"Just last week, we rode out there at sunset," she said and her voice went soft and dreamy. “The sky was a brilliant shade of scarlet and we sat atop the knoll and watched as the first stars came up."
He had done all that. Alone. So nothing she said was enough to convince him. After all, she could be making this whole thing up. Hell, she must be making it up. She hadn't been there. He damn well would have noticed if he'd had a woman sitting beside him on that rocky hill. Particularly this woman, since she didn't seem the type to keep quiet for long.
What he had to do was ask her specific questions-to catch her up and force her to admit she was lying. For whatever reason.
"All right," he said tightly, "if you were there, what was the last thing I did before heading back to town?"
She smiled at him, and if he hadn't been so blasted wary, he might have been caught up in the warmth of that smile of hers. Thankfully, he thought, he was tougher than that.
"You walked off the paces for the house," she said, just a little bit smugly as she folded her arms across her chest and watched him. "You even laid down a small square of stones to mark the spot where the fireplace will go."
His back teeth ground together and his hands fisted at his sides. He had done just that, damn it.
But how did she know?
Was somebody following him around? Reaching up, Brady scraped one hand across his jaw and looked at her. Who the hell was she? How had she seen him giving in to an inexplicable urge to plan his future house? There'd been no one around for miles. A ripple of unease spread along his spine and Brady stiffened in response.
"Nothing to say?” she asked brightly.
"Lady," he muttered darkly, “I’ve got plenty to say, but none of it's fit for mixed company."
"Brady Shaw," she said, planting both hands on those narrow hips, "you should know me well enough by now to know that I am not a woman to be cowed by surliness."
He threw his hands wide and let them slap against his thighs. Damn it, where was this crazy woman's keeper? Shouldn't she be locked in someone's attic somewhere? "I don't know you at all."
"Pestilence."
"What?"
"I said pestilence." Shaking her head, she looked up at him, meeting his gaze with a golden glare. "You know me as well as I do you, and I know you very well indeed."
"Is that right?" he asked and straightened up, crossing his arms over his chest.
"It is. And sometimes, I swear I don't know why I ever agreed to marry you."
“I'm wondering that myself," he said and tried to figure out just why a clearly addled woman would set her sights on him as a husband.
And just how soon he'd be able to get her the hell out of his saloon and his life.
CHAPTER THREE
This morning had not started out well at all, Patience told herself as she headed for the wide staircase on the far right side of the room. She felt three pairs of eyes follow her every step and for some reason, that attention only irritated her. For pity's sake, they behaved as though they'd never seen her before.
Grasping the hem of her skirt in both hands, she yanked it up several inches and started the long climb to the second story. Her steps were muffled on the nearly threadbare carpet runner and she made a mental note to speak to Brady about appearances. He was a successful businessman — although it was a business Patience certainly didn't approve of — and he should present the best front possible to his customers. She shook her head. Men just didn't seem to understand that it was the small things in life that bore the most scrutiny.
But, she told herself with a small, satisfied smile, with her help, Brady would become the man she knew he was destined to be.
With that fond feeling still wrapped around her heart, she paused at the head of the stairs for a quick glance below. Both the men and the boy were still staring after her. They hadn't moved a muscle. Their features mirrored the same stunned expression she'd seen on them earlier and Patience thought the three of them looked as though they'd been turned into pillars of salt.
Briefly, she studied the face of the man she loved. A strong jaw, high cheekbones, and pale blue eyes that seemed to look inside a person to all their secrets. He stood well over six feet tall and his body was muscled without being overbearingly so. His black hair was too long and his knee-length black frock coat looked perfectly tailored.
Just looking at him was enough to quicken her heartbeat and make her pulse pound. Or it would have been if he — and the others — hadn't been staring at her as though she'd lost her mind.
Impatience flickered to life inside her. What in heaven was wrong with them?
"Is there a problem, gentlemen?" she asked abruptly.
