Outlaw's Bride (12 page)

She noticed Clint press a hand to his side as he leaned against the coop. Setting aside her bowl, she stood, determined to make him take a break.

As she approached him, he caught her eye and shook his head stubbornly. “I'm fine.”

“You need to rest.”

“I'm too old to be mothered, Mattie.”

She was all too aware of how grown-up he was. “I'm your nurse, remember?”

“Not anymore. Now I'm just a boarder.”

“But—”

“No buts.” A corner of his lips lifted in a jaunty grin. “I hope we're having those peas and carrots for lunch.”

“Provided you can hobble over to the table when it's ready.” Spinning around, Mattie strode across the yard. “Damn stubborn man. Why do I even waste my energy worrying about you?”

“Because you care about me,” he called after her.

Mattie's face flamed and she didn't dare turn to see his amused expression. If she were a man, she'd punch him, but she wasn't.

And therein lay the heart of the matter.

M
attie had just finished doing the lunch dishes when she heard a wagon roll into the yard. She glanced out the window and recognized the red-fringed surrey as Orville Johnson's, the owner of the Green Valley Bank. Amelia, Orville's wife, had told Mattie that she would be coming by to pick up her husband's shirts, which Mattie laundered and pressed every other week.

She removed her apron and smoothed her hair back from her brow. Although Amelia was always friendly, the woman's expensive and beautiful wardrobe always made Mattie feel like a country cousin.

She walked past Clint, who sat in a rocking chair on the porch resting before going back to work on the chicken coop. Andy and Herman, however, had returned to their task after Clint had given them directions. Recalling Herman's look of disgust, Mattie grinned.

Conscious of Clint's gaze on her back, Mattie strolled into the yard to welcome her visitor. “Good afternoon, Amelia.”

The woman smiled. “Hello, Mattie.” She stepped down from the surrey, careful not to step on her hem. Shading her eyes with a gloved hand, Amelia gazed toward the porch, where Clint was half hidden in the shadows. “That must be the wounded man I heard about.”

“That's right,” Mattie said cautiously. “He's healing quite nicely.”

“He looks just fine to me,” Amelia said with an inquisitive gleam in her eyes.

Though Mattie agreed with her, it didn't set well that another woman also found him appealing. “If you had changed his bandages five times a day and cared for him while he was unconscious, you might have a different opinion.”

“I'm sorry, Mattie. I'm sure it was quite a burden for you to bear, along with caring for your son.”

Jarred by the woman's sincere sympathy, Mattie said awkwardly, “Thank you for your concern, but I'm doing fine.” She motioned toward the house. “Why don't you come in and have some coffee?”

Amelia eyed Clint again and nodded. “Thank you.”

As Mattie led her to the house, she glanced at Clint, and found his attention was also on Amelia. Her hackles rose. How dare he proclaim to want her one moment, then eye Amelia like she was a piece of chocolate cake—
with
frosting? She should have known she couldn't trust a man like him.

She stopped so suddenly Amelia almost bumped into her. Pasting on a sweet smile, Mattie said, “Amelia, I'd like you to meet Clint Beaudry. Mr. Beaudry, this is
Mrs.
Amelia Johnson, the banker's
wife
.”

Clint put two fingers to the brim of his hat. “Mrs. Johnson.”

“Mr. Beaudry,” Amelia said. As she turned away from him, Mattie spotted something akin to desperation in the woman's eyes. “On second thought, I should get right back. If Orville comes home and I'm not there, he'll have a fit.” She laughed nervously.

Puzzled by her abrupt change of mind, Mattie said, “I'll get Orville's things.” She went inside to retrieve the finished laundry. On her return, her arms full, she turned to use her shoulder to open the screen door. Clint's low voice made her pause, and Mattie leaned closer to listen.

“Does he know?” Clint asked Amelia.

“No, and I'd like to keep it that way,” the woman said in a husky voice.

What was going on? Did Clint and Amelia know each other?

“I won't tell him. But he's bound to find out sooner or later,” he said. “It'd be best coming from you.”

What would be best coming from Amelia? Was there something between her and Clint? How could there be? Clint had only arrived in town the day before he was shot.

“I don't know what he'll do when he finds out,” Amelia said, and Mattie detected fear in her tone.

Peeking out, Mattie saw Clint step over to stand in front of the woman. “If he loves you, he won't care.”

“You don't know Orville.”

Clint put his arms around Amelia and jealousy punched the air from Mattie's lungs. They obviously knew each other well. An odd sense of betrayal cut her to the bone. Yet how could she fault Clint for his attraction to Amelia? The woman was young, with nice clothes and smooth, creamy skin. Mattie glanced down at her blunt fingernails and rough, chapped skin, then ran a palm across her patched and faded dress. What man
wouldn't
choose fresh Amelia over careworn Mattie?

She stepped a few feet back into the house and called out with forced cheerfulness, “I think I have all of Orville's things.”

Mattie pushed the door open and stepped onto the porch, not surprised to see Clint and Amelia standing far apart. Clearly, they didn't want her to know about their … acquaintance.

“Here you are.” Mattie held out the stack to Amelia.

“I'll take it,” Clint volunteered, taking the pile from her arms.

