Forget Me Not (41 page)

A frown marred J.D.'s forehead. “He wasn't company.”

“Then it must have been business.”

“Yes, it was.”

Josephine didn't want to find out any more. She noticed a cooking area had been set up by the corral. A pot of water had been started over a fire. “Well, let's
not delay the party any more.” Her voice sounded cool and impartial to her ears. She held on to her purse as if it were her lifeline, and in the other hand she clutched the paper-wrapped candy. “I've never seen how
cajonies
are fixed.”

“All right . . .” J.D. said slowly, staring at her as if he were going to put a hole through her. “Let me get cleaned up first.”

•  •  •

Half an hour later, J.D. came out of the house with his clothes changed.

Boots sat on the porch dozing in one of the chairs.

As the screen slammed shut, Boots's head snapped up, and his eyes flew open wide.

“Good gawd!” he hollered, the snuffed-out cigar that had been clamped between his lips rolling across the porch.

J.D. put a hand on Boots's shoulder—the first intimate contact she'd ever seen pass between the two.

“Sorry about that, Boots,” J.D. said, then moved to the fire.

Her gaze lingered momentarily on Boots, who hadn't shrunk beneath the touch of his son's hand. The older man watched as J.D. strode toward the cooking area that had been set up.

Josephine's own eyes followed him, too. J.D. had rolled up the sleeves of a fresh blue calico shirt and had tied a white flour sack apron around his middle.

He looked impossibly handsome, with a new richness to his tan and with his hair wet at the ears and combed beneath the brim of his hat. She couldn't recall ever seeing him in the trousers he was wearing. They weren't denim, but a canvas type of duckcloth in a buttery shade like the color of biscuits when they turned out the way they were supposed to.

She tried to remain dispassionate. She would have to go through the motions of the next five days without breaking down.

He took up a big spoon, the kind she used for beef stew, and scooped up a heaping amount of lard. He flicked it into one of the frying pans, and the grease sizzled as it melted. A smile lit his mouth when he saw her, then he returned to the chore of cooking.

Josephine fought against the pangs of love that struck a chord within. She couldn't let herself be in love with him. She just couldn't!

J.D. kept at the frying for most of the supper, removing a pan full of the
cajonies
just as he put more in. The boys, Hazel included, ate them up as fast as J.D. could make them. Rio sat on a bale of hay, periodically asking her if she was sure she didn't want to try one. Each time she declined.

Rio had been excessively polite with her ever since the Wampum Saloon; his flirtations had ceased from that day on. She couldn't be sure why, but she was glad she didn't have to be uncomfortable around him any longer. Perhaps he realized that she wasn't interested in him that way.

Josephine passed on the supper, unable to eat no matter what the fare was. When the cowboys had all eaten their fill, they stayed in the yard to tell stories and drink the bottle of whiskey J.D. had uncorked for them. Even Hazel had lifted his glass when the bottle passed by. She felt guilty for having made him a part of her lie, but she couldn't help it.

Since he'd done the cooking, J.D. said he'd clean up.

“I could use some help, Jo,” he said as he stood on the porch.

She wanted to say no, but she caught herself nodding and going to him.

A single kerosene lamp lit the kitchen, and J.D. filled the dry sink. Neither was very talkative as they got the dishes going. After a while, the silence got the best of Josephine, and she said, “Clouds are gathering in the western sky,” trying to keep the sadness at bay in her tone. “Maybe it will rain tonight.”

“They weren't rain clouds.” J.D. dunked another plate into the rinse water. “Rain clouds are dark. Like the gray of a hot iron.”

“What are you going to do if it doesn't rain?” She laid the clean plate on the counter.

“We'll lose some cattle. It happens.”

“What about Freckles?”

“I don't know, Jo. Only the strong survive. You have to know that about this place. Life can be hard.”

She knew. Too well.

J.D. paused and let the forks in his grasp fall into the washtub. He grew still, then he faced her and dried off his hands.