Her voice broke whatever spell had been holding them in place. Instantly, Joe went back to the bar and Davey sprinted for the double doors. Only Brady held his ground. He didn't move. His expression didn't shift. He simply stared at her until, even from a distance, she felt the chill in his gaze and a shiver rippled along her spine in response.
She'd seen that look in his eyes before — many times, in fact. She'd watched him stare down an enemy with one glare from those clear blue eyes. She'd watched dangerous men walk a wide path around Brady Shaw. She knew that over the years, his reputation had grown to the point where the mere mention of his name was enough to bring conversations to a stuttering halt. She'd seen men and women cross the street to avoid making eye contact with him.
And in turn, she'd watched Brady become a man who didn't trust. Didn't love. She'd seen him pull back from the world around him until he was standing alone in the shadows. She'd watched him become a man who would risk his life before he would his heart.
But then, she told herself firmly, that was before he'd had her. Wasn't it? She frowned to herself. She couldn't seem to remember when he'd actually proposed to her. Odd, how that thought fluttered through her brain. Still, she shook her head. Her mind might be a little fuzzy about some things, but about this, she was certain. She loved Brady Shaw. And he loved her. And if he thought he could use that steelyeyed glare on Patience Goodfellow, then he had another think coming.
From downstairs somewhere came the sound of a door quietly shutting, and she knew that Joe had gone into the back room, leaving the two of them alone. Another moment or two of silence ticked by, though, before she said, "I'm not afraid of you, Brady," and her voice almost seemed to echo in the room.
His gaze narrowed slightly and she thought she saw him flinch at her words, but she might have been mistaken.
"And why's that?" he asked.
"Because I know you."
He crossed his arms over his chest, spread his feet wide apart, and lifted his chin. "Lady, if you really knew me, you'd be hightailing it out of here so fast, your skirt would catch fire."
Patience chuckled. Honestly, were other men really cowed by such posturing?
“That's what you'd like to think," she said, shaking her head. "But I know better."
Abruptly, he unfolded his arms only to slam both fists on his hips. "Lady, you don't know anything about me. I don't know you from Adam's great aunt. Now, it's clear to me that you're having some kind of trouble and I —“
"Want to help," she finished for him. Laying both hands on the banister in front of her, she leaned forward and met his gaze squarely. "Do you see, Brady? It's your instinct to help people in need."
He laughed and the booming sound would have been infectious if she hadn't detected the tinge of bitterness coloring it. A pang of sorrow jabbed at her heart then disappeared when he said, "You just proved me right, ma'am. You ask anyone in Fortune. They'll tell you the only person I'm interested in helping is me."
"They don't know you as I do."
He actually scowled at her and Patience was sure some people would have been terrified at the glint of mayhem in his eyes. She, however, was not.
"Look, what I was going to say," he said through gritted teeth, “was that though it's clear you're having some trouble, it's not my trou
ble — and I want you out of here."
"Nonsense," she said.
"What?"
"Nonsense," she repeated and straightened up from the banister. "You don't want me to leave or you never would have asked me to marry you."
"I didn't."
A brief jab of hurt stabbed at her. Why would he even pretend to deny their love? After all they'd been through together, after all they'd seen and felt and said, how could he look her in the eye and make such a wild claim? Was he getting cold feet? Was he beginning to doubt that he would be a good enough husband for her?
The hurt inside ebbed back slightly as warm affection filled her. How like him. To worry about pleasing her so much that he was willing to deny his own happiness.
Brady truly was a good-hearted man.
Still, though, it would be best if she let him know right away that she wouldn't stand for any more of this playacting. They were getting married and that was that!
"Pestilence," she snapped, waving one hand in complete dismissal of his argument. "Of course you proposed, else why would I be here?"
'"That's what I'm trying to find out!" he shouted.
