“Where else would I get information?”
“Oh, I don’t know. The post office, maybe, or the mercantile?”
“What, and make it look like that was the only reason I went to town? I did stop at the post office, though. I mailed Sally’s letter to her folks.”
Johnny nodded, thinking about Cam’s big mouth and trying to concentrate on Caxton’s ranch and the young stock.
“There wasn’t anything for you,” Cam said.
“That’s good.” Receiving mail addressed to Mark could only bring complications. Johnny huffed out a breath.
“Now go kiss your wife good-bye and let’s move,” Cam said.
“Watch it.”
Cam’s eyebrows came together in a scowl. “What did I say?”
“Just watch how you talk about Sally.”
For a moment, neither of them said anything; then Cam shrugged. “Sure.” He walked into the barn and came out with Johnny’s saddle and bridle.
Johnny went to the cabin and paused in the doorway. Sally was humming as she kneaded bread dough at her worktable. Her hair was pulled into a braid that shimmered even in the dull kitchen, catching rays of light that streamed through the small window. She had rolled up her sleeves, and with her flushed cheeks, she made the most charming picture of domesticity Johnny had ever beheld.
He took a step forward, and she looked up. “That Mr. Caxton—he’s a close neighbor. The place with the windmill. Cam and I are going to ride over there now.”
“Oh.” She came toward him, wiping her hands on her apron. “I hope I didn’t bruise your reputation by asking his name. I didn’t tell the Mertons you wanted to know. I expect they’ll just think I was curious and didn’t want to ask you.”
Johnny nodded. It made sense, and he was glad she had covered for him, instead of laughing at him the way Cam did.
“You keep close about the place, won’t you,” he said.
“Of course.”
He swallowed hard. “Don’t know if you heard anything at church, but there were outlaws in these parts a few weeks ago. They…they’ve been known to attack ranches and steal stock and supplies.”
Her eyes widened. “I see. Thanks for warning me.”
“I would have written to you about it, but…but it was…you were already preparing for your trip.”
She nodded. “Should I keep to the house, then?”
“No, but be aware. If you hear someone coming, don’t assume it’s us until you see us.”
“All right.” She took another step toward him, hesitant but expectant.
He could smell the bread dough on her hands and the soap she’d used to wash her hair. Again he wanted to reach for her. She held his gaze, yearning for something. Johnny bent his head and carefully placed a kiss on the softness of her cheek. “I don’t know when we’ll be back,” he said, low.
“But today.”
He straightened and nodded. “Surely. But maybe not by noontime.”
“Then take some biscuits.”
She whirled away from him and the spell was broken. Quickly she wrapped half-a-dozen biscuits left from breakfast in a napkin and handed it to him.
“Thanks.” Johnny went out the door, thinking of Cam’s words. If he had a wife like Sally. He slowed his steps toward the barn and looked up at the unbroken blue sky. “God, am I crazy?”
CHAPTER 14
Sally baked a cake and two kinds of cookies while her bread rose. She had stew ready at noon, but the men didn’t appear, so she set the kettle on the back of the stove to simmer. It would taste even better at suppertime, or whenever they returned and wanted to eat it.
After having a bowl herself, she set about doing laundry. The grueling job took most of her afternoon, but with satisfaction she viewed her full clothesline as the sun moved westward. It hardly sagged at all, and none of her clean wash touched the ground.
She took the bread out of the oven, wishing Mark were there to taste it still warm. These loaves had an especially nice, crispy crust, and the smell was heavenly. The only drawback was the temperature in the house, since she’d kept the fire going all day for her baking. She covered the loaves with a linen towel to keep the flies off and added a bit of water to the stew.
As she folded Mark’s second-best shirt, she heard the sound of many animals coming. It had to be Mark and Cam. She tossed the shirt on top of the wicker basket and ran out to the road. Dozens of calves were milling toward her, some lowing and others darting about, looking for an escape. Sally ran across the barnyard to the pasture gate. Mark saw her and waved for her to go ahead. Sally opened the gate wide. The cattle in the pasture were grazing down near the creek, and there was no danger of them getting loose.
