"I appreciate your concern," Lee replied, "but I'm doing what I think is best."
"What about what I think? Couldn't you have consulted me about this? Or don't my opinions matter to you?"
Lee sucked in a deep breath, then counted to ten, and slowly let it out. He didn't appreciate her sarcastic attitude or her "schoolteacher" tone of voice—not when he was trying his utmost to hang on to what was left of his patience. He sighed tiredly. "What do you want from me, Mary? A promise to consult you before making any decisions in the future?"
"That would be a nice start," Mary replied sweetly. Too sweetly.
"Fine!" Lee raised his voice, then quickly lowered it as Maddy squirmed restlessly in his lap. "I promise to consult you before I make any major decisions in the future. Anything else?" He shifted his weight on the uncomfortable seat and attempted to straighten his long legs in the limited space between benches.
Mary stared at her husband. He was way beyond exhausted. She noted that his gray eyes were streaked with red and underscored by dark circles. She saw the tired lines bracketing his mouth and the golden stubble marking his cheeks and chin, and was tempted to postpone her questions and doubts, but she couldn't. She had tied her future to this man—this virtual stranger, for better or for worse, and they might as well work out some ground rules before they reached Denver. "You promise to consult with me before we make any major decisions," she corrected him in her best schoolteacher tone, "and you promise to explain why we couldn't spend the night at the ranch and get a fresh start in the morning like any sensible family would."
Lee snorted. Damn. He had forgotten how tenacious Mary Alexander could be. She wanted—no, demanded—an explanation. Well, hell, the least he could do was give her one, whether she liked it or not. "If we had stayed at the ranch, where would we have slept?"
"In my house," Mary answered confidently. "I have my own little cabin close to the schoolhouse."
Lee was familiar with the layout of the Trail T ranch. He had been there once before at another wedding breakfast— that one honoring Tessa Roarke's marriage to David Alexander. And although Mary didn't look like any schoolteacher he had ever had, Lee knew her cabin was located next to the schoolhouse because she taught the children on the ranch how to read and write and cipher in three or four different languages.
"How many bedrooms do you have?" Lee asked.
"One," she answered.
"For the four of us?" he nodded toward Judah, then glanced down at Maddy.
Mary looked at him. She hadn't really thought about Judah and Maddy's sleeping arrangements—only hers and Lee's. "No," she admitted. "But Maddy and Judah would have been welcome to stay with Reese and Faith and the girls."
"What about us, Mary?" Lee's voice, deep and sensual, sent a ripple of awareness through her. "Where would we sleep?"
"In my room," she answered softly, hesitantly.
Lee chuckled unexpectedly, then shook his head. "I may be tired, Mary, but I'm not that tired." Didn't she realize he was trying to be considerate? Didn't she understand the danger of inviting him to spend the night in her bed? He had willpower, but he wasn't a bloody plaster saint. He would make a mockery of their agreement to keep the marriage chaste before the bedroom door closed, and then her chance for future happiness with the man of her choice would evaporate like morning dew in the sunshine.
"You could have slept on the sofa," Mary suggested.
"If I'm going to be uncomfortable, I prefer to spend the night on a hard bench in a noisy train with a group of strangers. Thank you." That wasn't entirely true, but Lee didn't think he should elaborate on how difficult it would be for him to sleep on the sofa in the living room of her tiny cabin knowing she was tucked into a nice warm bed one door away wearing one of those pretty white lace and cotton nightgowns he liked—or nothing at all.
"We could have borrowed Reese's Pullman car and traveled in comfort," Mary pointed out. "Reese wouldn't have minded. Pelham and I were going to borrow it for the trip to San Francisco anyway."
Lee shifted Maddy's slight weight on his lap, then turned a bit so he could look at Mary. "That's precisely why I refused Reese's offer. I've followed in Pelham's footsteps enough for one day."
Mary sat back against the hard bench, stung by Lee's sullen announcement. "What is that supposed to mean?"
