“Joshua, please, this is the perfect time. Let me—”
“Go, Louise, Now.”
Louise Marston yanked out of her husband’s grasp, shot him a glare, and left.
Zach clicked his tongue. “I say there, Daddy, you do have a way with women, don’t you?”
Joshua whirled on him. “I want you out of my house immediately.”
“What, no offer of food or drink?” Zach brought a hand to his chest in a parody of the offended guest. “You’re gonna send me out in that wind without at least offering me a whiskey? What sort of Texan hospitality is that?”
His father’s reply whipped across the room. “I’d like to send you to hell.”
“Already been there, Pop. Didn’t care for it much. Thought I’d leave and make room for the next fella.” The look he offered his father left no doubt of just who he’d prefer that next fellow to be.
Patrick breathed a soft moan and Zach frowned. “We’re disturbing him. Why don’t I give you the chance to make up for your appalling lack of hospitality by showing me to your library and offering me that drink? Since I’m here we might as well discuss a couple of matters I’ve been meaning to speak with you about.”
“Burkett, I want you out of my house.”
Quick as a rattler’s strike, Zach had grabbed him by the collar and twisted the cloth tight. “You know, old man, when you threw me out of this town all those years ago, I swore over my mother’s dead body that you’d never throw me out of anywhere ever again. Looks like you’re stuck with me until I’m ready to go. Got it?”
Marston made a gurgling sound low in his throat, and Zach loosened his hold just enough for Joshua to squeak out a “Yes.” Then he shoved him out of the room and into the hallway, headed toward the stairs.
Morality was certain she’d had worse days in her life, but she was at a loss to remember when. As she obeyed her uncle’s command and preceded him into the Marstons’ music room, she realized the day was a long way from over.
Reverend Uncle shut the door, then whirled in an angry fury. “Do you know what you’ve done?”
Actually, she didn’t. He could be referring to a number of different things; the elixir problem, something to do with this marriage he wanted, perhaps he’d learned about Patrick’s involvement with ruffians and blamed her for it. Gazing at the fire in his eyes, she sensed he spoke of something—or someone—else entirely. His next words proved her right.
“What were you thinking of, bringing that man to this house? Have you not any sense at all?”
Apparently not, if I’m actually considering marrying you. Morality waited for the shame that normally accompanied such disrespectful thoughts, but to her surprise, it didn’t come. “Reverend Uncle, Patrick was hurt. I thought he’d gone to Mr. Burkett’s cabin, so I—”
“He’s Joshua’s bastard,” Harrison interrupted, waving his hand wildly. “The entire town knows it. And you had the witless notion to bring him here.” He advanced on her, his jaw set, nostrils flaring. “Did you see the look on Louise’s face? Did you hear the words they exchanged?” His hand snaked out and grabbed her arm. “If your stupidity causes us to lose our beds in this house…” His voice trailed off, the threat more fearsome for being left unspoken.
He had a viselike grip on her wrist and Morality clenched her teeth against the pain he caused her. “Reverend Uncle, I’m sorry. I didn’t think I’d be causing any trouble. Mrs. Peabody said it would be all right for Mr. Burkett to come here.”
“Don’t argue with me, girl! And don’t be listening to anyone else. I’m your guardian. Soon to be your husband. I’ll tell you what to think and to say and to do.” He shoved her arm away, saying, “Now go find Louise. Apologize to her, and make sure you do it in a way that won’t cause her any more grief.”
Morality nodded and fled the room, waiting until she was out of her uncle’s sight to rub her aching wrist. Her thoughts were in a turmoil, her emotions a mess. She wanted desperately to run to her room and hide, or better yet, to leave this house entirely. Instead, she made a short, defiant detour to Patrick’s room to check his condition, then obeyed Reverend Uncle’s demands and followed the sound of feminine voices to the parlor.
Mrs. Peabody was regaling Mrs. Marston with the latest information on her blooming romance with Dr. Trilby, and Morality realized that now was not the time to offer an apology. Such a thing was best done in private. As the widow continued her story, Morality pushed the ugly scene with her uncle from her mind. She’d worry over that later. Instead, she began to mimic Mrs. Marston’s curious looks toward the library door.