“What's the matter, Jo? You've been acting strangely ever since you came back from town.”

“I'm just tired is all,” she begged off.

He gazed at her for so long, she lowered her lashes after feeling her eyes fill with tears.

“I planned on doing this another way,” he said softly. “A better place than the kitchen.” A chorus of the cowboys' laughter from the yard drifted through the open door to the house. “A lot quieter, too.”

He put his hands on her waist and brought her close. He smelled pleasantly of soap and campfire smoke. She wanted to lean into him. But she couldn't move. She could barely breathe. Somewhere in the recesses of her mind, this scene made sense. She could see where it was leading, hear what he was going to say. No matter how much she wanted to stop him before he began, she couldn't tell him not to speak.

“Jo . . .” He caught her chin with his damp fingers. “This isn't how it ought to be when a man says what I've got to say, but I'm not much good at the kinds of things you deserve, like flowers and such. I expect you know that already about me.

“I'm just an ordinary man. Nothing fancy. Not like you're used to. All I have is what you see. Nothing much in the bank by way of money. It's all here. In the place, the cattle.

“It's a good way of life, but it's a hard one. It takes a special kind of woman to fit in.”

She could barely meet his eyes. Those wonderful eyes of his, so soft and sincere. Her own were filling with tears, and her vision clouded.

“I didn't think that you could when I first saw you, but now I know that you can.” He squeezed her waist a little, his fingers slightly trembling against her. “I don't know how to say this, other than to come right out with it. I love you, Jo. Will you marry me?”

Josephine couldn't keep her tears from spilling any longer. They fell down her cheeks, and she took in gulps of air to calm herself.

“I . . . can't,” she said on a shaky breath. “I'm sorry. I can't marry you.”

She broke free of him and went into her room, blindly reaching for her purse. She fumbled inside for her handkerchief. Her calling card case caught on the lace edge and came out with the square cloth. The ticket spilled out with the gold case and tumbled over her knees. Both fell to the floor, the cards scattering across the bare wood.

When she turned, J.D. stood in the doorway.

“What's that?” His gaze was fixed on the train ticket.

“I'm leaving this Thursday for San Francisco.”

“You went into Sienna today to buy a ticket.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because you don't need me anymore. You've hired another cook.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

She stared at her ticket on the floor. “That man who was here earlier was answering your advertisement.”

“He was, but I didn't hire him.”

Her heartbeat tripped. “You didn't?”

“Why should I hire him when I already have a cook?” He smoothed his hair back with his fingers. “I
was hoping you'd stay . . . and after we were married, I'd hire another cook then.”

Josephine tried to hide her confusion. “But I thought . . .” Her words trailed as she watched J.D.

He slowly bent to pick up one of the cards that had landed faceup. His eyes narrowed as he read the engraving set in the pearl-white paper.

“Is this you?” His head lifted. “You're Mrs. Hugh Whittaker?” he asked, incredulous. Then, with more accusation than statement, he said, “You're married.”

Her voice wavered as a tear spilled into her lap. “I was.”

“Was?” His brow shot up.

The cold truth touched her lips; then, for the first time, she openly admitted, “I'm divorced.”

•  •  •

J.D. felt as if he'd been kicked in the gut twice by a colt. The air went out of his lungs, and it took him a minute to recover. Not only had she bought a ticket to leave him when he'd been making plans for her to stay, but she had been hiding who she really was. He could only deal with one thing at a time.

Divorce.

It wasn't common. In fact, his only knowledge of one being granted was a case of adultery.

If he'd been thinking clearly, he would have immediately acquitted Josephine of any wrongdoing. She had admitted to having only one lover. That had to have been her husband.

But several seconds passed before this sank in. It was too late for him to erase his tightly strained expression. She saw what he was feeling. A combination of twisted anger and an undertone of chilling contempt.

He didn't really mean either of them, but they'd been his first reactions.

