“I was married before.”
“Ummmm.”
Banner sighed and snuggled closer to her husband. She would explain everything in the morning, tell the whole truth about Sean and take the consequences.
But Adam was already out of the house when Banner came downstairs the next morning, and Francelle was in a perfect dither, certain that the first patient of the day meant to give birth in the waiting room.
* * *
With money in his pockets, Sean Malloy found it easier to bide his time. He took a room on Water Street and worked aboard the Jonathan Lee whenever she ran smuggle in from Canada.
He was certain now that Banner lived in Port Hastings—he could almost catch the spicy, defiant scent of her—but he’d had no glimpse of the imp, and no word, for he hadn’t dared to ask.
Of course, there had been that problem when he’d thought he’d found her. He’d gone into a blind rage, seeing her standing in the street like that, offering herself to every man who passed.
Sean had caught her arm and dragged her into an alleyway, meaning to exert his husbandly rights before he dealt with her past sins. But she’d stated her price and something inside him had splintered—by the time he’d realized that the trollop wasn’t Banner at all, he’d crushed in her throat.
He’d been more careful after that, avoiding trouble, taking his pleasures in the boxhouses, where there was light. There was little privacy, of course, but that didn’t bother Sean—he liked having his whiskey and his women in the same curtained booth.
On the morning of February third, however, Sean made a mistake. He drank a little too much and got mean with one of the whores on the Silver Shadow, and when he did, she brought a brass lamp down over the top of his head, drawing more blood than he would have thought one man could hold.
And if that wasn’t bad enough, he got himself arrested in the bargain.
* * *
Banner paced the parlor, preparing herself. She had put it off long enough, telling Adam about Sean, and out of simple stubbornness, too.
She hadn’t meant to deceive him, not really. It was just that it had taken all her stamina just to keep up during the days, and at night he had loved her so ferociously that she had neither the breath nor the courage to talk.
Now, on this snowy evening, the time had come. Maggie was away visiting her sister, Francelle had gone home for the night, and Katherine was away in Olympia. There were simply no more excuses.
But when Adam came into the parlor, he was obviously not feeling receptive to confidences from his wife. He carried his bag in one hand, and Banner’s new, fur-lined cloak was draped over his arm.
“Marshal Peters was just here,” he said. “He’s got some brawler bleeding all over his best cell. Coming?”
Banner drew a deep breath. Perhaps it would be better, safer, to tell Adam in a more public place. “Yes—of course. Is the injury serious?”
Adam shrugged; it was clear that his mind was far away. On the mountain perhaps? He helped Banner into the buggy waiting at the side door and they were off.
“Will you be leaving again soon?” she dared, as they made their way down the hill.
Beside her, Adam stiffened. “Tomorrow.”
Banner’s guilt over her own secrets was suddenly evaporating. She might have had a past, but she was faithful now, when it counted. She didn’t go off to visit some mysterious lover whenever the mood struck. “I want to go with you,” she announced.
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because it wouldn’t be safe, that’s why.”
“I’ll follow you, then.”
He turned, gave her a scorching, sidelong glance. “You do that, O’Brien, and I’ll paddle your delightful little backside!”
“Will you now?” bluffed Banner, who knew very well that he would, if pushed far enough. “I wouldn’t advise it, you pompous ass, because I would be forced to have you jailed!”
The answer was a howl of laughter. “Jailed? O’Brien, I’ll have you know that under the laws of this territory I could hang you from a streetlamp by your thumbs if I so wished.”
“That is disgusting!”
“But, nonetheless, true. As far as the government is concerned, my cherished darling, I own you.”
Banner made a face. “The laws are changing!”
Adam arched one eyebrow, navigating the treacherous hill easily, almost as an aside. “Are they, O’Brien? All hell is breaking loose over that last amendment, and there is a movement afoot to retract it. Why do you think my mother raced off to Olympia the way she did?”
Banner was angry, not just with Adam but with all men. “And you would be pleased, wouldn’t you, to see women lose the vote?”
