Asshole's Bride (Bad Boy Romance)

by Amy Faye

  Which meant that the only thing she could do was show contrition to the Lord and deal with the consequences of her actions. After all, she might have been tired, and she was certainly out of her right mind, but she was in control of her faculties, and she'd let her lust get the better of her.

  It wouldn't happen again, though. She wasn't going to let it, no matter how tempting that might be. No matter how much she might think about it. It was off-limits, she knew better, and she wasn't going to slip up twice.

  Naturally, she'd already spent the morning imagining what sort of other fresh, delicious hells she could have herself sent to if she found herself alone with him again. And she'd already told herself that it wasn't going to happen, but she'd had her fingers crossed.

  She awoke Sunday morning feeling as refreshed as she could feel, sleeping on a sofa. One broken spring sat uncomfortably under her hip. When she moved, she found that it lay under the only comfortable two inches for her hip to lie.

  Perhaps it was time for a trip to Mr. Maxim's restaurant, to see how much longer they expected her repairs to take. Which was why, even though it was raining and she ought to have been waiting for Jamie to wake up, she was trudging under eaves and down boardwalks to find her way across town.

  She crossed the road and kept her head down, until a voice called out to her. One she recognized.

  "Howdy, stranger."

  Marie's eyes rose to meet Ruby's. She had a wicked smile on her face. Apparently church had done little to curb whatever impish mood she was in.

  "Ruby, hey."

  "Long time, no see."

  "I've been busy," Marie said, making an apologetic expression. Ruby waved it off.

  "That's exactly what I hear–about you and Mr. Broadmoor, no less."

  Marie's face flushed before she could deny it, and by the time that she had control of herself, whatever opportunity she might have had to refuse the claim was gone. So she stayed silent and hoped that Ruby wouldn't press her.

  "Well, you'll want to know, then. Folks said they seen that bartender of yours acting mighty funny, the past few days."

  "They seem to think he 'acts funny' as a matter of course."

  Ruby shrugged. It wasn't exactly an argument she'd fight. "Weirder than usual, though. Spooked."

  "And what, pray tell, spooked him? Me?"

  "So the story is, he got into words with some fella from out of town. He rode into town, was seen playing some cards, spoke to the man behind the counter–that's Chris–and left."

  "So you don't know anything about it at all?"

  "Now when did I say that?"

  "Okay, then. Spill it." She smiled and gave a little wink, as if to say that they were just talking. Which, to be fair, they were, for now. She would be just talking until she talked to Chris about it, later.

  "Well, this is where things get funny, right? So take this with a grain of salt. But some folks said that he was a Marshall, going to take the boy in for some murder he did, down in Texas."

  Marie raised an eyebrow. "A murder. In Texas. A ranger."

  "Hey, I'm just telling you what was told to me. You know, you really ought to come to church. Then you wouldn't need me tellin' you all this juicy stuff."

  "Yeah, I'm thinking that maybe they wouldn't altogether approve of me."

  "What, old man Bradbury? Aw, he'd get over it. Ain't nothing but idle talk."

  "Anything else real good?"

  Ruby shook her head. "Not unless you got something to tell me about Mr. Broadmoor, that is." Her face split into a grin. "Go on, spill it."

  Marie couldn't stop her face twisting into a grin, but there was something she could do. "I got to get going. Got to meet some folks."

  "Some folks, you're sayin?" The look on Ruby's face said that she had some specific guesses about which folks Marie was going to see.

  "I'm going now, Ruby. Say hey to your dad for me, and don't get caught slacking off."

  Ruby's face twisted into a pout. "I'm never slacking off, Miss Bainbridge. I'm just working inside my head, don't you know?"

  She let out a laugh and shifted the broom from one hand to the other. Marie started off and waved back as she walked away. Her eyes unconsciously shifted across the road, where the saloon sat on the opposite corner, the other side of the street from Owen's.

  It wouldn't be that big a detour, would it? And she needed to have some questions answered. There were mistakes, and there were mistakes. She was a grown woman, and she could own up to what she'd done, but the one thing she couldn't have was talk about Chris having murdered someone. He couldn't have, she thought. She suspected. But there was something underneath the surface with him, something that she couldn't quite put her finger on. And she was going to get to the bottom of it, no matter what.

  Twenty-Eight

  There was a spot on the bar where Jim, in his infinite capability, decided to remind Chris why he wasn't a bartender by leaving spilled alcohol that stained the finish on the wood, and he'd been spending an hour rubbing the discoloration out by the time that the door opened to let in the first customer.

  He didn't look up right away. After all, it was too early for the stage, and regulars would know they were coming in early anyways. The doors, strictly speaking, shouldn't even be open yet, but open they were, in spite of his better judgment.

  They would probably settle down at the card table, or go looking for Sarah to hire one of the girls for an after-church round. Which meant, effectively, Chris could ignore them completely. When the footsteps sounded like they were approaching directly, though, he finally looked up, admitting to himself that there wasn't much chance of avoiding the conversation by looking sufficiently busy.

