Never Love a Lawman

by Jo Goodman

  She returned the bottle to her own pocket just as Foster stood. He counted the pages in his hand and began another search.

  “The train’s stopped, Foster. We’re not going anywhere.”

  He ignored her. His eyes alighted on the last of the papers. Rose had captured them with the toe of her left shoe. She was bent forward, picking glass off Mr. Dover’s coat with one hand and pressing a handkerchief to his head with the other. He was moaning softly.

  “Foster,” Rachel said. “Leave it.”

  He stooped, shoved Rose’s foot aside, and grabbed the papers. She teetered on one foot and then righted herself. She held up one hand to show Rachel how she’d cut herself on the glass. Blood trickled down her palm.

  Rachel gestured to her to step out of Foster’s way and gave her a warning look not to provoke him. “What are you going to do with those?” she asked Foster as he counted them again.

  He didn’t answer.

  Rachel recognized his intent when he began moving toward the stove. His steps were heavy and slightly faltering, but he only had a short distance to cover to reach his destination. She called out to him as he opened the door to the stove. “We photographed the papers, Foster. We have everything. You can destroy them, but I’m telling you it won’t matter. I photographed Adele’s face, too. All of her bruises, in fact. There’s evidence now. People will learn the truth about you.”

  He turned sharply, holding the documents in front of him. His eyes accused her before his words did the same. “You’re lying.”

  Rachel saw that he was weaving slightly. “Sit down,” she said. “You’re going to fall. Do you have any idea what’s happening?” When he merely stared at her, she pointed to the shattered window. “The avalanche didn’t happen by itself. Miners brought that down. My husband’s out there, Foster. So is that no-account Beatty boy. They’re coming for us. They’re coming for you.”

  “What?” He frowned. “What? No.”

  “No one’s come forward,” she said. “You haven’t even noticed that no one’s come forward to find you. Wyatt’s rounding them up. Like cattle.” She smiled faintly, wryly. “Like sheep.”

  For the first time since the train stopped, Foster listened to something outside the drumming in his own head. He heard the snuffling of horses, the deep timbre of masculine voices, and the thud of firearms being tossed to the ground.

  “Please, Foster, won’t you sit down?” She pointed to the bench the attorneys had occupied and prayed that he would take it.

  “It’s the elixir, isn’t it?” he said, closing his eyes briefly.

  “I’m afraid so.”

  His hand wavered as he pointed at Rose. “You drank. I watched you.”

  Rose shrugged. “You saw what I wanted you to. That’s the nature of my business, Mr. Maddox, and I’m very good at what I do.” She smiled sweetly, if insincerely. “Besides, there wasn’t a chance in hell I was going to drink something that smelled like cat piss.”

  Rachel braced herself for Foster’s response. His eyes were not so glazed that she could miss the annoyance that Rose sparked there. She imagined that in his own mind he saw himself as charging forward. What he did in reality was stagger.

  Rachel turned sideways, blocked his path, and put her shoulder hard into his chest. He stumbled backward against the stove and dropped the papers as he tried to regain his balance. He stared at them for a moment, frowning as if he were struggling to recall how they’d come to be there; then he raised his head and fixed his attention once more on Rose.

  Watching him, Rachel realized that he had but one target now. Rage had chipped away at his peripheral vision, narrowing his focus so that Rose stood alone at the end of the tunnel. Rachel pushed her out of the way just as Foster sprang out of his crouch. It hardly mattered that he lacked the gracefulness of a mountain cat. He was tall and lean and fit and had a reach that extended well beyond Rachel’s own. His fingertips grazed Rose’s shoulder, but Rachel took the full force of his rash leap and was slammed to the floor and pinned under his suddenly dead weight.

  That was how Wyatt found her. Standing over her, he took stock of her situation and simply shook his head, the faintest of admiring grins tugging at one side of his mouth. Out of the corner of his eye he saw that Will was already all over Rose and that the hapless Mr. Dover had been left to fend for himself.

