by Megan Besing
The General’s eyes narrowed. “You married her?”
“Why?” the third man asked.
The question seemed to stump Wyatt, who momentarily floundered. Mariah lifted her chin. “Jackson was too drunk to meet me at the train station. Wyatt tried to convince me—”
Wyatt’s grip on her hand tightened almost painfully. “I’ll tell it, honey. I tried to convince her to stay and give Jack a chance, but he’d gone upstairs with Millie. Mariah decided she wouldn’t have him. The only way to keep her here was to marry her myself, so that’s what I did. I’ve got the papers to prove it.”
He released her hand only long enough to pull their marriage license from his saddlebag and give it to the General. The man looked it over, lifting his eyebrows. “It certainly looks official.”
“It is, sir.”
The General handed the paper to the Negro, who read it before handing it off to the blond man. Wyatt tucked the marriage license back in his saddlebag then everyone seemed to hold their breath waiting for their leader to decide what was to be done about the change in plans. Finally, the General gave an approving nod. “We don’t call you ‘The Fixer’ for nothing, Wyatt. I appreciate you stepping in and getting the job done. I’ll need to have a talk with Jack once he gets here. Meanwhile, you and your lady can have the cabin I’d promised him.”
Wyatt nodded then caught the horse’s reins again. “Come on, Mariah. Let’s get you settled in.”
“Wait,” she whispered. “You didn’t finish the introduction. I don’t know any of their names.”
Wariness flashed over Wyatt’s features, but the Negro man stepped forward with a charming smile and dancing brown eyes. “How rude of you, Wyatt. I’m Jasper Douglas. You can call me Jasper or Dodger.”
“Dodger?”
“It’s an old nickname of mine.”
She nodded dumbly. Dodger Douglas? The Dodger Douglas? Renowned horse thief, cattle rustler, counterfeiter, and train robber? Surely not. The name…The man…It had to be a coincidence.
The blond man straightened and lifted his chin to stare down the sharp angles of his nose at her. His pale blue eyes seemed to threaten and smolder. “Blade. Blade Turner.”
She swallowed hard then glanced down to the sheathed knives encircling his waist. There were so many of them that his guns seemed like an afterthought. Every one of them shouted he was that Blade Turner. The one who’d helped Dodger Douglas pull off the Laramie Bank Robbery with the rest of the Renegades. Which would make the older man General—
“Galen Lorde at your service, ma’am.”
“Mister—” She forced a smile to her lips and corrected herself. “General, thank you for your hospitality.”
He lifted a silver eyebrow. “Well, now, I wouldn’t call it hospitality, exactly. More like an opportunity. Do your job. Do it well. We won’t have a problem. You can start by cooking dinner tonight.”
“Yes, sir.” She couldn’t look at her lying scoundrel of a husband. “Wyatt, I’d like to see the cabin now if that’s all right.”
“I’ll show you the way.”
Everything had changed when Wyatt had said those vows to Mariah. He simply hadn’t realized it until this moment. There would be no more late nights in the bunkhouse swapping stories with the other outlaws, which would make it much harder to collect confessions. He’d be the odd one out. The only one with a woman—one he’d didn’t intend to share.
It could easily become a dangerous dynamic. Yet, he’d chosen his path. There would be no turning back. Somehow he’d find a way to get Blade to admit he’d murdered a saloon girl in Abilene and learn where the gang had hidden the money from the Laramie bank robbery—if there was any left of it. He’d already gotten confessions from Galen Lorde, Jack, and Dodger concerning their most serious crimes.
Of course, he’d been a witness to the gang’s cattle rustling since he’d signed on with the crew. He’d kept careful records of the transactions in the form of a log book for Lorde. The General appreciated knowing how many cattle he’d stolen from whom and where he’d sold the animals. So would Pinkerton and the state of Wyoming.
Wyatt couldn’t afford to lose the valuable inroads he’d made with the gang. Nor could he allow them any hint he wasn’t exactly who he’d said he was. That meant the one glimpse he’d given Mariah of Luke Bellamy in Hidden Springs would have to be the last. Somehow he had to make her believe he was just as much a desperado as everyone else on the crew while also showing her that she was safe with him and could trust him completely. She’d likely have to do that very thing to get out of this gang with her life and her honor intact. In fact, life with the gang would be so much easier and safer for both of them if she learned to follow any order he gave to the letter.
