Midnight Marriage

by Victoria Bylin

  Yours, Rafe

  Susanna turned over the envelope and read the postmark. A water stain blurred the ink, but it looked like Los Manos. She’d never heard of the place, but it sounded like a border town. As hard as she tried, she couldn’t read between the lines. He was protecting her but from what? Was he still in Los Manos? And worst of all, why did he sound like a man getting ready to die?

  Clutching the envelope, she hurried to the Midas Hotel where Garrett was seated at a table. He pushed to his feet and smiled. “Hello, Susanna. Would you care for—”

  “I’ve heard from him.” She handed Garrett the letter and sat in the chair, watching as he skimmed the page.

  He refolded it neatly into thirds and passed it back to her. “I’ll take the next train to Los Manos.”

  “I’m going with you.”

  “That wouldn’t be wise,” he replied. “It’s a rough town.”

  Susanna respected his warning, but she had no intention of waiting in Midas. Whether Garrett liked it or not, she had something to say her husband. When she’d taken those vows, she’d meant every word, including “for better or for worse.” Rafe had shown her his worst when he’d run off, but she still believed in the better man she had married.

  “I can be ready in an hour,” she said. “When does the next train leave?”

  “Not until tomorrow.” Garrett smiled at her. “I don’t suppose there’s anything I can say to stop you?”

  “Not a word,” she said. “I have something to say to my husband, and he’s darn well going to listen.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Lying on the cot with his arm covering his eyes, Rafe inhaled the freshness of the day. He’d been in jail for seven long days. Sometimes he caught a whiff of diesel from a train or bacon cooking at the restaurant. In the past few days, he’d discovered that facing death sharpened a man’s senses. It also made his dreams as vivid as life itself, and they were always about Susanna, even the vinegar scent of her hair.

  The one smell missing was the stench of his cell. For that kindness, he owed a debt to Charles Archer. Fresh out of law college, the man was determined to protect his client’s rights. He’d insisted that Rafe be allowed to bathe and shave before yesterday’s court appearance, and he’d shamed the sheriff into providing fresh bedding.

  Archer was also dead set on giving Rafe the best defense possible. He’d asked dozens of questions about where Rafe had been. In the end, he’d said that the odds weren’t good, but that he wanted to present evidence about Frank Benton’s bounty and call Susanna as a character witness. Rafe had agreed to contact the authorities to verify his role in Benton’s capture, but he refused to involve Susanna.

  The attorney had tried to persuade him, but Rafe had held the line. He didn’t want Susanna anywhere near a gallows.

  Lying on his cot, he rehashed the start of the trial. Thanks to Archer, the judge had agreed to delay the proceedings until the authorities reported back on the Benton bounty. Rafe had felt a ray of hope, but threats had exploded from Ed Jessup’s mouth.

  “You’re going to hang, LaCroix. I’ll do it myself if I have to.”

  The judge had gaveled him down, but nothing could stop the hate pulsating in the room. At least thirty pairs of eyes had drilled the back of Rafe’s head. When the proceedings ended, the crowd had spilled into the street with men and woman alike calling him vile names. Beck had been forced to fire a shot in the air. The crowd had backed away, but Rafe hadn’t felt any safer.

  With his feet shackled and his hands tied behind his back, he had been at the mercy of Beck and the crowd. Someone had thrown a rock and he’d ducked. It had broken a window and sent glass flying. The next night he’d heard drunken threats as a bottle shattered against the adobe.

  As soon as Beck left, Rafe expected the taunts to start again. A deputy had been hired to keep an eye on things, but Rafe had no confidence in the man’s abilities. Rather than dwelling on being lynched, he closed his eyes and relived dancing in the grass with Susanna.

  The creak of the office door jarred Rafe out of his dream. Staying flat, he bent his neck to get a look at the visitor. The first thing he noticed was a fancy cane with a ruby-studded handle. Rafe knew the design. His father considered it an Albright family emblem. He also recognized the bent spine of the man asking the sheriff for a private moment with the prisoner.

  “All right,” Beck said. “But I’ll be right outside.”

  Garrett waited until the sheriff departed, then he faced Rafe. “Hello, brother.”