  "Can I help you?" He spoke the words before bothering to rise from his place behind the counter, and once he'd said it, he immediately regretted it. Marie was as pretty as ever, he thought. The fact that she was soaked practically to her skin didn't do anything to change that.

  He shot a glare over at Jim, who shrugged.

  "Can we talk?"

  He blinked. "I guess so."

  She frowned and looked over at the big man in the corner. "It's private, I think."

  "A'right," he said. "Jim, get on out of here a minute."

  Jim didn't waste any time, taking the back door out and closing it behind him. Like he'd had some place to go, or something. Chris watched him go with a mix of boredom and mild curiosity where the man had to be in such a rush. He'd never struck Chris as having much going on in the first place.

  "Is this about last night?"

  He leaned against the back wall and tried to keep his face neutral. Whatever she said, it didn't much effect him, and he had to make sure to keep thinking of it that way, regardless of what he might actually think.

  "No," she said. He shouldn't have been as relieved as he was. "That was–"

  Her face went crimson red and he couldn't stop himself from breaking just a little bit of a smile.

  "What's up, then, that's so private?"

  "Well, I just heard some talk, and I wanted to know your thoughts."

  He raised an eyebrow. "Gossip is for private conversations, now?"

  "Well, it's about you."

  "Most gossip is, these days, one way or another."

  Her lips pressed together.

  "I just–you have to promise not to get mad, okay? I didn't believe a word of it, but I wanted to see what you had to say."

  Chris smiled curiously. "You're making me nervous, here. What is it? You hear I worship the devil or something?"

  "Who was that man who came to see you?"

  His smile dropped. He shouldn't have expected that it would stay quiet. It was a crowded bar, and he hadn't exactly had the presence of mind to keep the conversation light. Anyone who looked over would probably have seen that Chris was about ready to bust his brother's jaw.

  "What's the talk?"

  "Well, they say–they say you did something bad, and he's a law-man come to get you."

  Ch
ris closed his eyes and let out a little chuckle. "Not quite right."

  Marie looked at him with an expression that he didn't like one bit. "Then what? What happened?"

  "You ever hear me ask you about your past?"

  "No," she said, reluctant.

  "You ever hear me ask about anyone's?"

  "Not really, but I suppose you could have done it when I wasn't around."

  "Well, I don't. Because I don't talk about my past, so I don't expect other people to do it neither. That's fair, don't you think?"

  "I don't understand what the secret is."

  "No secret," Chris said. He kept his face cool. "Everyone's got a story, and every story's got the bad parts. I don't like talkin' about it, and so I don't. If something's important, I'll tell you. Until then, don't push me. Please."

  She squirmed the whole time he was talking, until he said 'please,' and then she squirmed twice as much. "I didn't mean to offend you," she offered, looking down at the floor.

  "Hey. Look at me." He waited for her gaze to rise a little way. "You didn't offend me, Marie. I just don't want to talk about it."

  Her expression twisted up. "But why?"

  "Just things I don't like to think about any more. Things that happened, that aren't good memories for me."

  She bit her lip, and Chris could tell she had something to say. Part of him wanted to tell her to say it; part of him wanted him not to say it at all.

  "You mean like how you got to know so much about orphans?"

  He blinked to keep the expression from showing on his face, but Chris was pretty sure he managed to keep his emotion from showing.

  "Yeah, like that."

  She seemed to realize what she'd said after the words were out of her mouth.

  "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to– I ought to just go."

  "Don't worry about me, Miss Bainbridge. I'll get over it."

  "But I shouldn't have been poking around where it's none of my business."

  "I forgive you."

  She didn't seem to have much of a reaction to that at all, like he hadn't said it.

  "I ought to go."

  "Sure," he said. His voice low. She turned and walked out the front. The sound of the rain punctuated her leaving. Jim caught the door from her as she stepped out.

  "Everything alright?"

  Chris shrugged. "Yeah, man. It's fine."

  "Anything good?"

  Chris stepped back up to the counter and peered at an angle to see if he could make out where the stain had been. It was mostly out, now, but you never notice until it's too late, just taking a cursory glance.

  "You know what I like about you, Jim?" Chris didn't wait for him to answer. "You never talk too much. Never sticking your nose into other folks' business."

  The bouncer got the hint and settled back into his seat with his book, and Chris went back to rubbing out a stain that shouldn't even have been there in the first place.

  Now if only the rest of his mistakes were so easy to get rid of.

  Twenty-Nine

  Marie was trapped. She didn't like being trapped, and she liked feeling trapped even less. Better to be it and not feel it, if you have the choice. That way, she could at least fool herself. Father had learned that lesson, and eventually even Marie had forgotten that there had been a time when she knew, consciously and at all times, that everything was going all wrong.

  Chris, though, didn't seem so accommodating.

  How much was she even allowed to know? How much was appropriate to wonder? She didn't know and at this point it was well past the point of just coming out and asking. He was right. There were things he didn't ask her about, and it was only fair that she respect those boundaries.

  That didn't help her curiosity, though. Because it always seems as if it's going to be perfectly normal. If she just knew what was going on, then maybe she would find out that it was all perfectly normal, too.

