Wyoming Lawman (18 page)

He took off his hat and put it on her head, then he hunched out of the slicker and wrapped it around her shivering body. He put his arm around her waist to protect her as much as he could, then he led her away from the stairwell.

“We have to talk,” he said. “My house is around the corner.”

W
hen Matt put his hat on her head, the warmth of the headband reached Pearl's skin. She thought of her mother calling a woman's hair her crowning glory and wondered if Virginia Oliver had ever worn her husband's hat in the rain.

She wanted to skip and dance and celebrate her victory. Franklin Dean had left her with scars, but he hadn't maimed her for life. She loved Matt Wiley with her entire being, and she'd tested herself with a kiss. She couldn't think of a more challenging circumstance than being cornered in a dark alley. Matt's slicker had blocked the light. Shiny and black, it could have reminded her of Franklin Dean's buggy, but it hadn't. She'd been aware only of Matt studying her expression, gauging her courage and giving her a choice.

Today's kiss did more than conquer her fears. It had revealed Matt's heart. He wouldn't have kissed her with such care if he didn't have feelings for her, but something—the gophers holes she'd sensed earlier—were holding him back. As much as she wanted to shout with joy, her happiness had to be contained until they sorted their differences.

The wind pushed them up the street with powerful gusts. Hunkering forward, Matt tucked her against his side. As
they rounded a corner, he indicated the third bungalow on the left.

“This is it,” he said.

“It's homey.”

What it lacked in feminine grace, it made up for in masculine effort. Brown gingham curtains, store-bought and an inch too short, hung in the window, and a scraggly juniper grew next to a rickety porch. The needles shimmered in the fading light, a reminder her father would be worried. She hated to upset him, but she had to speak to Matt.

As he held the door, she stepped into a mix of shadows and empty walls. Another window allowed light into a corner kitchen. Near a galvanized sink she saw a shelf stacked with canned goods and another one holding tin plates, glasses and jars.

A match scraped and she turned. As the tip flared, orange light bathed Matt's face and illuminated a stone fireplace. As he touched the tiny flame to the kindling, it caught with a whoosh and lit up the room. Pearl saw a chair, a table, a hurricane lamp and a horsehair divan. Sarah had left her doll, Annie, sitting primly in the chair.

Matt added a split of wood to the fire, then faced her from across the room. Much like the day they'd met, he looked her up and down. “Are you hurt?”

“I'm fine.” She took off the slicker and hung it by the door, then she walked to the fire to dry her dress. Matt had gotten wet, too. She considered telling him to change into a dry shirt, but he looked lost in thought as he stared into the blaze. Pearl stepped to his side. Soon the fire would warm them both.

Staring into the flames, he broke the silence. “We have to talk.”

Would he start with the reason she'd run into the rain or with the kiss? Pearl cared far more about the kiss, so she
tipped up her chin and smiled at him. Feeling bold, she stood on her toes and brushed her lips across his cheek. His whiskers tickled her lips, and she smelled the dampness of the storm on his shirt. When she stepped back, he looked completely undone.

More confident than she'd ever been, she rested her hand on his biceps. “That kiss was the nicest thing that's ever happened to me.”

“Don't say that,” he answered. “It was a mistake.”

When he looked into her eyes, she saw turmoil in the pale green depths. Just as she'd been hurt, so had Matt. She felt certain of the reason. Sarah's mother had broken his heart. Just as Pearl had needed someone to help her bury the past, so did Matt. Full of hope, she took a chance. “I love you.”

A groan rumbled in his throat. “Don't love me, Pearl. I can't love you back.”

She didn't believe him. “Why not?”

“I just can't.”

The fire showed every crease in his face, the dark crescents under his eyes. The log hissed and snapped. The roof echoed with the rain. Pearl had learned from her father to let troubled souls find their own way. She'd wait all night if that's what Matt needed. Still silent, he poked the fire with an iron rod. Sparks shot up the chimney and died. He set down the poker, then indicated the divan. “Sit down.”

As she sat, he stayed standing with his back to her. The glow of the blaze turned his body into a black silhouette. “You don't really know me, Pearl. You don't know what I've done.”

“It doesn't matter.”

