Colin's trance broke as sobs began to wrack Eden's slender shoulders. He swiftly walked to her, opening his arms and taking her inside them. “There, there, Babygirl, don't cry. Damn, don't cry. It'll be all right. No one at home will ever know.” He stroked her silky hair and crooned to her.
“No, it won't be all right. Nothing will ever be the same again.” The words were muffled against his chest. “Louise helped me sneak off to meet Lazlo for weeks before we were supposedly eloping. When we get back home, everyone in Prescott will know what I did.”
Her words cut his last thread of hope. He looked over her head and his eyes met Maggie's. “You knew, didn't you?”
She nodded silently.
His thoughts raced. Eden's best hope was marriage. But Edward would never marry her now. Somehow he had to find a way to face them all down. He was one of the richest men in the territory. That damn well ought to count for something!
Maggie felt immense relief flood over her as she watched Colin hold his daughter. So, he could forgive his own flesh and blood, thank God. How much he must have loved Eden's mother! That thought cut her to the heart. She started to turn away, but Colin's voice stopped her.
“Don't go, Maggie. Eden—and I—both need your help.”
Chapter Seven
The mission was small and musty with a few splintered benches facing a modest altar. One shaft of brilliant morning sunlight struck the frayed linen altar cloth, making it gleam white as fresh snow. When he heard them enter, the priest, a thin elderly man with a weary smile, rose from the railing where he had been kneeling in prayer.
“Buenos dias—good morning,” he amended, seeing that the man and woman were obviously Anglo. “How may I help you?” His English was precise, laced with a faintly Germanic accent. “I am Father Schmitzhammer. Most here call me Father Jan. It's easier for them to pronounce.”
“Good morning, Father,” Colin said, holding his hat in his hands tight enough to wilt the edges of the weather resilient felt. An alien sense of discomfort came over him as he faced the elderly man in the black cassock. “I'm Colin McCrory; this is Maggie Worthington. We'd like for you to marry us.”
Father Jan tilted his head as his shrewd hazel eyes looked from the grim-faced man to the pale, solemn woman at his side. “Are you of the Catholic faith, my son?”
“I'm Presbyterian,” Colin replied gruffly, embarrassed because he attended the church of his childhood infrequently when in Prescott and then only to please Eden.
“I see.” A smile of understanding touched the priest's face as he turned from the tall Scot to his lady, who was dressed somberly in a brown traveling suit, not the formal sort of garment a bride would choose. “And you, my child?”
“I was raised Episcopalian, Father,” Maggie said in a low voice, remembering girlhood dreams about wedding lace and a big church filled with joyous people. That was so long ago. Why does it matter now? Because she wanted the reasons for this marriage to be so very different from what they were. She met the priest's kindly eyes, never daring to look at the ramrod straight, cold stranger standing beside her.
“Is there some problem with marrying two non-Catholics, Father?” Colin asked.
“No. I can certainly do it, as long as you are both agreed that you wish to wed.” He looked from McCrory's grim visage to Maggie's haunted expression.
“We wish it.” Colin's voice was emotionless.
Maggie merely nodded in agreement.
As the priest read the words from a frayed old leather volume, Colin stood as still as a felon on the gallows, damning Judd Lazlo to the hell he was surely roasting in and cursing the folly of all women. He had made a devil's bargain last night and he would honor it, taking Maggie Worthington to Crown Verde as his wife—in name only. That part had been a sop to both their senses of wounded pride. He had never wanted to marry her in the first place, and she had released him from his promise to do so back in Sonora.
But they both loved Eden enough to stand behind her through the ordeal ahead, and there was no way to explain Maggie's presence in their lives unless she was his wife. When Eden's future was secure, their marriage could be annulled. They would be free to go their separate ways.
Maggie listened to the tightness in Colin's voice as he repeated his vows. She could feel angry tension radiate from every inch of his body. He hated being forced. That was why he had asked Eden to remain behind at the hotel while they sought out the village curate. Eden had been tearfully happy when Colin agreed that they would marry. She still cherished naive dreams that they would fall in love after the fact. But once his daughter had returned to bed, Colin had asked Maggie for significantly altered terms to their agreement. Did he honestly think it salved her pride to make this a sham marriage?
