A Sensible Arrangement (18 page)

“‘And Isaac brought her into his mother Sarah's tent—'” the minister's voice broke through her thoughts—“‘and took Rebekah, and she became his wife; and he loved her.'”

And he loved her.

The words echoed in her ears. Isaac and Rebekah were strangers to one another—arranged in a marriage not of their own doing—yet Isaac loved her.

Could Jake love me
?

And what if he did? Could she set aside her fears and share
the truth with him? Could she tell him about the ranch and give him the choice of having his dream or remaining in Colorado?

I can'
t. I already know what he would choose
.

She bit her lip and stared down at her gloved hands. If not for that stupid ranch, she wouldn't have to feel all this guilt. There would be no chance of love between them until she was free of that ranch. A thought came to mind: She didn't necessarily need to sell the place. She could just deed it over to William and Hannah. It had been their land to begin with.

She relaxed a bit. She could tell Jake the property reverted back to them—that she'd felt honor bound to return it after Thomas died. But how would she explain the delay? Maybe she could tell him that she hadn't been ready to move forward with her life, and they had been gracious enough to let her remain on the ranch. That made perfect sense. They were that kind of people.

Realizing she was once again spinning lies to save herself, Marty pushed the thoughts aside. There would be plenty of time to figure out the details later. No sense in using God's house for such underhanded purposes. She looked at Jake, and he turned to her and smiled.

She smiled in return. Maybe they
could
have a real marriage.

“I heard someone at the door,” Marty mentioned to Brighton as he entered the dining room.

“Yes, madam. A gentleman arrived to speak with Miss Chesterfield.”

“Alice?” Marty put down her coffee. “Did he say why?” Alice had told Marty that she had no friends in the area—that she had led a very reclusive life after her mother had gone. Perhaps the bank had sent someone to offer her compensation.

“No, madam. He only said it was of some urgency.”

Marty pushed away from the table, and Brighton hurried to assist her from the chair. “I think I'd better check on her. Where are they now?”

“I put them in the formal sitting room.”

Marty nodded. “Thank you.”

She made her way to the pocket doors of the front sitting room in time to hear the man speak. “You'd better figure out where they are—unless you want a scar on the other cheek.”

Marty's blood ran cold. She hurried from the hall and went to where she had hidden her shotgun. Cocking it open, she checked the load. Both barrels were loaded and ready.
She started to snap it closed, then thought better of it. With a smile, she draped the open barrel over her arm, hoping to look casual but ready for action. The man might find it easy to intimidate Alice, but let him mess with a Texan and see what he thought.

Walking on tiptoes toward the large sitting room, Marty listened for the sound of conversation. Voices could be heard in muffled tones, though she couldn't quite make out what was being said.

She eased herself into position by the open pocket doors and waited for a moment.

“I told you,” Alice said, sounding terrified, “I have no idea what you're talking about. My father was robbed that night and everything was taken. Everything he had from the bank was in that satchel.”

“I don't believe you. See, I happen to know what was in that satchel. Or rather, what was supposed to be in there.”

Alice gasped. “So you were one of the men who attacked us?”

“Not exactly.” He laughed, and the sound made Marty's blood boil. “I'm the one who hired them. I happen to know that your father should have been carrying a large envelope that night. It would have had the bank's seal on it.”

“I never saw anything like that. My father never included me in his business. He worked at the bank and that's all I ever knew.” She sounded terror-stricken.

Marty could stand it no longer. “Oh! Excuse me,” she said, entering the room. “I heard voices and couldn't imagine who it could be.” She watched as the man darted a glance at the shotgun and then back to her face. He smiled as if knowing full well what Marty was up to.

“Ma'am.” He nodded his head.

Marty looked to Alice. “You have a job to do. Don't let me catch you in such idleness again.” She turned away from the man and gave Alice a wink. “You don't want to lose your position, do you?”

“No, Mrs. Wythe.” Alice gave a curtsy and hurried from the room. “I'm sorry, Mrs. Wythe.”

Marty snapped the shotgun closed and looked back at the man with a smile. “I do hope you will forgive me, but we have a busy schedule today. My maid isn't able to receive visitors on working days, Mr. . . . ?”

He gave her a smile that suggested he was less than impressed with her game. “Call me Smith. Mr. Smith.”

“Of course,” Marty said, not trying to hide the sarcasm from her tone. “Well, Mr. Smith, unless there's something I can help you with, I'll show you out. . . .” She let her words trail.

The man looked at her cradling the shotgun and nodded. “I suppose it can wait. I can catch up with her another time.”

“I think not,” Marty said, the smile never leaving her face. “I'm rather possessive of my help. I think it might be better if you were to leave Alice alone. Otherwise . . .”

“Are you threatening me if I don't?” he asked, narrowing his eyes.

“Did I say something threatening?” She batted her eyes in the same southern flirtatious style she'd been taught in finishing school. “Goodness, but I can't think of why you should feel threatened by little ol' me.” She let her drawl thicken. “Why, I just never meant to suggest anything of the kind.”

He laughed, but his eyes remained fixed and then they narrowed. “Of course not.”

Marty sobered and pointed toward the door with the shotgun. “I'm glad we understand each other. Now if you'll be so kind as to leave.”

“You might as well know, Mrs. Wythe, that this isn't the end of it. I intend to speak to Miss Chesterfield again. I've looked long and hard for her. Sent my men around to watch your place and her comings and goings. She has something that belongs to me.”

“Alice is my employee, and she came here with nothing but the clothes on her back. If I see you or your men on my property again, I'll arrange a reception for you.” She glanced at the shotgun. “And that isn't a threat—it's a promise. See, I'm not easily intimidated—unlike Alice.”

“She knows what I'm after,” he said, taking a step toward Marty. “And I will have it.”

