“You’re not only a thief, but a liar,” Lark said. “I hate you for wrecking my life this way.”
“Wreckin’ your life?” He looked askance. “Must I remind you that you were slingin’ drinks in a tough saloon when I met you? Figure for you, the only way was up.”
“And this is it? A fake marriage to a fake sheriff? And last night, you took my innocence. How could you?”
He grinned. “Oh, sweetie, it was so easy, but enjoyable, too. Don’t tell me you didn’t enjoy it?”
“I didn’t. I—I was faking it.” She felt the blood rush to her face.
“Uh-huh.”
“So what do we do now?” she snapped.
He grinned at her and held out his arms. “What say we kiss and make up? We got time for a quickie before I go patrol the town.”
She exhaled in an angry rush. “You are joking, aren’t you? Do you think I’d get in bed with you again?”
He grinned. “Well, there’s no point lockin’ the barn after the horse is gone.”
“Could you be any more crude?”
“Oh, Lark, admit it, you loved every minute of it.”
“I hate you,” she said, keeping her voice cold, “and I do not intend to stay married to an outlaw.”
“You just got through sayin’ it wasn’t legal.” He grinned at her, his face covered with flour like a ghost.
She took a deep breath to get control of her temper.
“All right, here’s what we’ll do to keep the town from gossiping and wondering. We’ll occupy the same house.”
“And the same bed?” His voice was hopeful as he took out a bandana and wiped his face.
“Hell no. You will sleep on the sofa.”
He shook his head. “I don’t think so.”
“Yes, you will sleep on the sofa. We will pretend to be a happily married couple when we are out in public. But in private—”
“Yes?”
“In private, I’ll make you wish you’d never been born.”
“Sounds like most marriages,” he griped.
“Aren’t you ever serious?” she snarled.
“Well, I’m pretty serious about bein’ the sheriff. Matter of fact, I like it.”
“And these poor, innocent citizens think they’ve got an ex–Texas Ranger—”
“I never said that.”
“Then where did they get the idea?”
He scratched his head. “Well, I might have said something that—”
“Aha! An outlaw posing as a sheriff. How low-down can you get?”
“I’ve been a good sheriff,” he defended himself. “This town was a lawless hellhole when I came here.”
“You just waiting for a chance to rob the bank?”
“Lark, we don’t have a bank.” His voice was patient, as if he were dealing with an idiot.
“Well, we’re supposed to be getting one soon. Then you can rob it.”
“I wasn’t plannin’ on it, but if you think I should—”
“I didn’t say that!” she screamed. “Isn’t one bank enough, you—you saddle tramp?”
“Fine,” he snapped. “I reckon I thought maybe you cared about me, even though I figured you knew who I was. Maybe you married me to keep me from testifyin’ against you.”
“Why, you.” She turned away. “That never crossed my mind. I thought Lawrence Witherspoon was a thoughtful, sensitive—”
“I can be all that,” Larado said.
“Ha—just trying to get in my drawers again.”
“That’s not a bad idea.” He grinned at her. Lark picked up another bag of flour and hefted it in her hand.
He held one hand up for protection. “Lark, sweetie—”
“Don’t call me ‘sweetie.’”
“All right.” Now he was no longer grinning. “We’ll do it your way. We’ll both live here and pretend to be a happy couple when we’re out in public. The rest of the time, we’ll just share the house until you decide what you’re gonna do.”
“Good.” She crossed her arms. “I’m glad we agree.”
“I didn’t say I agreed,” he snapped. He pulled out his gold pocket watch and looked at it. “Well, I can’t stand and argue with you all morning, I got a town to patrol.”
“Aren’t you going to eat something?”
He turned. “Were you plannin’ to cook breakfast?”
“Are you joking? For you?”
“Then why did you ask?” He shrugged. “I’ll get a bite at the café.”
“What will people think?”
“You expect me to go hungry?”
“I hope you starve to death.”
He reached for his Stetson. “Thanks a bunch, Mrs. Witherspoon.”
