Marna (23 page)

"Yeah, I been thinkin' about that, too. For her sake,
I wish Matt Barton would be the one to leave these
hills."

"It would sure solve our problem. In the meantime
we'll just have to rely on Marna havin' some good common sense and realizin' that he's not for her."

Hertha pulled the scarf tighter around her head.
"With both of us workin' on her, maybe we can wear
her down. And knowin' Matt, it's time he pulled some
fool trick to make it easier for us."

Hertha squeezed Jake's arm. "You go on and tell Betsy our plans, and keep me informed about everything. You can send me a message by any of the Indians around here. We're on good terms."

She hurried off then, and Jake continued on, eager to
start fulfilling his dream.

Hertha hurried around a bend in the trail and ran full
tilt into Matt. As he quickly reached out to keep her
from falling, her mind raced, wondering whether he had
overheard any of her and Egan's talk. It was important
that the word of their leaving didn't leak out and get
back to Emery. Still, maybe it was good if Matt did
hear them. Matt might straighten out if he thought he
was truly losing Marna. She still felt that the man cared
for her granddaughter.

"You scared me half to death, Matt," Hertha
barked. Eying him suspiciously, she asked sharply,
"What are you doin' here? Are you following' me?"

Matt gave her a puzzled look. "How can I be followin' you when you're comin' from the other direction?"

Confusion swept over Hertha's face. He had her
there. Drat it, she'd spoiled any chance of finding out if
he had overheard anything.

"Yes, that's right, ain't it?" she muttered weakly.
Peering up at him, she asked, "Where you goin'?"

"To the post."

Hertha's brown eyes kindled. She would bait him a
bit, she decided. See if she could rile him. When Matt
was real angry, he couldn't always hide his feelings.

Her sly eyes watched him as she asked, "You gonna
get Marna some more furniture?"

A film of red spread over Matt's face and he answered curtly, "No, I am not. If you must know, I'm
goin' to buy some gunpowder,"

Suddenly, Hertha was undecided. Was she doing the
right thing, deliberately rousing Matt's anger? Shouldn't
she warn Matt to stay away from Betsy? Egan would be
a tough man to tangle with. Even though she was disappointed in Matt, she still liked him and wouldn't want
to see him hurt.

Nervously she cleared her throat a couple of times,
then ventured, "I guess you know Jake South has
moved into your territory."

She wasn't prepared for Matt's savage reaction. His
face dark with rage, he ripped out furiously, "That's a
damned lie,"

Surprised, Hertha leaned toward him. "I didn't
know you cared that much for Betsy, Matt."

His eyes widened. "Betsy?" he asked feebly. "I
thought you meant... hell, I don't care that way about
Betsy."

Hertha's old eyes gleamed with satisfaction. "You
thought I meant Mama, didn't you?"

"Hell, no," he blustered. "She wouldn't be interested
in that old man." But the doubt and bravado of his
words lay heavy on his face.

Hertha willed away the glint of amusement that
fought to shine in her eyes. She forced herself to say
seriously, "He's not that old, Matt. Betsy finds him
young enough, and God knows she could pick and
choose. It shows on South's face that he has known
many women and has learned much about them." She
paused a second at the clouding of Matt's eyes. She was
getting to him, and she was glad. He had hurt her
Mama so much, and it was time this rooster got a little
bit of it back.

Warming to her subject, she rushed on, "Jake knows
how to treat a woman. He knows the words, and the
manner in which to say them. They would melt a young
girl."

When Matt made no response but only stood clench ing and unclenching his fists, held tightly at his side,
Hertha hesitated again. She didn't want to push a fight
between the two men. If either should be killed, there
would be an irreparable rift left between Marna and the
survivor. Any way you looked at it, Mama would be
the loser. She ended by saying weakly, "If I was you,
Matt, I'd move back to my wife."