Mark and Cam got around the rabble-rousers and shooed them with the rest of the bunch toward the opening. Within minutes the gangly calves were bolting past Sally into the field. When the men pulled their mounts to a halt, she pushed the gate and hopped on, riding it to the gatepost, where she hooked it securely.
Mark was down off Reckless by the time she’d finished. He dropped the chestnut’s reins and ambled toward her, laughing.
“Good job, Sally girl!” He slid his uninjured arm around her and gave her a little squeeze. It felt great.
“Good job yourself,” she said. To distract him and Cam from her fierce blush, she looked out at the herd that was now exploring its new home. “That’s a lot of young’uns.”
“Ain’t it, though?” Cam grinned down at her from the back of his pinto. “Some of ’em didn’t like leavin’ their mamas, but we got ’em here.”
“You got something for us to eat?” Mark asked, smiling into her eyes. He sounded happier than at any time since she’d arrived.
“I surely do. Of course, I only let cowpunchers sit at my table if they’ve washed up.”
Mark laughed again, and Sally wished she could press that moment between the pages of her Bible and keep it forever.
Johnny took down the Bible the next evening while Sally finished putting away the clean dishes. Cam drained his coffee cup and stood.
“Guess it’s time for me to head out to the barn. ‘Night, folks.”
“You can stay, Cam,” Sally said.
“Thanks, but not this time.” He shuffled out and shut the cabin door.
Sally frowned at Johnny with mournful eyes. “I wish he’d stop to listen to the scriptures now and again.”
Johnny nodded. Cam was a harder case than he’d realized. He’d never thought about his friend avoiding church back in Colorado. A lot of men never went. But hardly any of them would be rude to a woman by refusing her invitation to sit and listen for a few minutes. And afterward, who knew what they might talk about this evening? He’d been purposely putting off the Bible reading until later in the evenings for this very reason—so they wouldn’t drive Cam out. But tomorrow they’d be pushing the herd into Mark’s north pasture to take advantage of the new grass there, and they needed to get to bed early.
Besides, Johnny didn’t want to miss this time with Sally. Pastor Lewis had mentioned Sunday that a man was the head of his family, and it was up to him to set the spiritual climate in the home. Johnny had never dreamed he had such a responsibility, now that he’d taken a wife. He didn’t want to shirk his duty.
During their evening readings, he’d learned Sally thought deeply about scripture. She had opinions on what some verses meant. A few of them, she looked at in ways he’d never thought of. At first he felt guilty for letting his own faith lapse, but now he just wanted to get back to where he thought about God every day and tried to follow Him. To where he could talk to Sally about those things easily, without always feeling like a hypocrite.
They’d been reading in Proverbs, and they seemed to jump all over the place on different topics. The trouble with that was, whatever they read each evening, something in it seemed to punch Johnny right between the eyes. Like the bit that said a lying tongue was one of the things God hates most. That gave Johnny pause. Maybe God
would never forgive him for all the lies he’d told Sally.
But sometimes they read something that almost made him happy. Like the place that said finding a wife was the same as finding something good. Ol’ Mark had gotten it right on that score. But did it work the other way around? Johnny was sure that Sally had found a treasure in Mark, but she wasn’t married to Mark. What kind of bargain did she get in him? Those kinds of thoughts made him determined to do good things for her and make life easier for her whenever he could. Of course, when his arm was strong again, that would be a sight easier.
One verse they talked about a lot that evening was Proverbs 17:17, where it said, “A friend loveth at all times, and a brother is born for adversity.”
“My father used to say it meant your brothers are there for you during hard times,” she said.
“Really?” Johnny said. “I always thought it meant brothers fight a lot.”
She smiled. “I guess it does sound that way. Did you and Johnny fight all the time?”