  That wasn't how it had gone with Father. Things had suddenly flown off the tracks, when things went bad. Which, inevitably, they were always going to. If she had known what was going on, if she'd been prepared–that is, if she'd been allowed to know–then it would have been something she could avoid from a long way off.

  She took a deep breath and settled into her seat. Why Owen wasn't there, she didn't know. To say that it was frustrating, though… it was well past frustrating. He was avoiding her, it seemed, and she couldn't begin to guess why except that he wasn't giving her the room that she had paid for, that she was still paying for.

  He didn't subscribe to any of the nonsense talk about her. He certainly hadn't asked her about any of it, and he wouldn't have just made the decision to keep her out–of her own room, no less–without consulting her. Mr. Maxim wasn't that kind of person.

  So she took in a deep breath and straightened her back and waited, the only option afforded her other than simply walking out in a huff. Eventually, he had to come out, or there would be a great many hungry people waiting come supper time.

  It gave her far too much time by herself, though, as the place sat empty. She could see Zella standing over by the kitchen, but every time that Marie actually looked up, she turned back in as if someone had called her back.

  They certainly were avoiding her. The only question was why, and what she could do about it. If there was anything, and if there wasn't, then at least say something so she could get her things and find someplace else to stay.

  Honestly. It was beginning to feel like a pattern with this town. If someone would simply talk to her, maybe some of their problems could be solved, but apparently everyone found it much easier and more convenient if they just avoided her as much as possible, pushed things off as long as they could, and then pretended that they hadn't.

  She had half a mind to step right through that kitchen door and give them a piece of her mind. She stopped herself, though, in spite of her frustration. Chris had been right, even if she didn't have to like it. She was sticking her nose in where it wasn't needed, and where others had at least made the passing attempt to keep their own noses out of her business.

  Still, at some point she'd have to figure something out. Someone would have to start talking, or she was going to go mad. She had no problem being the one to start the ball rolling, if that were even possible. There was absolutely no excuse for being unwilling to do what you'd ask of someone else.

  The problem was, though, that she was already doing everything that she could. She kept no secrets–well, no, that wasn't true at all, was it?

  She had things that she didn't talk about. Things that it wouldn't have been appropriate to discuss. But sitting on the outside, anyone would see that as just being her keeping things from them, and in a certain way of looking at it, that's what she was doing. Discretion looked very much like secrecy from the outside, as she well knew.

  Marie rose from her seat and took a breath. Her clothes were most of the way dry, now, and with just a little bit of luck, they might not be soaked through by the time she got back to her hotel. At least, that was what she let herself hope.

  The rain was still coming down, softer now, the last dying gasps of insistence that the rain wouldn't let up just because of some inconvenience it might have been causing people. Soon, those last attempts would die off, and the sun would start shining through the clouds. It just hadn't happened quite yet, but it was as inevitable as the sun rising the next morning.

  Marie allowed herself to hum a little tune as she crossed the street, a half-remembered melody that almost certainly had a more straightforward tune when she had first heard it. Someone let out a yell, off in the distance. It might have been anything, at first.

  And then it was followed by a shot, and the options for what it might have been tightened up considerably. Marie's heart threatened to stop right in her chest.

  It couldn't possibly have been what it sounded like. Perhaps she had heard someone startled by an animal, and they'd fired the shot for their own safety.

  The idea didn't c
alm her down one bit, and she was off and running before she knew what she was doing. That wasn't the sound of someone being spooked and then shooting a snake, she knew.

  Someone was hurt, and they were hurt bad, and if she didn't do anything then she'd have no right to complain about anyone else, either. Now she just had to hope she got there in time.

  Thirty

  Chris's mood hadn't improved. He didn't expect it to, but he had hoped in spite of himself. No such luck, it would seem. He took in a deep breath and rubbed a little more.

  Nobody would see the stain. In all likelihood, few people would have seen it before. That was the happy fact. But Chris would have seen it every time he looked down, and that was reason enough to clean the mess up. Now even he couldn't see it, even if he looked for it quite hard.

  That should have been a small victory all by itself, but it wasn't. There were good reasons he didn't talk about his past. Very good reasons indeed. But somehow, none of them mattered enough to make him feel better about snapping at Marie, the way that she'd sulked out of the bar sticking in his mind like a bit of food stuck between his teeth.

  And just like that, every few moments he would run into it again, and he'd be stuck trying to rub it clean, the same way that he'd rubbed the counter. Unlike the counter, the only way to fix it was to forget about it, but in spite of himself he couldn't.

  Then the shout. It was out back, and shouts weren't unheard of. In fact, a day without any shouting was much more worthy of comment, with Sarah's girls working as much as they did, and the sort of people who see those girls being who they are.

  The shot afterward, though–that was what pulled Chris out of his stupor. His hand went automatically to his pistol and slipped it free, and waved Jim to follow along. The broad-chested bouncer pulled himself out of the seat like a man half his size and twice as energetic. He was like a whole new person, Chris thought with a sour wryness.

  He didn't wait to see how close the bouncer would follow behind him, though. He was out the door in a second and moving down the street. It didn't take long to find where the commotion had come from, because there were already people beginning to gather around.