The Scoundrel's Bride

by Geralyn Dawson

  Zach gave a harsh laugh. “Honey, I haven’t bothered you near what I’d like to.”

  She dropped her head, too weary to banter with the likes of Zach Burkett. Silence stretched between them until work-roughened fingers covered her hand, and he spoke in a low, soothing tone. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to start in on you again. I was headed to the hotel for a bite to eat, and when I saw you out here working I thought I’d stop and make certain you’re all right. You know, after our little talk last night.”

  He let her go, and it took Morality a moment to realize he’d confiscated the spoon. Under his management, the mixture turned in a slow, easy swirl.

  Just like her stomach.

  Hysterical laughter bubbled inside her. “Our little talk last night,” she repeated. “You know, Zach Burkett, I’ve just about had my fill of little talks. Why is it everyone thinks they know what is best for me and my life? Why can’t I be trusted to make my own decisions? I know what is right and what is wrong. I recognize my obligations.”

  He watched the water, his expression betraying the slightest of downturn in the strong line of his mouth. “I get the feeling someone other than just me has put a burr in your stocking. What’s happened, Morality? Is there something I can help you with?”

  She wiped her palms on her skirt, then planted them on her hips. “Yes, as a matter of fact there is. You can teach me about this opiate business. I have too many problems on my plate, and I feel the need to rid myself of one of them. Now, tell me, what about wild mint?”

  “Wild mint?”

  “And dandelions, too. If they’re not all right, I need to know. I put them in the tonic.”

  “Oh, ho.” Zach nodded sagely. “Now I see. You want to know more about the morning-glory seeds.”

  “No!” She wanted to hit the man. “I don’t use morning glories. I use dandelions, and wild mint, and every so often, bois d’arc bark.”

  Zach grimaced. “Bois d’arc bark? Don’t suppose you add that to your chicken seasoning too, do you?” He grinned at her pointed glare then said, “Angel, if that’s all you put in this elixir, then you’re not apt to hurt anybody—unless the taste kills ‘em.”

  She gave him her best glare, then said, “Why am I asking you anyway? I don’t believe a word you say. You’re a lying scoundrel and a scalawag.”

  “C’mon, angel, not a scalawag. I hate that term. Sounds like a cross between a snake and a dog.”

  She drew her lips into a thin line. “Blackguard, then.”

  Zach frowned, tapping the spoon rhythmically against the kettle’s rim. “Yep.” He nodded decisively. “I like that one. Sounds manly.”

  Morality swiped the spoon from his hand, then peered into the caldron. Inhaling a deep breath, she considered the aroma. She clipped her words, saying, “Excuse me, Mr. Burkett. My elixir is done.” She removed the towel wrapped around her waist and covered the iron pot’s handle.

  Zach pushed her hands away, then lifted the mixture from the fire. “You want it over there?” he asked, cocking his head toward the bottles stacked at the base of a fallen tree.

  Morality nodded. Why not let him do the heavy work? She should receive some recompense for listening to that tongue of his. “Don’t set it atop the corks,” she cautioned as he effortlessly toted the caldron to the spot.

  Propping a booted foot on the tree, he yanked a brittle yellow weed from the ground and began breaking the stem into inch-long pieces before tossing them to the dirt. Finally he said, “You know, Morality, the other day when you came out to my house you helped me through a difficult few moments.”

  She snorted. “I kicked you, Mr. Burkett.” Sitting on the log, she uncorked a jug and emptied its contents into the kettle.

  “Not then. Earlier. The dancing. It was hard going home, and you helped make it easier. If you’re having problems now…well…I’d like to return the favor. So what’s this talk about obligations and decisions?”

  Morality dipped her ladle into the liquid and dribbled a few drops on her wrist. The elixir had now cooled sufficiently to allow filling the bottles without cracking the glass. “It’s none of your concern, sir.”

  “Zach. Call me Zach.” He crossed his arms and squared his shoulders.

  Morality ignored him and went about her work. She placed a funnel in the neck of an amber-colored bottle, dipped her ladle in the kettle, and slowly poured the brew. Three scoops filled the bottle two-thirds full.

