The Marriage Agreement

by Carolyn Davidson

  “Meant to impress folks with their big-city fashions, I suspect,” Morgan said. “But underneath, they’re just criminals, like you’ll find in any jail.” He turned to Caine. “I’ve got the paperwork from Washington that’ll put the one out back behind bars for a lot of years. Unless the judge decides to hang him.”

  “This is still the frontier,” Caine said flatly. “He’ll probably swing. If it warns off even one of this bunch, it’ll be worth it. And the good Lord knows there’s always men out there takin’ advantage of folks.”

  Morgan looked down at Lily and then took the gun from her limp fingers. “Come on, sweetheart,” he said. “Into the house with you.”

  It was to her credit that Lily did as he told her. Indeed, she could not have done otherwise. Morgan’s arm supported her, assisting her up the step to the porch, his body providing a shield that blocked her view of the dead man whose blood pooled beneath him. The door opened readily and she was ushered into the kitchen, and from there to a chair, where she found her legs would not hold her upright a moment longer.

  “I don’t care what you say, Morgan. I’m glad he’s not dead. I don’t know if I could have borne it had I killed a man.” She lowered her head to rest on the table and felt his hand brush her hair, knew the warmth of his lips as they touched her nape in a tender caress.

  His whisper was breathed against her ear and she felt a surge of thanksgiving as he comforted her. “It’s all right, Lily. You’re not built for this sort of thing. I was wrong to take advantage of you and get you mixed up in it.” His hand slid to her shoulder and he squeezed it once before he moved away from her.

  She lifted her head and sought him out. He stood at the window, as if some great event took his attention, his hands widespread on his hips, his stance that of a man ready to do battle. “I came with you of my own accord,” she said. Somehow, the man seemed to have retreated from her in the past few moments, and she felt a chasm opening between them.

  “I had no right, Lily,” he repeated. “You could have been killed out there.”

  “But I wasn’t,” she said, finding herself in the role of comforter instead of the one receiving solace at his hands. She rose, her legs steady now, as if she must prove her words to be true. “I’m fine, Morgan. I wasn’t hurt.” Silent footsteps took her across the room to where he stood. His shirt wore a line of dampness down the back, where he’d perspired and she caught the scent of male flesh and a musky aroma that drew her closer.

  His voice sank lower, assuming a guttural sound. “I put a gun in your hand, Lily, and expected you to use it,” he told her. “I didn’t know I’d sunk so far.”

  “If I’d been an agent for the government, it would have been my job.” It seemed clear enough to her that by agreeing to this thing, she’d put on the same cloak he wore.

  He turned to face her, and his eyes narrowed, as if he were taken aback by her proximity. “But you weren’t an agent for the government,” he said quietly. “You were a vulnerable woman. And I took advantage of you.”

  “You’re stuck with me,” she said, forcing a smile to her lips. “You married me, Morgan. Or have you forgotten?”

  He shook his head. “No, I haven’t forgotten,” he told her. “But you’d be better off if you had stayed on that damn boat and kept going south.”

  She felt the pain of betrayal stab deeply in her chest. “Do you really believe that?”

  He nodded. “You could have survived a few more days, Lily. Ham Scott would have kept a watch on you. He was happy to have you singing in the saloon, and by now you’d have been well on your way home.”

  She felt the blood leave her face, knew a moment’s dizziness. And then she forced her spine to hold her upright and her chin tilted upward, her gaze meeting his head-on. “I certainly won’t be in your way any longer than it takes to pack my bag, Morgan. I still know which direction to head to get to Louisiana.”

  With tears blinding her, she turned from him and crossed the kitchen. The bedroom door was only six feet away…now three…and finally she reached the threshold, crossing it and closing the heavy door behind herself.

  From the other side she heard his voice, recognized the curses he spoke aloud, and then felt the floor beneath her shudder as his footsteps crossed the room in her wake.