“What happened?” he asked, setting the name cards on her washstand. He stood back a few feet
from the bed. Far enough so that he could lean against the door frame. He had to put some distance between them so he could think while she talked.

His senses were still tangled up in the sweet scent of her when he'd held her and the softness of her beneath his hands.

Josephine wiped her eyes with her handkerchief, then set it in her lap. “I was married for almost six years.”

That didn't matter to him. “Who asked for the divorce?”

“My husband.”

The answer wrapped around him and squeezed. “The grounds?”

“Infidelity.” She spoke the word coolly and with detachment. She rigidly held her tears in check now, though her eyes were rimmed with moisture. “It was a cruel lie.”

J.D. was assailed by desolate bitterness. He believed her. But that didn't help him accept the situation. He didn't know how he felt about divorce.

By outward appearances, Boots and Eugenia were divorced, or should have been. They neither resided together nor spoke to each other. Why hadn't they put a legal end to their sham of a marriage? He couldn't be sure. In all likelihood, it was Eugenia's faith in the church.

J.D. shoved his hands in his pockets to keep from reaching out to Jo and taking her in his arms. He was mixed up. His pride was wounded; his heart was broken. “Why didn't you tell me before?”

She leveled her eyes on his, lifted her quivering chin. “Would you have hired a divorcée?”

He wasn't sure. Probably not. Just because his way of thinking could be narrow at times. He was of the belief that a person only married once; and when two people said “I do,” that meant weathering out whatever storm clouded the horizon. If the marriage
couldn't withstand the turbulence, then it hadn't been strong to begin with.

He'd seen this with Eugenia and Boots. They had married for social gain. Never mind that they were entirely unsuited for each other. J.D. resented Boots's unwillingness to bend and give; and deep down, he resented Eugenia for not giving Boots a chance in Wyoming.

His parents' bad marriage had been enough to make him look with open eyes when he fell in love. It had made him cautious and careful about his feelings for Jo. But for all his prudence, he'd been caught blindfolded.

“Why did you marry him?” J.D. couldn't bring himself to say the name of her husband, but it echoed in his mind.
Hugh.
Now he knew whom she'd been talking about that first morning he'd awakened her. The name sounded pompous. J.D. hated him for that alone.

“I was eighteen when we met.” She toyed with the frills on the edge of her handkerchief. “He was sixteen years older than myself, but he was nonetheless dashing. It was his maturity that attracted me to him. But it was my money that attracted him to me,” she said with a chilling indifference that numbed the room.

J.D. remained quiet, letting her take her time. He didn't know what to say in any regard. He'd figured her to have come from a well-to-do household, but he hadn't estimated how lavish her life had been.

“At the time of our wedding, he'd been constructing a home on Fifth Avenue. Its construction had fallen behind, until it seemed that none of the carpenters showed anymore. But after we were married, the house was rapidly completed. I didn't question him about it. That was the Christmas my mother took ill and died.

“There were many financial dealings that Hugh was involved in, mine as well. As was the norm of
marriages, my affairs were now handled by my husband. I knew I had a considerable dowry, but the exact amount was unknown to me. Through investments my father made on my behalf, I had an income of my own which was to be used as I wished. I also had a household account, but money never crossed my hands. I had no idea how much I was allowed, but it never seemed to exceed my limit at the shops.”

J.D. had credit at Klauffman's, but he paid it off each season. He always knew what his running bill was and only bought what he needed. Not what he wanted. There were a great many things he wanted, but they were too precious to spend hard-earned money on.

He was beginning to see that Josephine could never be happy with him. He'd been dreaming when he thought she could. She'd been raised for finer things. All he could give her was simplicity.

“During the first two years of our marriage, Hugh was never with me. We went to parties, but he never stayed by my side. He had his clique of friends, and I had mine. There was never any chance for us to . . .” Her voice faded. “We never had children.

“For my twenty-first birthday, he threw a grand party, and I had thought . . . hoped . . . Hugh loved me . . . a little. He didn't. He never did.”