by E. E. Burke
Though he’d wed her and had every right to expect her to share his bed, he hadn’t forced his attentions on her. He’d been gentle, even with his seduction, never pushing her further than she was comfortable, letting her set the pace. When she’d resisted, he stopped, and made it clear he wouldn’t trick her into sleeping with him, or staying. He gave her the choice. Those weren’t the actions of a self-serving manipulator.
After she finished eating and cleaned up, she hurried down the stairs, her mood greatly improved by the strawberries and the insight she’d gained. Her assumptions about his motives had been wrong because she hadn’t looked through the eyes of love. She had viewed him through a lens of fear, which distorted the truth. Patrick cared for her, possibly loved her. Even if he hadn’t declared it, he showed it in many ways.
After she had rejected him and accused him of deceit, he might’ve decided to give up. But she wasn’t giving up. There was still a chance to work things out, and she would tell him she wanted to try. That would be a start.
The saloon remained empty. Chairs were turned upside down and stacked on tables to make it easier to sweep. She walked by the bar and ran her fingers along the surface. Clean, of course. Patrick took good care of his place. He also took good care of her.
“We can be each other’s shelter.”
When he issued his unique proposal, she thought she understood, but she hadn’t grasped the full meaning. Given the struggles he faced—the chronic pain, his dependency on opium, the daily challenges of carving out a life on a rough frontier—he needed her for more than her acting ability. He needed her sheltering arms as much as she needed his. Maybe more.
All her life, people had needed for her talent, not for her love. Patrick needed her love.
She leapt onto the stage. How marvelous, miraculous even, that Providence had brought her to this place, to this man. She had a lifetime of love stored up, just waiting for the day when she could give it to someone who wanted it, needed it.
Dancing with pure joy, she celebrated. They still had things to work out—his business, her career, their future—but they would do it together, beneath each other’s shelter.
At the sound of the door closing, she whirled around with a smile on her face, expecting to see her husband. Instead, she saw the Devil, disguised in a fashionable three-piece suit and top hat. “Simon!”
Startled while coming out of a pirouette, she stumbled, and had to throw out her arms to regain her balance and avoid falling on her face. Her heart galloped, but not from the brief exercise. “How...how did you find me?”
Amusement gleamed in black eyes that haunted her nightmares. His thin lips curved into a slight smile. “Give me some small credit for having intelligence enough to track you down. I knew you’d taken a train. It just took a little longer to find out you signed up to be a bride. I didn’t expect that. Surprisingly creative.”
Charm took a step back. He wasn’t close yet, but just seeing him in the same room triggered an overpowering urge to run. How she had at one time thought of him as a surrogate father, she couldn’t imagine. She’d as soon curl up next to a rattlesnake. Come to think of it, a snake would’ve made a better guardian. At least it would’ve issued a warning before striking. Simon had waited until after her mother’s funeral, when she was at her weakest, to make his move. When he struck, she’d been unprepared and unable to fight him off.
He strolled to the center of the room, removing spotless white gloves. Unlike Patrick, Simon’s cleanliness went no deeper than the surface. “I must say I didn’t expect to find you playing the part of a saloon girl.”
She hoped he wouldn’t find her at all. Had counted on having more time to prepare to face him, and to overcome her fear and the sense of being helpless. Trapped.
Wait, he couldn’t trap her. She was beyond his reach.
“I’m not a saloon girl. I am an entertainer—and I’m married.” So there! He could chew on that. Hopefully, choke on it. He couldn’t undo what was done, and as Patrick had promised, she would be safe.
“Is that so? Then congratulations are in order.” Simon’s unperturbed reaction took her aback. She anticipated surprise at the very least, and anger. He showed neither. “If you offered me a drink, we could toast your matrimonial bliss and drink to the good health of your husband, Mr. O’Shea.”
