The Marriage Agreement

by Carolyn Davidson

  “What judge?” Weston asked, his cocky attitude giving way to a frown that drew his mouth down. One hand shoved deeply into his pocket as he eyed the sheriff intently.

  “Even a little town like this gets occasional visits from the law, Mr. Weston. Our particular judge is pretty much a country boy at heart. He don’t take to city folk much.”

  Morgan hid a grin as the sheriff expounded in a droll, satirical fashion. The judge for this part of the country was as citified as a man could be. He’d heard much about the man, the most important item being that he was known to be fair and just.

  “Well,” Weston said, his jaw set, his face reddened with anger. “I want the woman put in a cell until your judge shows up. She’ll run if she gets a chance.”

  “Not while she’s got a job to do,” Morgan said. “She doesn’t have a need to run from you, Yankee. She’s an upstanding citizen of this town.”

  “For how long?” Weston asked suspiciously.

  “Long enough,” the sheriff said quickly. “And in the meantime, I’d like to see some proof of your claims against Mrs. Morgan. I’m not about to ship her off upriver without having good reason.”

  “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll turn her over to me today,” Weston told him. He thrust the documents he’d brought with him across the scarred surface of the lawman’s desk. “She pawned my mother’s brooch. She was seen leaving the house where she’d tried to kill me, and a friend of mine followed her. He figured she was acting suspiciously and took it on himself to find out what was going on.”

  “She pawned jewelry belonging to your mother?” Morgan spoke the words as a statement of fact, and noted the other man’s firm nod.

  “Exactly.”

  “You have a picture of the jewelry? Proof of some sort?” the sheriff asked.

  “Better than that, I have the brooch itself.” With a triumphant flourish, Weston drew forth a tissue-wrapped package from his valise and placed it before the sheriff. “Take a look for yourself,” he said smugly. “My friend went into the pawn shop and redeemed it as soon as he decided that Yvonne was up to something suspicious.”

  The sheriff unwrapped the piece of jewelry and picked it up, turning it over and examining it closely. “Looks like real gold to me.”

  Weston preened. “It certainly is. Our family is well-known in New York. My mother has a large collection of precious gems.”

  The sheriff looked up, his gaze piercing. “You sure this came from your mother’s home? What was Mrs. Morgan doing in your mother’s house?”

  Weston stepped back a bit. “She wasn’t in my mother’s home at the time.”

  Morgan cleared his throat. “Maybe we’d better get Lily over here and have her take a look at this thing,” he said.

  “I’ll walk over to the hotel with you,” the sheriff said, snatching his hat from a peg on the wall and guiding his charge toward the door. As if he were a shepherd steering his bellwether ram from danger, he politely removed Morgan from temptation.

  “He’s lying through his teeth,” Morgan said grimly as the sheriff took long strides to keep up with his pace.

  “Probably. But he’s got all the signatures and everything looks official.”

  “She’s not going anywhere.” And if he had to, he’d see to it that the scalawag met his end in the peaceful town of Brightmoor, Morgan decided. “Sending Lily off on a boat with that man is not gonna happen, Sheriff. Not while I own a gun.”

  “We’re not having a gunfight on the main street. I won’t have it.”

  “It won’t be a fight,” Morgan asserted, stepping into the hotel lobby. “He’ll be the one stretched out full-length with a hole in him. I’ll be the one with the smoking gun.”

  “I’d have to arrest you,” the lawman said with a shake of his head. “Now, go on up and get your wife, Morgan. I’ll wait here.”

  Lily pressed the cool cloth against her face, then leaned her head back to wipe it the length of her throat and down her arms. She sighed with pleasure as the damp residue cooled her flesh. Getting dressed for the day was not something she was looking forward to. It was hotter than the dickens, Morgan had said early on this morning. And he’d been right. The dust rose from the street as horses rode past, and Lily thought longingly of rain that would settle the dust and refresh her spirits.

  “Lily?” Behind her, Morgan opened the door and stepped inside the room. “I need you to get dressed and come with me, sweetheart.”

