Brazos Bride Page 6

  So many questions, and no answers. Taking action today had lifted her spirits and made her believe that--with Micah’s help--she could defeat this killer. The confrontation with Eduardo and thoughts of her aunt and uncle deflated her. She hadn’t wanted to hurt anyone, just guarantee her own safety. And freedom. Precious freedom.

  Micah scooted her plate nearer her. "Come on, just a little apple cobbler. You have to gain back your strength." His dimpled smile cajoled her.

  She agreed and forked up a bite of the dessert, but the companionable conversation they’d shared before Eduardo’s confrontation disappeared. As usual, she shoved her emotions into a back recess of her mind and closed the door. Years of being told that only the weak displayed sentimental feelings had damaged her ability to act otherwise. She wanted to be open and friendly with Micah, but had no example to follow. Suppressing her emotions had taken a toll on her ability to be natural and open with others.

  Diners still stared at them amid hushed whispers. Leaning forward to remind her to look cheerful, Micah kept up a dialogue and she had only to smile and reply. With relief she finally laid her fork on her almost empty plate and took the last sip of tea.

  Her new husband stood and smiled. Amazing how handsome he looked when he offered his dimpled grin.

  "Guess we'd better head on up to the Presidential Suite, Mrs. Stone." Micah's eyes twinkled again.

  His conspiratorial wink made her blush. Everyone in the room knew they’d just been married, must imagine this was a real wedding night. Refusing to make eye contact with those in the room, she let him help her with her chair and then took his arm. The other diners stared at their departure, some not even attempting to conceal curiosity.

  As Hope and Micah took the stairs, he leaned near and whispered, "Bet there's a lot of speculation going on back there. We couldn't have gotten the word around faster if we'd taken a full page ad in John's newspaper."

  She’d no idea how difficult a charade marriage would be. "Especially with Mr. and Mrs. Welborn there. Mama always said Candace Welborn was the biggest gossip in the state."

  Hope wondered what the comments would be. Was Micah right and people would think she’d plotted with him for her own father's murder? She had to admit people tended to believe the worst, especially those like Mrs. Welborn.

  He unlocked the door and let her precede him. After he lit the lamp, he checked the room. "Can’t be too careful, but it looks just the way we left it. You need help with anything getting ready for bed?"

  She felt her cheeks flush. "N-No, I can manage."

  He nodded and made a mock bow. "Then reckon I'll walk off a little of that dinner while you get tucked in." With that he closed the door and left her in the room alone. She heard his key turn in the lock. She knew he did so to protect her, but couldn’t prevent her annoyance he’d locked her in again, as if she were his possession now.

  So far, he'd not overstepped his bounds and had stuck to their agreement. She hoped he remembered he'd said he would sleep on the floor tonight.

  Quickly she undressed and slipped on her nightclothes. Goodness, she hadn't realized the fabric of her sleepwear was so thin. Better be glad he'd left her alone while she readied for bed. She left the lamp burning low and climbed between the sheets.

  Lying alone on her wedding night, she wondered how she would feel if this were a real marriage? Theresa had assured her the physical side of marriage was very pleasant, but Hope wondered. Mama had told her otherwise, that it was to be endured in order to have children and appease a husband’s animalistic nature. A wife’s unpleasant duty, she’d called it.

  What would a real marriage to Micah be like? Was he passionate, she wondered? She knew he was fearsome when riled, and she hoped never to rouse his ire. His nearness created a strange need to lean on him. To snuggle against his hard, muscular body. His touch elicited tingles, which ended up as warmth pooling low inside her.

  Did that mean she was a passionate woman? Would she enjoy joining with Micah, or find it a tiresome duty? Chiding herself, she tried to control her wandering thoughts. She forced herself to keep her goal in mind. Freedom to control her own life, allowing no man to crush her spirit.

  Freedom!