“I declare,” Mrs. Peabody said with a sniff. “You two would make a lesser woman worry about her conversational skills. Louise, go crack open that door so you and Miss Brown avoid getting cricks in your necks.”
“Oh, I couldn’t. It is a private conversation.” Louise looked at the door, then at Eulalie, then at the door again. “Morality, will you do it?”
“Why, Mrs. Marston!” Morality was shocked.
“She’s your hostess, girl.” Eulalie gave a definite nod. “You must do as she asks.”
That much was true. Reverend Uncle would have a fit otherwise, and she certainly didn’t need any more of that. Morality’s skirt rustled as she rose and crossed to the library, where, ever so carefully, she turned the brass knob and pushed.
The voice she had previously heard as a muffled rumble now shot from the room. Joshua Marston bellowed, “…railroad come to town. You think you can hurt us, but you’re wrong! The people of Cottonwood Creek know what is best for the town, and Marston Shipping is it.”
“This town needs a railroad, and it will get one.” Zach’s voice rang with confidence. “Cottonwood Creek will support me on this, you can bet on it.”
“You’re just doing this to hurt the family.”
Morality sensed Louise move up behind her as Zach laughed. “I won’t deny I gain a measure of pleasure from the idea of upsetting the Marston pickle barrel.”
Joshua Marston’s voice reverberated with promise. “I’ll ruin you and anyone who buys stock in your railroad. You’ll leave here without a penny to pinch.”
At first Morality thought he wouldn’t answer. Then, when it came, Zach’s slow drawl made her think of a viper inching its way across the ground.
“Sort of like last time?” he asked. “You gonna try and kill me again, too? Where you gonna find your henchmen, Daddy? I killed the others. I was eleven years old, and I shot two men deader’n hell. You ever killed a man, Daddy? Watched your bullet obliterate his face?”
Morality and Louise jerked away from the door as Joshua shouted, “Don’t call me that!”
Zach laughed. “Rather talk mayhem than murder? Or maybe I shouldn’t use a euphemism for what you did. Just call it like it was—rape.”
“Rape? What are you talking about?”
“Not what, Daddy. Who. And, as you well know, I am talking about my mother.” The last word echoed in the sudden silence. Louise moaned softly, and Morality took her hand in a gesture of comfort.
“I did not rape your mother,” Joshua declared in a raspy voice. “Is that what she told you? That I forced her?”
“Your filthy name never passed my mamas lips.”
Morality shuddered at the disgust in Zach’s tone.
“That’s another thing I owe you for—finding out just who my daddy was in the schoolyard. Helluva way for a boy to learn his family tree.” Boots thumped against the floor, and Morality heard the clink of a glass and splash of liquid. She dared a peek inside and saw Zach pouring a drink.
“Fine bourbon you have here,” he said. “Guess I can see why a man would want to keep it to himself. I reckon a lot of things are like that, hmm?”
“Look, Burkett—”
“No, you look. I want you to know how she died, Marston. How the blood kept bubbling, the scent of it. She hurt. She hurt powerfully bad. Remember her eyes. Daddy? Remember those beautiful blue eyes? They showed how much she
hurt.”
Joshua Marstons voice cracked. “That’s enough, Burkett. It wasn’t my fault. I didn’t send those men.”
“Right. And Santa Anna was paying a welcome visit on the Alamo.” Something hit the wall near the door. Morality and Louise started even as they heard the sound of breaking glass. Zach must have thrown his drink, Morality thought.
His voice vibrated with hate. “You killed my mother. I know it; she knew it. I lied before. There was one time she spoke your name, and it was right before she died. Give me the diary, old man.”
“What diary?”
Zach’s laugh was ugly. “Don’t deny it. She told me you have it, and she asked me to get it. I promised her I would.” He waited a beat, and then, in a winter-wind voice, he said, “I always keep my promises.”
“I don’t have the slightest idea what you are talking about!”
Louise Marston laid a trembling hand on Morality’s arm. Her voice was only a whisper when she said, “Joshua is telling the truth. He doesn’t know about Sarah’s diary. I have it. I stole it from her years ago, before Joshua explained everything. Oh, Morality, what should I do?”