  She turned to him and felt a heavy weight settle on her chest. As if she could scarcely draw breath, she knew a moment of terror such as had never visited her before now. Even the horror of the long trip to New York five years ago had not overwhelmed her to this extent.

  “What’s wrong?” The words were barely audible, and she felt a chill touch her bare arms and shoulders. The heat of the morning was a thing of the past, as if a cloud had paused over her head, dropping the temperature abruptly.

  “Stanley Weston is in town.”

  She searched Morgan’s face for some hint of what she could expect, and found no answers in the unyielding force he exuded. “I see.”

  “Hell, no you don’t,” he blurted out. “You look like a woman facing the gallows, Lily. I thought we had this straight last night. I’m with you in this, remember? And that scummy Yankee isn’t going to lay a hand on you.”

  It wasn’t an absence of compassion she found in Morgan’s gaze but a grim determination that seemed to ooze from his very pores.

  “All right. I’ll be right with you.” She turned to the simple dress she’d pressed yesterday afternoon and slipped it over her head. “Can you button it up for me?”

  He moved closer and his hands were warm against her skin, his fingers agile as he matched buttons and buttonholes. “All set?” he asked.

  “Almost.” She picked up her brush and swept her hair back, catching it up in a twisting arrangement atop her head. Six pins held it in place within seconds and she turned to face him. “I’m ready.”

  They walked together down the wide staircase and Lily got a glimpse of sorrow on the sheriff’s face as he looked up at her. It did not bode well for her, she decided, and silently cursed the man who was seeking his revenge. Damn you. Almost, she spoke the words aloud, but her upbringing would not allow them to pass her lips in front of the men who accompanied her out the door and across the street.

  The man who watched her approach appeared to be seething with impatience as she walked to face him, his mouth thinning as his gaze encompassed her modestly dressed form. “You’ve come down in the world, Yvonne,” he said, as if he jeered her appearance.

  “I suspect that depends on your point of view,” she answered, even as Morgan touched her arm and drew her close to his side. “I’d say I’ve improved my living conditions considerably since I was given the position of mistress in your shabby little love nest.”

  He flushed an unbecoming shade and his hands clenched into fists at her words. “You’ll be singing a different tune once I have you under guard and on your way back to face your crimes,” Weston said, his tone hateful in Lily’s ears.

  “Is it a crime for a woman to protect herself?” she asked boldly.

  “It’s a crime to murder a man in cold blood,” he retorted hotly.

  “Ah, but you seem very much alive to me.”

  “Not because you didn’t try hard enough to split my head open with that damned poker.” His hand swept the covering hair aside for the second time and Yvonne stared mutely at the scar he exhibited.

  Not for the world would she admit to the cringing fear that swept her soul as she heard his words of condemnation. “You installed me as a slave,” she told him. “You lied to me and abused me, Colonel. It took a long while, but when the time came I realized I had no choice but to escape.”

  “I never lied,” he said, denying her charge. “I took you with me, away from that hellhole you called home, and you thanked me for it more than once.”

  “The only thing I tha
nked you for was the fact that you didn’t burn my family’s house and all of our belongings in it. You and your drunken men,” she said, spitting the words in his face. “You told me you wanted to marry me and then tried to—”

  “That’s enough,” Morgan said sharply, bending his head to speak the words beneath his breath, holding her close to his side.

  “Ah, I’ll warrant she didn’t tell you about her stint as a camp follower, did she?” the Yankee asked. “And then the fool expected me to wed her in front of my family, ignoring the fact that I was already affianced to a lovely woman in New York City.”

  “A fact I was totally unaware of,” Lily answered, and felt Morgan’s fingers digging into her waist as she spoke.

  “Show Lily the piece of jewelry,” Morgan said.

  “Why are you calling her by that name?” Weston asked, bringing out the tissue-wrapped package from his pocket.

  “It’s her name.” As if he refused to elaborate on the issue, Morgan spoke the reply in sharp, clipped tones. And then watched Lily closely as she peered at the jeweled brooch Weston held before her.