“Not pleased. But not surprised either.”
Banner shivered, even though she was warm in her heavy cloak. “Do you think, by chance, that my sex is inferior to yours?”
Adam grinned—there was definitely an obnoxious quality to the curve of his lips—as they rounded a corner and entered Main Street. “On the contrary. The female gender is probably superior. Close your mouth, O’Brien—it’ll be full of snow in a minute.”
Superior! What game was he playing? “You don’t really believe that!”
“Oh, but I do. Women are generally more rational than men—they have a long-range view of things. They can bear more pain, stand up under more abuse—”
“Only because they’re forced to! Women are the same as men, Adam!”
“God forbid.”
“Just what do you mean by that?”
Adam drew the buggy to a stop in front of the brick building where Banner had come to view the Chinese and sign their death certificates. He pulled the brake lever into place, wrapped the reins around it, and grinned again. “Were you sleeping in anatomy class, O’Brien? Women and men are definitely not the same. I’ll be happy to demonstrate the theory later.”
“You wretch,” Banner hissed, leaping down to the ground before he could round the buggy and help her. “That wasn’t what I meant, and you know it!”
They were still arguing when they reached the row of sturdy cells in the courthouse basement.
“Shut up,” Adam said companionably as the marshal approached with a ring of keys.
Banner looked around, oppressed by the dark, dank misery of that place. At the end of the hallway, there was a chair, complete with leather arm restraints and a billyclub resting on the seat.
Perhaps because Banner was looking at that and wondering if the marshal used brutal methods when he questioned a prisoner, she was inside the first cell before she remembered the patient they’d come to see.
He was a burly brute of a man, too long for the cot he rested upon, and his curly, light brown hair was blood-soaked—
Banner fell back against the cold barrier of the bars. No! screamed something hidden deep inside her. No!
“I need more light,” snapped Adam, oblivious to her terror, to everything but the half-conscious man lying on the cot. “O’Brien—”
Banner wanted to seep through the bars, like so much smoke, and dissipate into nothing. Her head moved back and forth, back and forth, in a fevered denial of what she knew to be true.
The marshal carried a lamp, and he struck a match to the wick. “Is it bad, Doc?”
Adam’s eyes were on Banner, puzzled and impatient. “Not necessarily—head wounds often bleed like this. Get me a basin of hot water, Peters, and some clean cloth.”
Banner was inching toward the cell door as it opened; the process was unbearably slow, and progress was gained bar by bar. Peters slammed the escapeway just before she reached it.
And Sean turned on the cot, dragged his eyes over Banner’s trembling frame, and smiled.
“Hello, darlin’,” he said.
Chapter Nine
BANNER’S KNUCKLES ACHED, SO TIGHT WAS HER GRASP on the bars behind her, and her throat worked convulsively, making speech impossible.
Adam came to her, caugh
t her forearms in his hands. At his touch, she quietly fainted.
When Banner awakened, only minutes later, the world was spinning helter-skelter through space, off its axis, out of its proper orbit. She was lying on a cot and someone was waving smelling salts under her nose.
Sputtering and sick, she bolted upright, only to be pressed down again. “You just rest, Mrs. Corbin,” enjoined the marshal gruffly. “Your husband’s busy just now, stitchin’ up that fool Irishman’s head.”
Banner closed her eyes. She could hear Sean’s voice, and Adam’s—they were close, only a cell away, and yet their words seemed to be echoing through a long tunnel.
“Pretty piece, ain’t she now?”
“I think so,” replied Adam evenly. Banner didn’t need to see him to know that he was concentrating on the cleaning of Sean’s wound or already stitching it closed.
“She workin’ for you, or warmin’ your bed of a night?”
“Banner is my wife,” Adam responded. “And how would you like your earlobes stitched to the tip of your nose?”
“Is she your wife, now? That’s odd, that is—real odd.” There was a long silence, a silence during which Banner’s blood congealed in her veins. “Considerin’ that she’s already married to me.”