  “Took your breath away, did he?” Wyatt asked his wife. He reached down, grabbed Foster Maddox by the collar of his jacket, and jerked him off Rachel. Holstering his gun, he hunkered beside her, and placed a restraining hand on her shoulder. “Give yourself a moment,” he said. “He took you down hard.”

  She made a strangled, gasping sound as she tried to fill her lungs with air. In the end, she mostly mouthed the words. “You saw that?”

  “He was already in the air.”

  “He wanted Rose.”

  Wyatt’s fingertips grazed her cheek. “Did he?” he asked softly. “I couldn’t tell.”

  She nodded. Her wary glance went sideways to where Foster lay.

  “He’s out cold.” To prove it, Wyatt gave Foster’s shoulder a hard jab. “You cushioned his fall, so that doesn’t explain it. What did you do to him?”

  Rachel reached in her pocket and drew out the cobalt-blue bottle. She held it up for Wyatt to see.

  His brow puckered. “Liniment? I don’t understand. How did that work?”

  “He drank it.”

  Wyatt’s expression clearly betrayed his revulsion. “Drank it? Why would he do that? It smells like cat piss.” He took the bottle, examined it, then regarded Rachel’s innocent smile with suspicion. “It’s all right,” he said, pocketing it. “I’ll hear about it later, though I’m inclined to think target shooting was mostly wasted on you.” He slid an arm under her shoulders and helped her sit up. “Better?”

  Her eyes darted to where Will and Rose were still locked in a smothering embrace. “Better if you kiss me.”

  His eyes followed hers. That no-account Beatty boy hadn’t come up for air. “You just got your breath back,” he reminded her.

  She raised her arms and slid them around his neck. “I never mind when you steal it away.”

  Wyatt caught Rachel by the waist and drew her up as he stood. His hands moved to the buttons of her coat. He unfastened them and slipped his arms inside, drawing her flush to his body. It still didn’t seem close enough, but then he didn’t know what would. It was only now, with the assurance that she was safe, that he could admit to all his fears that she wouldn’t be.

  He touched his forehead to hers. “Oh, God, Rachel,” he whispered. “You can’t know. You can’t possibly know.” His mouth found hers. He kissed her hard, deeply, and took the breath she offered him.

  At their feet, Foster Maddox stirred. Sensing the movement, Wyatt placed a boot heel hard in the middle of his back. He ignored Foster’s soft moan and kept him pinned underfoot until he could set Rachel safely away. She didn’t make it easy for him to leave her. Her lips clung, and even when he raised his head a fraction she leaned into him and pressed her mouth to the corner of his.

  “Go on,” he said. “I need you to be outside.”

  Rachel did not try to conceal her worry. Her eyes darted to Foster, then back to Wyatt. “You won’t…” She didn’t finish her sentence, couldn’t really.

  “Go on,” he repeated, more firmly this time. It wasn’t a suggestion and he didn’t mean for her to take it as one. “Rose. Go with her.”

  Rose’s only response was to point a finger at Will behind his back.

  Wyatt barked at his deputy, “For God’s sake, Will, propose or let her go. Better yet, do both.”

  That made Will’s head snap up. He stared at Rose. Twin coins of ruddy color appeared in his cheeks as she stared right back. “I—that is, I—well, Rose, it’s a fact that I—see, Wyatt knows how I feel about—”

  She took pity on him, patting his shoulder. “I’ll just go, Will. Give you some time to work on that proposal.” She slipped out
of his embrace and dodged him when he would have made a grab at her, then made a wide arc around Foster Maddox’s outstretched arms. “C’mon, Rachel. We’re in the way now.”

  Rachel understood that her presence was a distraction and compromised Wyatt’s choices and his ability to act. It should have been easier to leave than it was. She backed away from Foster and Wyatt and waited for Rose to reach her side.

  “He wanted the mining agreement,” she said, pointing to the papers littering the floor. “And control of the spur. He was like a dog with a bone. I told him you’d made photographs, but he had his mind set on destroying them anyway.”

  “He convinced himself that you’d take everything.” Mr. Randolph Dover sat up a little straighter as every eye was drawn to him. He touched his tender scalp and found a folded handkerchief still pressed to his bloody wound. He left it there and laid his hand over it. With his free hand, he brushed bits of glass from his coat, clearing most of it before he raised his head again. “He thinks you’re his aunt,” he told Rachel. “No one could tell him differently.”