  In all his years on the run, Rafe had never once imagined that Garrett was the man he’d been calling his guardian angel. The name had been sarcastic when Rafe first thought of it, but the compassion in Garrett’s eyes made him wonder if his brother had been looking out for him all along.

  Rafe knew that he owed this man amends, but blurting “I’m sorry” seemed cheap. It was fitting to give his brother the first word, so Rafe pushed to his feet. “Hello, Garrett. You finally caught up with me.”

  His brother motioned toward a chair. “Do you mind if I sit?”

  “Go ahead.”

  Garrett used his weak arm to drag a chair in front of the cell while he leaned on the cane. He sat with an awkward bend of his knees, took two cigars from his inside pocket and handed one to Rafe. He struck a match, lit Rafe’s cigar and then managed his own.

  Rafe took a puff and then sat on the edge of the cot. The cigar was either a peace offering or a last smoke for a man facing a firing squad. Given Garrett’s twisted expression, Rafe would have bet on the firing squad. Either way, his brother deserved this moment. “How did you find me?” Rafe asked.

  “Dr. LaCroix received your letter two days ago.”

  Dr. LaCroix… Blood rushed to Rafe’s head. Susanna was using his name. It was an honor he didn’t deserve. A second thought rocked him to the core. She had shared the letter with Garrett, a sign that she trusted him. With the cigar dangling between his fingers, Rafe looked at his brother’s scars. The ridges had turned pink with time, but that night was bloodred in Rafe’s mind. “I thought I’d killed you and the boss wanted me to hang. That’s why I ran,” he explained. “I’m sorry, Garrett. I should have gone for help.”

  Garrett’s face stayed still. “I didn’t wake up for two days. When I discovered I couldn’t move my left side, I hated you for what you’d done.”

  Rafe felt as light as the smoke rising to the ceiling. “You must be looking forward to the hanging.”

  “No, Rafe. I’m not.”

  For the first time he could recall, Garrett had called him by his given name—not bastard or another epithet. That gesture mattered more than the cigar.

  “It took awhile,” Garrett continued. “But I learned to walk again. Having one eye isn’t so bad except at night. What matters is that I came to see that night for what it was. We were both in the wrong—you for stealing, and me for treating you like dirt when the boss brought you home. I knew all about Mimi. So did my mother. I hated you as much as you hated us.”

  Rafe managed a dry smile. “That’s saying a lot.”

  “We were a couple of hotheads having a brawl. What happened was as much my fault as yours.”

  Rafe could almost hear Susanna whispering “I told you so.” He could only hope she’d have the chance to say it to his face. But he still didn’t know where his father stood in the matter. “I doubt the boss saw it that way.”

  Garrett tapped the ash. “You can ask him yourself. He’s coming for the trial.”

  Bile churned in Rafe’s belly. For years Walter Albright had treated him like mud on his shoe. Rafe tapped the cigar and watched the ash flutter to the floor. “I don’t understand why.”

  “He’s got his reasons.”

  Rafe didn’t know what to think. He hated the man for what he’d done, but he couldn’t avoid seeing him now.

  “When do you expect him?”

  “Any day.”

  Rafe blew a halo of smoke and sent a prayer with it.
“I hope I live that long.”

  “I know about Jessup. I’ll post a guard. As for the trial, I understand you have an attorney.”

  “His name’s Charles Archer. He’s a good man.”

  “Excellent. If you don’t mind, I’d like to have supper with him.”

  “Sure.”

  Rafe felt a trickle of hope. If he could get out of this mess, he’d have a chance to patch things up with Susanna. The thought of her reminded him of their wedding and he looked at Garrett. “I owe you another apology. I whacked you pretty hard the other night.”

  Garrett waved it off. “I don’t blame you for that. I thought you’d bolt if you saw me, so I stayed in the shadows. It looked damned suspicious.”

  Rafe appreciated the understanding. “I was more worried about Susanna than anything else.”

  Garrett smiled. “She’s a fine doctor and eager to see you. I’ll bring her in the morning.”

  Rafe shot to his feet. “She’s here? But it’s not safe.”

