The Marriage Agreement

by Carolyn Davidson

  “I won’t be long,” he told her, stripping from his clothes, stashing them to one side, and then making tracks to the water. Before he stepped in he deposited the soap and rough cloth she’d used on the ground, then walked ten or twelve feet from shore. A sloping drop-off gave way under his feet, allowing him enough depth to swim. Without hesitation he dived in at a shallow angle and caught his breath at the chill.

  Perhaps she watched, he thought, and yet he doubted it. Lily was not ready for a naked man yet. She’d already seen him very near that state one night, but tonight was not going to see him coaxing her into his arms for anything but providing a bit of comfort on her behalf. He sensed that each day brought her closer to the point of allowing his possession. He was willing to wait.

  Sand Creek, Arkansas, was only a step above the last place they’d stopped, Morgan decided. A sheriff’s office and jail drew his attention as the buggy rolled down the road. The man who stood in the doorway wore his gun as if he were accustomed to strapping it in place every day. His clothing was worn, but clean. Close-shaven, but for a mustache, he wore a hat that shaded his face from close scrutiny.

  Morgan lifted a hand in a salute as the buggy rolled past the sturdy building and received an answering wave. “We’ll go on down to the general store,” he told Lily, “and you can look around and see what we need, find some basics. I’ll stroll back and talk to the sheriff and see how the land lies.”

  She nodded, and he sensed that she was on edge. She wore one of the new dresses and her hair was pulled back into a neat braid, giving her the look of a female far removed from the saloon on a riverboat. Looking like a farmer’s wife, she presented exactly the picture he needed, and it was with a sense of satisfaction he lifted her down and watched as she made her way into the building that probably held most anything a woman could ask for in order to run a home and cook meals for a family.

  Tying the buggy to the hitching rail, he turned back toward the jailhouse, where the lawman stood, his gaze narrowed on the man who strode toward him. “Morning,” Morgan said, tipping back his hat as he approached. “We just arrived in town, and I suspect you’re the man I should be talking to.”

  “Well, you’ve got that right,” the sheriff said. “Caine Harris.” He held out his hand in greeting and Morgan felt his fingers caught in a firm grip. “Who might you be?” the lawman asked, even as he scrutinized the man before him.

  “Gage Morgan,” was the reply. “I was told you were expecting me.”

  “They told you right,” Harris said. “Things are not to my liking these days. I’m about ready to pull Sam Blair and his wife off their place and tuck them away in the hotel for safekeeping. I think you’ve arrived just in time. They’ve had threats for the past couple of weeks, and things are getting downright dicey.”

  “Can’t the law do anything?” Morgan asked harshly.

  “We’re waiting for them to play out their hand,” Harris said. “We need to catch them red-handed, and then we’ll have them nailed. If these were the only men involved, it would be one thing, but they’re not. There are three pair of them working up and down the river in small farming communities.”

  “I’d think the government would lend a hand,” Morgan said bluntly.

  Caine Harris nodded and grinned. “They have. They sent me you, didn’t they?” He looked toward the general store where Lily had disappeared from view. “Who’s the woman? I didn’t know you were working with a partner. Not that I’m disputing the idea. It will look more natural if a couple are at the farm.”

  “She’s my wife,” Morgan said. “And before you ask, she knows what’s going on, and understands that she’s providing my cover.”

  “Kinda risky, isn’t it?” the sheriff asked. “Is she trained?”

  Morgan shook his head. “I’m going to work with her on handling a gun as soon as we’re in place. In fact, I’d like you to lend me one for her to use. And I’m counting on you as backup when the time comes.”

  Harris nodded. “I’ve got men lined up, several of them who showed up here when they were rooked out of their property in the past month. They’re not sworn deputies yet, but that’s easily tended to when the time comes. And as to the gun, I’ll find you one.”

  They entered the jail, and Harris sat down behind the battered desk. Pulling open the bottom drawer, he lifted two pistols from it. “Either of these will work. The fella that wore them last won’t be needing them anymore,” he said with a grim smile.