  “His aunt?” Rachel stared at him, incredulous. “But that would make me—”

  It was Wyatt who put what strained her belief into words. “Clinton Maddox’s daughter.”

  The accountant nodded. “It was his mother that planted the seed, and her parents that nurtured it. They might even have believed it. I can’t be sure.” He paused, working his jaw back and forth. “And it doesn’t change anything. They poisoned him. There’s no other way to describe it.”

  Rachel shook her head. “No. He couldn’t have thought that. He accused me of being his grandfather’s mistress. He wanted to make me his—” She bit off the last words and protectively crossed her arms in front of her. This last gesture didn’t stop her from shivering. “It’s not true,” she said. “Mr. Maddox wasn’t my father. I know he wasn’t. He never hinted as much to me, and my mother…my mother would never have…she loved my father.”

  Rose stepped back as Wyatt left Foster and moved to Rachel’s side.

  “Mr. Dover knows it’s not true,” Wyatt said gently. “So do I. You don’t have to convince us.”

  Groaning in pain, Foster Maddox rolled onto his back. He shaded his eyes from the light coming in the window, and when he spoke, his words were slurred but understandable. “She’s trying to convince herself. Isn’t that right, Rachel? You wondered all your life, the same as I did.”

  “You’re wrong,” she said. “I never wondered.”

  “Same as I did,” he repeated. “He sent your father off to die, just like he did mine. He wanted your mother again. Everyone knew.”

  Rachel realized he was only repeating the things he’d been told by Cordelia and her parents. She discovered that in spite of all that he’d done, and all that he’d tried to do, she could still feel pity for him.

  Randolph Dover swept glass off the bench and moved to the end of it. “You can’t tell him he’s wrong,” he said. “I watched two of my predecessors try. He dismissed both of them. He thinks there’s evidence somewhere that will prove it, so he’s destroying everything. The attorneys can’t reason with him. He’s certain you know you’re his aunt because you refused all his advances.”

  Rachel flushed, but her embarrassment paled in comparison to Mr. Dover’s. He fiddled with his spectacles while his eyes remained fixed on the floor. He had to clear his throat before he could go on, and then rushed through the last of his explanation as though every word of it was distasteful to him.

  “He couldn’t imagine that anything other than the sin of incest would make you deny him. And that was the trap, you see. Even if he had to force you, it would ensure your silence. It was always his fear, that you or Clinton would publicly acknowledge your blood tie. That’s why he approved of the rumor that you were Clinton Maddox’s mistress and why it was so important to him to get you into his bed. He was certain you’d never come forward if he had carnal knowledge of you.”

  Rachel pressed the back of her fist to her mouth but couldn’t quite stifle her moan. Wyatt was the one who put a stop to it.

  “For God’s sake, that’s enough. Rachel, get out of here.”

  Mr. Dover hung his head. “I thought she would want to know,” he said quietly. “I thought after doing nothing, I owed her that.” At his feet, Foster Maddox had managed to push himself up on his elbows. Randolph Dover stared at him. “But I might owe Miss Adele Brownlee more.”

  He lifted his palm and revealed the four-inch dagger of glass resting on his knee. Before anyone could react, he used it to open Foster Maddox’s throat.

  Epilogue

  Reidsville, Colorado, April 1883

  “Did you finally get your sister settled?” Rachel dipped lower in the tub as soon as she heard the back door open. She swore she could feel an eddy of cool night air slip into the house along with Wyatt. Even with the tub pulled close to the stove it was hard to keep the bath warm enough for her tastes. She’d already added as much hot water as she dared, and there was little maneuvering that could be done without sloshing it over the sides.

  Wyatt knocked mud off his boots and brushed rain spatter from the shoulders of his coat before he stepped into the kitchen. A grin tugged at his mouth when he saw Rachel in the tub. He leaned back against the wall, folded his arms in front of him, and gave her the benefit of his full, appreciative regard. “Am I in time to wash your back?”