There was another silence, but this one was thunderous, like the stillness between violent earth tremors.
Sean laughed; the sound was low and weary, rumbling in the close, uncirculated air of the jail. “Thought you were the first to spread her thighs, did you? Well, you ain’t, mate, and that’s the truth of it.”
Adam said nothing, nothing at all. And, in a way, that was worse than any rage.
Banner sat up, made a conscious effort not to lose her supper. She would explain—Adam would understand when she had explained. . . .
Her husband finished his work, collected her in scathing silence from the cell where she’d been recovering from her shock. His face was cold and the expression in his eyes was colder still, and Banner wanted to die.
Outside, in the crisp, snowy night air, Adam lifted her by the waist and fairly flung her into the buggy.
“It’s true, isn’t it?” he rasped, without looking at Banner, as the rig lurched into motion.
Banner lowered her eyes, and a tear fell to the lush fox muff that warmed her hands. All the reasonable, sensible things she’d planned to say rose into her throat and lodged there, in an impassible tangle.
Adam said nothing until they’d reached the stables, until he’d surrendered the horse and buggy to the man who tended them.
“Start talking, O’Brien,” he growled, grasping Banner’s arm and half flinging, half propelling her toward the house. “Right now!”
Banner swallowed, stumbled. Adam’s grip was almost bruising as he righted her and thrust her onward. The waiting room was dark and shadowy and monsters were lurking there. “I—I told you—”
“Damn it all to hell, O’Brien, I don’t remember what you told me and you know it!” Adam exploded, throwing in his lot with the monsters. “Are you my wife or his?”
“Yours!”
“Thank you very much. So why does he call you darlin’ and claim you’re married to him?”
Banner bit her lower lip, closed her eyes. “He p-probably thinks we’re still married.”
“Wonderful. Keep talking.”
“I-I was very young when we were wed—I didn’t really know Sean. He—he beat me and there w-were other women. One n-night there was a fight, in a tavern, and a man was killed. He was rich, this m-man, and his family offered a reward—”
Adam’s hands came to Banner’s shoulders, whether to reassure her or hold her at a distance she did not know. “Go on,” he whispered.
“I was afraid of Sean and I-I knew that he’d been the one to b-beat that man—he’d boasted about it, Adam! He’d boasted—”
“Yes?”
“I told. I went to the police, Adam, and I t-told. They f-found proof against Sean and—and they came for him. Wh-When he saw them in the street, he knew what I’d done and he hit me and hit me—”
Adam drew her very close, held her in the warm circle of his arms.
“I was taken to a hospital,” she went on, her face buried in his shoulder. “They took care of me there. And a-after I was well, I stayed, using the r-reward money to pay for my books and courses. When that ran out, I worked for my tuition.”
“And the divorce?”
“The people at the hospital helped me get that. When w-we heard that Sean might be released from prison, s-some of the women on Dr. Blackwell’s faculty got together and—and gave me the train fare to come West.”
“Why did they release him from prison, Banner?”
“I don’t know, Adam—I suppose they decided that that man had p-provoked Sean or something. I h-had my degree, so I bought a train ticket and left.”
His embrace tightened. “I won’t let Sean or anyone else hurt you, Shamrock,” he vowed, in a hoarse whisper.
But Banner trembled, fearing not for herself now, but for Adam. “Sean’s vicious—he won’t stop until—”
Adam lifted her gently into his arms, cradling her like a child. “I can handle him, Banner,” he said. “In the meantime, you’re not to leave this house alone, under any circumstances. Do you understand me?”
Banner sighed, too exhausted to argue. But inside she knew that nothing short of death itself would stop Sean Malloy from taking his vengeance now. And there was only one way to make sure that Adam stayed safe.
* * *
The stitches stung, and so did the knowledge that Banner was sharing another man’s bed. Sean cursed and sat up on the cot, and the room swayed and shifted around him.
