The Scoundrel's Bride (42 page)

It wasn’t right. It couldn’t last. Not when her happiness was built on a lie.

Zach nuzzled her neck and rumbled a satisfied groan. Morality ran her fingers up and down his arm, feeling the wiry smattering of hair and the steely tendons of muscle beneath his skin. She loved him, and knowing he loved her brought such joy that her chest ached with it.

Or maybe the ache was from guilt.

Dear Lord, I’m so confused
. All her life the division between right and wrong had been so clear to her. Far too many times she had misstepped and found herself on the wrong side of the line, but she’d always felt repentant for having done so. She’d always sought forgiveness with a contrite heart.

Yesterday, she had lied before God and man, and her heart hadn’t thumped one single, contrite beat. It had thundered up a storm of guilt, certainly. Chagrin, shame, misery, and even fear took their turn.

But not remorse, not contrition, and not repentance. A guilty tear slipped from her eye and spilled across her cheek.

But she couldn’t recant her testimony. To do so would plunge him right back into danger, perhaps even greater peril than he’d faced before. Instinctively, she snuggled closer against him.

“Ah, angel, no rest for the weary, hmm?” He cupped her breast, flicking his thumb across her nipple.

She couldn’t resist him. She didn’t want to resist him. As desire kindled in the very core of her womanhood, Morality knew she would never confess her sin. Not as long as it posed a threat to her beloved husband.

Zach moved his hips against her, the heat of him searching, seeking. Finding. Just before Morality gave herself up to the pleasures of his lovemaking, the answer to her problem came on the wings of prayer.

She must eliminate the threat.

Excitement enhanced her desire. If she neutralized the threat to Zach, then she could confess her sin and ask for forgiveness. She could devote herself to her marriage with a clear conscience. She could make a home with Zach and live without fear that the truth might come to light and plunge her life into darkness.

Morality closed her eyes and lost herself in the joyful rhythm of giving and receiving, content in the knowledge that a way out of her dilemma did exist.

All she needed to do was to find the real killer.

MORNING DAWNED exceptionally warm, and long before noon folks in Cottonwood Creek took to checking the sky every quarter hour. The air was hot, humid, and as still as an eavesdropper. Bending over to retrieve a dropped hanky made a man break out in a sweat, and within two hours of opening, Nichols Mercantile had sold every ladies’ fan they had in stock. It was April in Texas and weather was brewing.

Thunderstorms. Lightning, wind, toad-strangling rain, crop-crushing hail. “Tornado weather,” Mr. Kirkland at the livery told the Carstairs as Stephen assisted Rosalee into the rented buggy’s seat.

“You certain-sure you want to ride out today? Storm’s a-coming. Prairie dogs are building banks.”

“Better than saloons, I should say,” Rosalee quipped, the tremor in her voice betraying her nervousness. Kirkland frowned, obviously wondering if she were making sport of him.

Stephen winked at his wife, then turned to the stable owner. “Being from the East, we have little knowledge of prairie dogs. What does the building of a bank signify?”

Kirkland mumbled something about damn yankee fools, then replied, “Heavy rain is on its way. Prairie dogs build up banks around their holes to keep from flooding. This isn’t a good day for a buggy ride.”

Rosalee lifted her hand and clutched the locket that hung from a long chain around her neck. “Yes it is, Mr. Kirkland. It’s the very best of all days. I’ve been dreaming of this particular buggy ride for more than ten years.” She looked at Stephen. “Can we go now, please?”

Kirkland snorted, saying more with the sound than many men could have with a mouthful of words. Stephen, having learned a thing or two in his years of marriage, said nothing at all. He nodded at Mr. Kirkland and called to the horses, whipping the reins as he headed the buggy out of town.

For a few minutes, the only sounds around them were the rattle of the harness, the rhythmic squeak of a buggy wheel, and the thud of horse’s hooves against the packed dirt road. Then Rosalee dipped her chin toward her chest and said in a little voice, “I was unforgivably rude.”

Stephen shrugged. “A bit out of character, I’d say, but don’t worry about it, Rosie. You’re allowed.”

“I’m scared.” She closed her eyes and tilted her face toward the sky. “I know it’s no excuse for rudeness, but Stephen, I am frightened to death.”

He patted her knee. “It’ll all be fine. I’m certain of it.”