  A fist pounded on the door behind her and she leaned back against it as if her weight would keep him on the other side. “Go away,” she said, recognizing the tears that clogged her words. “I don’t want—”

  “Stand aside, Lily.” His voice was firm, interrupting her protest without hesitation. “I’m coming in, and I don’t want to hurt you.”

  “You couldn’t do a much better job of it than you already have,” she said bitterly. “Just leave me alone.”

  Chapter Eleven

  “Do you think you stand a chance of fighting me?”

  The words rang in her mind as she considered the man on the other side of the door. And her own reply decided what she would do. “I wouldn’t even try.” She’d made the statement with the full knowledge that against his greater strength she had no chance of winning a physical battle.

  A battle such as she was engaging in right now. Her eyes closed as she recognized the moment of her defeat. Her weight could not keep him at bay, and so she moved aside, feeling a twinge of regret as he stepped over the threshold. The man looked as though the hounds of hell were on his heels. His face seemed drawn, his eyes haunted, and they sought her out with a look of appeal.

  “I’m sorry, Lily. I was wrong. I shouldn’t have married you, and then I sure as hell shouldn’t have used you that way I did.”

  “You used me? And how was that?” she asked, remembering the long nights of loving, and dying a bit inside as she recognized his regret that they had taken place.

  “I made you sleep with me,” he said harshly. “I threatened you if you wouldn’t lie down on that bed and—” His hand slashed the air as if he could not bring himself to utter the words aloud that would condemn him.

  “You wouldn’t have forced me,” she said quietly. “I knew that. I came to you willingly. Not once, but twice.” Her face flamed as she admitted the truth that begged to be spoken. “I wanted you, too, you know. I wanted to know what it was to feel a man’s caring arms around me, to know tenderness in a man’s touch. If either of us used the other, I must bear equal blame.”

  “You’d never have done what I demanded of you on that boat,” he said, denying her claim. “You told me right off that you weren’t what Ham Scott wanted you to be.”

  “And you didn’t really believe me, did you?” she asked softly. “You never really believed that I wasn’t a whore. It made it easier for you to take me to bed, if you thought I was well used already.”

  “No, it wasn’t that way.” The words shot from lips as if they could not be contained, and he stepped closer to her. “I never thought that of you, Lily. Not once I’d spent that first night with you, when we talked about Lily Devereaux. I knew then that you were a woman who’d been hurt, that no matter how you denied it, you’re a lady at heart.”

  She smiled, a sad twisting of her mouth, and denied his words. “I can’t believe that. I’ve known all along how…what you thought of me. You’ve never let me tell you…” She shook her head. “And now I no longer want to. It doesn’t matter any more.”

  “Tell me what?” he asked. “About the men?” His jaw was taut, his eyes becoming dark with an anger he did not try to conceal. “What good would that have done, Lily? That part of your life is behind you. You needn’t dwell on it.”

  She turned aside, her heart aching as though it would be torn asunder in her chest. The valise she’d carried into this house was against the wall, and she lifted it to the bed, sorting through its contents and then adding the nightgown that lay across the quilt. Her shawl, the gift Morgan had given her only days before was on the back of the chair and she lifted it, folding it carefully before she added it to the contents.

  “I should lea
ve this with you, I suppose,” she said. “But I might need its warmth before I get home.” She closed the bag and then looked toward the window. “I think the sheriff and his men have finished up out there,” she told him. “You ought to go out and see if we need to do anything else before I leave.”

  Morgan strode to the window and bent to look outside. “I’ll be right back,” he said shortly. “Don’t move your little fanny from this room, do you hear me, Lily?”

  She was silent, unwilling to lie to him, and only watched as he walked into the kitchen and then out onto the porch. She heard his voice, that strong, deep tone that was identifiable even though she could not see him. No doubt, she’d hear those husky inflections in her dreams for all the nights to come, she thought. And then she bent her head, allowing the tears to fall unhindered.