  If the town got wind of her, she’d be a target for their hate. Rafe could live with a bull’s-eye on his back, but he couldn’t stand the thought of Susanna enduring the taunts. “Keep her away from me,” he said to Garrett.

  His brother frowned. “It’s too late. She checked into the hotel as Dr. LaCroix. She’s determined to testify at the trial.”

  Knowing Susanna was a block away was the sweetest torture Rafe had ever endured. He had to clench his teeth to keep from asking Garrett to bring her right now, but dusk was settling and the jeering would start. His apologies would have to wait until morning. Surely he’d live that long….

  Rafe locked eyes with Garrett. “Tell her I’ll see her tomorrow when it’s safe.”

  “I will,” Garrett replied. “Now get some rest. I’ll post extra guards.”

  As Garrett left, Rafe gave in to a small smile. His guardian angel was still on the job.

  Susanna stood at the hotel window, looking down the street at shadowy buildings and praying that Rafe was safe. She wished she hadn’t honored Garrett’s request to visit him without her, but it had been the right thing to do. They had needed to settle their differences in private.

  Knowing that Rafe had apologized to Garrett meant the world to her. As soon as the trial ended, they’d be headed home to Midas. She refused to think of any other outcome, but she hadn’t escaped the hate brewing in the streets. At supper, the waitress had deliberately spilled coffee on Susanna’s dress, and the hotel clerk had refused to offer them accommodations until Garrett threatened to withhold all railroad business from the man’s establishment.

  Susanna had seen too much of the squalid town and couldn’t wait to leave with her husband. Peering toward the jailhouse, she was thinking about changing into her nightgown when a flare of orange light caught her eye. Another flame blazed and moved toward the first one. She saw another torch and then more flames than she could count. The dragon’s breath was headed straight for the jail. A lynch mob…

  Susanna ran to Garrett’s room and pounded on his door. He jerked it open. “What is it?”

  “There’s a mob,” she cried. “We have to stop them.”

  “I thought this might happen. Stay here.”

  “No! If Rafe’s hurt, he’ll need me.”

  Garrett gave her a thoughtful look. “I suppose it’ll be safe. I have guards waiting downstairs. Get your coat.”

  Susanna didn’t care if it was safe or not. She wasn’t about to wait helplessly at the hotel. As she grabbed her wrap, she wished that she’d brought her medical bag to Los Manos. After hurrying down the hallway, she caught up with Garrett on the stairs and followed him out the hotel door. Six men dressed in brown dusters and armed with shot guns had assembled on the boardwalk.

  At the sight of Garrett, a short man stepped forward. “I’ve positioned six men in front of the jailhouse.”

  “Good work,” Garrett said. “Let’s go.”

  The men formed a phalanx and strode down the street. Protected by the wedge, Susanna glanced at Garrett’s face.

  “Who are these men?”

  “The railroad keeps a security force. I sent for them when I had Rafe cornered in Midas.”

  “Thank God.”

  As the guards closed in on the jailhouse, Susanna saw a crowd of men with torches and a deputy standing in front of the door with his arms crossed. Six more security agents stood at his flanks.

  Garrett gripped her elbow to hold her back. “Stay in the shadows.”

  Susanna stopped by a post, watching as Garrett unsheathed the sword hidden in his cane. He positioned himself in front of the sheriff and then raised the silver blade to command the crowd’s attention. Fire from the torches turned the blade to gold.

  “Who the hell are you?” someone shouted.

  “I’m a man who wants justice.” Garrett’s voice boomed over the whip of the flames. “Now go home, all of you.”

  “Not until LaCroix swings.”

  Susanna squinted through the glare of the torches, but she couldn’t see who had spoken.

  “It won’t happen tonight,” Garrett insisted.

  Susanna could barely breathe as the mob stood its ground. She could feel heat from the torches and worried that someone would set the roof on fire. Garrett was still holding the sword high, a sign that he had no intention of leaving. Finally, a tall man in the back drifted into the night. One by one, the other rioters followed until everyone was gone, except for one man. Susanna saw his rabid eyes and knew she was looking at Ed Jessup.

