The Scoundrel's Bride

by Geralyn Dawson

  She wondered how she had missed the horns growing atop his head.

  A hysterical laugh bubbled up inside her. She’d been such a fool. She quoted Proverbs. “ ‘A whip for the horse, a bridle for the ass, And a rod for the back of fools.’ ”

  “Morality!”

  She laughed until she cried—two full beats of her heart. “Who are you, Zach Burkett? Or is that even your name? Did you lie about that, too?”

  His features hardened like clay in a kiln. “How much did you hear, Morality?”

  She wiped away her tears and pasted on a false smile. “I imagine it’s difficult to plan your lies when you’re uncertain just what information is already known.”

  “Tell me what you heard, and I’ll explain what I was really saying.”

  “I just bet you will, only this time I’ll be smart enough to know you’re lying.” Her rage flared white-hot, and she pushed from her chair. “How could you?” She took a step toward him. “You quoted the Bible! You used the Word of the Lord for your own wicked purposes. You stood before the people of Cottonwood Creek and preached loyalty and faithfulness, atonement and redemption.” She stopped within an arm’s length of her lying, sinful spouse, and her voice dripped contempt. “And the entire time, the lone desire in your heart was vengeance.”

  “You’re damn right,” Zach said with a sneer.

  Morality closed her eyes. She felt ill, a sickness of spirit more troubling than any physical ailment. “How could you, Zach? How could you misuse people’s faith like that? How could you misuse your own?”

  He scoffed. “My faith? In what? Listen, Morality, the only faith worth having is what a man has in himself. When it comes right down to it, you can’t count on anybody else—not family, or friends, especially not some all-seeing Divine Being who is looking the other way when you need him most. Remember that. It’ll save you a whole helluva lot of trouble in the future.”

  His words were a whip that stripped away her skin, leaving her nerves exposed, raw and twitching. “And me? You married me. You told me you could love me. All you wanted was to use me, to use my reputation.”

  Zach waited a damning minute before his mouth curved in a mocking smile. “Don’t forget your body. I wanted to use that, too, angel.”

  She gasped, reeling from the verbal blow. “You are an evil man.”

  “Yes, and don’t you forget it.”

  Something in his voice broke through her pain and caught her attention, sending a shiver of fear up her spine. She bit her bottom lip as she forced herself to meet his gaze.

  His eyes glittered hard and cold like blue diamonds. “You shouldn’t have come snooping, Morality,” he said in a low tone. “Now I have to do something I didn’t want to do.”

  She shut her eyes. She didn’t want to hear this. Something he didn’t want to do? It must be really bad.

  “Jess and I have spent years setting up this scheme. I can’t allow you to ruin it.” Zach’s voice was flat as he said, “You’ll return to Cottonwood Creek with me, Morality, and you’ll keep your mouth shut about what you heard tonight. You’ll be the happiest, most supportive bride who’s ever crossed the Sabine River. You’ll help me sell the railroad to Cottonwood Creek.”

  Her eyes flew open in shock. “What? You must be crazy.”

  “I’m as serious as a rattler’s rattle.”

  “I won’t do that. It’s all a lie, Zach. You are asking me to lie!”

  He shrugged. “I guess you can look at it that way if you want. If I were you, I’d approach it as just another opportunity—a learning opportunity. With a little fore-thought, you can work around the words. You’ll never need to come right out with a whopper.”

  “You are unbelievable!” She stared at him, his form blurry through the tears collected in her eyes.

  “No. I’m very believable. And you’d best believe what I’m saying, Morality. I won’t let you ruin this. You will do as I say.”

  She licked her dry lips. “You can’t make me.”

  “Yes I can.”

  “How?”

  He folded his arms and stared at her. His gaze was steady and his tone sincere as he said, “I’ll hurt Patrick Callahan.”

  “What!”

  “I’ll hurt Patrick.”

  “No!” Morality shook her head. “You would not. You wouldn’t murder an innocent boy!”

  He laughed without amusement. “Funny how the word keeps popping out of your mouth. You never can forget that I’ve killed before, can you, angel?” He took a step to-ward her. “No, I won’t take that boy’s life, but I’ll do something even worse.”

