Outlaw's Bride (36 page)

She nodded. “That's fine. But don't forget you have other chores to do.”

Andy nodded and led their boarder out of the house.

“Does he pass your inspection?” Mattie asked Herman.

The old man narrowed his eyes. “He seems all right, but that don't mean much. I seen too many wolves wearin' sheepskins.”

Mattie reached across the table and clasped Herman's cool, bony hand. “Thank you.”

He blushed. “Ain't nothin'. 'Sides, I promised Ruth I'd keep an eye on you. I don't want her to be mad at me when I finally join her.” He shuddered visibly. “A mad Ruth ain't somethin' I'd wish on my worst enemy.”

“I doubt she'll be mad at you,” Mattie said with a fond smile. She stood, gathered the dishes, and placed them in the washbasin.

Herman shuffled up behind her and laid his hand on her back. “I, uh, I just want to tell you that you always made me proud, Mattie. Even when you was actin' like a stubborn mule.”

Though knowing Herman hated such maudlin emotions, Mattie turned and hugged him close. “I love you, too, you old coot.”

His arms crept around her tentatively, but he hugged her back. Then, as quickly as it had happened, the moment was over.

“I'd best get out there and make sure Andy's doin' them chores right,” Herman muttered, and slipped out the back door.

Mattie swiped at her eyes. Although she had often been irritated with the old man for his lack of ambition, she couldn't fault his loyalty. A soft heart beat under that crusty exterior.

She straightened her spine. She had a busy day ahead of her, culminating in the dance that evening, which would take much of her energy. There was no doubt in her mind Clint would be there.

She recalled the night they'd waltzed in the parlor and what had followed in her bedroom. Her heart somersaulted and she rested her palms across her stomach protectively.

Would Clint ask her to dance tonight? Would she refuse him?

Or would her heart betray her?

Clint entered the front room of Walt Atwater's home and spotted the sheriff dozing lightly on the sofa. He smiled and covered him with the blanket lying on a nearby chair.

“Your tie's crooked,” Walt said.

Clint stepped back. “I thought you were asleep.”

“How can a man sleep with you tromping around?” Walt groused. He pushed himself up to a sitting position. “Come here, let me fix your tie.”

Feeling like a young boy going to his first dance, Clint leaned close and allowed the older man to straighten his string tie.

“There,” Walt said. He glanced down at Clint's waist. “Why ain't you wearing your gun?”

Clint straightened, half wondering the same thing himself. “Mattie doesn't like it and I figured I could handle things without it. I'm not expecting any bank robbers tonight.”

“That's when they show up—when you ain't expecting them.”

“It'll be all right for one night.”

Walt sighed in resignation. “I hope you're right.” He eyed Clint. “You got your work cut out for you. Mattie's not going to be easy to persuade.” Walt rolled his eyes. “Believe me, I know.”

Clint rested an arm on the fireplace mantel, trying to give the impression he was more relaxed than he felt. “Any suggestions?”

Walt snorted. “A lot, but none you'll listen to.”

Clint tensed. “Try me.”

The older man leaned back on the couch, his good arm wrapped around the injured one. “Walk up to her, tell her you love her, ask her to marry you, then get it done before she can change her mind.”

Clint wished it was that easy. He wasn't certain what her feelings were for him, and he wasn't ready to spill his guts and be totally humiliated. Besides, he couldn't marry Mattie until his unfinished business was completed.

He shook his head and pushed away from the fireplace. “It's not that simple.”

Walt studied him with a perceptive gaze. “It's as simple as you make it. Good luck, son.”

Clint sent him a nod and strode out of the house, closing the door behind him. The autumn air was cool but fresh, and it cleared his mind. As he walked toward the town hall, the lively strains of a fiddle became more distinct. Horses and buggies lined both sides of the street and he spotted Dr. Murphy's wagon among them. That meant Mattie was already inside.

His step faltered as doubts plagued him. Why couldn't he just accept Mattie's decision to marry Kevin?

Because I love her.

By habit, he reached down to rest his fingers in his gunbelt and encountered only his trouser pockets. Maybe he should have worn the holster and gun—after all, he was the sheriff.

No, he needed all the help he could get persuading Mattie that it was a mistake to marry the doctor. If he showed up wearing his Colt, he'd lose the argument before he could even state his case.

He continued to the brightly lit building with resolute steps, nodding to the folks he met on the way in. Once inside, he drew off to the side to get his bearings. A fiddle, banjo, and mouth organ played a lively tune with more enthusiasm than skill, but none of the whirling dancers seemed to mind. The air was permeated with the scents of hair pomade, bay rum, and ladies' toilet water. He sneezed.

“Bless you, Sheriff,” Amelia said as she, on the arm of her husband, joined him. “You look quite handsome tonight.”

“And you look lovely, Mrs. Johnson,” Clint said formally.

“Glad to see you could make it, Beaudry,” Orville said, shaking Clint's hand. “How's Walt doing?”

Clint had to strain to hear him above the voices and music. “His arm is healing slowly, but Dr. Murphy said he should be able to start using it in another week or two.”

Orville's head bobbed up and down. “That's good news, Beaudry.”

Clint nodded, but he was already searching the crowd for Mattie. Children dashed in and out of the twirling men and women, creating controlled chaos. There were nearly a hundred people crammed into the town hall, but nobody seemed to care. He spotted Ellen from the bakery, Norbert the bank teller, Luther, and many others he recognized but whose names he couldn't remember.

“Well, look over there,” Amelia said, pointing to the opposite corner of the room. “Isn't that Dr. Murphy and Mattie?”