  He was sorry he’d married her. She was nothing but a burden, a woman he’d taken on and now needed to be shed of. Not that he’d said as much, but she was aware of his aversion to her past, knew deep in her heart that he would never be able to get beyond the memories of what she had been. She could not ask that of him, she decided.

  Better that she leave him now, before the bonds between them bound her any tighter to him. Already she had fallen captive to the man, felt the first, tentative bloom of love in her breast. He was all she’d ever wanted, and yet could never own. The window on the far side of the room beckoned and she went to it, opening it wide and crawling through it to the ground below. Her bag was lifted readily and she set off at a fast clip, heading for the trees that offered shelter just a hundred yards or so to the west.

  If she hurried, she would be able to reach them before Morgan found her missing.

  “You’ll have to come into town, sign some papers and file a report,” Caine told Morgan. They watched as the two men were loaded on to a pair of Sam’s horses, two who seemed willing to take the burden across their backs. The wounded man groaned and muttered harsh curses at the men who handled him, and for his efforts was given no solace. Only the presence of a rough bandage on his shoulder protected him from the jolting of the horse that carried him.

  “That’s about it,” Caine said. He nodded toward the house. “Is your woman all right?”

  Morgan nodded. “She will be. She didn’t take well to using that gun I borrowed for her. I’ll return it when we get to town. Probably not till later today. I think she’s going to want to rest a bit.” And perhaps he could make his position clear, he thought. Persuade her that their marriage could be dissolved with honor, could leave her unharmed, once he escorted her home to the safety of her family.

  A man with his background had no business being involved in a marriage. Even though he thought to end his association with the government and find another way to earn his living, he still carried with him memories that would stain him forever. Lily was deserving of more than he could offer her.

  He watched as the men rode off, Caine trotting his horse ahead to lead the line of riders. And then Morgan sat on the edge of the porch, feeling his way through the words Lily had spoken to him. Was she right? Had he condemned her for her past? Was he using his own sins to make a case against the marriage they’d entered into?

  He stood and stepped up onto the porch, entering the door quietly. They needed to hash this thing out. He needed to know the facts after all, needed to hear her story, whether or not it was palatable. There certainly wasn’t any cloud of righteousness hanging over his own head. He’d been involved too long in the business of death and deception to claim clean hands.

  “Lily?” He stood in the middle of the small kitchen and called her name. The silence was ominous, but then he hadn’t really expected her to reply. She was no doubt huddled on the bed or, perhaps, knowing her as he did, she might be ready to face him with all guns blazing. He grinned at that thought. At least she wasn’t armed. He’d taken her weapon and placed it on the kitchen table earlier.

  The bedroom door was ajar and he pushed it open. A tattered curtain blew in the breeze from the window on the far side of the room. A room that was empty.

  “Lily!” He leaned from the window and looked at the field, the grasses growing in abundance, the trees that formed its western border. And he knew. Without the shadow of a doubt, he knew that she’d run. He looked behind him and scanned the room. Her bag was gone, a conclusion he’d already reached.

  Now to find her.

  He rode a mare he found in the pasture. Green-broken to saddle, she allowed him on her back, only tossing her head at the bit before she obeyed the nudging of his heels and the reins against her neck. She was tall, her legs muscular, her forehead broad. Darkening with sweat as she carried him across the field, she settled down as they neared the stand of trees.

  Morgan pulled the mare to a halt, and called again. “Lily? Come on back.” It was futile, as he’d known it would be and he entered the tall trees with care, looking down for a trace of the woman he sought. The branches were broken there, to his right, and he followed the faint marks of her passage, the bent grasses where her feet had trod, the scraping in the soil where her bag had no doubt been dragged past a fallen tree.

  He circled the obstacle, continuing in silence, hearing the song of birds overhead and the chatter of squirrels, disturbed by his presence. She couldn’t have more than a fifteen-minute lead, he decided, and if he kept on her trail, he’d find her within the hour. It was over thirty minutes later when he came out on the far side of the woods, and saw to his dismay that the road curved closely to the trees. Small footprints were clear in the dirt by the double tracks and then vanished.