"It means I married his intended bride, ate the wedding breakfast prepared for him, and played host to his wedding guests. But I draw the line at sleeping in his bed or wearing his damned nightshirt or any of the rest of the clothes he left in Reese's railroad car."
"How did you know about the bed or his clothes?" Mary was surprised. No one at the ranch had even so much as breathed a mention of Pelham Everhardt Cosgrove HI in her hearing since the ceremony.
"I accidentally overheard Faith tell Reese he needed to send someone down to the depot to pack up the things you had laid out for your honeymoon—including your new white lace peignoir and his striped nightshirt—and have Cosgrove's bed dismantled and sent back to his house. "
"So we're sitting here on our wedding night keeping watch while Maddy and Judah sleep." Mary managed a small wistful smile.
"Yeah," Lee agreed. "It's not much of a wedding night for you."
"Or for you."
"No, I guess not." Lee winced as Maddy sighed in her sleep, flung her arm out, and hit him in the center of his chest. He shifted on the seat again. "But, then, I wasn't expecting one tonight. You were."
Mary blushed and reached for the little girl in an attempt to cover her embarrassment. "Here, let me hold her while you rest your arms."
"You don't mind?"
"Of course not," Mary replied as he settled Maddy into her arms. "I like children."
"I'm very glad to hear it," Lee said, his voice deep and husky and full of meaning.
Mary's cheeks pinkened once again at the look in his gray eyes. She struggled for some way to break the uncomfortable silence. "Speaking of children…"
"Yes?" Lee raised his eyebrow and lowered his voice suggestively.
Mary focused her gaze on the child in her lap and cleared her suddenly dry throat before she continued her train of thought, "Tessa told me that when she saw Maddy walk into the church she thought you had found Lily Catherine."
"Yeah, I know," Lee answered.
"Was she very disappointed?" Mary asked, knowing Tessa and David were devastated.
"She hid it very well," Lee said, "but I could tell she was upset."
"Finding Lily for David is very important to Tessa. She and David have adopted Coalie as their son, but they want a big family and although it's still early in the marriage, Tessa hasn't had any luck conceiving a child of her own."
"Not from lack of trying, I understand," Lee commented.
"No, not from lack of trying." Mary couldn't control the wavering note in her voice or the way the blood rushed to her cheeks every time Lee mentioned children. "In fact, my mother thinks that may be the problem. She thinks Tessa and David are trying too hard to have a baby when they should just relax and let nature take its course."
Lee had to fight to keep from leering at his bride. "Is it possible to try too hard?"
"My mother thinks so. She thinks Tessa's is working too hard to make things perfect for David and Coalie. And since it's taking you longer to find Lily than she expected, Tessa is wearing herself and David out trying to have a child of their own. My mother thinks that, deep down, Tessa feels she has to repay David for saving her life."
"I didn't hear David complaining."
"And you never will. He loves Tessa. And she loves him. But she's so stubborn, so independent, and so conscious of the fact that she came to David with nothing but Coalie and the clothes on their backs. It's that Irish pride of hers." Mary turned to look at Lee. "You've got to locate Lily Catherine before Tessa becomes obsessed with producing a daughter for David because my mother says that just makes things worse."
"I see." Lee understood Tessa's obsession. He had spent the be
tter part of the last four months in Washington searching. Why? Because Tessa had asked him to do something no one else could do, just as she had demanded he hurry to Cheyenne and save Mary.
Mary. Lee stole another glance at his wife as she shifted on the hard train seat.
"What happened in Washington?"
"Huh?" He hadn't been paying attention to her words, only the way her lips formed them.
"I confess to being as curious as Tessa is to learn the details of your trip to Washington. What happened? Or are you allowed to discuss it with people other than your clients?"
He debated for a moment on how to respond. Much of his report was classified, but Mary was his wife. And somehow, Lee knew he could trust her. He wanted to trust her. "Senator Warner Millen died unexpectedly."
"What?" Mary breathed the question, clearly surprised. She knew the senator was a vital link in locating Lily Catherine. What would happen to Lee's case now? What would happen to Lily? "How?"