“But what if she won’t listen? What if she won’t forgive me? I’ve dreamed of this moment for years, but now that it’s here…” Her voice trailed off.

Stephen gave her a slightly scolding look and said, “She is an intelligent, caring young woman. You’re already her friend; she’ll listen to what you have to say.”

Rosalee’s laugh betrayed the nervous anxiety churning inside her. “Now if I only knew what it is I want to say. How will I find the words? No matter how I explain, she’ll be shocked. She loved her uncle. My story will cause her pain.”

Stephen put his arm around her shoulders. “I know this will be difficult for you both, Rosie. But she is a grown woman. She needs to know the truth about Harris and what he did to you. It’ll be hard, but look at what you stand to gain. You’ll have your daughter again. She’ll have her mother.” He hesitated a moment before adding, “You’ll have a part of Wesley Parks back in your life.”

Something in his voice caught her attention—a bitter note she’d never before heard. Or perhaps, never before noticed. “Stephen?”

He kept his gaze on the road.

“Stephen, what’s wrong?” Rosalee felt a stirring of alarm. He couldn’t be upset about Lilah. Why, if not for Stephen, she’d never have found her daughter. Despite her momentary fears, this was the greatest gift her husband had ever given her. Surely he wouldn’t have gone to the considerable expense and effort to locate Lilah if he had reservations about her daughter’s presence in their lives. When still he didn’t answer, Rosalee reached out and yanked on the reins, pulling the buggy to a stop. “Stephen Carstairs, you talk to me this instant!”

“Forget it, Rosie,” he said scowling. “It’s not important.”

Wasn’t that just like a man. “Talk to me, Mr. Carstairs!”

He sucked in his cheeks as if he had something sour in his mouth. Then he heaved a heavy sigh. “Forget about it. I’m sorry, I guess I’m a bit apprehensive myself. Let’s get on out to the Burkett place before this rain comes up.” He repossessed the reins and set the buggy in motion.

Rosalee folded her arms and fumed. “If you felt this way about Lilah, then why did you—”

“Not Lilah, dammit,” he snapped. “It’s her father! I’m jealous, all right? I’m green as that crop of corn over there.”

Rosalee stared at her husband as if he were a stranger. He held himself straight and stiff, and a muscle worked in his jaw. An old pain flared inside her. “It’s because we never had children, isn’t it? Because I gave Wesley a daughter, and I wasn’t able to do the same for you.” Tears welled in her eyes.

Stephen spat a curse and yanked the buggy to a stop once more. “No, Rosalee. That’s not it and you know it. We have the twins, after all. You may not have given them birth, but you raised them with a mother’s love. I would have welcomed a child of yours, but it’s not something I’ve pined for.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m being an ass. I know it, and I don’t particularly like it. If you must know, it’s that damn locket.”

“My locket?” Rosalee asked, clutching the piece of jewelry she religiously wore.

Stephen grimaced. “Have you ever noticed how many necklaces I’ve given you over the years? Fourteen. You’ll wear them for a month of two, but sooner or later that locket always reappears. His picture is inside, dammit! You leave it lying on the bedside table at night. Every time I make love to you, I feel like there’s three of us in our bed! You’ve asked me before why I worked so hard to find Lilah. This is why, Rosalee. I hoped finding your daughter might finally get her father out of our bedroom!”

Rosalee’s eyes rounded in shock, and the tears spilled from her eyes. He muttered a virulent curse, then shut his mouth abruptly, turning his head away. After a moment, Stephen said, “I’m sorry, Rosie. I don’t know why I said all that. I never meant to; please, just forget it.”

The horse nickered into the silence that lengthened between them, then stretched his neck toward the grass at the side of the road. Rosalee softly said, “I’ve been such a fool. I never realized what you might be feeling.” Reaching behind her, she undid the necklace clasp. The gold chain fell from about her neck, and she caught the familiar weight of the locket. For a moment, she held it in her hand, then reaching beneath the buggy seat for her drawstring bag, she put the locket away.

Gruffly, he said, “You don’t have to do that.”

“Yes. I do.” She turned his face toward hers and waited until he met her gaze. “It never occurred to me that you might feel this way, Stephen. Because, you see, I didn’t wear it to have Wesley’s picture against my heart. Yes, I loved him, but that was a long time ago. I let him go before I ever said yes to your marriage proposal. Don’t forget that Lilah’s portrait is in there, too. I wore it for her, Stephen. Always for her.”

