Wed Under Western Skies

by Carolyn Davidson

  “Come now, I’ll walk you home.”

  The word home shook her from her musings to the purpose of her journey. “Kitty is sick.”

  He faltered and turned to her. “What?”

  “A fever.”

  He gripped her elbow as he made for home. His stride lengthened as he reached the street, and she had to run to keep up with him. When they arrived at the stone step, he released her and she dashed inside. All four lamps blazed, filling the room with light.

  Kitty sat against the cabin wall clutching her doll. She wailed at seeing her mother. Clara reached her in a moment, taking her daughter into her arms. Nate leaned down and pressed his hand to Kitty’s forehead.

  “Warm,” he said. “How do you feel?”

  Kitty cried. Big fat tears spilled from her eyes, breaking Clara’s heart. Fear choked her as all the possibilities rolled through her mind. Please don’t let it be typhoid fever.

  “My throat hurts.”

  “Hmm,” he said. “How about your tummy?”

  “It doesn’t hurt. Just here.” She stroked her neck.

  “Clara, why don’t you make some tea with honey?”

  Kitty’s gaze turned hopeful. “I like honey on biscuits.”

  “You’ll have that tomorrow,” he promised.

  Clara felt so relieved to have someone take charge. Just having a task to do helped calm her frayed nerves. When she found Kitty was ill, all she could think to do was find Nate and she went right out to seek him. He stroked Kitty’s head and asked her about her doll as Clara heated the water.

  Kitty yawned as she told him that Rebecca didn’t like big dogs or men who shouted.

  “Does she know anyone who shouts?”

  “My grampa John use to holler at Rebecca sometimes. She spills her milk.”

  Clara glanced at Nate and saw his jaw muscle clenching.

  “I’m sure Rebecca didn’t do it on purpose. Sometimes people are so angry inside that they yell at everyone around them.”

  “He was mean. I walked around him on tiptoes so I didn’t make a ruckus and he said ‘stop sneaking about!’”

  “That was my father. I mean, the man that raised me.”

  Kitty’s eyes widened. “Was he mean to you?”

  Nate nodded.

  Kitty leaned forward and whispered. “I’m glad you aren’t mean and shoutie.”

  Nate palmed the top of Kitty’s head. “Me, too.”

  “He died before my daddy. Now he’s gone to heaven.”

  Nate’s smile bore no humor. “Not if there is any justice in the world.”

  Clara and he exchanged a look. She pitied the child he had been. Perhaps Nate read her feelings in her expression for his eyes glittered dangerously. She swallowed and found her voice.

  “Here is your tea, Kitty.” She held out the cup. “Two hands.”

  Kitty slurped from her cup and then asked for a story. Clara began one of her daughter’s favorites but Kitty interrupted.

  “No, I want my new daddy to tell it.”

  Nate turned to Clara as his jaw dropped in astonishment. He recovered in a moment and Clara warmed to see him grinning with pride. Then his brow wrinkled and he cast her a glance that seemed to beg for rescue.

  “I don’t know her favorite story,” he said.

  “Just tell me one with a princess,” said Kitty.

  Nate scratched the dark shadow of a beard beneath his jaw and thought for few moments and then launched into an odd version of the princess and the pea where the princess discovers a litter of kittens under her mattress, which she delivered to local children with the help of the cavalry. Clara admired the way he tackled this task, which was unfamiliar to him as panning for gold would be to her.

  He finished his tale and waited for Kitty’s judgment.

  She nodded her approval. “I like kittens.”

  “Do you want another story?” he asked.

  “No, just a tuck-in.”

  Nate looked to Clara for help. She smiled as memories that once made her so sad now blended the joy and sorrow in equal measures.

  “Jacob used to tuck the blankets in tight and then kiss her on the forehead.”

  Nate started to comply and then hesitated. “You know, second daddies do things differently than firsts.”

  He had Kitty’s attention.

  “For example, we fluff pillows and we give kisses on both cheeks. You think that will be all right?”