There was only one way to make a strong-willed woman like Mariah come to heel. He had to make her fall in love with him. The kind of love that made a woman devoted, loyal, and true. The kind that made her so foggy-headed she’d think the man she loved could do no wrong and if he did it was justifiable. Something to make her pliable.
That way, she’d be peaceable, unobtrusive, and, hopefully, nearly forgotten by the rest of the gang, allowing Wyatt to finish his assignment without incident. Yet, eager to follow him out of this forsaken valley at a moment’s notice. It could work. It had to.
Mariah slammed the door behind them, dropped her traveling bag on the table, then planted her hands on her hips. “Renegades! The whole lot of you are good-for-nothing Renegades!”
Then again, this particular part of the mission might be easier said than done. Nevertheless, Wyatt held back a smile. Affecting a cocky tone, he raised a brow. “So you’ve heard of us. I’m flattered.”
“Well, I’ve never heard of you, so don’t be.” She lifted her chin, brown eyes flashing. “What is your name again?”
“Wyatt Coulter, ma’am,” he said with an unerring politeness that he hoped from the bottom of his heart was as irritating as he meant it to be. “You’d best get used to it, since you share it.”
“Ha!” She pulled a chair from the table and sank into it while staring him down. “Is that even your real name?”
He shrugged. “Only one I’ll own.”
“And the one on the marriage certificate.” A hint of triumph mixed with wariness in her voice. “You do realize that means we aren’t truly married, don’t you?”
He sat on the bed. “We’re as married as you’re going to get. Well…almost.”
Her hand slid toward the satchel, which likely meant she had a peashooter tucked inside, especially considering the way she’d wrestled for his gun. “If you think for one moment that I’m sharing a bed with you, you are out of your ever-loving mind.”
That was a good thing, seeing as she was right. They were definitely not married. He had no intention of acting like they were. At least, not beyond what was necessary to keep up appearances with the rest of the gang. “Far be it from me to force a lady to do anything she doesn’t want to, but it’s in your best interest to keep our sleeping arrangements between the two of us.”
There was no fear in her voice. Simply bafflement. “You…You’ll really leave me alone?”
“Contrary to what you might think, I am a gentleman. I’ll sleep on a mat near the door.” He chanced crossing the expanse between them to go on one knee. Ignoring her suspicious, closed-off expression, he covered the hand near the satchel. “Let’s get one thing straight. I am the only thing standing between you and every other man in the gang who wouldn’t hesitate to misuse you. You’re under my protection. Our ‘marriage’ is sanctioned by the General, which is likely the only reason besides my reputation with a gun that the men might stay away from you.”
“Might?”
“Stick close to me.”
“Because you’ll protect me?”
He held her gaze and gave a firm nod. “With my life.”
She didn’t back down or look away. “And who’ll protect me from you?”
“I’m no threat t
o you. Even if I were, I have a feeling you could handle yourself. It’s probably a good thing for me that you won’t have to.” He tilted his head toward the bag. “What do you shoot?”
She hesitated, likely weighing the value of revealing her hand. “Colt .45, of course.”
He smiled approvingly. “Good. That’ll do some damage. Keep it on you even while you cook and clean. All right?”
She gave a nod. “Why do they call you ‘The Fixer’?”
He corralled a nearby chair and pulled it close enough that their knees nearly touched. Did she realize he was still holding her hand? He was tempted to brush his thumb across the back of it but didn’t want to push his luck yet. There would be plenty of time to build a connection with her. Rushing it would help no one. “I’ve a talent for keeping folks out of trouble and solving problems. I clean up messes, whether that involves situations or evidence or—”
“People?” Challenge rang in her voice.
It was always best to tell the truth as much as possible since it made the lies he’d likely be forced to tell more believable. “Only when necessary.”
A bitter little laugh escaped her throat. Shaking her head, she looked away. “Of course.”