One of her black eyebrows lifted into an arch. She felt it and didn't bother to squelch the motion. “That tone of voice doesn't intimidate me, Brady. You should understand that right away. When we're married —“
"We're not getting ma —“
"I will not be shouted at,” she continued, interrupting him cleanly as if he hadn't tried to get a word in at all.
He threw his hands high in obvious surrender and let them fall to slap against his thighs. Satisfaction pooled in the pit of her stomach, but Patience knew enough not to be smug.
"Well," she said, "now that that's settled, I'll just be going along to my room to freshen up."
"You don't have a room," he pointed out, but even his tone told her that he didn't expect her to believe him.
“I’ll be down directly," she called, already sailing off down the hall toward the last door on the right. “Then we can talk again."
Frustration mounting, Brady watched her go, reluctantly admiring the stiffness of her spine and the determination in her step. Just as he admired the way she'd faced him down without batting an eyelash. It had been a long time since anyone had stood up to him like that. Hell, he'd known grown men to back up and crawl away rather than make Brady Shaw angry.
But not her. Nope.
Most crazy folks he'd heard tell of spent their days cowering in a corner quietly crying. Disgusted, he told himself that it just figured he'd end up with the only crazy woman in the country who had more sand than most men he knew.
And since it didn't look like she was planning on leaving anytime soon, the question was, just what in the hell was he supposed to do with her? He scraped one hand across the back of his neck and cursed Lady Luck for deserting him. Brady watched Patience open a door and step inside and another question came to him. How did she know which was the only empty room upstairs?
She hadn't had to wander the hall, peeking into rooms. Hadn't had to hunt for it. She'd gone right to it. Like it was hers.
Brady frowned at the thought. Something was happening here, he could feel it. That old sixth sense that had always alerted him to danger was now pinging around inside him like a spent bullet bouncing off rock walls.
But he had no idea what to do about it. Shoving one hand through his hair, Brady turned his back on the crazy woman upstairs and walked across the room to the window overlooking Main Street. His mind raced, searching for a solution, but he kept coming up empty.
And that felt… strange.
Ever since he was a kid, he'd listened to what he'd long thought of as his "quiet voice." It had been there, inside him, guiding him, telling him what to do or where to go. And when he listened to it, things usually worked out. When he didn't, he'd found himself in piles of trouble.
Now, though, when he could really use that quiet voice, it wasn't there — for the first time in years.
And Brady wasn't sure which worried him more. The woman upstairs or the fact that that voice was gone — leaving him truly alone.
#
Davey straightened up the last of the mess that woman had left behind at the dressmaker's shop, then glanced at the wall clock hanging opposite him. It was still early enough that he might be able to get some work done down at the livery stable before it was time to head to the barber's to sweep up.
He jammed one hand into his pants pocket and jingled the few coins he'd earned the day before. Once he added them to the rest of his money in the secret box under the loose floorboard in the hotel, he'd count it all up again. Even though he knew to the penny how much he had, it gave him a good feeling to count the coins and make plans. He already had durn near four dollars saved up. And that was more cash money than his pa had ever had. Pretty soon, he'd have fifty whole dollars. And then maybe a hundred, although even the thought of such a huge sum was almost more than he could handle.
But it wasn't the money Davey longed for. It was the warmth and the food and the safety it would bring. One of these ol' days, he told himself, he'd be livin’ high off the hog. He'd have him a hotel room with a soft bed and a real feather pillow. And he'd wear nice clothes and he'd eat hot food every night, even if he wasn't hungry. And he'd have him a coat and some gloves and maybe even a fine hat and folks would look at him respectful. And he wouldn't ever have to be alone no more.
Davey sighed and smiled to himself at the wonderful dream. Someday, he thought, and that made the coldness in his hands a little easier to bear.
Swiping one hand under his nose, he set the broom into its corner and called out, “I'm leavin', Miss Bea."
At the back of the store, the droning whir and clank of the treadle sewing machine stopped briefly. "Did you sweep in the corners this time?" Beatrice Martel asked, her booming voice easily carrying into the main room.