  Kitty thought a moment and then nodded. Clara’s heart squeezed with a tender joy. How could she ever thank him enough for his kindness to her child?

  He took Kitty’s pillow and gave it several good punches before replacing it beneath her head. Then he leaned in and kissed her on both cheeks. How wise of him to make his own ritual with her daughter, one that allowed Kitty to feel secure, but did not try to replace her father. She thought that she could fall in love with this man, if he would only give her a chance.

  Kitty settled and closed her eyes. Clara smiled and waited for Nate to meet her gaze. When he did, she could see him struggling with something. His expression looked troubled.

  She waited.

  When he spoke his voice choked with emotion.

  “I love her already.”

  His words hit Clara like an arrow in the heart. Tears sprang to her eyes and she hugged him tight. His arms came around her and they sat there upon Kitty’s small bed, supported by each other’s embrace.

  “Thank you,” she whispered.

  “It was only a story.”

  Clara pulled backward. “No, it was much more. I was so worried.” She dared not say more in case Kitty was still awake.

  “We’ll take good care of her.”

  Clara stood and stared down at her little girl. Her flushed face brought a crease to her brow. She needed to keep a close watch on that fever.

  Nate lifted one end of his bed and dragged until it lay parallel to Kitty’s, with mere inches between the frames. Clara glanced at him.

  “So you can see to her during the night.”

  She smiled at him and stillness filled the room.

  “I was afraid to come here. Did you know that? This seems such a wild place. But Jacob said you would care for us. I’m so glad I listened.”

  She lifted onto her toes and kissed him on the lips. He flinched and tried to draw back, but she persisted, trying to overcome that wall he erected between them. He stilled. She kissed him with affection and tenderness, trying to show her gratitude. But then he pulled her into his arms and the grateful kiss changed to a slow burn, heating her from within.

  Kitty coughed and she stiffened. He stepped away instantly as they both watched the sleeping child.

  “I’ll go wash up,” he said and left her alone for a long while. She snuffed all the lamps but one, which burned low on the table. Crawling into bed, she waited, knowing she shouldn’t anticipate his return, but she did. No doubt she was wicked to want him to kiss her again. He thought her a lady, but these emotions he stirred made her feel scandalous. Oh, how she wanted this man.

  He entered silent as a night shadow and snuffed the lamp. The bed sagged as the ropes absorbed his weight. Her breathing betrayed her as she waited for him to slide in beside her.

  “Good night, Clara,” he said and gave her his back.

  Disappointment landed on her chest like a millstone. She pressed her lips together to keep herself from asking for a good-night kiss and shocked at how much she had anticipated it.

  Kitty was ill. Of course he would not kiss her now. She touched her daughter’s forehead, absorbing the heat of her fever and finding it no worse. She rolled to her back.

  He loved her daughter but he did not want her. But their kiss—surely she didn’t imagine the fire between them. She tried to understand why he kept avoiding her touch.

  Jacob had loved her and she wanted that love again.

  If she was honest with herself, she would admit that her love for Jacob stemmed from gratitude. She had been faithful to him, bu
t he’d never made her ache with longing like this strange, brooding man beside her.

  He wasn’t asleep. She knew it because he lay as rigid as a corpse. Without any encouragement from him, her body quivered with need. She pressed a hand to her trembling belly. Waiting was so hard.

  He felt it, too—this desire between them. She knew it from his kiss. But he did not see her as his wife, rather the wife of his dead brother. Somehow she needed to make him believe she was his.

  She must think of something other than this or she would not be able to resist the call of his body to hers.

  The image of a cruel man sprung into her mind. Bickerfield.

  Her eyelids popped open. She recalled the flash of recognition in his eyes, followed by his evil grin. Clara’s breath caught. Why hadn’t he exposed her?

  She feared the answer. The frightened part of her brain told her to run—to gather her daughter and leave before he could harm them. But she had nowhere to go, no money, no family. Involuntarily, she drew closer to her new husband. Nate would protect them. But would he ever forgive her for her deceit?