  More than anything else, Morality wanted to turn and flee. But the menace in his promise kept her rooted to the spot. “I’ll take him away from you, Morality,” he said. “You know I can do it. I’ll appeal to that little piece of the devil that lives inside us all. I’ll teach him to drink and gamble and whore. I’ll teach him to lie and cheat and steal.”

  Zach grasped her shoulders. “Do what I say, Morality Burkett, or I’ll teach him to be just like me.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  AN ITALIAN BAND PLAYED the schottische aboard the palatial steamer Jim Bonham, and the sounds of laughter blended with the music on the afternoon air. Stephen Carstairs found his wife standing near the bow of the boat gazing forward, northwestward, along the Red River. Hope filled her expression and the sight tugged at his heart. Please, God, grant us success in our efforts.

  “I should have known you’d be here,” he said, tucking a flyaway curl back beneath her bonnet. “I could have saved the coin and booked a lesser cabin for all of the time you spend inside.”

  Rosalee smiled at his teasing. “Oh, stop your complaining, Mr. Carstairs. You should be made to pay extra for this weather we are enjoying. At home there is still snow on the ground.”

  He linked her arm with his, and they began to walk the deck. Above them, twin smokestacks belched black smoke into the sky. Stephen’s gaze traced the sleek lines of the pipes, resting on the signal lights near the top. Red on the left, green on the right. At night, the green lamp glowed muted and soft like Rosalee’s eyes when she spoke of her daughter, Lilah. “It won’t be long now, Rosie.”

  “I know.” She rested her head against him. “I admit I am a bit fearful of what may happen.”

  “I’m more than a bit fearful; I’m downright scared. You know I wish you would have stayed home and left this business to the professionals. Mr. Hatfield could have escorted Lilah to New York.”

  “Stephen…”

  “Yes, yes. We’ve been over this a hundred times. But I can’t help but worry, Rosie. Harris is an evil man. I don’t like you being in the same state with him, much less the same town.”

  “I’m not worried about Harris. I know you will protect me from him. It is Lilah who worries me.” Rosalee stiffened as she lifted her gaze to look at him. “What if she hates me, Stephen? What if she doesn’t understand? Or even worse, what if Harris has corrupted her? What if she doesn’t want to leave him?”

  “ ‘What if, what if, what if.’ ” Taking both her hands, Stephen turned her toward him, then pressed a kiss to her brow. “What if she’s the worrier her mama is? How will I ever stand living with two such troublesome women, hmm?”

  “Mr. Carstairs,” Rosalee protested, allowing him to draw her into the familiar game they played between them. “Troublesome? You dare to call me troublesome?”

  “I do.”

  She wrinkled her nose. “If you are determined to label me as such, I suppose I should live up to the name. Excuse me, husband, while I retire to our cabin to prepare for dinner.”

  He arched a brow, waiting for the shoe he knew would fall.

  Rosalee’s smile was innocent, but mischief sparkled in her eyes. “I believe I’ll wear the blue taffeta.”

  Stephen groaned. That dress showed half her bosom. “Rosalee…” he warned as she flounced away.

  Her laughter floated behind her like gaily colored ribbons dancing on t
he wind, and Stephen smiled. Hearing that sound was almost worth the torture of watching other men ogle his wife in that damn blue dress.

  He took a Havana from his pocket and lit it. He stood at the steamer’s painted white rail and smoked, considering the changes that loomed at the horizon in his life. He hoped that the days to come would add to Rosalee’s delight, not steal what happiness she enjoyed away from her. He recalled the portions of Hatfield’s report that he’d kept from his wife, and he feared her worries might well be valid. Miracles, murder, and madness. What sort of hold would Harris have on little Lilah after all this time?

  It didn’t matter. Stephen tossed his cigar into the muddy waters of the Red River. Rosalee’s daughter would not be staying with the man. He lifted his French-made, double- action, six-shot pepperbox walking stick and studied its innocuous appearance.