She raised the shotgun just enough to remind him of its presence. For just a moment, Marty thought he might charge her—and if that happened, she knew she'd have to make good her threat. But just then another voice called out.

“Miz Wythe, Mr. Brighton said you needed to see me.”

It was Samson. For all the time she'd been married to Jake, Marty had never once seen Samson inside the house.

The stranger stopped midstep. His gaze traveled the full length of the hulking man. He looked back to Marty and gave her a knowing nod. “Good day, Mrs. Wythe. I will speak to you again . . . no doubt.”

Marty didn't relax until the man was out of her house and on the back of his horse. From the porch, she watched him trot the mount down the street and wondered silently whether she'd handled things poorly. She had wanted the man to feel threatened, but she certainly hadn't wanted to
stir him to take further action. In any case, the man was clearly an enemy now.

She went back into the house and found Samson gone but Alice waiting for her. One look at the girl told Marty she'd overheard the entire exchange between herself and Mr. Smith.

“I'm so sorry, Mrs. Wythe. I'm so sorry. I had Mr. Brighton fetch Samson. I hope it was the right thing to do.”

Marty shook her head and lowered the shotgun. “It was exactly right, but never mind that. What in the world was he after?”

“Some papers—papers that apparently weren't in my father's satchel when we were robbed. He admitted to sending the men to attack us.” Tears welled in the younger woman's eyes. “I'm so afraid. I don't know what he's talking about. When I recovered from my wounds, everything we owned was auctioned off to pay for my father's burial and my hospital fees. I was still in the hospital when they sold the house. There were only a few things that I even managed to hang on to, thanks to my friends, and nothing I have was of any value. Certainly there was no envelope of papers like he's after.”

“Well, from now on, you stay close to me. I don't want you going out alone. If you need to go somewhere, I'll send Samson along with you. Folks will think twice about bothering you with him at your side.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Wythe.” Alice looked around the foyer and whispered, “Marty.”

Marty embraced the girl, letting the shotgun dangle at her side. “I won't see you intimidated by him or anyone else.”

“I should have told you.” Alice moved away from Marty and shook her head. “I'm sorry.”

“Told me what?” Marty asked.

Alice wrung her hands. “I . . . well . . . there's been someone trying to get to me since the attack. They told me at the hospital that someone had come there searching for me, but the doctors wouldn't allow them to see me—especially since when they first arrived I was still unconscious. Then later, when I was staying with friends, they told me someone had come there looking for me. It just so happened that I was gone that day, but . . . well . . . the men who showed up threatened my friends. It frightened them so bad that they decided to leave Denver altogether rather than deal with that again. They figured I would go with them, but I reminded them that whoever it was would just follow, so I figured it was best to stay and let them escape.”

“Well, Mr. Smith is going to find himself outnumbered here. You're safe with us. I grew up fending off Comanche and other marauders. You learn to be tough when you live out in the open range. In Texas you often have to be on your guard. That man doesn't worry me,” she said gruffly. But truth be told, Marty had seen an evil glint in his eye that suggested he wasn't easily deterred from his plans.

“Will you tell Mr. Wythe?”

Marty nodded. “I think that would be best. He should know that the folks sneaking around the place were looking for you rather than stuff to steal.”

Alice nodded. “I hope he won't be mad at me. I don't want to lose my position here.”

“You won't. I believe he'll be just as protective of you as I am.”

“He what?” Jake asked, his eyes narrowed.

“He threatened Alice . . . and in a way, me,” Marty told
her husband later that day. “He told me he would get what he wanted.”

“I don't like this one bit. I wish you knew where he came from. I'd like to pay him a visit.” Jake looked at Alice. “Do you have any idea who he is?”

Alice shook her head. “He didn't give me a name, sir.”

“He told me his name was Smith, but I think that's just made up,” Marty added.

Alice stood visibly trembling. “He just started in on me. Kept saying how the punishment I'd already been dealt would be nothing compared to what was coming if I didn't cooperate.”

“And you know nothing about what he's after?”

Again Alice shook her head. “He said it was a large envelope with papers, and that it had been sealed by the bank. I know from things my father told me that they only did that on very important dealings. If it was something that needed to go from the bank to the person involved without anyone else seeing the material, it would be sealed.”

Jake nodded, already familiar with the process. He ran a hand through his hair. The thought of someone coming around with malicious intent caused him to feel more than a little agitation. The very idea that someone would send men to scout out his house and threaten his staff and wife . . . “I'll speak to the police about this. Perhaps they can help.”

“They weren't of any help to my friends,” Alice said bitterly. “I doubt they'd be any more help now.”

“Well, you didn't have the backing of people like Morgan and Keystone. I do,” Jake assured her. “We'll get to the bottom of this. I will personally go and speak with Mr. Morgan and find out what was in that envelope your father should have been carrying.”

Two days later, Jake had his opportunity when Morgan appeared at the bank with an invitation for the Wythes to join the Morgans and others for a celebration.

“Mrs. Morgan delights in throwing me birthday parties, and she wanted to make certain you and Mrs. Wythe could attend. Now, there aren't to be any gifts, of course. Just the company of good friends for a nice lawn party.”

“We'd be honored to attend,” Jake said, having little interest yet knowing that if he accommodated the man he would be more likely to get some reasonable response to his questions. “I wonder, though, before you leave, could I have a word?”

Mr. Morgan nodded and took a seat. “If this is about your vice-presidency, be assured it is moving ever closer to fruition.”

Jake moved to close his office door. “No, it's not about that at all.” He came back to his desk and sat. “As you know, my wife's maid was the daughter of your former bank manager, Mr. Chesterfield.”

“Yes. Yes, I know that. Is your wife pestering you again to have the bank offer the girl some form of reparation?”