Ugly amusement colored Zach’s voice as he drawled, “You know, Daddy, I figured you’d say something like that. So guess what? I came to Cottonwood Creek prepared. You remember the loan Marston Shipping took out on your newest, fanciest steamer? Well, I own it. I’ll give you two days to ‘find’ my mother’s diary, and if it’s not in my hands by then, I’m calling the note.”
“But I don’t know about any diary. And we can’t raise that kind of money in two days!”
Zach’s chuckle sent a chill up Morality’s spine. “I’ve always wanted to own me a boat. Think I’ll call it Marston Bastard II.”
A scuffling noise came from the library.
“Well, this is ridiculous.” Eulalie flounced up behind them. “I couldn’t hear much, but I heard enough. Pure foolishness on that boy’s part, thinking Joshua had anything to do with Sarah Burkett’s death. I’m not about to sit around until poor Zachary beats up on Joshua.”
Eulalie Peabody brushed by Louise and Morality and pushed into the library. “Zach Burkett, you let go of that man. The sky is looking like snow, and I’d like to get my horses home and put away before it falls. You drove me here, and I want you to take me on home. Now.”
Zach had hold of Joshua’s lapels. “All right, Mrs. Peabody. I’m finished here anyway. This man’s too old to be throwing punches, and besides, I’m looking for a more entertaining way to hurt him than with my fist.” He shoved his father away, then got out a handkerchief and wiped his hands.
Morality’s breath caught at the sight of Zach’s eyes. It was a glimpse at the fires of hell.
“That’s enough, Zachary. Come along.” Eulalie pulled on Zach’s arm. “I’m ready to go. Now.”
Zach pivoted, his boot heel crunching the broken crystal.
Following Eulalie Peabody, he brushed by Morality without a glance.
“Mr. Burkett. Wait! Please!” Louise Marston cried, chasing after him.
He ignored her and left the house without another word, marching down the front steps toward the buggy parked on the street. Eulalie followed, waving at Louise. “Later, dear,” she called. “Give everyone a chance to cool down. It shouldn’t take long in this weather.”
Louise shut the door, and for a moment, the mood was similar to the aftermath of a storm when everyone checks to make sure they are still alive. Then she rushed into her husband’s embrace, her voice cracking. “Oh, Joshua.”
Morality stared at the floor and said, “I’m sorry for causing trouble. I needed help and—”
“No need to apologize, dear.” Over his wife’s head, Joshua’s shaken gaze met Morality’s. “This incident has been a long time in coming.”
“What will we do?” Louise’s shoulders shook as she began to cry softly.
Recognizing the Marstons’ need for privacy, Morality excused herself and fled upstairs, praying she’d not meet her uncle on the way. She simply wasn’t up to another confrontation.
Once safely inside her room, she crossed to the window and looked out. The Widow Peabody’s buggy was rolling down the street, Zach Burkett holding the reins. “Gracious,” she mumbled. “What a day this has been.”
The knock sounded on her door a few minutes later. Louise Marston stood, hanky in hand, tears trailing down her cheeks. “Oh, please, Morality. You must help me. It’s Joshua.”
“Mr. Marston? What’s happened?”
“It’s his chest. He sometimes has these pains when he gets this upset. I can’t leave him now, not like this. But I need to tell Zachary Burkett about the diary. I pray that once he knows the truth, he’ll give me the time I need to retrieve it.”
“Of course I’ll be more than happy to help you, Mrs. Marston, but I don’t understand. What is it you want me to do?”
Louise took Morality’s hand. “Would you follow him, please? He’s probably still at Eulalie’s. I tried to tell him before he left, but he wouldn’t stop. He wouldn’t listen.”
“You want me to follow Mr. Burkett?” Morality repeated, her stomach sinking.
“Yes. I gave the diary to my sister for safekeeping. She lives in Austin. I’ll need rime to send for it or I’ll go for it myself if need be. Anything, as long as Zachary will wait to call that note. Please, Morality, will you do this for me?”
“Of course.” She glanced at the bedside clock. It was late afternoon, and if she missed him at the widow’s he could as easily go home as back to his office. She didn’t want to do this. Not at all. But she’d do it anyway. Even if she didn’t already owe the Marstons so much—for room and board and for bringing such trouble to their home—she’d still go after Mr. Burkett.