  “I’ll take them both,” Morgan said. “It won’t hurt to have a spare. I could use a holster, too. The gun I carry is handy, but I’d rather have one that represents a show of force, and will give me a longer range.”

  “The government planning on paying me for outfitting you?” the lawman asked, snagging a leather holster from a peg on the wall.

  “I wouldn’t be surprised,” Morgan told him. He listened intently as Caine filled him in on the particulars of setting up his post in Sam Blair’s farmhouse. “I’m heading for the general store,” he told the lawman. “Lily is probably champing at the bit, waiting for me. I told her to buy whatever we’ll need for the next little while.”

  Settling the holster belt below his waist, he shoved the gun into it. “Ammunition?” he asked, waiting as Harris dug into another drawer for a supply of bullets for both guns, then stashed them in a leather bag before he handed them to Morgan.

  “You can fill your belt later, but you’d better load the guns now. I don’t want you caught unaware.” He paused as if he would issue a warning, and then shrugged. “I think you can handle most anything that comes up. I just hope your partner is ready for what she’s gonna find out at the Blair place.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Morgan asked suspiciously. “Isn’t there a farmhouse there? They told me I’d be in a secure place.”

  The sheriff grinned with a total lack of humor. “You’ll find out. Now,” he said, rising to his feet, “that oughta do you for bullets for a while. If you want more, the general store has a good supply. I’m going on out to the Blair place in about an hour. It’s just about three miles from town, on the road west. A gray house, not very big, with a barn and outbuildings. There’s a grove of trees out front, almost hides the place if you’re not looking for it.”

  “I’ll find it,” Morgan assured him. “We’ll probably beat you out there. It shouldn’t take long for me to finish up at the store.”

  Chapter Eight

  “For the life of me, I don’t know why anyone would want this place.” Lily looked around her at the small house, then toward the barn, a sturdy, well-kept structure that made the living quarters look somewhat like a chicken coop. But even the place where the chickens lived was a disaster, providing scant shelter for a handful of hens. Beyond it, an outhouse leaned precariously, the door seeming to be permanently ajar, just past the kitchen garden.

  Unless you were willing to live in the barn, the garden was the only bright spot, Lily decided. Neat rows of vegetables, well tended and thriving, gave evidence of Sarah Blair’s diligence. Too bad it hadn’t inspired Sam to give his wife a decent place to live and work.

  Instead, Sam Blair had chosen to invest his finances in the herd of horses that fed in an enormous pasture. Centered with a large pond, which lent credence to the story of the Blair place holding water rights that made it a valuable property, the pond provided the herd with an unending supply of fresh water and the luxury of lush grasses on all sides. They grazed there, probably fifty or so animals of various sizes, looking like money in the bank to her untrained eye.

  That gentleman who owned the sleek horses sat on the porch, shotgun across his knees and hat pulled low over his forehead as Morgan and Lily approached, the mare slowing her gait at Morgan’s tug on the reins. “Whatta ya want?” the farmer asked, his jaw grim as he rose to confront the callers, lifting his gun to point in the direction of the buggy.

  “Caine Harris sent us out to see you,” Morgan said, carefully keeping his hands i
n sight, and away from the gun he wore.

  “You the fella that’s gonna squat here for a while?” Sam asked, squinting up at them.

  Lily thought Morgan’s voice was taut with anger as he answered. “Yeah, that’s me. This is my wife, Lily.”

  The gun lowered from its threatening position and Sam Blair shouted out a single word. “Sarah!” Without turning toward the door behind him, he uttered the summons, and in mere seconds the woman stood, framed in the doorway, wiping her hands on the front of her apron. “These folks are here to stay for a spell.”

  “Sheriff said we were to go into town,” Sarah told Morgan, stepping out onto the porch. “But I surely hate to leave with my garden just coming in good.”

  The farmer laughed, the sound grating to Lily’s ears. “She ain’t much good for anything else that I can see. It’s a good thing she’s a right hand with growin’ food for the dinner table.”