  He could kill the Reverend J. P. Harrison in the blink of an eye. He was well prepared, both physically and mentally, to do just that.

  In fact, he could hardly wait.

  MORALITY MAINTAINED a stiff smile as she climbed into the buggy Zach had purchased from Daniel Gallagher. She held it through the good-byes to her new friends at Gallagher’s Tavern and Traveler’s Inn, but as soon as the carriage cleared the yard with Joshua Marston’s stolen horse trailing behind, she traded the smile for a heartfelt glower she believed might well be permanent.

  She seethed all the way to Red Mineral Springs, then fumed her way to Tennyson’s Ferry. But beneath her anger lay a hurt so painful, so wrenching in its scope, that she ended each day with her spirit at an ebb even lower than the night before.

  And she dreamed. Stirring dreams, disturbing dreams. Dreams whose effects lingered long into the morning, revived by every accidental glance or incidental touch shared by her and her lying, scheming husband.

  When she managed to banish the memory of his sins against her from her mind, thoughts of his notorious plan slipped in to take their place. Zach Burkett intended to ruin his own blood family. He was out to destroy a town. Eulalie Peabody, Doc Trilby, and Mr. Nichols. Robert and Ginnie Drake. And why?

  Revenge. Such a wicked, wrongful path to travel.

  For days Morality refused to speak to Zach in more than single-word replies—most often to answer no to his tersely asked questions. They slept with the fire between them when they camped. They occupied separate haystacks in barns. Not once did he attempt to heal the breach between them.

  This was a different man than the one she’d known before. This Zach Burkett was hard as Texas red granite and cold as the ashes of the Alamo. How did one react to such a man? How could she possibly live with him, do what he asked her to do? She pondered the problem every day and prayed about it every night. But Morality found no answers. This Zach Burkett aimed to force her into sin. He intended to extort her into betraying her deepest convictions, and she could think of no way to prevent it.

  As the days passed and her hurt shrank to a cold lump of misery in her chest, she was able to study the situation with a bit more objectivity. She realized, then, that her husband was as shrewd as Solomon.

  He had played her perfectly. Had he threatened her with murder that miserable night, she wouldn’t have believed him. Had he promised to beat her black and blue, she’d have denounced it as a lie, certain in her convictions. But the slimy-smart character that Zach Burkett had proved to be had chosen the single threat she couldn’t disavow or ignore.

  If she failed to cooperate—even if she condemned him before the entire town—Zach would find a way to fulfill his wicked promise. She read the truth of it in his eyes. He would teach Patrick those awful things he’d threatened and feel not a glimmer of remorse. How could she have been so wrong about the man?

  How could she still be in love with him?

  Morality nearly fell out of the wagon at that thought. It was true. She loved him. It scared her half to death and made her response to his blackmail all that more important.

  She argued with herself all the way up Trammel’s Trace toward Cottonwood Creek. She’d seen so much good in him—gentleness and understanding, caring and support. What about the righteousness he’d displayed when he accused Reverend Uncle of drugging his congregation? Although Zach had wrongly judged her uncle, he’d appeared so sincere in his concern. How could he have faked it all?

  Because he is the world’s greatest actor and more the fool you for falling for his performance.

  For seven days she maintained her silence, considered her problem, and treated her husband to the same cold shoulder he showed her. Then, the day before they were due to reach Cottonwood Creek, Morality had a revelation.

  The day dawned warm without a breath of wind. They ate a breakfast of cornbread and bacon at the farmhouse where they’d spent the night and hitched up the horses for another full day of travel.

  By mid-morning they’d entered a stretch of forest where dogwoods in bloom sprinkled the land with snowy flowers. A tree with pink blossoms caught Morality’s attention and she twisted in her seat, studying it as they passed.

  Noticing her interest, Zach pulled the buggy to a stop. He nodded at the tree and remarked, “It’s a dogwood, too.” Then he thumbed his hat back on his head and a twinkle reminiscent of the old Zach Burkett kindled in his eyes. Showing his dimples for the first time that week, he drawled, “You can always tell by its bark.”