  “My mother’s—” she began, only to cut off abruptly by Weston’s sharp denial of her words.

  “The hell it is,” he said. “You stole it and a number of other pieces when you hit me with that poker and left me for dead. I don’t know what you did with the rest, but my lieutenant followed you to the pawn shop where you sold this and bought it back for me.”

  “There was no rest,” she said. “That brooch was my mother’s. She gave it to me for my eighteenth birthday. It’s a family heirloom.”

  “Prove it,” Weston said, his voice harsh, his features contorted with anger.

  “If my mother were here, she’d tell you,” Lily said, her frustration riding high. “As it is, there’s not much I can do to dispute your lies.”

  “Well, now,” the sheriff said slowly, as if an idea had come to roost and he was mulling it over. “Maybe we can’t reach Lily’s mama real easy, but I know, sure as shootin’, that a wire can be sent to New York City, and we can have an answer in a day or so.”

  He looked at Lily with a reassuring smile. “Do you know this gentleman’s mother, Lily? Or where we might be able to reach her, should we send out a wire?”

  “I don’t know her. I wasn’t fit company for his exalted family once he’d decided to set me up in a house. And it certainly wasn’t his mother’s house he took me to, either.”

  “Oh? Then how did his mother’s jewelry come to be there?” Morgan asked, and his eyes narrowed as he turned to Weston and awaited an answer.

  “She’d been there to visit and left some things behind,” Weston blustered, his face turning crimson as he offered his glib reply.

  “You told me your family didn’t know about the house,” Lily said flatly. Then she turned to the sheriff. “I know where his mother lives. Her name is Edith Weston and she can likely be found in the family home near Central Park. I’ll bet anyone in that area would know how to reach her.”

  “Well…” The sheriff rocked back on his heels, his eyebrow quirking as he shot a seeking look at Weston. “You want to tell us the address or should I just go fishing on my own? It seems to me like we can clear this up right quick. We’ll ask your mama about this piece of jewelry and find out just how many other things she’s missing. How about that, Mr. Weston?”

  The Yankee glared at Lily, then turned his attention to the sheriff. “I’ll wire my mother today and ask her to describe the brooch for you.”

  “I don’t think that’s a wise idea,” Morgan said, interrupting without apology. “The law is involved in this, Weston. We need to let the sheriff do his job. He can get to the bottom of this without any trouble, I’d think.”

  “The jewelry aside, Yvonne is still wanted for attempted murder,” Weston said loudly. “I’ve got the scar to prove it, and she’s already admitted it to the law. That’s enough to put her in a jail cell for a good long time.”

  “And when the reason for her anger and the attack on you are made public?” Morgan suggested a scenario that made Lily inhale sharply. To have her name spread over the scandal sheets in New York would be a disgrace, and the family name must be protected, no matter that she had dragged it in the mud herself.

  “Who’d believe her?” Weston scoffed. “She’s a down-on-her-luck female, trying to make trouble for a man who is prominent in society. She’d swear to anything to gain what she wants.”

  “And what do you suppose that is?” Morgan asked quietly. “What would a woman in her position want in life?”

  “Money,” Weston said quickly. “Someone to buy her what she can’t afford for herself—fancy things to cover up the soiled woman she’s become.”

  “That doesn’t sound like Lily to me,” Morgan told him. “She’s been taking care of herself for some time now, and she sure doesn’t seem greedy to me. I’d give her all I’ve got and she knows it. Yet she asks for nothing.”

  “You probably don’t have that much to offer,” Weston said, looking askance at Morgan’s dusty boots and the denim pants he wore.

  “My daddy down in Texas would be downright upset to hear that,” Morgan said, exaggerating his drawl. “He owns a spread that covers a couple thousand acres, and a third of it will be mine some day. A good bit of money connected to it is mine already.”

  Lily’s eyes closed as she drank in the casual statement of wealth he offered. She’d wondered, as had May, where Morgan’s funds came from. And had decided that he was, indeed, a very good gambler. Now the answer stared her in the face and she wasn’t sure how she felt about the revelation.