Clint's heart leapt into his throat. Mattie, dressed in a deep violet gown and with her long hair flowing down her back, was easily the most beautiful woman in the room. Her arm was held possessively in Murphy's crooked elbow.

Startled to find he'd stopped breathing for a moment, Clint sucked in a deep breath. Why the hell had he ridden away from her?

“It's about time Kevin found himself a wife,” Orville commented.

“You wouldn't mind if I danced with Dr. Murphy later, would you, Orville?” Amelia asked her husband. “I'd like to congratulate him on his engagement.”

Orville patted Amelia's hand. “You go right ahead, my dear. He is, after all, one of Green Valley's finest citizens.”

Clint bit back a caustic remark. Murphy was a good doctor and probably a decent man, but the jealousy that ate at Clint tainted his feelings for him.

“We should go over and greet them, Amelia. Beaudry, care to accompany us?” Orville asked.

Clint nodded, unable to trust his voice.

He followed Orville and Amelia through the kaleidoscope of color and motion of the dancers and uncurbed children. People greeted him and he responded, but he had no idea what he said. His attention was focused on the woman he'd come to claim.

Finally, they made it across the room and Clint found himself face-to-face with Mattie. Her wide violet eyes matched her dress, which hugged her curves like a snug glove.

“Good evening, Orville, Amelia,” Murphy said, then added with less enthusiasm, “Sheriff.”

Orville gripped Kevin's hand. “I haven't congratulated you on your fine fortune in marrying one of Green Valley's own.” The banker gave Mattie a fond smile.

Mattie's own smile was tremulous at best. Clint had heard how the fine citizens had forced Mattie to marry Jason St. Clair, and he wondered if she was thinking the same thing. Clint had no doubt Orville Johnson had been one of those who had done what they thought best for Mattie.

“Thank you, Orville,” Murphy said. “From both of us.”

Clint managed a civil nod. “I've already congratulated”—he glanced at Mattie deliberately—“both of you.”

Clint was barely aware of the idle conversation between the doctor and the banker. His attention was stolen by Mattie, who kept her gaze divided between Murphy and the floor. Clint stared at her, willing her to look at him. He caught a whiff of her rose scent, and it teased him with memories of her moon-bathed skin above him….

“Isn't that right, Sheriff?” Orville asked.

Startled, Clint dragged his gaze away from Mattie. Damn, he was acting like a horny kid. Again. He focused on the banker. “I'm sorry. What was that?”

“I was just saying to Dr. Murphy how we might be able to convince you to stay if Walt decides it's time to retire.”

Clint forced a smile. “That'll depend on a few things.” He purposely looked at Mattie, whose cheeks reddened.

Murphy's eyes narrowed. “I'm sure Mr. Beaudry is already getting restless. From what I understand, he rarely stays in one place for any length of time. That's the way it is with men who live by the gun.”

Mattie flinched and Clint's muscles tensed. He took a step toward the doctor as he smiled coolly. “If you haven't noticed, I'm not wearing my gunbelt this evening.”

Out of the corner of his sight, he saw Mattie's gaze flick to his hips, then back up to settle on his face. She appeared puzzled.

Murphy pressed his glasses up on his nose, a gesture Clint recognized as nervousness. “I'm surprised.”

Amelia whispered something in Orville's ear, and he looked toward a group of men standing in the corner and nodded to Amelia. “I'll be back in a moment.” The banker looked at Murphy and Clint. “Excuse me.”

As Orville wended his way through the crowd, the band began to play a waltz.

“Would you like to dance, Mattie?” Murphy asked.

Her face paled and she shook her head. “No, thank you.”

“Well, I would like to,” Amelia spoke up, batting her eyes at the doctor.

Murphy blinked in consternation and looked at Mattie. “Do you mind?”

For a moment, Clint thought she would, then she shook her head. She managed a thin smile. “No, of course not. Go ahead.”

As Amelia dragged Murphy out among the other dancers, Clint shifted to stand beside Mattie. He listened to the waltz, recognizing it as the same tune that Mattie's music box played. He leaned close and whispered in her ear, “They're playing our song.”

Mattie tried to edge away from him, but a wall blocked her escape.

“What are you doing here?” she demanded, anger sparking her eyes.

Clint grinned.
This
was the Mattie he remembered. “I wanted to see you.”

She licked her lips and he couldn't help but follow the trail of her pink tongue with a hungry gaze.

Mattie glared at him. “Stop that.”

“Stop what?” he asked innocently.

She narrowed her eyes and her nostrils flared. “You know darn good and well what I'm talking about.” She paused. “You weren't supposed to come back.”

“It's a free country. I can go wherever I please.” He touched the sleeve of her dress. “At least you listened to one thing I said. It matches your eyes perfectly, especially when you're spitting mad. Like now.”

“I. Am. Not. Mad,” Mattie stated through clenched teeth. “You need to leave.”

“Not until you dance with me.”

“No.”

He shrugged. “Then I stay.”

Clint could feel her exasperation, but beneath it was the hum of awareness that flowed through his own veins. Mattie was definitely not going to marry Dr. Murphy, even if he had to kidnap her from the church.

“Want to dance?” he asked again. He winked. “At least we're dressed right for it this time.”

Mattie's face turned as red as a ripe apple, but her chin lifted stubbornly. “If that's the only way I can get you to leave, all right. We'll dance.” She glared at him. “But I'm not going to enjoy it.”

He grinned. “Wanna bet?”

Before she could offer a retort, Clint swept her out onto the dance floor. She seemed to float, feeling as natural within his arms as she had that night they'd waltzed in her home.

“Do you feel this way when you dance with the doc?” Clint asked. He was so close to her that her breath warmed his neck.

“I've never waltzed with him,” she admitted in a voice so low Clint almost missed it.