“Perhaps she didn’t receive your letter.” He couldn’t stand the pain and disappointment in her eyes. “You should write again.” Or he would. He would slay dragons for her, if she asked. Suddenly, Franz felt her sag into the seat. “We have been out too long. Come, let’s get you in the house. I’ll make coffee to warm you.”
“May I have tea, please?”
He smiled broadly. “That’s the first time you’ve asked me for something. I’m sure we have tea, but I will happily sail to China for the leaves, if I must.”
Her own lips curved at his teasing. “That’s not necessary, but thank you for the thought.”
After escorting her into the house and watching her climb the stairs to the guest room she used, he took care of the horse then went into the kitchen to put water on to boil. Tea leaves, honey and a splash of whiskey to warm her, he decided. With everything on a tray, Franz went in search of Rebekah.
He found her in the parlor, curled in a corner of the settee, fast asleep. He hesitated in the doorway, worried he might frighten her. As he set down the tray, a cup slid, rattling a bit in a saucer and waking her.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”
“There you are.” He spoke over her, refusing to allow her to retreat into fear again. “I hope you like honey in your tea.”
Rebekah accepted the cup with a shy smile and sniffed, blinking rapidly at the liquor-scented steam. “There’s a bit more than honey in here.” With a laugh, he lowered himself into one of the matching chairs opposite her and stretched his legs out in front of him. She coughed after her first sip, but went back for more. When the cup was empty, she set it on the tray with a contented sigh. “Thank you. I feel all toasty inside now.”
“Would you care for another cup?”
Snuggling into the settee, she shook her head. “That was just enough. I believe it’s time for me to—” Her words were lost in a yawn, and her eyes drifted closed.
The doctor in him knew he should help her upstairs where she would be more comfortable, but the man wanted to watch her sleep for just a while. “Good night, my love.” Never had he said that to a woman, and he feared he never would again.
When she left, this slip of a female would take his heart.
Chapter 6
Rebekah stood before the dressing mirror wearing only her chemise and drawers. After three weeks in the care of Franz and Martha, the cuts and bruises inflicted by Reginald were healing, though she would have more scars. Leaning closer, she studied the gash on her left cheekbone. She could still hear the disgust in his voice, the hatred, but she had grown accustomed to that. She never thought he’d try to kill her.
How could her father have just given her to a man like Reginald Redmann? He was handsome enough, but his only goal was to see how much money he could win—or steal. When he spoke to her it was to tell her what she did wrong or blame her for his latest failure. There had been no kindness, only slaps and criticism. Growing up, she’d dreamed of falling in love with a man who was intelligent and gentle, who loved her in return. Someone like Franz Bittner.
Since the night of the dance, Franz had been attentive and kind, bringing her a bouquet of spring flowers one day, asking her out for a walk another. They spoke of their dreams and wishes, of sisters and mothers, or often said nothing at all, just enjoyed each other’s company.
She was being courted. And she liked it.
Turning her head from side to side, Rebekah studied her reflection, trying to see herself as Franz might. She was not much taller than his sister, but she really liked how perfectly they fit together when he held her close.
Her hair was so pale she thought it looked sun-bleached, but Franz seemed to like it. He certainly touched it a lot. Taking up the brush Franz had bought for her, she stroked it through her hair. The ends brushed the backs of her knees, so she pulled it all over her shoulder and continued working out the tangles until it crackled and shone.
Setting aside the brush, she traced the edges of her lips with a fingertip. The light contact reminded her of how it had felt when Franz kissed her the night of the dance. Her first real kiss. Reginald had touched her, but there’d been no tenderness. He’d insisted on his husbandly rights, and she couldn’t refuse him, but he’d never kissed her.
“I’m glad,” she told her reflection. A first kiss should be special and hers was, because it came from Franz.
Looking at her light blue eyes reminded her so much of her mother. “Mama,” she whispered to the room. “Did you ever feel like this when Papa walked into the room, when you heard his voice? Is this love?”