He wondered if she liked spreading herself for that doctor—some niggling thing at the base of his mind believed that she did.
Sean cursed again. She’d hated it when he touched her, stiffened when he took her. And him her own husband!
He considered the doctor. By his clothes and his manner, he was a wealthy man, that one, raised to the best of everything. And now he fancied himself Banner’s husband.
Sean wondered if the slut did things for the rich man that she’d never done for him, and fury surged through him, forcing him to his feet.
A slow smile spread over Sean’s face. He’d found her. At last, at last, he’d found her. And she’d pay, the little she-Judas, for selling him to the law the way she had.
Hoarsely, Malloy laughed. Aye. And he’d put her through her paces before it was over—she’d do every trick she knew and a few that he meant to teach her.
And as for her “husband,” well, he’d watch, the bastard. And he’d die with the image in his mind.
* * *
“No!” Banner cried, heat throbbing in her face.
“Yes,” replied Adam, who was sipping coffee at the kitchen table and implacably reading a newspaper. “And that’s the end of it, O’Brien, so pack your clothes.”
Banner cast an imploring look at Maggie, but it seemed that the woman had contracted a sudden case of deafness. “Wenatchee is so far away!”
Adam turned a page and frowned at something headed with a complicated drawing. “That’s the idea.”
Banner stumbled to the bench, fell to it, her back to Adam and Maggie, her face to the fire. She’d meant to run away, just as she had run away from New York when she’d been awarded her diploma. She’d meant to lose herself, forever, to draw Sean away from Adam and his family.
But by going to Wenatchee, as Adam insisted, she would endanger Keith.
Maggie came, squeezed Banner’s shoulder in wordless commiseration, and left the room.
There was a short silence, and then Adam came to sit beside her, his indigo gaze fixed on the crackling, crimson fire. Banner wondered if he was remembering the day they’d made love on this very bench, and she blushed.
“Just let me leave entirely, Adam—let me leave this town and the territory before Sean kills you.”
Adam smi
led, but his face was wan and there was no humor in the expression. “He isn’t going to kill me, Banner. And you’re not going to leave me. At least, not permanently.”
“Don’t you see that Sean will follow me? And if you believe that he’d hesitate to kill Keith—”
Adam’s hand closed over one of hers, drew it upward, to his lips. “Don’t worry about Keith. He prays a lot, but he’s meaner than all hell in a fight.”
Banner shook her head, despondent. “This wouldn’t be a front-yard row between brothers who love each other, Adam. Sean is strong, and he’s ruthless.”
“Thank you,” Adam mocked. “In that case, I’ll hide under my bed and tell my brothers to do the same. We’ll just cower there, among the dustballs, while Malloy rapes and kills one of our women!”
“That’s it!” Banner cried, her face alight. “I could hide on the mountain, with your woman! He’d never look for me there!”
Now it was Adam who shook his head, Adam who marveled. “That would be a great idea, O’Brien—except for one small hitch. I don’t have a goddamned woman on the goddamned mountain!”
“And the moon doesn’t have craters!”
Adam’s massive shoulders stooped as he gave a long, ragged sigh. “God almighty,” he breathed. “I’ve been faithful to you, do you hear me? Faithful! Can you get that through your head or do I have to write it on a rock and beat it in?”
“Sure,” scoffed Banner, because if she didn’t argue she would most certainly cry and plead and make all manner of a fool of herself. “I’m not enough for you, and you go to her!”
“On the contrary, Shamrock—even if I was inclined to take a mistress, I wouldn’t have the goddamned energy to do anything about it. You use up everything I’ve got, wife-of-mine, and more.”
Banner blushed, hoping that what he said was true, praying that it was. “Please don’t send me to Keith.”
“Give me a pen and a flat rock, O’Brien.”
“You’re impossible—do you know that?”
Adam nodded. “And you’re on your way to Wenatchee,” he countered. He bent, nipped at her lips with his. “And O’Brien?”
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