  The woman lived a drab existence, Lily decided. She might be better off if the crooks gave her enough money to hotfoot it out of town and leave Sam in the dust. He’d certainly demonstrated his lack of husbandly devotion in the past few minutes.

  “You’d better pack up your things and be ready for Harris. He’ll be here to escort you back to town,” Morgan told the couple. And then he looked at Lily. “Are you sure you can handle this?” The words were an undertone, his eyes showing the doubt he felt as he cast another long look at the ramshackle house he was about to move Lily into.

  She only shrugged, and then added words that failed to surprise him. “I’ve slept on the ground and sung in a saloon. Served drinks to the scum of the earth and run from a man who would have ruined me for all time.” She lifted her chin defiantly. “Staying here for a short while doesn’t seem like any big chore to me. There might even be a decent bed in there and a stove to cook on.”

  Morgan grinned down at her. “Don’t count on that, sweetheart.” He stepped down from the buggy and raised his arms to her, lifting her to stand before him. “Take a deep breath, Lily. You’re about to become Sarah Blair, and I fear you’re in for a few surprises.”

  Caine Harris arrived as the Blairs went into the house to do as they were bid, and it took the lawman less than thirty minutes to bundle up his charges and set off for town. Lily watched as the farm wagon followed the sheriff, who mounted on his horse and led the way. Sarah cast one last look at her garden as they passed the small enclosure, and Lily was tempted to call out a reassurance that she would tend the garden plot well.

  “That poor thing,” she said instead, facing Morgan in an outburst of disgust. “She’d probably be better off if Sam called it quits and left her behind.” She looked up at Morgan, wondering at his silence, noting the grim set of his jaw. “What are you thinking?” she asked quietly.

  “Just that I’ve probably dragged you into a mess,” he told her. “This isn’t what I was expecting, Lily. And unless I miss my guess, old Sam is hoping we’ll settle things for him and he can dicker later for a payoff. I doubt he’s as averse to selling out as he lets on. It wouldn’t surprise me if he’s planning on holding out for a good price, considering the water rights on this property. The man knows horses—that’s obvious—but he sure as hell hasn’t provided well for his wife.

  “My guess is that once he lays his hands on a bankroll, he’ll hightail it out of here and find a soft spot to land with cash in his pocket to tide him over.”

  “Then why was he waiting for us with his shotgun handy?” she asked.

  “Making a show of strength,” Morgan surmised. “He knew help was on its way. Once we showed up, all he had to do was leave and expect us to fight his battle for him.”

  “Well,” Lily said, shrugging her shoulders in a gesture of futility, “that’s exactly what we’re doing, isn’t it?”

  “This,” Morgan told her bluntly, “is the part of my work that leaves a bad taste in my mouth. We’re putting our lives on the line for a man who’s willing to let his wife carry the load, a man who hasn’t got enough ambition to keep his house in order.”

  “And if we get rid of the threat to him, what will happen?” More, she wondered what would happen to the hapless woman who’d worn herself to a frazzle in this place.

  “He’ll probably keep raising horses, providing them with good feed and an abundant water supply, and a barn full of hay for the cold months. I’ll be willing to bet he has ranchers lined up to buy that herd. There’s a lot of good horseflesh out there, and a total lack of pride on his part when it comes to the rest of his surroundings.”

  Morgan’s voice revealed his anger, and Lily could only be thankful it was not directed at her. The man made a formidable enemy. He would do this job, and count it as a thankless task. But somehow, he’d be sure that Sam Blair paid penance for expecting the law to fight his battle.

  “Let’s go inside,” Morgan said, taking Lily’s arm as she climbed onto the porch. The single step was held in place by two nails, and it shifted beneath their feet. “This is the first thing I’d better tend to,” he said, holding open the door for her as they walked into the kitchen.

  Clean, but shabby, was Lily’s impression. Sarah had evidently done what she could to keep house, but Sam had not provided her with the necessities for the job. The floor was clean, but the planks that formed its surface were uneven. The stove’s oven door hung by one hinge, and Sarah had propped it shut with a length of two-by-four. A stack of wood lay on the floor, unevenly chopped, as if an amateur had used an ax, without the strength to cut the wood, managing only to mangle a log into scraps and pieces.