She caught a sharp breath. Impossible. He couldn’t know her husband. Had they met, Patrick would’ve suspected a stranger who was looking for her. That meant Simon had been snooping around, asking questions. This frightened her more than his sudden appearance. “What...what do you know of Mr. O’Shea?”
Simon lifted one shoulder in an unconcerned shrug. “I know he’s an Irish immigrant, and that he deserted his post—”
“That’s a lie!” Her face flushed hot with outrage. “My husband served honorably.”
“Is that the story he told? Did he also tell you he was jailed for getting into fights? Seems your Irishman has a hot temper.” Simon’s gaze filled with sad rebuke. “Really, Juliette, I thought you had better taste.”
She took a firm grip on her soaring temper. It should come as no surprise that he would disparage her husband, or any man he saw as his competition. She stood straighter, prouder, refusing to listen to his lies. “I have excellent taste, which is why I married Mr. O’Shea—”
The falsehood caught in her throat. That wasn’t why she’d married Patrick. Even as late as last night, the first evening of their marriage, she’d lost faith in him and had questioned his motives. Yes, but he wasn’t the fickle one. She’d let him believe her heart wasn’t involved. She didn’t deserve as fine a man as her husband, even if she’d decided he was the man she wanted.
Simon stroked the beard he kept trimmed and oiled. She recalled the spicy pomade he used on his hair, and her stomach turned. “It is a curiosity. Why you married him, that is. He isn’t rich, or well connected. He does have this fine establishment. Though I hear he may not have it for long.”
The satisfaction glittering in his eyes sent a chill down her spine. She’d seen that look before. He had some devilish plan.
She darted a frantic look at the nearest table. If she leapt down and turned it over, or threw a chair, she might get past him and out the door.
Even if escape were possible, the problem wouldn’t go away. Simon would come after her. Remembering how Patrick had responded to Mr. Childers’ innocent flirting, she could imagine what he’d do if Simon confronted him.
No, she couldn’t run to Patrick and invite disaster. She would never be free of Simon if she didn’t face her fears.
She drew up straight, braced her hands on her hips and looked him in the eye. “I am a married woman now. We will have nothing more to do with each other. You need to leave.”
Simon’s smile didn’t falter. “It’s time to stop playacting, my dear. You’ve had your fun, and I’m willing to forgive and forget this ever happened. If you’ll come along like a good girl.”
Revulsion rolled over her in a hot wave. He’d told her to be a good girl and to mind him whenever he wished to visit her dressing room, to be a good girl and give him her virginity, to be a good girl and marry him, so he could do as he pleased, anytime he pleased.
“I’m not going anywhere with you,” she shouted, fisting her hands. Resentment whipped up a storm of fury. “You have no control over me anymore... I despise you!”
He didn’t blink when she hurled her hatred at him. “How you feel about me is irrelevant. You entered into an agreement. Or have you forgotten?”
His cold declaration had the same effect as a bucket of freezing water thrown in her face.
“My agreement...?” Did he mean the one that made him her manager? She should’ve paid more attention to the stipulations, but she’d been unprepared to be on her own and he had taken advantage of her. She owed him nothing. “I’m starting over. Our agreement doesn’t apply anymore.”
“That’s where you’re wrong.” Reaching inside his coat, he pulled
out a creased paper, unfolded it and held it up. “This is a judge’s order that compels you to return and fulfill the remainder of your contract term. If you choose to breach your agreement, you must pay me five thousand dollars.”
A tremor struck and the earth shifted, or maybe it was just her world that crumbled beneath her feet. She expected Simon to come after her, but hadn’t anticipated he would find her so quickly, or have the power of the legal system behind him. “I don’t have five thousand dollars.”
Simon held out his arms with a benign smile. “Then come back and honor your contract. That’s all I ask.”
He must think her a stupid fish with that lure.
“I told you, I’m not going back with you.”
“That would be a poor decision...” He shook his head, feigning sadness. “If you refuse to cooperate, I’ll be forced to ask the authorities to intervene.”
