much he loved her.
This time he moved his fingers inside of her in a way that made her cry out with want for him, and in the next moment he was filling her almost painfully, but it was a glorious pain, not a frightening one. She hoped it wouldn’t take long for these moments to lead to a pregnancy, for she dearly wanted to give Mitch Brady a child, couldn’t wait to set up a real home and give him the family life he’d never known and so much wanted.
They mated…and explored, and mated…and slept…and mated. Tasting, touching, sometimes gently, sometimes in wild passion. Emma felt as though she couldn’t get enough of him, and Mitch voiced the same. By dawn they were exhausted. Mitch pulled her close then, her back to him. He wrapped his arms around her and moved one leg over hers, just as he’d done the morning before when he professed his love for her and made her tell him the truth of why she’d come to Alder.
“Mitch,” she said softly.
“Hmm?” He sounded sleepy now.
“What about…what if he finds me?”
“How many times do I have to tell you not to worry about that man? I’m not even going to say his name, Emma, and I don’t want you to say it either. Your own name is changed now, so you never even have to use his last name yourself.” He pulled her closer. “You’re Mrs. Mitch Brady now, and not only do you have a husband who will never allow that man to touch you and never allow you to be taken from here…you have a whole town behind you, as well as the Montana vigilantes. There are no what-ifs, Emma. It’s simply not going to happen.”
Emma studied the hard muscle of the arm that enveloped her. “I just still have to get used to not being afraid,” she told him, “and used to being loved and protected.”
Mitch kissed her neck, then pulled the covers over them against the cold morning air. Both of them were too tired to get up and make a fire in the little wood burner in the corner of the room. Emma thought how, no matter how hot the days were, it was always chilly in the Montana mountains at night, and by morning a small fire was usually necessary.
Outside there came two distant booms. The mining continued in Alder Gulch, and by now most of yesterday’s crowd had gone home, returned to their mining, or were sleeping off a good drunk. She never dreamed coming to this place would lead to love and marriage and a whole new life, or that the man who charged into the stage robbery, guns blazing, would end up sharing her bed.
“I love you, Mitch, more than anything or anyone on the face of the earth.”
His reply was deep, rhythmic breathing. Emma closed her eyes and enjoyed the first true peace and joy and feelin
g of safety she’d known in a long, long time.
Twenty-six
Alan Radcliffe quickly splashed water on his face and ran wet hands through his hair to smooth it back. He rubbed a towel over his face to dry it and took a quick look in the mirror to make sure he looked halfway decent. Being awakened at 2:00 a.m. angered him but also alarmed him. His stableman had come in through the back door and up to his room to let him know Terence Giles was at the back door.
That was not good news. Giles was Alan’s snitch. He was a man who seemed to have a knack for being in the right place at the right time to hear the right gossip. For Giles to come here at two o’clock in the morning meant an emergency of some sort.
Alan pulled on his silk robe, irritated at the pile of clothes on the floor in the corner of his room. Bess and Matilda had both up and quit on him, and he’d asked Giles to find out why. He’d had trouble finding someone new—his laundry was piling up and there was a mess in the kitchen—and was embarrassed at having no help. On top of that, he’d lost considerably more money gambling. He blamed everything on Emma. When she ran off, she’d taken his hope of new riches and stirred up a lot of talk about her mother’s death. Gerald Hayes had never shown up with the warrant for Emma’s arrest, another thing he’d asked Giles to check into.
He grumbled profanities as he grabbed some money from the top drawer of a large oak dresser, shoving it into a pocket in his robe and hurrying down the stairs and into the kitchen, where Giles sat at the table, smoking a thin cigar. Alan hated the pip-squeak of a man but had to admit he was good at his job. “What on earth are you doing here this hour of the morning?” he asked, going to a cupboard and taking down a bottle of whiskey and two small glasses. He brought them to the table and poured some of the liquor into each glass.
“You’re gonna need that stuff, that’s sure,” Giles told him, picking up one of the glasses and downing the alcohol.
Alan only sipped his, still standing. “What’s going on?”
Giles grinned, putting out his hand. “Ten dollars might save your ass, Radcliffe.”
Scowling, Alan took the bills from his pocket and grudgingly handed ten dollars to the man. “Out with it.”
“Well, sir…” He shoved his glass over, indicating he wanted more whiskey.
Alan refilled the glass while Terence Giles talked.
“Seems Bess and Matilda quitting is all tied up with why you haven’t gotten that warrant yet from Gerald Hayes.” He slugged down the second dose of whiskey.
Alan drank more himself, eyeing Giles darkly. “Go on.”
“Seems as though you’re the one who’s to be arrested.”
Alan slowly set down his glass. “What?”
Giles pursed his lips, then licked off the whiskey that still lingered there. “Seems that the little vixen you raped several nights ago went to the prosecutor—took the bloody sheet and took your maid Bess with her. Bess said as how she saw you drug the girl and carry her to your room passed out. The girl and her ma dragged her pa down to testify he’d paid a gambling debt off to you by letting you have his daughter for a night. He’s in jail on charges they haven’t even come up with yet, and you’re gonna be arrested for rape.”
Alan’s hands balled into fists. Giles reached over and poured himself yet more whiskey. “It gets worse,” he added.
Alan thought he might explode with hatred and anger. If Bess were here right now, he’d choke her to death and throw her into the sewer along with little Miss Andrea Tate. “That little bitch!” he snarled. He stood up and threw his whiskey glass against the iron cookstove, shattering it. “What do you mean by worse?”