“Thank you,” Amelia said, her face pale. She dug into her reticule and handed Mattie some money. “I'll come by next week with another load.”

Mattie tucked the coins into her dress pocket and merely nodded. She crossed her arms and watched with narrowed eyes as Clint escorted Amelia to her carriage. She didn't like the churning in her stomach, any more than she liked the way Clint's hands rested on Amelia's waist as he helped her into the buggy. Why should she care that the two of them wanted their relationship kept a secret?

She tried to tell herself it was none of her business, yet she couldn't deny the ache of betrayal deep inside, any more than she could deny the hunger that Clint had awakened.

The carriage rolled down the driveway and Clint walked back to join Mattie. She waited for him to explain the relationship between him and Amelia, but the silence stretched out, broken only by the cawing of a crow and the cackling of the chickens.

Mattie's fingers curled tighter into her palms. What did she expect? Clint had been a mystery ever since he'd arrived, remaining reticent about his past.

And wasn't that the way she wanted it? The more she learned about him, the more she lowered her guard against him. It was better to remain strangers to one another.

“Hey, Mr. Beaudry. When're you comin' back to help us?” Andy called out.

Clint grinned and etched lines appeared at the corners of his eyes, showing her he was a man who had laughed and smiled often in the past.

“I'm ready right now,” he hollered back.

Mattie opened her mouth to warn him to be careful but stopped herself. Instead, she glanced at him and their gazes locked.

“I will.” Clint winked.

Flustered, Mattie looked away. It was disconcerting to have someone read her mind, especially him. She hurried into the house, afraid of what else he might see.

Mattie's feet carried her to the hearth. Lifting a hand, she ran her finger lightly over the music box's smooth surface. She raised the lid and the gentle strains of the familiar waltz encircled her.

She closed her eyes, picturing her mother and father waltzing in their small cabin. The love they'd shared had been more valuable than anything money could buy.

Opening her eyes, she snapped the lid shut. That had been a long time ago—when she had still believed in love and promises.

The moment Clint rolled over to get out of bed, he knew he had overdone it with the chicken coop yesterday. It wasn't just his healing wound that ached, but muscles he'd rarely used in the past year were also stiff. He'd forgotten how strenuous manual labor could be.

He drew on his clothes, then splashed water on his face and lathered his whiskers with soap. As he shaved, he intoned quietly, “Maybe today, Em.”

But I hope not.

The thought surprised him. He'd chased after death for so long, but now there was a stronger will to live—and he knew why.

“Breakfast is almost ready,” Mattie called from downstairs.

“I'll be down in a minute.” Clint finished shaving, and finger-combed his hair, then joined Mattie in the kitchen.

“Good morning,” Mattie said as she spooned scrambled eggs onto four plates.

“Morning.” He inhaled appreciatively and smiled. “Smells real good, Mattie.”

Pink flushed her cheeks. “Thank you. Why don't you sit down before it gets cold? Andy and Herman'll be here in a minute.”

As if they'd been waiting for their cue, the boy and old man came through the doorway.

“The chicken coop didn't leak at all last night,” Andy said, plopping onto his chair.

“Did it rain?” Clint asked.

“Buckets. Didn't you hear it?”

Surprised he'd slept through a rainstorm, Clint shrugged. “I must've been tired.”

“After all the work you did, I'm not surprised,” Mattie said. She took her seat and they bowed their heads to say grace.

“Amen,” Clint murmured, remembering himself as a boy surrounded by his own family. It left him feeling oddly bereft.

“Me and Herman are goin' fishing, Mr. Beaudry. You want to go with us?” Andy asked.

Clint glanced at Mattie. “Did you ask your mother first?”

Andy's expression fell as he turned to Mattie. “Can I, Ma?”

“Sure, you worked hard yesterday. Just be home by lunch.”

Clint suspected Mattie would be doing Andy's tasks as well as her own this morning. When he'd been Andy's age, he'd helped his pa from sunup to sundown most every day. Once or twice a week, his father would reward him and his brothers with an afternoon of fishing. Clint had fond memories of those days, listening to the lazy buzz of the flies and the odd rattling of grasshoppers' wings. He could almost smell the hot summer days, the thick rich odor of dirt and green grass and pond water.

“Do you want to go?” Andy asked Clint again.

Startled out of his memories, he shook his head. “No, thanks. I think I'll stick around this morning and see if your ma needs some help.”

Andy's expression dimmed and Clint knew he'd hit his target. “Maybe I should, too,” the boy said reluctantly.

“I think that'd be a right fine idea, Andy.”

Mattie glanced at Clint, then her son. “I could use some help picking peaches. I'd planned to do it yesterday.”

Indecision spread across Andy's face. “Well, I suppose I could give you a hand.”

“I will, too,” Clint volunteered.

Herman had the look of a mouse caught in a trap and he stood, pushing away his empty plate. “With the three of ya workin', ya won't be needin' me.”

“I think a fourth helper would come in handy. How about you, Mattie?”

Her eyes twinkled mischievously. “It would make the job go faster.”

The old man dropped back into his chair with a heavy sigh.

“What do you say after we finish with the peaches, we all go fishing for an hour or so?” Clint suggested.

Andy and Herman brightened considerably.

“I think you just won them over,” Mattie said.