Her heart drummed retreat. She had to remain strong. “You can’t force me to go with you. I’ll fight you in court.”
Simon folded the order and returned it to his pocket. “Be my guest. You can plot your strategy from a jail cell. I’m sure any judge will agree you can’t be trusted not to run.”
Fear twisted her stomach into knots. She knew from personal experience that Simon would carry through with his threats. He had connections with crooked politicians and judges who owed him favors, and she’d learned first-hand how ruthless he could be.
“Your husband could cover your debt,” he said smoothly.
She flushed with shame at how quickly her desperate mind grasped at the idea. Patrick wouldn’t hesitate because he was an honorable man, but coming up with five thousand dollars would bankrupt him. He still had to pay off what he owed on the building, the land. There had to be another way. “I’m not involving my husband.”
“What makes you think you have a choice in the matter? When O’Shea married you, he took on your commitments, which means he is now responsible for what you owe.” Simon drew his gloves through his palm. She stared with horror, recalling how he’d done that, over and over, as he’d described in detail how he planned to humiliate her when she resisted his advances, as if she had no more power to resist than a pair of limp gloves. “If you refuse to fulfill your contractual obligations, I shall be forced to file a lawsuit to recover my losses from your Mr. O’Shea.”
The words fell like blows.
God forgive her for dragging Patrick into the mess she’d made of her life. She hadn’t anticipated this was what Simon would do, and because of her shortsightedness her husband would be punished along with her.
That was Simon’s plan. He didn’t just want her returned to him. Oh no, that wouldn’t satisfy. He intended to hurt the man who’d been kind to her and had offered her his name and protection even when she didn’t deserve it.
If she sought Patrick’s help, he would stand by her...and be ruined in the process. Everything he’d worked for would be taken away. If she left, he would believe she didn’t trust him and would never know how she really felt about him. Oh, impossible choice! The only way to save her husband would be to leave him. Hurt him in order to protect him.
Pain wrung her heart. She loved Patrick. Even if he never knew it, and ended up despising her, she couldn’t let him suffer for her mistakes.
But to go with Simon? A shudder went through her. She would run to the ends of the earth to avoid him...and would leave destruction in her wake. The only way to end his hold on her would be to work out her contract and be done with him.
Squaring her shoulders, she faced him. “If I return, it is for the sole purpose of completing this cursed contract. We will have nothing else to do with each other. And I want you to sign an agreement that says neither I nor my husband owe you anything else.”
Simon spread his hands in acquiescence. “Of course. All I ask is that you honor your contract. Once you’re finished, you can do as you please.”
He lied, of course. He would do whatever he could to keep her. He’d already tried coercion, seduction, even rape. The hair on her arms and on the back of her neck prickled. She hadn’t fought back before. Fear had made her his victim. She was stronger now. If he touched her again, she would kill him.
She darted a glance at the door. Should her husband return and find Simon here, there was no telling what he would do. Something that would get him arrested, no doubt. Which meant she had to act quickly. “Let me pack my things, and I’ll meet you at the station.”
“I’ll help you collect them.” Simon pulled a watch from his vest pocket and consulted the time. “If we hurry, we can make the next train.”
***
“Exercise patience, O’Shea.” Ross Hardt set aside a document he’d signed and shuffled through a stack of papers on his desk. He frowned as he turned over a sheet. “Hmm. I know that letter is here somewhere...”
Patrick stretched his aching leg and heaved a frustrated sigh. Saints preserve him. Sitting was worse than standing, and he’d been planted in this chair for over an hour, answering questions about his agreement with Gilly, providing dates, names of witnesses. He’d grown tired of being patient. However, winning Charm required patience. He may well have lost her because he got impatient and pushed her into marriage. Had he exercised restraint, he might’ve been able to convince her he loved her and they wouldn’t be at odds.
He groused at Hardt, having no one else to target. “Patience be damned. The railroad had my paperwork for over a year. McGill didn’t show up until the other day. Why do you have to consider his request? There’s got to be some time limit, or something...”