A knock at the bedroom door had her scrambling for her dressing gown. “Who is it?” Her voice wobbled as she stuffed her arms into the garment.
“Franz. Are you ready?”
She’d lost track of time woolgathering in front of the mirror. “I will be down soon.”
Telling her he’d wait in his study, Franz walked away. No shouts of stop wasting my time, no pounding on the door demanding she come out immediately or He’d come in after her. The contrast between her life with Reginald and what it could be like with Franz was dizzying.
I want to be happy. “I deserve to be happy,” she whispered.
But you’re married, a little voice in her head taunted. You can’t be happy with him. You have to go back to your husband.
“No, I won’t go back.” Hanging up her dressing gown, Rebekah quickly twisted and pinned up her hair and stepped into the blue dress Mary had given her. With Martha’s help, she’d cleaned and repaired the dark green walking dress she’d worn the night of her attack, but she couldn’t bring herself to put it on. Reginald would be furious that she despised his gift, but she didn’t care. She refused to wear it when she was with Franz.
Struggling a little to do up the buttons, she finally managed to finish dressing. Thanks to a certain doctor’s care, she was healing quickly. She’d even taken on some of the cleaning, giving Martha more time to spend with her sheriff.
Tying on her bonnet and grabbing her wrap, she hurried downstairs to find Franz waiting in the foyer.
“You look like springtime, little one.” Taking her wrap, he shook it out and put it around her shoulders, using the garment to tug her close enough to absorb his warmth. “Shall we go?”
Laying her fingertips on the sleeve of his coat, she reveled in being near him. To be able to walk with a man and have no fear of doing something wrong was heady stuff. She’d never had a moment like this with Reginald. Remembered words dimmed her smile. Nothing she ever did made her husband happy.
“Stop thinking about it.”
Rebekah looked up, startled. “About what?”
“Whatever has taken the sunshine from your face. Or would you prefer to return to the house?”
“Please, let’s continue. I’ll try to banish him from my thoughts.”
“Let us talk about the future instead of the past. Our future together.”
Rebekah leaned her head on his shoulder. “I wish we could have a future.”
He led her into the shade of an ancient oak tree. “We will find a way, Rebekah. I swear it to you.”
“Franz, no matter what we want, I’m already married.”
“There has to be a way, my love. Don’t give up hope. We have our entire lives ahead of us.”
“I’d be happy with just one day as your wife, Franz.”
He kissed her forehead and held her close. “I will not settle for a day less than forever.”
Chapter 7
The late April day was ending in a riot of pink and lavender when Jericho pushed open the door to the jail. Matthew looked up from the letter he’d already three times. He wanted to be sure he hadn’t missed anything.
“I found the son of a bitch.” Satisfaction oozed from the U.S. Marshal—recently unretired.
“Where is he?”
“Just outside of town. I found him in a cell in St. Joseph.”
Matthew smiled for the first time in three weeks
. “Then he’ll be in River’s Bend to meet the circuit judge next week.” He tossed the letter across his desk. “Read that.”
Sheriff Matthew Tate, River’s Bend, Missouri
The man you asked about is a confidence man, wanted in at least five states. His name is not Redmann, it’s Thomas. Reginald Avery Thomas, aka Thomas Avery, aka Avery Rhodes, aka at least three other aliases. Proof enclosed.
Any marriage under the name Redmann is definitely not legal. But, just in case he was smart enough to sign his real name, I have a lead on the ship’s captain who performed the ceremony, whom I doubt is licensed to perform any ceremony on land.
I will deliver the “package” to you just as soon as I run it to ground. It’s been shipped to a convent.
A. J. T.
“Friend of yours?”
“Ours. Archer Jameson Timms. He’s a Pinkerton Agent now.”
“Timms? From school?”
“That’s the man. He’s almost as good as you are at finding those who don’t want to be found. He just prefers to do his hunting in civilization.”