Wyatt tilted his head to survey her. She was an odd little thing, wasn’t she? As innocent as she had seemed at first, there was a hardness to her he hadn’t expected. Maybe even a worldliness. Beneath that, was a tired resolution, as if she’d heard this all before, not once but a thousand times. What was her story? “Where are you from?”
A cautious look filled her tawny eyes. “Didn’t Jackson tell you?”
Maybe, but Wyatt had been so caught up in trying to prevent the marriage that he hadn’t let the information imprint on his mind like it should have. Some detective he was. “Jack might have mentioned it, but seeing as I wasn’t planning to marry you myself, I guess I didn’t pay as much attention as I should have.”
“I’m from Texas.”
He waited for her to continue. When she didn’t, he prodded, “Where about?”
“El Paso. What about you?”
“A boring little town in the Hill Country.” He’d get into the rest of his cover story with her later. “Any family?”
“No.” She bit her lip then modified, “Not anymore.”
Did that mean they were all dead, or that she had disassociated herself from them? He’d come back to that later. “How did you live before this?”
“On a ranch as a cook and housekeeper. I wasn’t a saloon girl. Nor did I work in a brothel, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“Never even crossed my mind. Just trying to get to know you.”
She tossed him a suspicious look again then took in the rest of the cabin. The Fulton gang had stayed here a few months ago on their way to Utah. He’d sent word and the authorities had caught the gang when they’d left Utah for California. Despite the gang’s reputation for being rowdy and violent, they’d left the cabin relatively clean. Still, there wasn’t much else to recommend the place besides four solid walls with a window facing north and another facing south.
Both windows were trimmed with curtains so old and dusty they’d probably been hung by the frontier family that had settled here then abandoned the valley after a rockslide had made the main pass through the canyon impenetrable. A table and chairs, stove, dresser, and trunk were the only pieces of furniture in the one-room cabin besides the large bed. It was covered in a quilt and blanket that hadn’t seen a good washing in a long time and sorely needed one.
Outlaws couldn’t afford to be choosy when it came to good hideouts. Wyatt’s “bride,” however, deserved better. Apparently, Mariah agreed. She rolled up her sleeves, pulled an apron from her suitcase, and went to work cleaning the cabin. He didn’t lift a finger to help. Instead, he grabbed a deck of cards from his saddlebag to play a game of solitaire. The longer he kept her in this cabin with him, the more legitimate their marriage would appear and the safer they both would be.
Chapter 3
Why? She’d prayed. She’d hoped. She’d waited and believed her life was finally going to change for the better. Instead, she was in almost exactly the same situation she’d been trying to leave behind. Only now it was worse. To this gang of outlaws, she wasn’t the pure, untouchable “Snow Wescott,” whose stepbrothers would shoot any man who dared look at her. She was Mrs. Wyatt “The Fixer” Coulter, which meant the outlaws had no qualms about watching her like she was the last piece of pie in a two-hundred-mile radius.
Ignoring them, she set a pot of coffee on the stove in the ranch house. The woodbox was empty, as usual. It was Jack’s responsibility to keep it full, but he never seemed to get around to it. Or maybe he was simply trying to keep his distance after the shaming he’d received from the rest of the gang for nearly messing up their plot—and it had been a plot, to be sure.
Jack’s utter disbelief that Wyatt had officially married her instead of simply fooling her into a life of sin spoke volumes about the true intentions behind his proposal. And he hadn’t been the only one with nefarious intentions. Blade was especially angry at Jack. Apparently, he’d been hoping for a chance at wooing her when Jack tired of her. It was enough to make a woman sick to her stomach. Beyond that, she was madder than she’d ever been in her life at the Renegades, her no-good stepbrothers for putting her in a situation where she had to leave home, her dearly departed mother for marrying Henry Wescott and maybe even…Maybe even God.
She’d been loyal to Him through thick and thin. In return, He’d led her here. Or had she led herself? Had she been so desperate for a way out that she’d taken the first opportunity that made sense whether He liked it or not? She held back a groan. She didn’t know anymore. It was all so confusing. So hopeless.