“I am not Mrs. Witherspoon—I think my poor sister is. ”
He winked at her. “She wasn’t the one I screwed.”
“Oh, you rotten—!” She let loose with a bag of flour. He ducked, and it hit the wall behind him. “You want breakfast? I’ll give you breakfast!” She tossed an egg.
He threw up his arm to protect himself, but the egg caught him in the face and ran down his cheek in a glob of yellow. “I really prefer mine sunny side up,” he said.
“Get out of here!”
He strode out the door and slammed it so hard, the whole house rattled.
Lark went into the parlor. Flopping down on the sofa, she began to sob. “What kind of a mess did I get myself into? I’m stuck with that rascal.” She sat up straight. She could run. That’s what she always did when she had to face something she couldn’t or wouldn’t deal with. No. She shook her head. Several citizens had advanced her money to open her shop, and she couldn’t let them down.
She wiped her eyes. This was no way for a strong woman to behave. Was she upset because he wasn’t who she thought he was, or because he had only married her to keep her from testifying against him?
She took a deep breath. Okay, so the rotten bastard didn’t care about her—so what? She would pull herself together and make her plans. She’d tighten her budget so she could pay everyone back except Larado. She’d paid him back in bed like some cheap whore. Then when she’d made enough money from her millinery shop to buy a train ticket, she’d leave town. What would happen to Larado, she didn’t know—and didn’t care. He deserved whatever he got, the rogue.
Larado was still dusting flour from his shirt when he strode into his office. Paco looked up from his Police Gazette magazine. “Hey, boss, what happened to you? You look like you fell in a flour barrel.” He laughed, but Larado didn’t.
“Marriage,” he snarled. “Now I know why they make so many jokes about it.”
The younger man opened his mouth as if to ask, but Larado cut him off. “Haven’t you got something to do? Go check on the prisoners or something.”
“Boss, we got no prisoners.”
“Then go arrest some, damn it!” Larado flopped down in his chair and put his boots up on his desk. The young Mexican grabbed his hat and fled.
Larado sighed. Things were a mess, all right. Here he’d thought he had a good place to hide out, even a job he really liked, and then she’d showed up. He couldn’t risk that she’d tell what she knew, especially in this town that was giving him both affection and respect. He liked that. As an orphaned saddle tramp, he’d had little of either. Just when he’d thought he had a whole new life, Lark showed up, pretending she didn’t know who he was and pretending she cared about him. He’d had to woo and marry her to keep her from spilling the beans, hadn’t he? Yet after last night, he didn’t know what to think. He’d never had loving like that before. A virgin saloon girl. That really surprised him.
“Lark Witherspoon, you are the fly in my buttermilk—and have been since the first time I met you,” he grumbled to himself. What was he to do? He couldn’t move out of the house—it would cause too much gossip and too many questions from curious townspeople. Yet, living with the fiery Lark would be like sharing quarters with a bobcat. He could drift on, like he’d always done, rootless and alone.
He’d taken this job to have a refuge after the bank robbery, but he was growing used to the homely little hamlet, and he liked the respect he got from the townspeople. He didn’t want to leave. Damn Lark, anyhow. What was he going to do with her?
Through his dirty window, he saw someone walking along the wooden sidewalk on the other side. Larado leaned forward and squinted. It was Lark, walking toward her hat shop, followed by that ridiculous donkey with its big pink hat. So she was opening her shop today. Maybe she had cooled off. If not…He shuddered. What a hellhole married life with her was going to be. He smiled when he thought about last night, then he frowned. She’d made it clear there wasn’t going to be any more fun and games in the bedroom. It wasn’t even noon yet. Maybe by dark, she’d be cooled off enough that he could return home without being hit in the head with a coffeepot.
Lark walked down to her shop, followed by Magnolia. She’d almost given up trying to keep the little gray donkey in her pen. As she passed across the street from the sheriff’s office, Lark turned her face toward it. Yes, she could see him sitting in there with his feet upon his desk. That rotten sidewinder. So he’d married her to keep her quiet. She had never felt such humiliation. She would make him pay for this—that is, if he ever came back to the house.