He swallowed hard, knowing he would have to be careful. “Not really. He was…” How had Mark viewed him? “Mostly, he was a bother. But when he got big enough so we could do things together, we had some good times.”
A flood of memories rushed back. He’d always looked up to Mark. When he was little, he’d wanted to do everything his big brother did, and he’d followed Mark around relentlessly. One of his favorite memories was when their father took them up into the hills to cut firewood. They’d stayed overnight and worked hard all day long. It was fun camping with just Mark and their dad. Now Mark was buried in an unmarked grave not far away, and Johnny was sitting in his chair, talking to the woman who should have been Mark’s wife.
His throat tightened, and he blinked back unexpected tears. He shoved back his chair and went to the stove. The coffeepot simmered as usual, and he poured himself a cup of coffee, though he didn’t really want it. Fixing it gave him an excuse to turn his back on Sally for a minute or two.
He cleared his throat. “You want anything?”
“No, thanks.”
He carried his cup back to the table and sat down across from her.
“You should write to your brother,” she said. “Maybe he could come and visit us.”
“I don’t think that’s possible.” Johnny took an experimental sip of the coffee. It was very hot, so he blew on the surface.
“Well, you should at least keep in touch.” After a moment’s silence, she said ruefully, “Of course, I’m not much of a one to talk. I didn’t write to my folks for a long time, and when I did, I didn’t tell them everything. But I did write as soon as I was settled here. I told them where I am now, and that I married a fine Christian man who has his own ranch.” She smiled at him. “I’m so much better off now, Mark. Thank you.”
“You don’t owe me anything.”
She started to speak but closed her mouth and just smiled. Johnny nodded toward the book. “Read another.”
“All right.”
She bent her head over the Bible and read the next verse, but Johnny didn’t hear it. She had told her mother and father that he was “a fine Christian man.” He felt a little sick.
The next Sunday, Johnny and Sally again made the drive into Beaumont for church. The cattle were moved and had settled down; Sally seemed to be happy tending to her housework and cooking. Johnny was content.
After the service, they walked over to the parsonage for dinner with the Lewises. Johnny hoped no touchy topics came up in the table talk. He was a bit surprised when Sheriff Jackson joined them for the meal. The sheriff took off his gun belt and hung it near the door with his hat before sitting down with them.
“Didn’t realize you were a regular parishioner, Sheriff,” Johnny said after the minister asked the blessing.
“Try to be,” the lawman replied. “I don’t always make it.”
“You’ve been busy lately.” Pastor Lewis passed the platter of fried chicken. “Have you learned any more about that outlaw gang?”
Jackson frowned as he picked out a plump chicken leg and speared it with his fork. “Nothing this week. They made some trouble in Victoria a while back.”
“The same gang?” the pastor asked.
“Pretty sure. The leader’s a big man they call Flynn. He fits the description Frank Simon gave me of the man who shot him.”
“We visited with the Simons yesterday,” Mrs. Lewis put in. “Frank’s starting to feel a little more pert.”
The pastor scooped some green beans onto his plate. “I’m afraid it will be a long time before he’s fully recovered, if ever.”
“I’d sure like to run those fellas in.” The sheriff accepted the bowl of green beans and took a helping.
“Nobody feels safe with them on the loose,” Mrs. Lewis said.
“Mark mentioned outlaws to me, but I didn’t realize the trouble was so bad,” Sally said.
“Oh, yes.” Mrs. Lewis shivered. “You want to lock your doors if your man’s not at home with you.”
The minister smiled at Sally. “I’m sure you’re safe at your ranch, Mrs. Paynter, but a bit of caution is never misplaced.” He turned the talk deftly to his sermon of the morning, and Johnny was glad. Whenever the topic of the outlaw gang surfaced, he thought of Mark, murdered in his own home.
Mrs. Lewis brought up the subject of the upcoming church picnic, and Sally happily agreed to help organize the event. A few minutes later without revealing too much of his own ignorance, Johnny was able to glean some information from the sheriff about the way the local ranchers shipped their beef to Fort Worth and how they cooperated in spring and fall roundups.