  “I’ll warrant that Sarah cut her own firewood,” Morgan said, shaking his head at the sight.

  “It’s a wonder she didn’t hurt herself.” Lily could only imagine the weight of an ax head, lifting it over her head and then feeling the shock of iron striking a heavy log. “I’d say anything that got done around here was because of Sarah,” she said.

  She glanced back at the doorway that led to the porch. “The first thing you’re going to do is mend that outhouse door, Gage Morgan.” Her words were scornful as she took another look at the ramshackle necessity. In this she would brook no opposition from the man who met her gaze.

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said nicely. “I already had that figured out.” He looked around the room they stood in and grimaced. “I’m not in any hurry to see the rest of this place, if this is anything to go by.”

  “Well, it’s clean, anyway,” Lily told him. She lifted the stove lid and felt the heat of coals within rush upward. “I’ll add to the fire and put together something to eat.”

  “Lily?” Morgan spoke her name and she rose from bending over the stack of firewood, a shredded log in each hand. “I got a gun from the sheriff for you and I want you to keep it close at hand.”

  “And where would you like me to stow it?” she asked, thinking that handling a gun was not something her mother would approve of, should that lady ever be privy to these circumstances. The chances of that coming about were dim, but Lily was reminded how far she had come from her beginnings.

  “See if there’s another apron around. They usually have pockets, don’t they?” Morgan asked, looking at a row of hooks by the back door. “I’ll look in the bedroom. Maybe Sarah has an extra tucked away in there.”

  “I’ll take care of it,” Lily told him. “Get the gun and show me how to shoot it. I’m not going to worry about being accurate. If someone is threatening me and he’s close enough for me to feel intimidated, I suspect I can wave a gun around and offer a threat of my own.”

  Morgan nodded, his lips curving in a smile as he headed for the buggy. The woman was unique, that was for sure. She was staunch in her support of their situation, ready to do whatever the circumstances dictated. He couldn’t have asked for a better partner if the government had sent him their top woman candidate. And he wouldn’t be having the pleasure of Lily’s company had that happened. Women agents were few and far between, not usually available for the sort of assignments he
handled.

  He’d find out how good a farmer he’d make over the next few days, perhaps. Depending on how long it took the men to show up again, he’d be saddled with the chores, including milking a cow. It had been years since he’d done that particular job, but he suspected that once learned, it was a skill he could recall without too much trouble. Chickens were simple. Feed them and gather the eggs. They seemed to have the whole yard at their disposal, the gate to their area left open for them to roam.

  Hopefully they would head for their roosts come evening. If not, he was probably going to be elected to chase them down. And at that thought he swallowed a grin. Wouldn’t his boss in Washington like to see him in search of a flock of laying hens? Somehow that wasn’t the picture he’d painted for himself when he’d accepted this assignment. But then, he hadn’t known he’d end up a married man, either.

  The barn yielded an assortment of tools, and Morgan chose a hammer and found a box of nails. The hinges on the outhouse door cooperated with him, and the wood held firm. He found two pieces of two-by-four to shore up the far side of the structure and checked the inside, pleased to find that Sarah had extended her cleaning streak this far.

  As he turned aside to head back toward the barn, a flash of color caught his eye. He watched Lily as she bent over the vegetables growing closest to the house. An apron tied around her waist reminded him of the weapon he’d meant to give her. Chastening himself silently, he retrieved it, tucked away beneath the buggy seat, and took it to where she worked. Her apron was held in front of her, the hem lifted to provide a fabric basket for the produce she’d harvested.

  “Hi,” she said, lifting a flushed face to him. Her hair curled over her brow and against her cheek, a faint line of perspiration on her upper lip. “Do I look like a farmer’s wife?” she asked. “Look.” Holding her apron from her body, she displayed an assortment of small carrots along with leaf lettuce and three tomatoes. “I haven’t picked a garden since I was seventeen years old,” she told him.