Business in her shop was slow that day. Lark had brought a sandwich for lunch, and she imagined Larado would eat at the corner café. She wouldn’t have to face him until tonight, and then she was not sure what she would do. She opened her door to catch the breeze in the hot summer afternoon. Somewhere a dog barked, and a child laughed. A wagon with creaking wheels rolled down the dusty, dirt street. At least the town seemed more active and there were lots of new citizens since the railroad had gone through.
Paco came into the shop, removing his hat. “Hallo, missus, what’s wrong with the boss?”
She pretended to be very busy sewing the veil on a big white hat. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”
“He’s meaner than a snakebit dog,” Paco declared, “and he had groceries all over him.”
She certainly didn’t want to discuss this with the deputy. “Uh, I think he tripped and fell into the stuff the town brought to us.”
“Sí.” The deputy nodded, but he didn’t look as if he believed her. “You pleased to be married to the sheriff?”
“Of course,” she said, but she didn’t look at him. “Maybe he wasn’t feeling well.”
“Uh-huh. Well, reckon I’d better go.” Paco gave her a long, searching look and left the store.
So the sheriff was upset. Good. He couldn’t be any more upset than she was. In her mind, she imagined all the things she’d like to do to that scoundrel besides just hit him with a couple of eggs and a bag of flour. She went to the window and looked out. After a moment, she saw Larado saunter out of his office and start down the street toward the local café. He had his hat tipped back, and he was whistling “The Streets of Laredo.”
She’d like to wrap him in white linen and lay him out, cold as the clay.
During a slow period that afternoon, she went over her books. Bertha Snootley had charged several things before the pink hat and had never paid for them. The bill was past due. Perhaps she should go down to the general store and pressure the stout lady for payment.
Taking the delinquent bill, she walked down to the store. The place smelled of stale crackers and sour pickles. Mr. Snootley was behind the counter. The long hair he combed over his bald spot was in disarray, and he was sucking a peppermint. She could smell it. “Is your wife in?”
He shook his head. “At home. She don’t really like to work in the store. What is it you want, ma’am?”
Lark didn’t really want to get the lady in trouble with her husband. “It’s a private matter.”
He eyed the paper in her hand. “Bertha been buyin’ stuff again? I declare, that woman is gonna bankrupt me.”
Lark chewed her lip. “As a matter of fact, she hasn’t shopped with me in a while.”
He grinned, showing yellow teeth. “Heard about the pink straw hat. Can’t say she didn’t deserve that.”
Lark shrugged. “I’m sorry it had to come to that, but she was taking advantage—wearing things and then wanting to return them soiled and worn.”
“I know. Her clothes buying has kept me on the verge of going broke for years.” He leaned on the counter and leered at her in a way that made Lark nervous. “Here, let me pay that. I’ll even pay for the pink hat.” His cash register opened with a clang.
“That’s awfully nice of you.” Lark smiled warmly at him. She handed over the bill, and he handed her a generous amount of cash. “Oh, but this is too much.”
She tried to hand part of it back, but he reached out and closed his hand over hers. “Keep it. Are you sure that’s what you really came in for?”
She pulled away. “I—I’m sure I don’t understand—”
“You know Bertha is gone half the time to Abilene.”
“So?”
“And your husband, as sheriff, has to work long hours.”
“I don’t understand—”
“I just thought, maybe—when we’re both alone—we might, well, console each other.”
Lark drew herself up proudly. “Mr. Snootley, I have never given you any reason to think I would be interested in you. I should tell my husband.”
“Oh, don’t do that.” He began to back away, shaking his balding head. “I wouldn’t want to rile him none. I was just funning you, okay? I thought maybe…Well, I reckon I thought wrong.”
“You certainly did.” She turned on her heel and fled the general store. She ought to tell Larado. Then she paused. Maybe she’d misunderstood the man’s intent. Besides, Larado didn’t care anything about her. He’d probably laugh.