  She put down her ladle and was reaching for a cork when he asked, “Did you mention the seeds to your uncle? Is he giving you trouble? Tell me if he is, and I’ll take care of it.”

  She inserted the stopper into the bottle neck and pressed it with her palm. “I don’t know what you are after, but you’ll not get it from me. You are wasting your time.” A small piece of cork broke off and she winced. She hated this part. She was forever splitting corks.

  “I want to help you, Morality.”

  “I don’t need your help.”

  Zach swiped the bottle from her hand and drove the cork tight with his fist. “Maybe not. But I want to know why you’re acting like a spinster with a poker up your backside.”

  Morality froze for a long moment, then carefully reached for another bottle. “Your language is offensive, Burkett.”

  “Yeah, well, so is your attitude. Look, I felt sorry for you last night, and I was a little worried.”

  “You felt sorry for me?” Temper put a screech in her voice.

  Scowling, Zach picked up a twig, then sat down beside her. He leaned over, rested his elbows on his knees, and fiddled with the stick. “You know, Morality, as soon as I think I have you all figured out, you up and do something that gets me to wondering all over again. If you’re not part of your uncle’s plot, then he’s making a fool of you. It’s like I said yesterday. You’re too damn blind to see it.”

  “I am not blind!” She jumped to her feet. Bottles whacked together as they tumbled in her wake. “That’s the problem,” she cried. “Don’t you understand? I can see! I’ve had a miracle! Now I have to marry him.”

  The twig snapped in his fingers and he jerked to look at her. “Good Lord, woman. School your tongue into making some sense. What the hell are you saying?”

  “Don’t curse at me! I’m getting married.”

  “Married? Damn. That sure plays hell with my plans.” He frowned at her, adding, “I can’t say you’re the picture of a happy bride. Who’s the lucky fella?” Before she could open her mouth his eyes widened and he held up his hand. “Whoa, there. Let’s back this wagon on up a minute. This doesn’t have anything to do with me, does it?”

  “You egotistical mule! Why would my marriage plans be any concern of yours?” She glared at him. “I’d marry my uncle before I’d marry you. And that’s just what I’m going to do.”

  “What?”

  “Marry my uncle, damn you.” She spun on her heels and fled the premises.

  Zach sat staring after her, his eyes wide and his mouth hanging open. Holy hell, Morality Brown had just cussed him out.

  ZACH PUSHED open his office’s back door and stepped outside. Warm sunshine toasted his face, easing the tension that had gripped him all day. No matter what he’d been doing or who he was with, thoughts of Morality Brown had pestered him like a housefly buzzing his reading light.

  It’d been a long but productive morning. After hours of intense lobbying and lying to the landowners involved, he’d finally secured right-of-way for laying rail along the Texas Southern’s proposed route.

  Such tangible evidence of the railroad’s eventual arrival was an important aspect of his plan. Investing hard-earned coin in railroad stock would come easier for folks once they could see for themselves just where the tracks would supposedly run. The fact that speculators would undoubtedly fight to buy frontage land along the route only sweetened the pot for Zach. There was nothing like inflated land values to assist in ruining fortunes. If luck was with him, the Marston clan might even purchase a lot or two.<
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  Following his tête-à-tête with Morality, he had stopped for a bite to eat at a hotel dining room. By the time he’d finished his meal, he had sold shares of stock to three of Cottonwood Creek’s plumpest pigeons, the most rewarding being Clarence Pottsboro. Zach remembered well the tears that had trailed down his mother’s cheeks after Clarence showed up at the cabin one night with his indecent proposition and his hateful epithets. Zach hoped Sarah had been watching from above when he took eighty dollars off the son of a bitch.

  He returned the wave of a deliveryman hauling a load of wood to the shaving saloon two doors down. He was tempted to mosey over and help with the unloading. A bit of physical work might help take his mind off Morality Brown.

  Closing his eyes, Zach lifted his face toward the warmth of the sun and scowled in disgust. What was the matter with him? For a man bent upon seduction, he’d been about as smooth as a porcupine’s hide. Why the hell had he allowed his temper to run away with his tongue last night? He’d known better than to mention the morning-glory business then. All he’d done was alienate the very woman he was trying to tempt.