  Something about her proposal had seriously offended him, and she speculated about what she would have done if he had stood fast in his refusal. Hadn't she considered every unmarried man she knew? No other suitable prospect came to mind, unless one of his brothers would have agreed. Both his brothers were handsome, especially Zach, and appeared upstanding and powerful men. Why didn’t they arouse the same interest from her that Micah did?

  Only Micah fit the bill as someone strong enough to offer her protection and honorable enough not to press his advantage on her. Wait. Was that actually true, or did she harbor a secret attraction to him?

  She’d enjoyed dancing with him their first meeting. At his trial, she’d been afraid to speak to him for fear of further enraging Tio Jorge. Someone was guilty, but she knew Micah hadn’t killed her father.

  What made her sure?

  She touched the ring on her finger, hoping it wouldn't slip off her hand during the night. For some reason, wearing it pleased her and she refused to remove it even for sleep. How silly she acted, as if theirs were a romantic arrangement.

  A soft rap alerted her he'd returned before he unlocked the door and came into the room. She scooted the pillows against her back and sat with the sheet tucked under her arms to shield her breasts from view through the thin fabric.

  "Thought I gave you plenty of time," he said and turned the lock, then laid the key on the dresser.

  "Wh—where did you go?" she asked, wondering if he'd think she had no right to question him.

  He hung his hat on the peg, then tugged off his boots. "Said a few words to Zach before he headed back to the ranch. Late tomorrow he and Joel are coming to your place. My men will start moving cattle to the river. Along with the access to the water, that's good grazing along there. May save the rest of the herd."

  He unbuttoned his shirt, but left it on. "We figure one of us will always be at the house with you, so you're never alone. I've started on a plan for what we can do about protecting the food so no one can slip in poison. Here’s what I have planned--"

  “Micah...I...I am not sure eating so much was a good idea.” She slapped her hand over her mouth.

  He grabbed the chamber pot and held it for her while she retched. When she’d emptied her stomach, she fell back on the pillows exhausted and wet with clammy perspiration. Chills shook her.

  “Hope, I’m so sorry.” He put the lid on the chamber pot and slid it under the bed. “I should have realized you were too ill for heavy food. Damn, I practically force fed you that dessert.”

  “No, I should have known. The meal tasted so good and eating without worry overwhelmed my good sense. You must think me greedy to stuff myself.”

  “No, both of us focused on other things than the delicate state of your stomach.” He dipped a cloth into the water he’d used to splash his face. “Let me sponge your face.”

  “You had no idea you were signing on as nursemaid, did you?” Her eyes searched his face. If he was repulsed, he showed no sign.

  “Actually, I figured it was like the judge started to say...’in sickness and in health’. You let me know if you feel sick again, okay.”

  “Thank you, but I just need sleep.”

  After he surveyed the room, he scooted one chair near the other. He sat and rested his feet on the seat across from him. "Reckon I can sleep here well as the floor. I'm about used up."

  Fatigued as she was, curiosity prompted her to ask, "Do your brothers ranch with you?" She knew little about his day-to-day life compared to the large ranch she owned.

  “No, although we share some things.” He wriggled in the hard wooden chair as if searching for a comfortable position. “Zach owns a sweet little valley west of here high up on that mountain you can see from your place.”

  “I have looked at
it a thousand times, but I do not even know if it has a name.”

  “It does. Stone Mountain.”

  “Oh.” Micah must think her unaware of her surroundings.. “You three look very much alike. You must be near in age.”

  “I’m youngest by three years. Joel’s two years older than Zach.”

  “But they are free to help you instead of their own places?”

  “My brothers put their own lives on hold to help my two ranch hands and me dredge out the waterholes, haul water from Zach’s place for the cattle, and build dams in case it ever rains."

  “You have worked hard.” Their hard work was partially because of her family, and it embarrassed her. She slid her hands up and down her arms to ward off the chills that plagued her.

  He rose and tugged the quilt up around her. "Been working sunup to sundown. Until today, I haven't taken any time off since the trial."

  "None? But it has been two months since you were acquitted."