Reverend Uncle would tan her hide if she didn’t.
“I’d best hurry. I need to catch him at Mrs. Peabody’s.”
Morality removed her cloak from the wardrobe as Louise nodded and said, “I’ve instructed the stable boy to hitch up my sulky. Thank you for this, dear. Thank you so very much. God go with you.”
God go with me, Morality silently repeated as she slipped down the back stairs and out the door. Cold nipped at her heels, and as she climbed into Louise Marstons buggy, she sighed. “Heavens, what a day.”
CHAPTER NINE
RAIN DRUMMING ON CEDAR shakes lent a mellow sense of sadness to the evening. Zach listened to the softly streaming melancholy beyond his cabin door and took a swill of whiskey straight from the bottle. Sometimes it just felt good to feel bad.
He dropped his head back, resting it against the hard rim of the bathtub filled with steaming water, and allowed the memories to course through his mind. Sarah Burkett planting fall tomatoes, her homespun skirt swirling around her ankles. The socks she knitted for him for Christmas. Her teasing laughter as she taught him to bait a trot line.
He tried to imagine his life had she not met her death along the Nacogdoches road. He probably wouldn’t be wealthy, as he was today. He certainly wouldn’t have traveled the country and seen the sights he’d seen. Had the Lovelace brothers’ bullets not struck Sarah Burkett down, he damn sure wouldn’t be in Cottonwood Creek hatching a plan to bring the Marstons to their knees.
Zach shut his eyes and sank deeper into the tub. He was tired. Confronting Joshua Marston had been a bitch, nothing at all like he had imagined. Instead of the blaze of righteous anger he’d expected, everything he’d felt had been so damn cold—cold hatred, cold bitterness, cold emptiness. Getting caught in the rain hadn’t helped the situation, so after tending the animals and grabbing a bit of supper, he’d decided to drag out the bathtub. He’d hoped that a soak in hot water would warm up his insides along with his feet.
He was beginning to wonder if he’d ever be warm again.
“Damn, Burkett,” he muttered, bringing the bottle to his lips once more. “You’re waxing a bit too philosophical for a sharper.”
As the water slowly cooled, Zach noted the changing
sounds of the storm. The drum of rain hardened to the clatter of sleet, and even the wind sounded colder. He hated ice storms. Whereas a man could negotiate snow with a little effort, ice pretty well kept him homebound—not at all what he wanted on the heels of the afternoon’s confrontation.
Zach couldn’t wait to ruin Joshua Marston.
Climbing from the tub, he grabbed the towel he’d hung near the fire to warm and began to dry himself, his attention caught by the scuffling taking place in the wooden crate at the far end of the fireplace.
A pup tumbled from the bed he’d fixed for the dog and her offspring, and the resulting pitiful whimper made him smile. He padded over and scooped up the jet-colored ball of fluff, then did a little rearranging so that all five pups found a place to eat.
“Nothing like a warm bed and a teat to suckle when it’s cold outside, right, guys?” He rubbed the towel briskly over his body, then reached for his pants. “Why, I remember one time I was stuck in a snowstorm in Nevada, and there was a gal…” His voice trailed off as the image of a different woman fluttered through his mind.
Morality Brown. Mentally he replaced the drab colors she favored with a low-cut, emerald-green confection. Her hair hung loose, spilling a fiery veil down her back, and pouting lips and heavy-lidded eyes promised the fulfillment of all his fantasies. Shaking his head, Zach grinned at his own imagination as he stepped into his britches. Not even a sleet storm could take the heat out of that daydream.
He wished like hell she hadn’t been around to see the little drama that had played itself out at the Marstons’. He couldn’t forget he needed the Miracle Girl on his side. Although he’d probably furthered his cause by helping with Patrick, the tussle with dear old daddy most likely forfeited all his gains.
He snagged the whiskey bottle and took another draw. It didn’t matter. Whatever ground he’d lost he could easily regain. He needn’t worry about it tonight.
Whistling softly beneath his breath, he wrapped the towel around his neck and headed for his trunk and the clean clothing stored inside. He was pulling on a thick wool sock when he heard the faint knocking at the door.
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