  For a smooth-tongued devil he’d been surprisingly weak-witted.

  He damn sure hadn’t improved the situation any today. He’d gone over there to make amends, and all he’d made was a mess. Of course, he doubted anything he might have said or done would have mattered—the woman had loco in her eyes when she’d talked. Marry my uncle, indeed. Could be she’d been in the morning-glory seeds.

  Zach needed to figure a way to start all over with Morality. Even if there was something to this marriage nonsense and a real seduction wasn’t feasible, he still wanted her backing. A public display of Morality Brown’s faith in him would go a long way toward convincing the townsfolk he and his plan were worthy of support.

  Today had proved it. Although he’d made those three stock sales, twice that many folks had left his office without plunking down their coin. Their reasons varied, but Zach could trace the problem to one obvious fact. He had yet to gain their trust.

  Morality Brown didn’t have that predicament. Every other person who walked through his front door had yammered on about the “wonderful Miracle Girl.”

  A tin bell jangled, signaling someone had entered his office. Zach caught one last ray of sunshine, then went back inside. Robert Drake, owner of the carpenter shop next door, stood in the front of the office, flipping his hat in his hand.

  “Well, if it’s not Cottonwood Creek’s newest daddy,” Zach said, a grin hiding his surprise as the carpenter folded his tall, lanky figure into a guest chair. “I thought you said you were closing the shop this afternoon to help Ginnie with the christening plans.”

  Robert tossed his hat onto the seat of a second chair. “I intend to, but I’m running a little slow. I fell asleep at my desk. Tell you what, Burkett, this baby business plumb wears a fella out.”

  “Having trouble getting sleep at home?”

  Robert rubbed a finger across bloodshot eyes and nodded. “I should have guessed that someone as hardheaded as Ginnie would have a baby just as stubborn.”

  Zach sat at his desk and pulled open a drawer. Removing both a bottle of whiskey and a tin of lemon drops, he offered his neighbor a choice. “Now, Robert, how can you call a tiny baby stubborn?”

  Robert chose the candy, and popped a piece in his mouth, saying, “The way I understood it, new babies are supposed to sleep most of the time. Seems like this kid’s awake all night, every night. Nothing we try seems to convince him that the nighttime is for sleeping and daytime is for playing.”

  Zach leaned back in his chair and propped his boots on the desk. “I don’t think you should be so hard on the child. After all, he’s only taking after what he’s been taught.”

  ‘“How’s that?”

  “It’s that nighttime playing that got him here.”

  Robert’s sour look had little to do with the candy. “Hell, I’d almost forgotten. It’s been that long.”

  Zach chuckled and chose a lemon drop for himself. He had met his new neighbor while moving his things into the office early yesterday morning. Drake had moved to Cottonwood Creek five years ago, so he wasn’t someone Zach included in his blanket hatred of the townspeople. The carpenter had been true Texas friendly. He’d even helped Zach locate someone willing to deliver livestock to his place that very day. The real shocker had come when Robert’s wife stopped by later that afternoon. Mrs. Ginnie Drake was also the former Virginia Marston, daughter of Congressman E.J. Marston and his wife, Henrietta. She had welcomed Zach to town with a hug, a welcome box filled with foodstuffs, and a teasing apology for the black eye she’d dealt him when he was nine and she was seven. Then she’d promptly invited him to her new baby’s christening set for tomorrow night.

  “So,” Zach said around the candy, “did you stop by just to complain, or is there something I can do for you?”

  Robert shifted in his chair, and Zach realized there was more to this visit than a friendly hello. He waited, curious but patient, as the other man obviously searched for the words. “I…want to buy stock.”

  Zach lowered his boots to the floor and sat up straight in his chair. He hadn’t expected that. Previous conversation had led him to believe the Drakes were presently cash poor—not an unusual situation for most people in Texas this late in the winter. “You do?”

  Robert pulled a small leather pouch from his breast pocket and set it on the desk. “It’s a hundred sixty-five dollars. I want you to make the certificates out in Will’s name.”