  “That’s easy enough to claim,” Weston said scoffingly.

  “Easy enough to prove, too,” Morgan returned. “But the argument seems to be getting off track here.” He turned to the lawman, nudging him into action. “Let’s send out a wire to the police department in New York City asking them to locate Edith Weston, and requesting that she describe jewelry stolen from her a number of years ago. In particular a brooch.”

  “I won’t have my mother involved in this mess,” Weston said, cutting in sharply.

  “Your mother is already involved in this,” Morgan told him. “You brought her into it when you lied about the brooch to begin with.”

  Weston tossed the brooch into the air and Lily reached for it, her fingers closing around the circle of precious stones and holding it tightly. “It’s all yours, Yvonne,” he said with a scathing glare. “I expect you earned it after all.”

  “That does it,” Morgan said, breathing the words as if they were a curse. His first blow was a direct hit to Weston’s nose, and blood spurted with a force Lily could not have believed possible. His left fist connected with a solid hit to the man’s right eye, and from there it was a one-sided assault. Weston’s hands rose to protect his face and Morgan blithely ignored their presence.

  By the time the man was on his knees, the sheriff obviously had decided to intervene, and his hand on Morgan’s arm held that particular weapon in a tight grip. “That’ll do for now,” he said, looking down at the defeated man who knelt at his feet. “I don’t think our gentleman friend here is going to cause any more trouble to your wife, Morgan. And if he does, we’ll know just how to deal with it.”

  “You’ll pay for this,” Weston blustered weakly, his voice trembling as he struggled to rise. A slit in his left eye allowed him to peer in Lily’s direction. “And you, too, Yvonne. Morgan will never look at you from now on without thinking about the time you spent with me. You’re damaged goods.”

  Barely on his feet, he was met with a final blow, an undercut that lifted him from the ground and left him spread-eagled in the dirt.

  Lily ran. With every breath, she cursed the man who’d soiled her name. The man who’d dragged her through the dirt as surely as if he’d literally hauled her through a mud swamp in Louisiana. Running through the hotel lobby, she climbed the stairs at breakneck speed and sought the safety of her room. The key trembled
in her fingers as she unlocked the door, and then she closed it behind her, leaning against its solid surface.

  Her tears ran unchecked, her heart ached with a knowledge she could not deny.

  She would never be clean, never be worthy of a man like Morgan.

  Chapter Fifteen

  “Just where do you think you’re going?” Morgan’s confusion matched her own, Lily decided, but at least he wasn’t dealing with tears that refused to cease. As quickly as she could, she was stuffing her belongings into her valise, jamming her brush in one corner, her extra pair of shoes into another.

  “I’m leaving,” she managed to whisper, in between sobs that required the use of a large handkerchief. Morgan supplied her with his and she accepted it with a murmured thanks. “I’m going home, Morgan. I’ve got almost enough money to get me there, and as much as I hate to ask you, I’d like to borrow a few dollars. I’ll pay you back as soon as I can, if you’ll give me an address where I can write.”

  “The hell you are,” he said, his tone of voice deadly. She looked up at him then, her gaze encompassing the long, lean lines of his body as he stood before the door. She didn’t stand a chance of getting past him. Should he decide to hold her here, she was his prisoner. But there wasn’t much chance of that. Morgan was too proud to attempt to hang on to a woman bent on moving on with her life.

  “Things will never be the same for us,” she said, forcing her eyes to meet his, refusing to back away from this confrontation. “This was bound to happen sometime,” she told him. “We had an agreement, and we’ve reached the final stage. It’s time for us to tie things up and for me to go home.”

  “The agreement included my taking you home, Lily. But not today. We have to give a statement to the sheriff and wait for word from New York before either of us will be able to leave.”

  “And if I walk away before all that happens? What then?”

  “You’ll be tossed in jail until this whole thing is cleared up.”

  Somehow, she doubted his words. In fact, her practical mind told her that Morgan was grasping at straws right now, talking off the top of his head in order to keep her under his thumb until he was ready to leave.