  The torch turned his skin orange and his eyes into empty sockets. “I’ll be back, Albright. I swear it on my wife’s grave.” He hurled the torch to the ground and walked away, fading to nothing as the flame suffocated in the dirt.

  Susanna shivered with dread, but Garrett was composed as he addressed the deputy. “Go home, young man. My men will stand guard.”

  “Don’t mind if I do.”

  As soon as he turned the corner, Garrett motioned for her to come out of the shadows. “The door’s unlocked. Go see your husband.”

  The deputy had stepped outside at the first sign of trouble, but Rafe didn’t expect to see the dawn. The night air was thick with smoke from the torches, and he could hear the mob jeering at the lawman. At the most he had five minutes before the mob stormed through the door and dragged him to the hanging tree. Only one thought filled his mind. He couldn’t die without saying goodbye to his wife.

  He had no paper, but he’d kept the pencil he’d used to write the letter. After retrieving it from under the cot, he dropped to his knees in front of the wall and wrote “Susanna” in his finest script. Racing against the chaos in the street, he drew the roses she should have carried at their wedding and wrote “I love you.” He finished the message with his initials and stood, ready to face the mob.

  Trapped or not, he wouldn’t go without a fight. He had Susanna to love and Nick to raise. With his heart pounding and his fists in knots, Rafe looked out the window for signs of violence. But instead of more shouting, he heard a sudden hush and a man bellowing at the crowd. He watched as the orange hue in the window faded to gray and finally black. He didn’t know what to think when the doorknob turned and someone slipped inside, keeping the back of a coat to the cell. The visitor spoke to someone on the outside, shut the door and then faced him.

  Susanna’s brown eyes nearly dropped Rafe to his knees. The danger might have faded to the shadows, but it was lurking like a monster. “You shouldn’t be here,” he said, trying to mean it.

  “Then where should I be?”

  His throat went dry. “At the hotel where it’s safe.”

  “The mob’s gone. Garrett’s posted a guard.”

  Rafe was foolishly grateful to see her and appalled at the risk. If the crowd doubled in size and the men tried again, she’d be in grave danger. As much as he wanted to hold Susanna in his arms, Rafe knew that he had to talk fast and send her to the hotel.

  “I’m sorry I left,” he said, rus
hing the words. “We took vows and I broke them ten minutes later.”

  “You panicked.”

  “But that doesn’t explain why I didn’t turn around. Can you forgive me?” His voice had cracked with need, but her eyes stayed steady.

  “I already have.”

  “I love you,” he said.

  Smiling, she said, “I love you, too.”

  Rafe knew it was time to send her away, but he needed to touch her. With the bars between them, he stuck his hand through the grate and reached for her. But she didn’t see the gesture. Her eyes were focused on the ring of keys hanging behind the sheriff’s desk. If she let herself into the cell, he’d never find the strength to send her away. But neither could he let her go without a touch, a kiss even.

  With his heart pounding, he watched as Susanna took the keys, lifted the desk lamp and approached the cell. With a twist of her wrist, she opened the door and stepped inside. Rafe took the lamp and set it on the floor. Facing her at last, he brushed her cheek with his fingertips.

  Her soft skin soothed his worries and inflamed his need. Just a kiss, he told himself. Bending his neck, he brought his mouth to hers and sweetly brushed her lips.

  “You have to go now,” he said quietly.

  “I don’t see the need.”

  “The mob—”

  “Twelve men are standing guard.”

  A thousand wouldn’t have been enough for Rafe’s peace of mind. He kissed her again, more deeply this time, pressing the silk of her lips into his memory. She had to leave before he lost his will. If he touched her again they’d be making love on the cot and he wanted to give her so much more. Knowing it was best for Susanna, he stepped back. “Go on now,” he said in a ragged voice.

  With a glimmer in her eyes, she walked to the cot and picked up one of the blankets. Turning, she held it up to the bars, tied one end and then fastened the other to make a wall of sorts. The lamp cast their shadows against the wool—a man and a woman three feet apart but aching to be joined.

  When she held out both hands, Rafe took them but kept her at arm’s length. “This isn’t what I want for us,” he said hoarsely. “It’s a goddamned jail.”