  Chapter Seven

  Nate opened his eyes at the gentle rocking of his shoulder. His gaze focused on Clara’s worried expression. He slept light so he knew she’d been up half the night checking her daughter.

  “Kitty’s fever is higher.”

  He rolled to a seat, squinting in the morning light, then turned to the child. No, his daughter now. In the gray before dawn, he could see little, so he reached past Clara and pressed a palm to Kitty’s forehead. Heat radiated back to him.

  “How do you feel, Sweet-pea?”

  She lifted a hand to her throat. “Hurts.”

  Nate felt her neck and the swollen glands below her jaw.

  “Thirsty?”

  She nodded.

  “Clara, make some more tea and honey.”

  He stood and drew on his britches as she lit the lamp.

  “She must have a doctor,” Clara’s worried voice barely hid her alarm.

  He tugged on his boot and turned to her.

  “There is no doctor here.”

  “No doctor.” Her anxious, frightened voice pulled at his heart.

  “It was one of the reasons I thought you should not come.”

  She stoked the fire and added more wood. He found her accusing gaze upon him.

  “And what were the other reasons?”

  That I’d be second to Jacob in your regard. His mother and father had never loved him. He understood why. But it didn’t soften the pain. He didn’t want a wife who wed him only from necessity. And he could see little other reason to wed with him, though he’d had offers. All the women who tried to tie him down had one thing in common, a longing for the money he made.

  Better to be alone.

  “Well?” she asked, filling a pot and lifting it to the stove.

  “We have no other children here, no school or church.”

  She whirled, sending her braid off her back for a moment. Her cheeks grew pink as she glared at him.

  “You did not write that letter because of schools and churches. You didn’t want me.”

  His eyes narrowed.

  “Don’t be silly.”

  “Why then?”

  “Maybe I like my privacy.”

  That stopped her, and he breathed a sigh of relief. Funny that she would think he didn’t want her.

  Not a man alive would not want Clara. She was beautiful, kind, a good mother and a righteous woman. She also had the body of Eve, to tempt a man to follow her, whichever way she led. She offered him the apple. How long could he resist?

  To remove her from his sight, he found the honey and rested it on the new table that Randy had brought. Clara poured the tea and then began cooking oatmeal, setting the cup aside to cool.

  Nate stirred the contents and blew away the rising steam. Kitty sat up to receive the tea. After drinking it, she wiggled in her bed.

  “Rebecca has to use the outhouse.”

  “You can use the chamberpot,” Nate offered.

  She shook her head.

  Clara, still in her white nightgown, extended her hand.

  “I’ll take her,” said Nate.

  Kitty did not object, so he scooped her into his arms and carried her out the door, depositing her within the outhouse. When she finished, he lifted her again. Kitty scratched at her arms as he walked toward the house. Then she scratched at her legs.

  The hem of her nightgown lifted. It was then he saw the raised red rash. He quickened his step and brought her back to her bed.

  Clara must have read trouble in his expression, for she rushed to them.

  “What is it?”

  “She has a rash.”

  Clara snatched the gown from her daughter, revealing Kitty’s pale skin, thin limbs and a chest and belly covered with small red spots.

  Clara sank to the bed. Her breath came in a low whisper, like a prayer. “Lord in heaven, is it typhus? Oh, no, please not smallpox.”

  Nate looked at Kitty, who now lay mute, with big round eyes looking to him for answers. Clara clasped her hands and regarded him as well. He grit his teeth and turned his attention to the rash.

  He had seen typhus on the trail and in California. There was a rash, but it didn’t look like this. He rubbed his cheek and thought. His mind cast back to the Indians he’d seen riddled with smallpox sores. Poor devils. It was a wretched death. He tamped down the fear for his child. How quickly she had wheedled into his heart. He leaned forward to study the marks.

  “Do they itch?”

  Kitty nodded.

  Nate turned to her mother. “Looks like measles to me.”