  “Already done.”

  “Then your front.”

  “I don’t even think you’re supposed to see me on the night before our wedding day.”

  “I’m not supposed to see you in your dress or some such nonsense. According to your mother and mine, I’m supposed to be in Wyoming. But I don’t think those rules apply when the couple is already married.”

  “An insignificant detail.” She squeezed water from the sponge and let it trickle over her shoulders. “Did you hear me when you came in? I asked if you got Julianna settled.”

  “I did.” He unbuttoned his coat and hooked his thumbs in his pockets. “It would have been easier if I’d put my sister and her brood in jail for the night. Her children would have enjoyed the adventure, and Julianna and her husband would have been assured of receiving breakfast in their room.”

  Rachel laughed, though not without sympathy. “She cannot have been so awful.”

  “Even my mother was out of patience with her. She reminded Julianna that everyone else has been here since Tuesday and that if Julianna was unhappy with the arrangements, she should have arrived before all the suites were taken.” He shook his head, sighing. “Of course, Mother did not offer to give Julianna her suite and take a room instead. Your mother made the offer, but my sister had the good sense to refuse it.”

  “Were you pointing your gun at her?”

  “It was tempting, but no.” He pushed away from the wall, removed his coat, and hung it up. When he returned to the kitchen, he pulled out a chair, spun it around on one leg, and straddled it. He laid his forearms over the top rung of the ladder-back and rested his chin on the back of his hands.

  Rachel glanced up. “I wish I had been able to spend more time with your sister. I liked her. She is very direct.”

  “That’s one word for it.”

  “What do you call her?”

  “Rude.”

  Rachel threw the damp sponge at him. He batted it away easily, and it fell back into the water, splashing her. She swiped water from her eyes and then settled back. “I’m glad she arrived in time, Wyatt. With the exception of your grandparents, who would certainly have found the long train journey a hardship, you have your entire family here. That’s satisfying, don’t you think?”

  It was, but he wasn’t prepared to admit it so easily. “They’re here because they’re curious.”

  “There’s nothing at all wrong with that. I don’t mind their examination; it seems perfectly natural given the circumstances. And you must have noticed that my mother’s inspection of you has been equally thorough. I think
they feel compelled to be cautious in their judgment, perhaps even a bit critical, because in the end, their good opinion is merely gravy on the biscuit.”

  Wyatt chuckled. “I’ll keep that in mind tomorrow morning when I’m waiting for you to join me at the chancel rail. Of course, no one pays much attention to the groom. They’ll all be looking at you.” He watched Rachel lose a little color in her cheeks as she absorbed the truth of that. “Gravy on the biscuit,” he reminded her.

  Rachel slipped a little lower into the tub. Water lapped at her chin. “Maybe we should elope. I could still wear the dress.”

  He pretended to think about it. “Well, I suppose if you promised to wear the dress…” He grinned as she flicked water at him. “All right. No. Absolutely not. We’re getting married in a church this time around.”

  “Thank you,” she said. “For a moment, I thought you were wavering.”

  “You’re confusing me with that no-account Beatty boy.”

  She stared at him from under her long, dark lashes, her expression wry and amused. “Now, there’s a mistake I’m not likely to make.”

  Wyatt knew better than to assume she was complimenting him. He proceeded cautiously. “Is that right?”

  “Will Beatty’s asked Rose to marry him more times in the last three months than Abe Dishman ever asked me, so his hesitation to keep spinning that wheel is understandable, but my point is—”

  “So you have one. I wondered.”

  She threatened him with the sponge again. “My point is that you’ve never proposed to me.”

  He regarded her with surprise. “Of course I have.”

  “You showed me some papers and we negotiated a settlement. That’s what I remember.”

  Wyatt thrust his fingers through his hair as he thought back. “That’s a hell of a thing to tell me now.”

  “Could be it’s your last chance to get it done.”

  “Hell of a thing,” he said again, more to himself than to her. He fell silent for a while, watching the water lap gently against the side of the tub as Rachel sat up a little straighter. He reared back in his chair suddenly and began patting down his vest and searching his pockets.