He's ashamed of me and angry with himself for desiring me. What else could she have done but hold up her chin with that pride he had scornfully accused her of possessing and say she was happy not to share his bed?
Colin listened to her softly spoken vows, all the while feeling the ring in his vest pocket as if it were burning through to his skin. Elizabeth's ring. He carried it with him always, ever since she had taken it off on her deathbed and pressed it into his hand. How could he place it on another woman's finger—especially a woman like Maggie? He had tried to find another ring, but in a small border town, early in the morning, there was nothing. He had grieved for fifteen years. Maybe it's best this way. What insidious voice whispered that in his mind?
“The ring?”
“Er, pardon me, yes, the ring.” Colin fumbled in his leather vest pocket and pulled out a small velvet pouch. Carefully pulling the drawstring, he let the gleaming gold band tumble into his palm. When he handed it to the priest, the old man smiled. He probably thinks I bought it for her.
Maggie looked up at him with a surprised expression on her face. Where had he gotten such a beautiful ring? It was antique, heavy gold with the flowers engraved all around it worn almost smooth. Suddenly, she knew it must be a family heirloom. Elizabeth's! As his large sun-browned hands held her slender one and slid the ring on her third finger, Maggie McCrory swallowed her tears.
* * * *
Tucson
Winslow Barker sat behind the big walnut desk that looked oddly oversized for such a small man. The huge room dwarfed his five-foot-three-inch frame as he stood up. His small, fierce, bulldog stance was at variance with the vest that strained over his paunchy middle. He believed that his thinning white hair made him appear distinguished and his hard, narrow, dark eyes made him look ruthless. Still, the wide hearty smile he affected, along with his back-slapping personality, made most people in Tucson like him well enough.
Of course, most folks in Tucson owed “Win” Barker money, so it really did not matter what they thought, as long as they paid up and did what they were told. Most of the politicians in Prescott were in his hip pocket, as was the man quietly sweating in the easy chair across from him.
Caleb Lamp dabbed at a trickle of perspiration rolling down his temple and silently cursed. Fat little bastard! “I offered you a fair price, Win. Them Apaches will save you thousands in labor costs.”
Barker lit a thick black cigar and puffed on it experimentally as he shook out the match. “They don't call me Win for nothing, Caleb,” he said. “Those Apaches will be conscripts—slaves really. They're hardly trained miners. You're asking too much.”
“They work real cheap. And when one dies”—he shrugged carelessly—“I'll just have my reservation police draft another to take his place.”
Barker gave the Indian agent a bland smile. “Sure you will, Caleb—for their cut of the profits from the mines. Question is, what's the White Mountain Reservation's share of the coal wealth going to be? I've brought in the geologists and mining experts, made all the arrangements. You're just skimming off the top, the same way you've always done with their beef, blankets, medicines, all the other things the federal government pays for and the poor benighted savages don't get.”
Lamp's angular lantern-jawed face was as ugly as seven miles of bad road. He narrowed his yellow eyes and met Barker's dark ones head on. “You made enough money to burn up a wet mule working with me over the years, Win. Hell, I've accepted more short shipments of tinned goods and lint blankets from your mercantile than from any other government contractor in the territory. I'm offering you a good deal with them Apach. Free labor in the mines for thirty percent of the profits.”
“Twenty-five, and that's my final offer. I'll have to hire extra pistoleros to keep their picks swinging, not to mention keeping them from escaping.”
The Indian agent sneered. “Who'd believe what a lyin' Apach said? Especially if he run loose from the reservation! Besides, that'd only help yer other business, selling livestock and supplies to the Army so they can ride out and catch more renegades.” Lamp appeared to consider, feeling Barker's piercing little eyes bore into him. Someday he'd wring the old fart's scrawny neck for the pleasure of hearing it snap.