It was finally suppertime. Reluctantly, Lark closed her shop and walked back to the house, taking as long as possible to get there. If Larado thought she’d forgotten and forgiven everything, that he’d be welcome back in her bed—boy, was he in for a surprise!
Chapter Twelve
Larado sauntered along Main Street after dark, whistling his favorite tune:…oh, as I walked out on the streets of Laredo, as I walked out in Laredo one day….
Mrs. Bottoms came out on the porch of her hotel and hailed as he passed. “Heavens, Sheriff, I’d thought you wouldn’t be still workin’—what with a new bride and all.”
He grinned at her. “Crime never sleeps, Mrs. Bottoms. A sheriff always has work to do. How’s little Jimmy?”
She looked at him quizzically. “Jimmys fine. He’s inside drawin’ pictures of trains. I don’t reckon little Rusty Spur has so much crime it would keep a man away from his new bride.”
Oh, damn. He couldn’t do anything that would arouse suspicion. “You are right, dear lady, sometimes a man gets so involved with his work, he forgets about the little lady.”
She snorted. “I’d think it’d be hard to forget that one, pretty as she is.”
“She is that. I reckon I’d better head home. She’s probably got a larrupin’ supper waitin’ for me.” With rat poison in it, he thought. He tipped his hat to the woman and started slowly toward his house. He knew Lark had closed the shop—he’d seen the lights go off. Yet knowing he was probably going to get a violent reaction, he’d put off heading home. He could stall no longer without raising suspicion among the townspeople. It was a showdown at the OK Corral all over again. Of course, Wyatt Earp had only had to face a few angry cowboys. Larado was headed to face one angry woman. He’d have traded places with Wyatt in a heartbeat.
Lark had closed the shop and gone back to the house, not knowing what else to do. Still, she’d rather have been walking into a nest of rattlers than into his house, the scoundrel.
He wasn’t home yet. She breathed a sigh of relief as she went about, lighting the oil lamps. The place was small, but still, it could be a cute and cozy love nest with a little work and elbow grease.
“Lark, are you out of your mind?” she asked hersel
f aloud. “Why would you want to fix the place up and make it comfortable for him? After what he’s done, you need to make him as miserable as possible—he deserves it.”
On the bureau in the bedroom, she noticed for the first time a small daguerreotype of a pretty, dark, older woman. Lark studied it. The woman might have had some Indian blood. Against her photo frame rested a pair of gold-framed spectacles. Hers, Lark thought. She picked up the old photo and studied it. The woman looked like Larado, with the same dark eyes and crooked smile. So the rascal had a sister, or maybe a mother. Well, even Jesse James had a mother.
Lark went into the kitchen and looked around. She was hungry. Even if she refused to cook for him, she had to feed herself. At her best, she wasn’t much of a cook. Her sister Lacey was a great cook, of course. Tomboys’ talents weren’t in the kitchen. Too bad she hadn’t been a boy—Lark made a great cowhand. She looked around at the supplies from the pounding. There was some bacon, some eggs she hadn’t thrown at Larado, and some flour. She reached for a big iron skillet.
She heard him come in the front door.
“Lark, sweetie, you home?” He sounded hesitant—as well he should be.
“Yes, I’m here,” she snapped as he stuck his head around the door. She resisted the urge to throw the skillet at him.
“Are you still mad at me?” He gave her that charming, crooked grin.
“Now why would I be, after everything that’s happened?” Ice frosted every word, but either he didn’t hear her cold tone, or he chose to ignore it.
“Good, sweetie.” He whacked her on the bottom as he came into the room. She whirled and swung the skillet at him, but he caught her arm and pulled her into his embrace, putting his face against her dark hair. “Now, Lark, we’re in this together. We might as well make the most of it.”
“You sonovabitch!” She tried to hit him in the head with the skillet, but he took it out of her hand.
“I didn’t know you’d hold a grudge. And after all the fun we had last night.”
“Don’t you dare mention that.” She looked toward the eggs on the shelf, but he stepped between her and the possible missiles. “Maybe it was fun for you, but I was just doing my wifely duty.”
Georgina Gentry - To Tease a Texan Page 17