Maddy whimpered in her sleep and Lee watched as Mary automatically redistributed the little girl's weight, so that Maddy lay with her head pillowed on Mary's breast.
"Mrs. Millen's official statement says he died of heart failure," Lee answered calmly.
"But you don't believe her." It wasn't a question, but a statement of fact.
"Well." Lee didn't bother to mask the cynical note in his voice. "His heart definitely stopped beating. But only after he put his gun to his head and pulled the trigger."
Mary gasped. "He killed himself?"
"Unofficially."
"May he burn in hell," Mary fervently prayed.
Lee chuckled. "My sentiments exactly. But I thought you'd be a bit more charitable"—he teased—"you being such a lady and all."
"After what he did to David?" Mary responded indignantly. "Senator Millen ruined David's promising career in Washington with a pack of lies told by his frightened sixteen-year-old daughter! And then, when his daughter needed him most, our noble Senator Millen disowned her and sent her away. And when his only child died in childbirth, did the almighty senator rush to claim his grandchild? No! He abandoned her, his own flesh and blood." Mary turned her fiery gaze on Lee. "Yes, I hope Senator Millen burns in hell for what he did to David, but mostly for what he did to his daughter and granddaughter. A man like that doesn't deserve a family."
Lee couldn't take his gaze off his wife. When riled, Mary displayed all the ferocity of a lioness defending her cubs. He stroked one side of his mustache with the tip of his finger. "Your family means a lot to you, doesn't it?"
"I love them," she said simply. "My family means everything to me."
Lee nodded, becoming more satisfied with his choice and more comfortable with Tabitha's ultimatum with each passing moment.
Mary waited for Lee to say something. But he didn't, so she asked a question of her own. "What about you?"
Lee gifted her with his innocent expression and a lopsided smile. "What about me?"
"Well, I know you met David and Reese during the war, that the three of you became friends and sometimes worked together for Pinkerton. I know you remained with the agency after David and Reese resigned and are still an operative. And I know you've had at least two partners— one was Tessa's brother, Eamon Roarke, and the other was Maddy's father." Mary brushed Madeline's dark curls off the little girl's flushed cheeks as she spoke. "But other than this, I know nothing about you. Where's your family? Where are you from? Do you have any brothers or sisters? Nieces or nephews?" She sighed. "You're my husband and I don't even know your birthday."
"February sixteenth in the year of our lord, eighteen hundred and forty," Lee answered.
"Then you're—"
"I was thirty-three on my last birthday."
"I am a teacher," she reminded him. "I know my arithmetic."
Lee grinned. "It's late, and you've had a rather trying day. I thought I would save you the trouble of calculating my age."
"What about the rest of my questions?" Mary wanted to know.
"I was born and raised in Washington City. My mother died when I was eleven. My father lives in Texas. I have no nieces or nephews because I'm an only child." He shrugged his shoulders as if to indicate that there was nothing more to tell.
Mary shuddered. She had grown up with such a large family that she couldn't imagine not having them around her. "What was your mother's name?"
"Jane Maclntyre," Lee told her. "And my father's name is Patrick Kincaid. My mother was Scots and my father is Irish, and I was named after both my grandfathers. Liam Gordon Maclntyre Kincaid."
"Do you see your father often?"
"No," Lee answered abruptly. "I don't."
"You don't take the time to visit him in Texas when you're working out west?" Mary pressed the issue.
"No."
"Ever?"
"Never." Lee closed the subject of Patrick Kincaid. "What about you?" he asked.
"You know my whole family," Mary answered.
"I don't know your birthday," Lee said softly.
"May tenth."
Lee smiled at her reticence to reveal her age. He studied the soft skin on her face and neck and guessed her to be in her early twenties. She need not worry about aging: She had that timeless quality about her. Mary would be as beautiful at eighty as she had been at eighteen. But he couldn't resist the urge to tease her. "What year?"
"None of your business," she replied sharply.