Grudgingly, he conceded, “I'll take the twenty-five percent. When do you plan for the digging to start?”
“I’ll have to check with my contacts in the capital. It should be—” Barker stopped in mid sentence and chomped down on his cigar, then cursed violently as he stared out the window of his office, which fronted on the street. “That miserable cur bungled it! There's McCrory, looking as hale and hearty as he did the day he rode out of here.”
Lamp stood up and walked around the desk to peer out the window at the nemesis whom he had evicted at gun point from his reservation. “I thought you said he was taken care of in Mexico.”
“That worthless—and now doubtlessly deceased—Judd Lazlo and his gang were hired to kill him. Hell, McCrory was outnumbered six to one and they couldn't even do it.” Barker chomped and swore again.
“If that breed ridin' beside McCrory was with him in Sonora, it'd even up the odds real quick,” Lamp said, his eyes narrowing with worry.
“You know him?”
“Name's Wolf Blake. His ma's band of Apach was almost wiped out when old Gideon Blake come fer him. Musta been fifteen years ago er more. He grew up on the Texas border. Got a big reputation as a pistolero.”
Barker stroked his double chin speculatively. “Hmm, I wonder if he might do the job for us that Lazlo botched.”
Lamp scoffed. “No chance. Once he hires on, he rides fer the brand. Besides, once he hears about your connection to the ring here, cheating his ma's people, he'll be as like to shoot you as not.” He couldn't resist a smirk when Barker's face betrayed a fleeting expression of shocked fear.
“We'll have to find some other way to deal with McCrory then. You might give it a bit of thought yourself—considering it's your very lucrative job that he wants, Lamp.” Once he was rewarded by seeing the agent's ugly face redden, Barker turned back to the window and said, “I see he retrieved his daughter, no doubt a bit the worse for wear. I wonder who the handsome redhead is riding with them.”
Caleb let out a low whistle. “Sure is some fancy-looking female. Will ya look at them teats. You reckon she's McCrory's woman?”
Win laughed mirthlessly. “If she is, Mariah Whittaker will make her as welcome in Prescott as a polecat at a prayer meeting.”
* * * *
As they rode past Barker's office Colin had a premonition that the leader of the territorial merchants' ring was watching him, but he was in no mood to think about corrupt businessmen or beleaguered Apaches. They were approaching the Palace Hotel, where his daughter fully expected him and Maggie to consummate their marriage. Eden would have her own room and expect the two of them to share another. For that matter, so would Blake and Rosa. There had been no chance on the trail to discuss sleeping arrangements with Maggie.
They pulled up in front of the big two-story frame building, which stood out almost as conspicuously on this street of low flat adobes as the Silver Eagle had in San Luís. When the men dismounted, Wolf was beside Eden and helped her down from her mare. If he had not been so preoccupied, Colin might not have liked the notion of the gunman's attentiveness to his daughter.
He reached up to assist Maggie and felt that same magnetic attraction spark between them as their eyes met, even before his hands felt the lush curves of her slim waist. How in hell was he going to endure a night sleeping in the same room with her?
Maggie hated what his touch did to her. The feeling was a betrayal, as if her own body had turned against her. During all the lonely, self-sufficient years when men had thrown themselves at her, she had felt nothing. Now, this one despised her, and for him she felt everything. She knew his hands lingered at her waist for a fleeting moment longer than necessary, and considered it a small, grim victory of sorts when he self-consciously pulled away from her, as if ashamed of his transgression. At least he's as miserable as I am.
They made arrangements for the rooms, and then the men all headed down the street to Tunstile's Bath House to clean up while the women waited in their rooms for warmed bathwater to be fetched. Wolf and Fulhensio headed to a local cantina for an evening's diversion. Colin was to escort his wife and daughter to dinner.