  Before she remembered she wasn’t speaking to him, Morality replied with a groan. “That joke is as old as black pepper.”

  “Older than dirt,” he shot back.

  A grin tugged at her lips. “Old as the hills.”

  “Older than sin.”

  That last word hung on the air between them as her smile slowly died. “Why are you doing this, Zach?”

  Like a lightning bolt here then gone, anguish flashed in the depths of his eyes. When he spoke, she had the feeling his words were the most honest he’d ever spoken to her. “Because I promised I would.”

  “You promised?” Morality thought a moment, then asked, “Your mother?”

  “Yes, right before she died.” An ugly, evil look darkened his face and Morality shrank away from him. He muttered a curse, then flicked the reins, grumbling, “We’re wasting daylight.”

  Morality gave him a sidelong, speculative glance. He’d promised his mother what? To avenge her death? To destroy the people who’d hurt her? She considered the questions as they rode, lapsing into the silence they’d shared since that fateful night over a week ago.

  Zach Burkett was the most complicated man she’d ever encountered. He’d rob a train and save an endangered puppy at the same time. He’d tell outrageous, harmful lies to keep a promise and threaten an innocent boy…with what? Vice. Corruption. To be as bad as me, he’d said.

  Her gaze flew to her husband, and her eyes widened with shock. “To be as bad as me,” she repeated softly. Why, that man was an even bigger fraud than he let on. Only, he fooled himself right along with everyone else.

  Zach Burkett simply wasn’t as bad as he liked to think.

  Her thoughts were in a whirl as he stopped the buggy along the bank of a clear-water creek and allowed the horses a drink. Zach’s jaw was set and his eyes were diamond-hard. As he untied Mr. Marston’s horse from the back of the buggy and led the mare to the creek bank, he was clearly not in the frame of mind to answer her questions.

  She asked him anyway. “Zach, were you telling me that your mother asked you to do these evil deeds?”

  He turned on her. “Dammit, Morality, shut up. Isn’t that just like a woman? You don’t speak for a week, and then, when you open your trap, it’s to give a man hell. Frankly, I like you better the other way.” Turning away, he whipped his reins around a tree and jerked them in a knot.

  “Zach, I—”

  “If you say one word about my cussin’ I swear I’ll—” He snapped his mouth shut before finishing his thought and stalked off through the trees.

  Oh, Zach. Morality stared after him, feeling his pain. He neede
d help. He must be shown the error of his ways before it was too late. He needed to experience the healing force of forgiveness. He needed a personal demonstration of the almighty power of love.

  Zach needed a miracle, too.

  After securing the horses, Morality knelt beside the creek and bent over, intending to quench her own thirst. It was as she saw her reflection on the water’s surface that it happened.

  Morality experienced an epiphany.

  Truth exploded in her mind with a blinding light. Everyone was put on this earth for a purpose. For years she’d believed she’d been put here to preach the message of her miracle. But it had never felt genuine. In her heart, she’d never heard the calling.

  She heard the calling now.

  She could be Zach Burkett’s miracle.

  A sense of rightness wrapped her like a cozy warm blanket. It was as if her entire life had prepared her for this moment, this singular task. Like Zach, she had lost her parents, and because of it, she could better understand the depths of his pain and of the anger that drove him.

  But her fate had been kinder than Zach’s. She’d had Reverend Uncle to teach her and show her the way to the Lord. And she’d been given her miracle—a firsthand display of the reality of God’s unbounded love. Now it was time to share that reality with someone else.

  She loved Zach Burkett, the real Zach Burkett. The man who believed himself to be the most wicked of God’s children and who lived with one foot in darkness, the other in light.

  With her love, she would turn him from his path of destruction. With her love, she would show him the beauty of the light. Together they would walk the road toward salvation.

  Morality dipped her hands into the water. Reverend Uncle would be so proud of her.

  ZACH TWIRLED a bluebonnet between his finger and thumb. Damn the woman, she’d managed to pick the worst time and the absolute worst place to start running her mouth again. What was it about women? How did they know when to let loose the kick that would catch a fellow at his most vulnerable?