Jackson didn’t linger when the meal was finished. He excused himself and put on his hat and gun belt. “Unfortunately, the saloons don’t close on Sunday, and I have to make my rounds.” He smiled at Mrs. Lewis. “Thank you kindly for the dinner, ma’am. That was mighty good chicken.”
Myra Lewis beamed at him. “You’re very welcome. Come by anytime, Fred.”
Jackson nodded to the pastor, Johnny, and Sally. “Nice talking to you folks. I imagine I’ll see y’all soon.”
Johnny breathed a little easier when he was out the door.
On the way home, Sally caught him totally off guard with one of her innocent remarks.
“That’s a nice graveyard beside the church. They keep it looking pretty. Sometime I’d like to go in there and read some of the tombstones.”
“Why?” Johnny asked.
She laughed and gave a little shrug. “Just curious. This is my town now. I’d like to know about the people who started it and the families who have put their roots down here.”
Her words only reminded Johnny of the lonely grave on the knoll behind the barn. Would Mark be forgotten? That seemed silly, since he was living as Mark. More likely Johnny would be forgotten. Either way, it didn’t sit right with him. Not telling Sally—not letting her grieve Mark—wasn’t right. The way things were now, he couldn’t grieve his brother, either. Someone needed to remember Mark—the real Mark.
When they reached home, he helped Sally down.
“It’s so hot,” she remarked, brushing a strand of golden hair off her damp forehead. “I hope it’s cooler inside.”
“Why don’t you take a nap?” Johnny asked. “We had a big dinner, and there must be something left from last night. You don’t need to cook supper and heat up the cabin.”
“That sounds wonderful,” Sally said. “But Cam—”
“Cam will survive. He went for days on end eating nothing but canned beans and jerky on his way here. He’s used to living spare.”
“Oh my.”
Be careful, Johnny told himself. He’d almost said, “Cam and I went for days on end.…” Was it the guilt that made him so careless? He supposed it was a combination of that and the heat and his fatigue, along with a pinch of strain from trying all afternoon not to blurt out the wrong thing at the Lewises’ house or on the way home.
He glanced at the corral. C
am’s paint horse was gone. He hoped his friend was out riding the range, not in town at one of the saloons.
“I’ll be out in the barn if you need me,” he said.
Sally nodded and headed for the cabin.
He’d meant to be gentler, more courteous. Sally gave him nothing but kindness. Why couldn’t he do the same?
He went into the barn and poked around in the pile of wood scraps left from the recent building efforts. He found two pieces of pine left from the bedstead that might be shaped into a cross. He could fit them together and carve the crosspiece. It wouldn’t be as nice as an engraved stone, but at least there would be something to mark his brother’s passing.
He found that he could hold the knife without too much pain. He was pretty good at carving, at least he was before he’d broken his arm. It was healing, and he ought to be able to do some close work without damaging the bones.
Bracing the flat board with his left hand, he carved very slowly, wanting to make something beautiful. His right arm began to ache, but he kept at it, one small cut at a time.
An hour later, Cam rode in. When he brought his saddle into the barn, he saw Johnny and pulled up short.
“Whatcha makin’?”
Johnny kept on shaving the extra wood from the vine he was carving. “A cross.”
Cam stepped closer and stood for a moment watching him. “You can’t do that, you know.”
“Can’t do what?”
“Put it on Mark’s grave.”
“Why not?”
“That’s a foolish question.”
Johnny’s jaw clenched. “I’m not going to put his name on it.”
“Even so, when she sees it, she’ll ask questions. Are you ready to deal with that?”
He was right. It would mean more lies.
“Don’t do it.” Cam’s voice was quiet, almost pleading.
Johnny stopped working and closed his eyes. “I’ve already decided. I’m going to do this.”
“You can’t.”
“Yes, I can.” Johnny met his stare then. “We’ve already dishonored him enough. I will mark his grave.”
The Outlaw Takes a Bride Page 16