With the coffeepot on the stove’s warmer, she stepped outside and grabbed the ax, then paused to stare at the mountains looming on the other side of the lake. There had to be a way through them. In time, she might be able to gather enough supplies to hike over them. How long would it take? Days? Weeks? It was already September. She had a feeling winter would set in soon. Hardly the best time to climb a mountain. A better plan might be to try to escape through the canyon, even if it meant getting lost in its maze.
A horse neighed in the corral like a message from God Almighty. Of course! The horses knew the way out. Perhaps she could trust one of them to take her safely through the canyon and back to town. From there she’d go to…Well…Right now, she wasn’t sure where she’d go, but she’d find a place.
Setting a log on the block, she began chopping into it as the kitchen door opened. It would be Wyatt, of course. He hardly ever let her out of his sight. Even when he was working on the books and pouring over maps with Galen Lorde, he kept the door to the ranch office open so he could see her moving about the house. To be honest, she’d come to count on it.
Setting the ax aside, she glanced over to meet his gaze. Only it wasn’t him. In fact, it was someone she’d never seen before. The grandfatherly-looking fellow with white bushy hair smiled at her as he passed by with a book tucked under one arm and a cinnamon roll in each hand. “Good food. Thank you, Mariah.”
“You’re welcome.” Wide-eyed, she watched him amble away.
Another voice sounded from the doorway. “That’s Doc Tillman.”
She spun to face Jack. “Who?”
“A war friend of the General’s. He was a field doctor. Sawed off one too many limbs and lost his mind. He likes to amble about. Comes and goes as he pleases between here and Hawk’s nest.”
“Hawk’s nest?”
“Hawk has a tepee out there somewhere in the wilderness. He prefers to live the old Shoshone way rather than bunk with the rest of us. Can’t say I blame him, but it must get awfully lonely out there.” Jack pulled in a deep breath. “Speaking of lonely, I’m sorry I didn’t come for you when your train arrived.”
“I’m glad you didn’t.”
He gave a soft laugh. “Taken a liking to Wyatt, have you?
”
She shrugged. “Well enough.”
“You’re not in love with him.”
“Nor was I in love with you.” She turned away from him and placed a new log on the block.
Jack’s hand covered hers on the ax handle. “I’ll do it. It’s my job anyway.”
She tried to release it into his grasp, but he didn’t let go of her. Instead, he took a step closer. “I made a mistake, Mariah. Do you forgive me?”
Eyes narrowing, she glanced down at his hand. “Let go of me.”
He released her. “Do you?”
“What could it possibly matter to you?”
“You matter to me. I meant what I said in those letters. Everything we shared was real. If you’d rather be with me, all you have to do is say so.”
He couldn’t be serious. Yet, the sincerity on his face said otherwise. Barely holding back a laugh at the ridiculousness of the situation, she shook her head then met his gaze. “That is never going to happen.”
His lips flattened into a line. Content to leave it at that, she tried to step past him, but he caught her arm and jerked her to his chest, angling for a kiss. Her knee lifted. An ominous click sounded behind them, making them both freeze. Steel laced Wyatt’s voice. “You heard the lady. Her answer is no. Unhand her.”
Jack pushed her away from him. She only stumbled a step before Wyatt steadied her. He slid past her until he and Jack were toe to toe. “Touch my wife again and I will pull this trigger. Do you understand me?”
Jack’s jaw flexed. He stared right back at Wyatt then threw down the ax and walked toward the barn. She watched him go and blew out a frustrated breath. “He still didn’t chop any blasted firewood.”
Wyatt sent her an amused look before tucking his gun back in its holster and taking the ax in hand. “Are you all right?”
“Fine. I appreciate the assistance, but I could have handled him.”
“I don’t doubt it.” A half smile touched his lips.
Crossing her arms, she watched as he split the wood in a single strike. She wasn’t entirely sure what to make of Wyatt. He’d slept in a bedroll on the floor without any complaints or innuendos for the past three nights. As much as she hated to admit it, he was starting to grow on her a little. That was probably because he’d been telling her the truth when they’d ridden into the valley. He certainly seemed to be the best man here. Unfortunately, that wasn’t saying much.