The stubborn pride that was so much of Matt's
makeup rose to fight the pain in his eyes. In a voice that
was harsh, he grated out, "Well, you ain't me. And I
don't give a damn who she lays with."

He spun on his heel and headed back toward camp,
his hurrying feet kicking up the snow. Hertha stood
gazing after him. "Like fun you don't," she grunted.

His face a mask of raging jealousy, and a devil at his
heels, Matt walked rapidly. The old woman's words
were a reflection of what was being said in camp. They
were all laughing behind his back.

"And why shouldn't they?" he demanded of the
crunching snow. First South had moved in on Betsy.
Not that he gave a damn about that. Almost any
woman could fill the need she had taken care of. Still it
had rankled him when Jake pushed him out of the picture. But the randy old bastard hadn't been satisfied
with that. He had to start making a play for Marna,
too.

When he reached camp, Matt banged open the door
of the flimsy headquarters. Flinging himself down at the
table, he pulled a cup toward him and picked up the
jug. He splashed some whiskey into the cup, corked the
jug, and set it down. Slowly and methodically Matt
drank the raw whiskey until the jug was almost empty.
But the solace he sought from it did not come. His
thoughts of Marna and Jake were as sharp as ever. He
brought his fist slamming onto the table. Would nothing
dull this nagging of his brain?

Finally Matt became aware of the foul air and
pushed the jug away. He stood up, shaking his head. His lungs cried out for a sharp, tangy breath of piney
air. Staggering a bit as he walked to the door, he
grinned loosely. Maybe his head was clear, but his feet
were sure fuzzy.

He stood outside, breathing deep of the pure, cold
air. The pale yellow of the moon was hazy, and he
giggled as it became twins. "Ole Matt is seein' double,"
he slurred. "Me and ole Sam had better take ourselves
a ride.. .get my eyes straightened out."

Along the river trail the stallion's hooves flashed by
the glitter of water, then turned sharply to race down
the valley. Before long, dark clouds began to pass
across the moon. Feeling almost himself again, Matt
sighed and turned the mount around. It was going to
snow, and sooner than he had thought

As he retraced his way, the air become bitterly cold,
and the moon disappeared altogether. Within minutes
white flakes were settling softly onto the ground.

Arriving back at the clearing, Matt's eyes automatically searched for the soft candlelight in Marna's window. Reining in, he sat gazing longingly at it. A derisive
smile stirred the corners of his mouth. Here he sat, in
freezing weather, hiding in the dark, trying to catch a
glimpse of his own wife. Why wasn't he man enough to
go to her and say, "Marna, I've been a damn fool Will
you take me back?"

The little voice that almost always nagged at him
urged, Go on, knock at the door. She's a little thing, she
can 't hurt you. He swung from Sam's back and tied him
to the porch. He thought wryly that he'd rather be
going to face a tribe of warring Indians.

He raised his fist to knock and, in his nervousness,
rapped unnecessarily hard. He frowned and swore
under his breath. The door opened so swiftly that his
face still wore its look of annoyance.

The breath whooshed out of his lungs at the picture
Marna made standing in front of the light. She wore a
gown and robe of sheer, blue material, her shapely body clearly outlined beneath it. It resembled one he
had chosen from the redhead's wardrobe, and he wondered if Betsy had sent it on.

The firelight glistened on the cloud of red-brown hair
tumbling around her shoulders and down her back. He
could not see her features in the shadow, but he knew
that smoky blue eyes gazed up at him from the delicately boned face.

"Good evening, Matt," she said in her low, throaty
voice.

"I saw your light," he began, then floundered helplessly.

She stepped to one side and invited, "Won't you
come in and visit awhile?"

He stepped inside, his heart pounding. She took his
coat, and he trembled at her nearness. When she went
to hang it up, he moved to the fire. Standing with his
back to the flames, he slowly surveyed the room. It was
much different from the last time he had seen it.