  He raised an eyebrow. "Yep. If your uncle had honored my agreement with your father, we could have moved that fence and eased things a lot, saved some cattle."

  She sighed. "I tried to reason with him, but he refused to listen. He thinks of me as a child with no right to an opinion."

  The news she’d tried to appeal on his behalf appeared to please him. "Makes no difference now, does it?"

  For a minute she bit the corner of her lip, then answered, "Except that if you already had access to the water, you would never have agreed to marry me." She watched for his reaction.

  He met her gaze. "No telling because it didn't happen, and here we are married. And you're alone in your bed, and I'm alone on this chair."

  She looked at him. Perhaps she was unreasonable. Or maybe insane for sympathizing with a man who'd had to work harder because of her family.

  "I know it is an odd situation. If—if you wear your shirt and britches, I guess it would be all right if you slept on top of the cover here." She patted the bed beside her.

  He froze. Not a muscle moved, and he only stared at her. Had she misunderstood? Did he think her offer too forward?

  She babbled, "That is, if you want to. You said I should trust you. Well, maybe you would be more comfortable where you are." Why didn't he say something? Would he prefer sleeping in a chair to sharing the bed with a bag of bones like her?

  From the street below, she heard raucous laughter and someone called to a man named Ben. Music from a piano, she supposed in the saloon, drifted in through the open windows. A gust of breeze moved the curtains and slid across her skin. In this room, though, there was no sound.

  Slowly, he rose and extinguished the lamp as he moved across the room. She slid one of the pillows beside hers then scooted down. What had possessed her to offer him half her bed? Would he think she invited more?

  Too late to take it back now, for the mattress dipped as he stretched out. Quaking inside at the thought of him so near, she turned her back to him. She heard his weary sigh, as if he relaxed for the first time in a long while.

  "Good night," she offered, and hoped he understood the finality of the phrase.

  "Yep. Good night, Mrs. Stone." The mattress shook as he turned his back to her. She felt the soles of his feet press against her ankles. He must be several inches too long for the bed and she guessed he had to bend his legs to fit. She didn't dare turn to see firsthand.

  She lay perfectly still, afraid to take a deep breath. Soon his breathing changed and she knew he slept. Outside the open window, the town quieted and the distant tinkling of the piano was the only sound. Light from the full moon illuminated the room and slanted across the bed. A soft breeze drifted across her, lulling her in its caress.

  With a sigh, she fought to relax, but abdominal pain kept her awake no matter how her body cried for rest. Perhaps if she planned, she’d forget the pain and chills that racked her frame.

  Plan, yes. She needed a plan for food preparation when she returned to her home. No, Micah said he had a plan and had started to explain when her retching stopped him. Oh, dear, once more he took charge when it was her life, her home.

  Maybe Aunt Sofia and Tio Jorge would have left by the time she and Micah arrived and things would be fine. Already she felt more secure. She sensed her eyelids drifting closed and sleep’s blessed relief approaching. She burrowed into the pillow.

  A gunshot ripped apart the night.

  The blast startled her and she screamed as something thudded near her head, showering her hair and face with splinters. Panic immobilized her. What had happened?

  Micah dragged her onto the floor as a bullet ripped into the mattress.

  Chapter Nine

  The explosion waked Micah from a sound sleep. For a minute he thought he was back in the War. Reacting purely on instinct, Micah yanked Hope off the bed and pushed her between him and the wall.

  "You okay?" he asked.

  She pulled one arm free and brushed at her cheeks. "Just splinters I think. You?" Her body trembled.

  He rubbed a hand across his face. "I’m fine. Stay here while I see if the gunman is still around."

  In a crouch beside the bed he searched the room, waiting for another blast. Though he'd acted without conscious thought at first, the second explosion had sounded like a rifle.

  She gasped. "Maybe it was just a drunken cowboy shooting up the town."

  "A bullet fired from a pistol on the street would likely have hit the ceiling, not the bed. No, someone aimed into this room. And it sounded like a rifle to me."