He gave a snide laugh. “You don't know what you're saying.”

“Then explain it to me.”

A gust of wind rattled the door. A draft reached the fire and made it flare. Still silent, he stood with his hands on his hips, his back straight and his feet planted wide as he spoke to the flames. “I'm a murderer, Pearl. It happened in the war, but that doesn't excuse what I did.”

She'd been expecting him to say he'd been a bad husband, that he'd driven Bettina away by being cold and obsessed with his work. A murderer? She knew he'd been a Texas Ranger and a soldier, a man likely to have blood on his hands. She'd never expected some of that blood to be innocent. Her entire body recoiled, a first reaction she chose to ignore. She believed in the God who forgave everyone, including lawmen who made mistakes and men like Franklin Dean who deserved punishment more than mercy. She didn't care what Matt had done, but she cared deeply about his soul.

Her heart ached for him. “How did it happen?”

“I didn't start out bad,” he said wearily. “I served proudly as a captain in Hood's Texas Brigade.” His voice rang with the pride of a soldier. “We were in northern Virginia near Spotsylvania. We stopped two federal corps that day, but it came at a price. Most of my men died.”

Pearl knew firsthand that violence begat violence. After being attacked, she'd beat her pillow as if it were Franklin Dean's face. “It must have been terrible.”

“It was.” His shoulders relaxed, but he kept his back to her. “Only eight of us lived. That night, we were ordered to patrol for spies. To this day, I don't recall approaching Amos McGuckin's farm. One minute we were in the thick of the forest. The next we'd ridden into a clearing with a big house and a barn. It was late, almost midnight. The old man came out carrying a lantern as if he'd been expecting someone.”

Matt blew out a breath. “One of my men—Hardin was
his name—accused him of being a spy for the Blues. Why I believed him, I'll never know.”

Pearl sprang to his side. “War makes people crazy. You were—”

“Don't make excuses for me.” He clipped his words. “I was in charge. I should have stopped what happened. We had cause to question the man, but we didn't take the time. Three of my men charged up the porch and dragged McGuckin into the yard. The torches burned like the sun that night. I saw every line in the old man's face.”

Pearl closed her eyes, but she smelled the kerosene and saw the faces of crazed men. She stood up from the divan. “Matt—”

“I'm poison.”

She touched his arm, but he jerked away. “You're human. God forgives.”

He turned to her with a look of pure hate. “Maybe
He
can forgive me, but I can't forgive
Him.
He let me murder a harmless old man. Why didn't he break my arm or shoot me in the head? Why not strike me blind? I deserve to die for what I did.”

“There's still forgiveness.” Her words seemed paltry compared to his guilt, but she had to try.

He shook his head. “We lynched him, Pearl. Hardin tossed a rope over a branch, and the next thing I knew McGuckin was kicking and leaking like a side of beef.” His voice dropped even lower. “His daughter saw the whole thing from an upstairs window.”

Pearl couldn't bear to picture her father dying such a death. She wanted to comfort Matt, but he'd gone to a place she'd never been. “I can't imagine.”

“No, you can't.” He stood taller. “Do you know who the old man was waiting for?”

“No,” she said quietly.

“He was waiting for his son, a soldier just like me…a Confederate officer. He rode into the yard five minutes too late. Why he didn't shoot me dead, I'll never know.”

“What did he do?”

“He went crazy with grief. We rode out before he came to his senses.”

She had to bite her lip to keep from crying for him. He didn't need her pity. He needed to know he wasn't the first man to do something unforgivable. “I see,” she said. “You're as bad as the man who raped me.”

His eyes burned with righteous indignation. “I'd
never
hurt a woman.”

“Sin is sin, Matt.” When it came to forgiveness, Pearl knew the need to give it and the need to receive it. God's love filled the gap in between. “Everyone falls short. Some mistakes are worse than others, but they're all fish from the same barrel. If we leave them to rot, they stink.”

She'd earned his attention, so she took a chance and tugged on his arm. “Sit with me.”

They stepped to the divan and sat. As she angled her knees toward his, he met her gaze. “I want to ask you something.”

“What is it?”

“Have you forgiven the man who raped you?”

A hard question demanded an honest answer. “Not completely, but I've tried. It helps that he's dead.”