The barren look was gone. And although the big bed
was no longer in the main room, other pieces of furniture had taken its place. A long couch, heavily padded
and covered with a bright material, stood before the
hearth. And though it was homemade, as was another
chair and two tables, all the pieces were well crafted.
He frowned, wondering if Jake had made or bought
them for Marna.

Marna joined him and sat down on the couch. There
was a flare of mischief behind her eyes as she asked
softly, "How do you like my little nest?"

Matt shot her a dark, wary look. Was she rubbing
Jake South in his face? His eyes narrowed. If that was
her game, he wasn't going to fall into her trap. He
answered smoothly, "It's a very nice room."

She sat forward, her lovely face glowing. "Do you
really think so, Matt? I covered the couch myself. Jake
made the frame and padded it with old pieces of blankets and furs, and Grandma gave me the homespun. We had so much fun making it."

She patted the space beside her. "Sit down and see
how comfortable it is."

Matt glanced nervously at the patting hand. Did he
dare to sit that close to her and still keep his hands to
himself? He sat down gingerly, allowing that the couch
was comfortable. Then the remembered fragrance of
wild roses floated around him, and he sat forward on
the edge of the seat A film of sweat broke out on his
forehead, and his hands trembled. The scent, coupled
with the soft contours of her body shimmering through
her clothes, was almost more than he could bear.

Suddenly then, he was fiercely angry with her. Angry
that she could make him lose control of himself. He
wanted to lash out at her, say words that would wipe
away the composed look on her face.

He began by saying coolly, "Jake visits you often,
doesn't he?"

He caught the warm glow that came into the darkly
fringed eyes. When she answered, "Yes, he does, at
least once a week," he wanted to hit her.

Matt glanced around the room. "I see he has brought
you many gifts.. .those pictures and other little geegaws layin' around."

"Yes, he has. He seldom comes empty-handed. He
said they were in the cabin he bought"

His probing gaze was full of mocking significance
when he sneered, "And to pay him for all the pretty
little things, you take him into the back room?"

For a moment Marna could only stare at him, uncertain of his words, uncertain of their meaning. "What
did you say?" she whispered.

"You heard me. I asked you if you paid him back by
layin' with him. The way you did with Caleb before you
tired of him."

Her eyes flashing with hurt indignation, Mama jumped to her feet Without warning, her hand slapped
across his cheek.

His eyes furious, Matt bounded to his feet. Grasping
her wrist and twisting it cruelly, he hissed out at her,
"Does the truth hurt too much, bitch?"

For a split second Marna's eyes glittered with hate.
Then in a flicker her teeth sank into his hand, and a
slender foot kicked him in the shins. With a loud, surprised yowl of pain, Matt released her. He swore as he
examined his bleeding hand. Marna swept into the bedroom and slammed the door behind her.

Though she had left the room proudly enough, her
back straight and her head held high, when she closed
the door behind her, all her pride was gone. She threw
herself onto the bed, hot tears brimming in her eyes. "I
hate him, I hate him," she sobbed into the pillow.

She was dabbing at her eyes with the corner of the
pillowcase when the door banged open. Jerking her
head around, she stared angrily at the broad figure filling the doorway. "What do you want?" she gasped in a
whisper.

With a low, mocking laugh, Matt answered, "What
do you think I want?"

Scooting to the other side of the bed, Marna shook
her head. But Matt had flung himself down beside her.
His voice smothered and bitter, he breathed, "Yes. I
intend to have what Caleb and Jake have enjoyed."

His hand snaked out, and in one tearing sound the
gown and robe were ripped off her body. The firelight
from the other room shone red on her body. For a
long time he remained hanging over her. His eyes
feasted on the proudly jutting breasts, the soft, hollowed meeting of the thighs. Then, never taking his eyes
from her, he rose and disrobed.

All the while Marna lay quietly, staring up at him.
He avoided her eyes as he stretched out beside her.
When he reached rough hands toward her, she pushed against his chest, whispering, "Please, Matt, not this
way."