Davey smiled and shook his head. She asked the same question every day and every day he gave her the same answer. "Yes, ma'am, I surely did."
“That's fine then, Davey," she said. "Your money's on the counter and, mind you, take that sandwich with you."
"Yes'm." He'd heard some men call Miss Bea a "harpy," whatever that was, but he figured it was just because they didn't know her good. She had some real strange notions about females and voting and such, but she'd always been good to him. Every morning, she set out a sandwich for him and he'd learned to make that one meal last until he could cadge a meal off the cook at the hotel later in the evening. And that meant he didn't have to spend many of his hard-won coins buying himself food.
Shuffling off toward the counter, he stopped suddenly when a glimmer of something shiny caught the corner of his eye. Frowning, he bent down for a closer look, then reached for the brass circle lying half-hidden behind a tower of empty hatboxes.
"Well, now," he muttered, turning the metal ring over in his hands. "Where'd this come from? And what in tarnation is it?” It was dull and kind of old looking, so he knew it didn't belong to Miss Bea. That woman was the scrubbingest woman he'd ever come across. If this belonged to her, Davey had no doubt that it would be shining as bright as the Pearly Gates.
Shrugging, he slung the circle over one arm and carried it with him to the counter. There, he pocketed the handful of coins, snatched up the sandwich waiting for him, and headed for the door. If he hurried, he'd be able to finish up at the livery stable in no time at all.
#
The bell over the door at the Mercantile clanged noisily as Patience stepped inside. She stood just beyond the threshold and let the door swing slowly shut behind her. Smiling to herself, she let her gaze sweep the darkened interior of the well-stocked store.
A counter ran the length of the far wall and on that counter were stacks of Levis and piles of shirts in all possible sizes. On the wall behind that counter hung holsters, suspenders, and anything else the proprietress could think to hook onto the wooden dowels pounded into the plank wall. Beneath th
ose items, boots were lined up in neat ranks, as if waiting to be marched into battle, and alongside those boots were stacked bolts of fabric in eye-catching colors and patterns. Shelves set up in the middle of the store, forming narrow aisles, held cookware, knives, guns, ammunition, spices, and all manner of tonics claiming to cure every illness ever suffered by mankind.
Just to her left was the main counter, on which sat a giant of a cash drawer, ostentatious in its gilt-edged glory. Alongside it were glass jars filled with enough candy to tempt any child with a sweet tooth. Behind the counter were narrow shelves holding spices in small glass bottles that shone brightly in the single spear of sunlight able to poke through the cluster of ladies' dresses hung across the front window. Barrels of flour, crackers, and pickles squatted in front of the counter, and behind it a huge woman stood, hands on hips, watching her with interest.
"Good morning," Patience said, smiling at Treasure Morgan, owner of, as she claimed, "the best stocked mercantile west of St. Louis."
"'Morning," she said, a wide smile creasing her round face as she reached to smooth her perfectly ironed and starched apron. "The stage in already?"
“The stage?” Patience asked.
“Don't you worry, miss," she said briskly. "I can have your order filled and you back on that stage before the driver gets his horses watered."
"I don’t understand."
"You didn't come in on the morning stage?"
"No," she said, "of course not. Treasure, what are you talking about?"
The woman's small blue eyes narrowed slightly. "You know me?"
Patience felt a whiplash of irritation. What was wrong with everyone today? Had she suddenly become invisible? Completely forgettable?
And then the answer came to her. Brady. This was his doing. For some reason, he'd obviously convinced Treasure to go along with his little game of pretending to not know her. Well, she would put a stop to that quickly enough.
"Now Treasure," she said, paying no attention to the woman's stern expression. She knew very well that the storekeeper didn't have a mean bone in her body. "I really don't have the time to play this little game with you."
When the Halo Falls, a heavenly romance Page 3