  Zach stared at the bag of coins. One hundred sixty-five dollars—a substantial amount of money. He hadn’t figured on selling stock in much more than twenty-dollar increments, at least until spring when the folks took to traveling more and business picked up. He hadn’t figured on selling stock to Robert Drake at all.

  The leather bag lay on his desk like Judas’s silver coins. One hundred sixty-five dollars. Handed over by the husband of a Marston daughter. In a very real way, these coins were Marston money. His plan was working.

  So where was the rush of satisfaction he’d expected to feel?

  Instead, his stomach did that annoying little roll. “Are you sure you want to do this, Robert?” Zach asked slowly, leaving the bag of coins where it sat. “Ginnie’s family won’t take kindly to it.” What was he trying to do, talk the man out of his purchase?

  Robert Drake nodded once. “I want the stock. Look, Zach, I may not be a Cottonwood Creek native, but I’ve lived here for five years now. This town means a lot to me. It’s where I plan to raise my family, and I want what’s best for it. I may be married to a Marston, but I want you to know I don’t let anyone do my thinking for me—especially not my wife’s daddy.”

  He pushed the bag toward Zach, saying, “Now, your motives for bringing the Texas Southern to town might not be the purest, but—”

  “Wait a minute,” Zach interrupted.

  “No,” Robert held up a hand. “Let me finish. I’m not judging you or Joshua Marston for that matter. Truth be told, I like the man—hell of a lot more than I do Ginnie’s father, anyway. I’m putting my money in Texas Southern stock because I think a railroad is good for Cottonwood Creek. The Marstons have made a mistake by standing in the way these past few years. It’s a changing world, and they need to adapt. A railroad doesn’t have to ruin them. They’ll see it eventually. That you’re the man who’s had the guts to fight them—well, that’s between you and them. I’m buying this stock for my son, for his future.”

  The longer Robert talked, the sicker Zach felt. Clearing his throat, he opened his mouth and said words that were as much of a surprise to him as they were to Robert Drake. “I have a better idea. Put your money back in your pocket, Drake.”

  Reaching into his desk drawer, he counted out stock certificates equal to the amount Robert had offered him. “Your Ginnie took a mighty stand paying me a visit yesterday. I figure she’s the closest thing to family I’ve got, and I’ve been considering giving he
r a present for the baby. Why don’t you let the stock be my gift? It’s perfect timing, with little Will’s christening tomorrow night.”

  Robert’s fair skin turned a sickly shade of green. He slapped his hand on top of the certificates, halting the movement of Zach’s pen. “Dammit, Burkett. This was difficult to begin with, but now…well, hell.”

  Taking a deep breath, he continued. “I appreciate the offer, but I can’t allow it. I do want to give Ginnie this stock as a gift in honor of Will’s big day, but that’s not the only reason I’m here.” He paused, then added softly, “I know Ginnie invited you to the baptism, but I’m asking you not to come.”

  It was a stab at the heart and it caught Zach by surprise. Years of practice enabled him to meet Robert’s gaze with an inscrutable look. He waited silently for the man to go on.

  “No one else can tell, but Ginnie has a powerful case of the woes.” Robert winced. “She’s been weeping like a willow these days. Anything can set her off.”

  “I’ve heard that happens sometimes with new mothers.”

  Robert’s eyes pleaded for understanding as he said, “I think she’s fretting about the family. She has known her parents were due in from Washington. Ever since we married, she and her folks have been estranged. They wanted better for her than a carpenter. Anyway, her mama sent a note when the baby was born. Ginnie hasn’t heard a word from her pa.”

  He tiredly rubbed his palm across his jaw. “I believe having the baby has made her miss being close with her family. I think having them at the church and then to the supper afterward might make for a lessening of her melancholy.” He paused, sighed heavily, and said, “She’s breaking my heart, Zach. I feel lower than a snake’s belly withdrawing the invitation. I wouldn’t do it for anybody but my wife.”

  Anger churned low in Zach s gut—not at Robert, but at himself. It wasn’t like him to care about such nonsense. “You’ve talked to Ginnie’s folks about this?”