  “Measles?” Her gaze went back to her daughter and she touched a raised red mark. When she spoke again, her voice rang with relief. “Measles. Oh, thank God—thank God.”

  “I’m not going to die?” asked Kitty.

  Nate stroked her head. “No, Sweet-pea. But you are going to have to resist scratching. Those little sores leave a scar. See?”

  He pointed to the spot on his forehead between his brows where a pox had marked him. Kitty stared and nodded gravely.

  “The doc at Fort Henry used a paste of baking soda to bring down the itch,” he said.

  “Do you have any?” asked Clara.

  “No, but they have it at the dry goods. I’ll be back in a bit.”

  Nate finished dressing and headed out. Clara stood in the doorway, watching him make his way up the street.

  He turned back and waved and she returned his salute before attending Kitty. She washed her skin and dressed her in her nightgown once more. A few minutes later there came a knock at the door.

  Why did he knock, she wondered as she lifted the latch and drew back the solid wood planking. Perhaps his hands were full with supplies.

  “That was quick,” she said. The smile fell from her lips.

  There on her doorstep stood Carl Bickerfield.

  “You,” she snarled, recoiling as if he were a rattlesnake.

  “Good morning, Clara, my dear. It is good to see you thriving.”

  “Get off my step.”

  “Not just yet, I’m afraid. We have business to attend.”

  At the store, Nate learned that Gunn’s wife had arrived with two daughters in tow. One was near an adult but the other, still a girl. That would mean Clara and Kitty might find female companionship, of the right sort.

  On his return, he came across the owner of the Colorado Rest Home. Ridiculous name for a whorehouse, thought Nate. Kingston’s establishment was the only two-story structure in Colorado City and he lived upstairs.

  So why was he headed up Second, coming from the direction of Nate’s home?

  Kingston tried to get by with a tip of his hat, but Nate sidestepped him.

  “What are you doing on the north end?”

  “Looking for you.”

  “That so? I didn’t see you slowing down.”

  “My mind was elsewhere, I’m afraid.”
<
br />   “You see my wife?”

  “Briefly. She informed me you were not at home.”

  “Kingston, you stay on the south side where you belong and stay the hell away from my home and my wife.”

  “I meant no offense. I merely wanted to ask you if you would consider extending your tunnel. Several of my clientele would make use of it, now that the wives are beginning to arrive.”

  “Build your own damn tunnel.”

  “I just thought to inquire. I could give you free service.”

  Nate had seen the way this man conducted his business. He was all smiles and good manners in public, but he beat his whores. Nate disliked a hypocrite, so he leaned forward and placed a finger in the man’s face.

  “Let me make something clear. You want to talk business, you see me at the saloon. Because the next time I catch you near my house, you’ll be whistling through a new gap in your front teeth.”

  Clara cursed the luck that brought Bickersfield to this boomtown. Here at the gateway to Ute pass, all miners must stop—the perfect place to set up his vile business.

  He wanted money and she had none, so why not go directly to Nate? Perhaps this was her punishment for leaving him. She must face the humiliation of confessing to her new husband that once Carl Bickerfield, the one Nate called Kingston, had used her again and again before she could escape.

  Shame burned, making her cheeks hot. How she hated the man. Even before he turned up at her doorstep, she had never truly been free of him. He haunted her thoughts like a ghost. Not a day passed when she didn’t remember. He was the reason she had never been good enough for Jacob, why she could never hold her head high when walking beside him. People knew, people talked. Here she thought to make a fresh start, away from the gossips. It seemed that the outer reaches of this new territory were not far enough to escape the demons that pursued her, for she carried them in her heart. And now she faced her nemesis in person.

  She heard a footstep beyond the door as someone stomped and then lifted the latch. Her breathing caught. She released it as Nate filled the entrance.

  “I have the soda,” he said lifting a crate. “Also saw Mr. Gunn. He owns the feed and flour store. His wife and daughters have arrived and are anxious to meet you.”