She touched her lips to his cheek. “Now, you’ve given her back to me. I don’t need the locket, because I have her, or I will before this morning is over. I love you, Stephen. For Lilah. For everything you’ve given me over the years. But most of all, I love you for yourself. If I’ve not told you enough, then please, forgive me. You are my heart, Stephen Carstairs. Never doubt it.”

He shut his eyes, as if he were tucking her words away in a special place inside him. Then he kissed her, hard and long and thoroughly. When he finally lifted his head, he spoke in a raspy voice. “Let’s go find your daughter, Rosie. What do you say?”

“Yes.” Rosalee smiled warmly, her body brimming with love. For her husband, and for her daughter.

She wasn’t afraid any longer. Stephen was right, Lilah would listen to what she had to say. And, if for some reason she didn’t want a mother in her life, Rosalee could deal with that, too.

Stephen Carstairs loved her, and remembering that, Rosalee could deal with anything.

MORALITY FLEXED her aching fingers and scowled down at the black crust clinging to her iron skillet. She could add a string of numbers faster than anyone of her acquaintance. She could sew a seam of stitches with skill that rivaled a professional modiste. She could hitch up a buggy, chop down a tree, and play a piano.

But she couldn’t bake a decent pan of cornbread to save her life.

Patrick claimed that the animals wouldn’t even eat it. To be told she didn’t cook good enough to suit barnyard pigs didn’t sit well at all. At least Zach’s rapid defense in praise of her pancakes had cushioned the blow.

Lifting her scrub brush, she resumed her scouring at the stubborn smudge until she heard the welcome rattle of a wagon entering the yard.

Wiping her hands on a dishtowel, she walked outside to see Stephen Carstairs pulling a buggy to a stop. “Well, what a nice surprise,” Morality said, smiling at her new friends. “What brings you out on a day like this?”

“A day like this,” Stephen repeated, helping his wife from the carriage. “So you agree with the others that we’ll have rain before the day is out?”

“Undoubtedly.” She glanced toward the sky, where on the western horizon, a tall, dark cloud was building. “This time of year, when the air is hot and still like it is, it’s a sure sign of violent weather to come.”

Rosalee and Stephen shared a look, then Rosalee stepped forward and took her hand, saying, “But if we can survive the storm, we get to find the rainbow, don’t we?”

Inviting her visitors inside, Morality offered them seats and a cup of coffee. “It’s safe to drink, I promise,” she said with a self-deprecating smile as she joined her guests at the table. “Zach made it before he left.”

“Zach isn’t here?” Rosalee asked, a frown appearing on her face.

Morality gave the older woman a curious look. “Did you want to speak with him? If that’s why you came, I’m sorry to disappoint you. He took Patrick into town first thing. It seems the boy needs a little extra persuasion to attend school.”

It was an understatement, to say the least. Upon learning that the boy had never made his way into a classroom, Zach immediately set about correcting the situation, much to Patrick’s dismay. By all appearances, Zach intended to take his new role as surrogate father seriously, and he’d accompanied the youngster to town just to make certain he ended up at the schoolhouse. “He plans to stop by his office for a while this morning. You can probably catch him there now.”

“We came to speak to you, Morality,” Stephen assured her. “It’s just that…well, considering what we have to say, we hoped your husband would be here in case, uh…” He took a sip of his coffee. “This is good.”

Morality was beginning to feel a bit concerned. After a moment, she spoke simply to fill the nervous silence. “Be glad Zach made it. My cooking has improved, but coffee and cornbread are still two of my problem items. Zach’s trying to teach me, but in all honesty, he’s not much better than I am. I didn’t have a mother to teach me, you see.”

“Oh, my.” Rosalee groaned and turned away.

Morality couldn’t stand the suspense any longer. “What is it, Rosalee?”

The older woman took a deep breath, looked at her husband, then said, “I want to tell you why we are here.”

“All right.” She waited as Rosalee set down her coffee cup, then stood and began to wander around the room.

“I don’t know quite where to start,” she said, trailing a finger across Sarah Burkett’s music box.

Morality waited, her gaze fixed on her friend.

Stephen spoke to his wife. “Maybe it’d be easier to explain about the trial, Rosie. If you tell her first about that, why you waited to speak, then the other might come easier.”