"So you won't tell me your age." He pretended to ponder the topic. "That can only mean one thing."
"What?"
"You're older than me."
"I am not!"
"Prove it," he challenged.
"May tenth," Mary told him. "In the year of our lord eighteen hundred and forty…"
"Yes?" He cocked his right eyebrow.
"Four," Mary ground out.
Lee choked back a laugh. "That makes you twenty-nine."
"Twenty-eight," she corrected. "I won't be twenty-nine until May tenth."
"Which is what? Two weeks away?" He glanced at Mary's rigid posture. "At least that explains it."
"What?" she demanded.
"Pelham Everhardt Cosgrove III." Lee met her dark-eyed gaze. "Now I know why you were in such a rush to marry him."
"I wasn't in a rush to marry him. He was in a rush to marry me. But you're never going to stop reminding me about Pelham, are you?" Mary asked. "You're never going to let me forget that he left me standing at the altar—that he never gave me the opportunity to explain." They wouldn't be able to build much of a marriage if Lee kept reminding her of her public humiliation for the next thirty or forty years.
"I'm not throwing Cosgrove in your face," Lee said.
"Really?"
"Really. I just wondered why you chose a tenderfoot like him when it was obvious to everyone in town that he could never be the kind of husband you need."
"Such as?" Mary was prepared to do battle.
But Lee Kincaid surprised her with his answer. "A man strong enough to let you be yourself. A man who wouldn't try to mold you into something you're not or force you to deny what you are."
"He couldn't force me to do anything."
"No," Lee agreed, "Maybe you're right. He was too weak to force you. Maybe he simply planned to wear you down over the next few years until you became what he wanted his wife to be."
"And what do you think he wanted me to become?" Mary couldn't contain her curiosity.
"A very pale imitation of the woman you already are. He didn't appreciate you, Mary, and because he didn't appreciate you, Cosgrove could never be the husband you deserve."
His answer took her breath away. "What about you, Liam Gordon Maclntyre Kincaid?" She wiggled closer to him on the hard bench.
Lee recognized the look in her dark eyes and wanted very much to kiss her. Wanted to prove what kind of husband he could be, but he didn't. "Me?" he asked, all innocence once again. "I'm your temporary husband, ma'am. Until you find someone better."
Ma
ry wondered suddenly how he could possibly think someone better would ever come along.
"But I promise you something, Mary," Lee continued.
"What's that?" she asked breathlessly.
"I'll kill the next man who makes you cry," he solemnly swore.
Mary squeezed her eyes shut and rested her chin on the top of Maddy's head, turning her face to hide the tears welling up in her eyes lest Lee see her crying and feel compelled to join the long line of suicides petitioning Saint Peter for the opportunity to pass through the pearly gates.
* * *
Chapter Eight
The train whistle sounded five miles outside the town limits of Utopia, Colorado, just moments after sunrise.
Mary awoke with a start to find herself resting against Lee's upper arm. Remembering that she had been holding Maddy, Mary instinctively tightened her grasp on the little girl. Her arms were empty and Mary cried out in alarm. "Maddy!"
"It's all right, Mary. I've got her." Lee shifted from his uncomfortable position against the window, then rotated his right shoulder to relieve the tingling pins and needles sensation. He turned a bit in the seat and Mary saw that he held the sleeping Madeline cradled in one arm against his wide chest. He stared at Mary for a moment before he smiled at her.
The tender look in his gray eyes unnerved her. "What is it?" she asked.
Lee reached up and gently rubbed at the pink and white indentations on Mary's cheek. "You have wrinkle marks from my coat on your face."
"I'm sorry," she apologized. "I meant to stay awake."
"That's all right. You were tired, you needed to sleep."
Mary stared at her husband and events of the previous day—her wedding day—came rushing back. "What about you?" The sight of him nearly brought tears to her eyes. He sat with his shoulders hunched forward, his large body practically folded to fit into the space between the window and the seat in front of them. "Did you get any sleep at all?"
"An hour or so, here and there."
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