“That doesn’t apply to railroad land.”
Patrick harrumphed. “The railroad is above the law, that’s what you’re saying.”
Hardt glanced up from his writing. “No. I’m correcting your misperception about limitations on land claims.”
“Well, I’m married now, so that’s no obstacle...” Patrick didn’t mention he hadn’t consummated the union. Something he planned to correct as soon as he convinced Charm he wasn’t out to trap her. Her accusations stung. Despite knowing he’d brought about her wrath by not being honest about his feelings for her. He’d feared rejection. Now, he might’ve lost her anyway.
He shifted in the seat, fighting the melancholy that pulled at him like quicksand. Withdrawing a handkerchief from his back pocket, he mopped his forehead. Hardt hadn’t broken a sweat, so it must not be the heat. Could be nervousness, or the result of withholding the medicine. After admitting to his hunger for opium, he’d decided he would cut back. He’d seen what the irresistible craving had done to former warriors, and he refused to become one of those pathetic creatures. His wife deserved better. He could live with pain easier than he could live with dishonor.
“Give me time to finish my investigation.” Hardt placed his pen in the inkwell. He rubbed his fingers together, which only smeared ink from his forefinger onto his thumb. “Didn’t leak last night.” He withdrew a handkerchief and wiped at the smudge. “Congratulations, by the way. You made the right decision by marrying that girl.”
“Yeah. Hopefully, she’ll feel the same way soon,” Patrick muttered, as he heaved himself out of the chair. He’d accomplish nothing further by sitting here.
He eyed Hardt’s black fingers and messy desk. “Why don’t you hire an assistant to help you get organized? It’s a wonder you can find anything.”
“No one wants the job.”
“Doesn’t surprise me,” Patrick conceded. Working at the land office would be a sure-fire way to become the most unpopular person in town.
Hardt stood and picked up his coat from the back of the chair. He stepped around the desk. “I’ll walk with you. Have to take the train to Fort Scott. The directors want a status report on the brides.” He sighed and shook his head.
Patrick didn’t envy the agent’s responsibility even though he was pretty sure he wouldn’t have done anything as stupid as suggesting a bride lottery. The railroad’s immigration program had
sounded good at first. But things hadn’t turned out as expected. For one, there weren’t enough women to go around. Hardt’s recommended solution had only worsened the problem. Not only did the settlers hate him, now the women resented him as well.
Hardt peered out the window. He turned abruptly and went back to his desk. “I forgot something. We’ll talk later...”
Patrick grabbed his hat on the way out, anxious to get back to the saloon and check Charm’s temperature. Still chilly, or had she warmed up? He hoped she’d found his note and his peace offering—fresh strawberries.
Just outside the door, he stopped to greet two women passing by, among the last of the prospective brides to remain unwed. It had turned into something of a game amongst the men in town to see who could corral the next one.
“Good morning, Mr. O’Shea.” Mrs. Braddock’s smile didn’t reach her eyes.
Patrick tipped his hat politely. “And to you, ma’am.”
He assumed the widow blamed him for corrupting Charm. He wasn’t too happy with these ladies, either, for abandoning their friend when she needed them.
The pretty widow glanced around him at the picture window.
“Mr. Hardt’s in there, if you need to speak with him.”
She jerked her attention back to his eyes, blushing. “I’m not looking for Mr. Hardt.”
Another popular game, betting on which of the two would win the ongoing war between the feisty widow and the land agent. Her first day town, Mrs. Braddock had reportedly slapped Hardt for some infraction. He might’ve seen her coming and decided to delay leaving his office until she was gone. Funny, he didn’t have the reputation for being a coward.
The other prospective bride stepped forward, dressed entirely in black and hugging a black shawl. Grim-looking woman. “You may not remember me, Mr. O’Shea. I’m Prudence Walker.”
She was right. He didn’t remember her.
“Congratulations on your marriage...” She hesitated.
“Thank you.”