“I mean that Gerald Hayes also intends to charge you with murder. Seems Miss Bess also saw what happened the night your wife died, and saw you drag Miss Emma to your bedroom, most likely to be raped. Seems Miss Bess is pretty sure where she ran off to, and Hayes is gonna send somebody for her so she can testify as to what really happened that night.”
Alan paced, enraged, wanting…needing…to slam his fist into something. “They know where Emma is?”
Giles nodded, picking up the whiskey bottle and drinking more whiskey straight from the bottle. “Seems Miss Bess found a newspaper article with an ad in it inviting women to come to a place called Alder Gulch in Montana. They all think Miss Emma went there, thinking you’d never look for her in a place like that. Guess she was right.”
Alan closed his eyes, so angry he feared he might have a heart attack. Alder Gulch in Montana! The little bitch knew damn well he never would have considered she might go West. Maybe she hadn’t even survived the trip. The land west of Chicago was full of Indians and outlaws and miners hungry for women. A pampered Eastern girl couldn’t possibly survive in a place like that! He turned his gaze to Giles. “When are they coming for me?”
Giles shrugged. “Tomorrow, I expect.”
Alan took another ten dollars from his pocket and handed it to the man. “Take this and that whiskey and get out of here! And don’t you dare tell anyone you told me any of this!”
“I won’t tell. My job is to tell you what I know and nothing more.” Giles took the money and the bottle and sneaked out the back door.
Alan went to the window to see a light on in the room off the stables where the stableman slept. Good. He’d gone back to the stables and hadn’t heard any of his conversation with Terence Giles. Alan hurried back up to his room. If Gerald Hayes was coming for him tomorrow, he’d find no one home. He ached with a desire to beat Bess to death, and that damn spoiled bitch Andrea Tate! There was always the chance no one would believe what she told everyone, and Bess was nothing more than a waif off the streets who would do or say anything to have a job and a place to stay. That’s probably what Andrea had offered. The only person who could truly seal the accusation of murder was one Emma Radcliffe, and now he knew where to find her!
Montana. What a godforsaken place for someone like Emma to go. The little trollop was more clever than he’d given her credit for, and a lot braver than he’d expected. But the fact remained that she’d run off, one strike against her when it came to his own testimony. She ran because she was guilty! That’s still what he’d use against her, but the fact remained he had to find her before Hayes came for him. He damn well was not going to prison! And if he could find Emma and beat her into telling him what she’d done with that necklace, he could take it and head for San Francisco. He’d have to kill Emma then—shut her up so she couldn’t testify against him. He could always say she’d been murdered by Indians or ruthless outlaws. Then he could sell the necklace and get on a ship to South America or the Orient, someplace where a wealthy American could start over.
No matter what happened, this all boiled down to Emma and her mother refusing to give him the damn necklace. He’d by God take possession of it this time, even if he had to kill Emma Radcliffe to get it. She’d have no protection in a wild mining town. He could go there and accuse her of murdering her own mother. Maybe he could even get her hanged. What a sight that would be! Emma Radcliffe hanging by the neck.
Twenty-seven
Mitch and Emma headed for the dry-goods store, where Emma intended to pick out material for curtains for their new home. It didn’t matter that it was only a twenty-by-fifteen-foot room for now. It had a wood-burning stove that would keep them plenty warm in the upcoming Montana winter: three windows; a real pinewood floor; a brass bed that Sarah and the girls had shipped in from Virginia City, with a real down-stuffed mattress and real bedsprings; a cupboard for their china; a rocker made for them by Sparky Thomas, the feed-store owner, who was also a good carpenter; and a table and two chairs from George Calus, the supply-store owner, and his wife, Mary.
Emma had almost everything she needed to set up house, and they had moved their personal belongings into it this morning. The house was even close to the town’s ground well, which was fed by water that seeped in from farther up in the m
ountains. Emma would have close access to the well, but Mitch had already insisted he’d be the one to carry the water. He didn’t want Emma having to do it.
Sometimes Emma felt almost guilty for having found so much happiness from something that had started out with such tragedy and horror. She decided that God himself had led her to Alder just so she’d find Mitch Brady. Tomorrow they planned to travel to Virginia City for more supplies and a cookstove. In the spring they would decide if Mitch would continue as a lawman or if they would move farther out into the valley and start a ranch and build a bigger house. For now Emma was happy to stay in Alder, where everyone had been so good to both of them, and where she and Mitch could live cozily in their tiny house.
“I hope you realize I have a lot to learn about cooking Western-style,” she told Mitch, “with big steaks, fried bacon, and potatoes.” They strolled together toward the supply store. “I grew up knowing how to cook fancy dishes you probably wouldn’t even like.”
Mitch waved her off. “You’ve already learned a lot from Ma Kelly, and you make the best biscuits in town. And at the rate people keep bringing us beef and baked goods, you don’t have to worry about cooking for a while yet anyway.” Mitch patted his stomach. “You don’t want a fat husband, do you?”
“I’ll always want you, whether you’re fat or skinny,” Emma answered. She hung on to his arm. “What about me? What if I’m the one who gets fat?”
Mitch pulled her into an alley and moved a hand to the middle of her back, pressing her close. “If you get fat it means you’re carrying, and I couldn’t care less how big you get when it’s my kid in your belly.” He leaned down and kissed her gently.
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