When he arrived at the hotel, Maggie was waiting in the lobby, perched nervously on the edge of a leather-covered mission armchair. Eden was nowhere in sight. He doffed his hat and nodded to Maggie, noting her flushed, bath-freshened beauty. She had coiled that magnificent auburn hair into a thick twisted bun at her nape and dressed in a soft peach silk gown that hugged every lush curve. For a woman in her profession, Colin was forced to admit she showed remarkably good taste in clothing. The neckline of the dress buttoned up to her throat with a demure froth of white lace around the collar.
Suppressing the compliment that rose to his lips, he asked, “Where's Eden?”
Maggie's eyes were troubled as she took his arm and they headed into the hotel's modest dining room. “She asked to have a tray delivered to her room. I'm afraid it's already begun. Colin—she's hiding, afraid some woman in the dining room or on the street will recognize her and ask what she's doing here.”
“We already agreed to our story—she and I went to Yuma to meet your stage from California. She was there for our wedding.”
“You and I can carry it off, but your daughter's not a very practiced actress, I'm afraid.”
“She was good enough to fool me when Lazlo was around,” he snapped.
“How much attention were you paying to her—with all your problems at the lumber mills, the spring roundups and foaling time for your new racers?” From the stricken look in his eyes, she knew she had hit a nerve.
A smiling young Mexican serving boy showed them to a table and took their orders, then bustled toward the kitchen, leaving them alone to resume their conversation.
“With you around, I'll never have to worry about sugar in my medicine, will I?”
“That's why you agreed to marry me, isn't it.” It was not a question. “We'll have to be patient with her and pray once we get back to Prescott that the gossip about our long-distance courtship will overshadow the whispers about her infatuation with Lazlo and her broken engagement.”
“If only there was some chance Edward would still marry her,” Colin mused.
Maggie's fork dropped with a clatter against her plate. “Another marriage of convenience, Colin?” His face darkened, but before he could retort she continued, “It would only compound her problems. Even if he were willing to forgive her indiscretion—and we both know how likely any man is to do that—Eden never really loved him in the first place.”
“She seemed happy enough to accept his proposal six months ago.”
“She was a starry-eyed young girl being courted by an older, prominent man, a successful lawyer her father approved of.”
His manner grew deadly quiet as he asked, “Are you saying she agreed to the betrothal just to please me?”
Maggie noted his defensiveness and tried to defuse his rotten Scot’s temper before she lost the chance to straighten things out so they co
uld both work together to help Eden. “No, it wasn't a conscious decision on her part or your fault in any way. It's just the sort of thing that often happens to wealthy young women who've been raised in a sheltered environment.”
“Were you like that?” The minute he asked the question, Colin could have bitten his tongue. But he wanted to know in spite of himself. Sisters under the skin.
Her expression became at once both wary and thoughtful. “My father was a wealthy Boston merchant who gave his daughters every advantage and expected us to make conventional marriages. My sisters did. I was foolishly romantic and hoped for more.” For what you and Elizabeth had. She looked down and realized she was twisting the antique wedding ring on her finger.
Colin realized it, too. His eyes fastened on the ring as he said, “It's been in my mother's family for generations—the only thing I brought with me from Scotland as a lad.”
Relief rushed over her that he had at least not bought it expressly for his first wife. She had been afraid to take it off to see if there was an inscription on the inside. Quickly, raising her napkin to her lips, she dabbed daintily and said, “I think I'll check on Eden before turning in for the night.”
“About tonight...” She sat back in her chair, regal as Queen Victoria, waiting for him to speak his piece. But what the devil was he going to say: You take the bed and I'll sleep on the floor? Or let's flip a coin to see who gets the bed? After her years in gambling houses, she'd win, no doubt. “Once we get to Crown Verde, you'll have your own room. For now, I'll give you privacy to prepare for bed before I come upstairs. There's a settee in the room I can spend the night on.”
Maggie thought of Colin McCrory's long legs crumpled up on the small, rickety piece of furniture, and the picture almost brought a smile to her face. “Don't be ridiculous. The bed's big enough to share—for sleeping,” she emphasized. Then, she did let a faint smile curve her lips. “There's an old New England custom called bundling. You may have heard of it.”
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