He sat back as if she'd slapped him. “I should be dead, too.”

Belatedly she saw the meaning behind his question. He'd been seeking forgiveness for himself and hadn't found it. She had to explain before he lost hope. “I'm glad he's dead because he can't threaten me anymore.” She thought of the harrowing days at Swan's Nest and winced. “If he'd
asked
for forgiveness, I'd have given it. He never did.”

Matt held up his hand, taking hers with it in a kind of pledge. “I'd give my life to change what I did.”

“Does the man's family know that?”

“I don't know.”

“Why not?” Out of respect, she made her voice firm. He needed a man's reckoning, not a woman's pity.

“I wrote a letter,” he admitted. “If the son received it, he never wrote back.”

Pearl held his hand tighter. “You might not be able to make amends to the McGuckin family, but you don't have to carry the burden. Jesus paid the price for what you did.”

As he stared at the fire, she saw their future teetering on the scale of “what if….” If Matt found forgiveness, they could be together. If he clung to his bitterness, he'd be pulling in one direction and she'd be pulling in the other. They'd always be at odds. If she pursued him, she'd be going against both God's ways and her desire for a husband who shared her faith. Even worse, she'd be standing between God and Matt. If he rejected God's grace, she'd have to let him go. Even more than he needed a wife, he needed a day of reckoning for what he'd done.

Abruptly he released her fingers and shot to his feet. He strode to a dark corner, then faced her with his hands on his hips. “That's enough about my stupidity. What happened with Jasper?”

Please, God. Touch Matt's troubled heart.
She wasn't ready to give up on him. “I can see why you're mad at God. I was mad at Him after what happened to me. Sometimes I still am, but that's part of being human.”

His mouth pulled into a sneer. “I hear that kind of talk from Dan all the time. When some fool gets himself shot, he tells him about Jesus and those pearly gates.” Sarcasm turned his drawl to syrup. “I've had about all I can stand, Pearl. Don't pester me.”

“You're being stubborn,” she said quietly.

“I'm being honest.”

“So am I. God's merciful. He loves us.”

Matt's lips hooked into a sneer. “How do you know that? Are you going to tell me Toby's a
blessing
to you? Are you going to say God's good because you were raped but not murdered?”

“Of course not!”

He glared at her. “God's either cruel or He doesn't care. Either way, I'm not interested.”

His words were meant to build a wall between them. She couldn't go through it or around it, nor could she scale the height of it. All she could do was speak to him from the other side. “I may not understand everything that happens, but I know there's more to this life than being miserable. There's love, Matt. There's family and hope and helping each other. I believe in Heaven with my whole heart. When we get there, we'll reap rewards.”

With the wall at his back, he chortled. “If God
rewards
me, I'll be frying in Hell.”

“That's right.”

Matt eyed her thoughtfully. “I wasn't expecting that answer.”

“You murdered a man.” She spoke with calm certainty. “Someone has to pay for that crime, and someone has. Jesus died for all our mistakes—every lie, every murder and yes, every rape. That includes what you did to that poor old man.”

Matt stayed by the window, a shadow backed into a corner. She prayed he'd find peace.
Please, Lord. Soften his heart.

She looked for a softening of his features. Instead a hateful gleam burned in his eyes. “Forget it, Pearl. I'm asking you again. What happened with Jasper?”

Pearl gave up. If Matt didn't want to make peace with God, she couldn't force the issue. Until that day came, she had no choice but to love him from afar. With a deep breath, she hid the kiss in her heart, tucking it away just as she'd tucked away the ribbons.

 

Looking at Pearl, aglow with the fire in the hearth, Matt wished things could be different. A long time ago he'd had the faith of a child. But then he'd gone to war and his eyes had been opened. The past hour had opened them even wider. When he'd kissed Pearl, he'd expected to pay with his heart. Instead he'd paid with something far more costly. He'd told her his secret.

Between the fire's warmth and her sweetness, he'd lost his ability to hold the shame inside. He could have stopped the lynching, but he hadn't. Matt knew men like Jasper in his marrow because he'd been one of them. If he could stop the Golden Order now, perhaps he could forgive himself for murdering Amos McGuckin.