Jericho tossed the letter onto Matt’s desk and dropped into a chair. The back legs creaked in protest as the big man leaned back and stretched his arms over his head. “I’ve been across this territory twice in the last month looking for Redmann.”
“Who put him in that jail?”
“Stupid bastard got caught cheating at a poker table on the Miss Emma.”
Matthew whistled. “Captain Mick’s boat? And he lived to tell the tale?”
“Only because Sheriff Whitacker was also on board, returning from Saint Louis. He arrested Redmann before Mick got to the gaming room. The boat docked at St. Joseph and Redmann was escorted by the sheriff and four of Mick’s personal army. The last thing the captain told me was that his men would assist me in moving the prisoner.”
“Will Redmann live to make it here?”
Jericho nodded once. “Once Mick heard why I wanted him, he was more than happy to deliver him safely to River’s Bend. They should be here mid-morning tomorrow. I rode ahead to let you know.”
“And to see your family, who are all fine, by the way.”
“Mary hasn’t—”
“She promised she wouldn’t deliver your son until you got home. But I think you should head home pretty soon.”
The chair legs hit the floor with a thud and Jericho paled beneath the dust covering his skin.
“Don’t you go and faint on me,” Matthew groused. “Doc told her this morning that it would be any time now.”
Instead of bolting for the door and his wife, his friend buried his face in his palms. “Oh, God. I’m going to be a father.”
Matt chuckled. “You already are a father, you idiot. Three times over.”
“But I wasn’t responsible for my wife being in danger when they were born. The girls were already under Mary’s care when she and I tied the knot.”
Matthew slapped Jericho on the shoulder and urged him to his feet. “She’s strong, your Maryland. She’ll be fine. Now, go home so she can get on with the business of having your son.”
Staggering a little with fatigue—and worry—Jericho strode out into the rapidly approaching night. Matthew watched him to be sure he was headed in the right direction, then straightened his desk, slipped the letter from Timms into his coat pocket, and headed out to do his customary stroll through town.
He whistled as he walked, feeling better than he had in weeks. By this time tomorrow, Rebekah Snow Redmann would be free—and Doc Bittner could have what he wanted most in the world.
Chapter 8
Rebekah perched on the settee, trembling like a leaf in a windstorm. Ever since the sheriff’s cryptic note had arrived asking to meet with her and the Bittners, her emotions had careened between hope and total despair.
“If he has found Redmann, why not meet at the jail?” Franz followed Martha into the parlor.
“He has a reason, Franz, or he wouldn’t have asked all of us to be here. Settle down. You’re not helping Rebekah.”
When she heard her name, Rebekah looked up to find Franz standing in front of her.
“Are you all right, my love?”
Grateful for his presence, she slipped her shaking hands into his. “What will we do if—”
“We will not think that. Matthew will come and we will have an end to Reginald Redmann, once and for all time.”
“I love you, Franz, but I’m married to that…that horrid man. If I’m bound to him for the rest of my life…” Dread weighed her down, so heavy and terrifying she could barely draw breath. “I won’t live like that again. I can’t. I’d rather be dead.”
“Don’t talk that way! There will be a way, Rebekah. Have faith.”
But faith was in short supply for her. Nothing in her life so far had given her hope that things would go in her favor. Her father, who should have protected her, even if he couldn’t love her, had sold her into a hell on earth. The husband who’d spoken a vow to cherish her had tried to kill her. Now, when she’d finally found the man she wanted to share her life with, hell was again on her doorstep.
The knock on the front door made them both jump. While Martha let the sheriff inside, Franz moved to stand between Rebekah and the doorway, protecting her, even though he wasn’t responsible for her. Matthew Tate’s voice held authority when he ordered men to cover the front and back of the house, then told another to walk on. It took her a moment to recognize the sound that preceded him into the room—chains. Then, the sheriff and Jericho Hawken stepped into the parlor, leading a man between them.