  She’d gotten a ride. Someone had reined in their horses here and picked her up. Not that it was unheard of for a man to stop his wagon and take on a passenger. But in this case, Morgan could only hope that it was a local farmer who had offered passage. The thought of Lily in the hands of a man who might harm her made Morgan’s flesh crawl. He thought of the gun he carried, of the gun on the kitchen table he’d taken from her grasp, and wished fervently that he’d left it with her.

  He set off in pursuit, the horse’s sides becoming covered with foam as she fought the rider who bested her in the struggle they were engaged in. Morgan was a man used to recalcitrant animals, and though the mare tested him at every turn, he kept a steady pace as he followed the tracks toward town.

  “Thank you,” Lily said nicely as she climbed from the farm wagon. She lifted her valise from the back and waved at the man who’d offered a ride. If she went all the way to Sand Creek, Morgan would be after her in no time flat. So she’d chosen to leave the Good Samaritan she’d flagged down, here where the woods provided cover for her flight, and she might find a friendly farmer’s wife to offer her shelter.

  The sun was no longer high in the sky, the afternoon coming on rapidly as she approached a farmhouse at the end of a narrow lane. A dog barked shrilly at her approach and she halted, holding her valise before her, in case he should attack. Instead, he circled her, his tail wagging as if he would herd her toward the house. She walked onward and the dog finally took up his place beside her, looking up with his tongue hanging from the side of his mouth.

  A woman stepped from the doorway, her hand lifted to shield her eyes and watched as Lily approached. “What are you doin’ all alone out here?” she asked, a frown well in place. “A woman alone’s got no business wanderin’ around the country.”

  “I know that,” Lily admitted, pausing to allow the woman time to look her over. “I need a place to stay for a day or so. Can I sleep in your barn?”

  “Ain’t much out there to sleep on,” the woman said. She turned and opened the screened door behind her. “You’d do better to come on inside.” An impatient look back toward Lily provided the impetus to nudge her forward. The kitchen was warm, the scent coming from the stove was succulent, and Lily heard her stomach growl loudly.

  “Sounds to me like you could use a bite to eat,” her hostess said bluntly. “When was the last time you put food in your mouth?”
<
br />   “Early this morning.” Not that she’d eaten much, only a piece of toasted bread and coffee to wash it down with. The soup beans and corn bread had been left in the barn, and she almost smiled as she thought of the look on Sam Blair’s face when he discovered them there on his return home.

  “Well, come on over here and sit,” the woman said. “I’m Agnes Morley. My man’s out in the field, and he’ll be back before long for his supper. No reason why you can’t have yours now, if you want.”

  “All right.” Sitting at the table, she watched as the woman filled a plate from a kettle on the stove.

  “It’s just stew,” Agnes said, “but I make a right tasty meal when I put my mind to it.” She went to a dresser against the wall and gathered up a loaf of bread and a dish with butter beneath a glass dome. The bread was sliced quickly and she placed a generous portion on Lily’s plate. “I baked this noontime. That’s still a little warm.”

  The butter proved her right, melting into the coarsely grained bread, and Lily bit into it, the flavor making her smile with appreciation. “It’s wonderful,” she said. “I’ve always wanted to be able to bake bread like this. I’m good at biscuits, but I thought bread might be beyond my skills.”

  “Nothing to it,” Agnes said stoutly. “Anybody who can take a decent pan of biscuits out of the oven can tackle bread dough.” She sat down across from Lily and leaned her elbows on the table. “Now, you want to tell me who you’re runnin’ from?”

  Lily bowed her head, concentrating on the stew before her. She lifted a bit of potato and a bite of meat to her mouth and chewed for a moment. “What makes you think I’m on the run?” she asked after a moment, then lifted her gaze to meet the knowing look Agnes offered.

  “Any woman looks like you, all alone and walkin’, is trottin’ off from some man, somewhere,” Agnes surmised.