  She clutched his shirt. "Then do not go out there.” Her voice filled with panic. “Whoever did this might be waiting for you to show yourself--"

  Banging on doors along the hallway interrupted her and the innkeeper called loudly, "Everyone okay up here?"

  Micah made a low dash to the door and unlocked it. Herman Stevens stood in the hall, rifle in hand and his britches' suspenders pulled over his nightshirt. His gray hair stuck out in all directions and left no doubt he'd been asleep until a few minutes ago.

  Micah pulled the man into the room. "Stevens, guard my wife. Don’t let anyone but me in, will you?" He stomped his feet into boots and shoved his pistol into his belt. "I'm going to find where that shot came from."

  Micah pulled the door closed behind him and raced along the hallway. Taking steps two at a time, he hurried down the stairs and outside. He met the sheriff on the boardwalk.

  "Aw, hell, Stone. I might of known this had something to do with you being in town. Can’t you stay out of trouble?"

  Micah walked into the street and pointed to the room above, though all appeared tranquil from here. "Two shots through that open window while my wife and I slept. Just missed both of us."

  "Heard you and the Montoya girl tied the knot today.” Ryan said as they walked to the building across the street. “Reckon someone didn't like you winning her hand?"

  "Right. Guess it could have been aimed at both of us, but my gut says they were meant for me. First shot came in and hit low on the headboard, not the ceiling. Second one came lower, hit the mattress."

  Micah turned to stare at the hotel's corner windows then gauged where the shot would have come from. He saw Ryan do the same.

  "Roof of the Mercantile," Ryan grumbled then strode off around the corner to a stairway that led to Bowman’s second floor living quarters. Micah followed fast on the sheriff's heels.

  Their booted steps clattered on the wooden treads and made enough noise for an army. "Surely Bowman would have heard someone on the roof? Doesn't he sleep upstairs?"

  Ryan said, "Old man would sleep through a dynamite blast. Unless his dyspepsia acts up, he won't wake until just 'fore sunup."

  When they reached the landing at the second floor entrance, the sheriff climbed on the railing and peered over the flat roof's edge. "No one's there now. Come morning I'll check every inch and out back, too."

  "Then you'll take this seriously, even though I'm involved?"

  “Don't reckon it'll do any
good but, yeah, I'll check into it.” Ryan jumped down to the landing. "Law’s the law. My personal opinion don't come into it."

  They descended the stairs and paused in the alleyway.

  “Maybe someone saw the culprit.” Ryan studied both sides of the now deserted street. Rubbing his jaw, the sheriff looked at Micah. "You can go back to your bride, Stone. I'll take over from here."

  Micah hesitated and wondered if he could trust the lawman who despised him. If someone had launched an attack, this time Micah wanted the law on his side. It galled him, but he figured he’d better take this man into his confidence. He lowered his voice so only the sheriff could hear.

  "My wife has reason to think someone’s been poisoning her. That makes it even more likely someone wants her—maybe both of us—dead."

  Ryan grimaced, his gaze roaming to search corners and crevices. "Hell, man, why didn't she come tell me?" His narrowed eyes flicked to meet Micah's. "She have any proof?"

  Micah went over the ploys Hope had used to check out her suspicions. He added, "Look, Sheriff, I know you think I shot her father, but I swear I didn't. What if whoever killed the old man wanted to wipe out more than him? You know anyone who has a grudge against the whole family?

  Ryan shook his head. "Alfredo Montoya didn’t have any friends, though a lot of folks kowtowed to him. He was a powerful man hereabouts and wealthy as Solomon, but mean and tight-fisted. Either one of those causes enemies. No one in particular comes to mind, though--except you."

  Micah let the slur slide. He needed the lawman's help.

  Ryan's forehead crinkled in a frown, uncaring or unaware he'd insulted Micah again. "Jorge Montoya isn't as rich as his big brother, but reckon he has enough wealth to arouse plenty of envy."