Battering down a wave of fear and disgust, Rebekah rose and met Reginald Redmann’s stare.
“What are you doing here?”
She lifted her chin to look him in the eye. “You thought I’d drowned, Reginald? That you’d managed to kill me?”
“You’re insane. I don’t know what lies she’s told you, Sheriff, but I’ve done nothing wrong. This woman is my wife and I have a right to treat her as I see fit.”
“Not anymore,” she vowed. “I’ll divorce you.”
“I won’t agree to a divorce,” he spat at her.
Nausea swam through Rebekah, weakening her knees. Swaying in place, she fought against despair. “I won’t belong to you any longer,” she whispered.
Franz took her elbow, steadying her. “You belong to no man.”
“That’s right, she doesn’t.”
A heartbeat of silence met the sheriff’s announcement.
“That’s a lie!” Redmann shouted. “She’s mine.”
“No, Thomas, she is not yours. There was no marriage. She isn’t your wife. And she’s certainly not your property.”
Redmann paled. “What did you call me?”
Matthew’s smile bordered on vicious. “You are Reginald Avery Thomas, born in a slum in New York City, who steals and bilks and cons folks out of whatever the hell you want but are too lazy to work for. You took an innocent girl from her family, terrorized her into believing everything you said, set up a sham wedding so she’d think she was trapped with you, then dragged her down into the muck that is your existence.
“I have warrants for your arrest from seven different police departments back east. I’m putting you on a stage just as soon as I decide which one will make your remaining days the most miserable.”
All color drained from Redmann’s face. “It’s not true.”
“That’s why we married at midnight.” With each statement, Rebekah stalked closer. “And why I couldn’t go back for any of my belongings. Or contact my sister. For four years I thought you were my husband. But you made me a whore!”
Balling up her fist, she slammed it into Redmann’s stomach, doubling him over. Reeling a little from the impact, she steadied herself and hit him again and again. Rage fueled her rampage, gave her strength. Franz grabbed her from behind.
“Please, my love, stop this. You’ll hurt yourself.”
Struggling against his hold, she screamed
at Redmann. “You’ve ruined me!”
Breaking free, she ran from the house.
****
“Rebekah! Stop. Please, come back!” Franz paused to look around, searching… There. His heart stopped beating. She was heading for the river! He raced after her, terror riding his shoulders. She thought she was ruined, worthless. He didn’t want to believe she would hurt herself, but she was so upset. Not thinking clearly.
“Rebekah!” he shouted. “Don’t leave me! Please, my love, don’t leave me.”
Finally, as her feet touched the grassy riverbank, she slowed and dropped to the ground. Sobs shook her slight body, tearing his pounding heart to shreds. Throwing himself to his knees beside her, he swept her into his arms. When she began to struggle, he tightened his hold. “I won’t let you go, Rebekah. Mein gott. Don’t cry, bitte. You aren’t ruined. Don’t leave me. I love you. Meine kleine liebe. Ich liebe dich.” He lapsed into the language of his birth, unable to find the words in English to express what he felt.
“Franz? Shh, my love.” It took several seconds for him to realize Rebekah wasn’t struggling for freedom, she was trying to get closer. Panting from the run, he opened his eyes and stared down into the most beautiful blue he’d ever seen. “You won’t leave me!” he whispered.
“How could you still want me after what he made me—”
“No!” Franz shook her gently, then folded her against his heart. “That demon of a man stole from you your innocence. He did not ruin you. He isn’t capable of that. Your goodness and sweetness and purity are still here, shining from your very soul.”
They held each other in silence for long minutes, letting the sound of the river soothe them. This time, when she shifted, Franz let her go, but only as far as their joined hands would allow. “Do you believe that he has not changed who you are?”
“He has,” she insisted. She tugged a hand free to brush the tears from his face. “But I’m so much stronger for it.”
Lassoing a Bride Page 10