Authors: Kat Martin
He forced his mind in another direction. So far, he’d been able to control his thoughts of her. It was imperative he continue to do so.
Jacob Stanhope poked his head through the door. “All set in here?” He looked dashing in his own black suit. As always, he carried himself erect, but there was a slump to his shoulders that hadn’t been there before. It strengthened Ren’s resolve.
“We’re ready whenever you are,” he replied, trying to keep his tone light. He waited as Tommy threaded a delicate pink rose into his buttonhole.
Jacob watched him a moment more, a slightly odd look in his eye; then he closed the door. The organ music grew louder, indicating time for their entrance into the church.
“It’s now or never,” Tommy said, making an attempt at a smile.
Ren nodded solemnly. The men walked into the church in single file and waited to the right of the altar. The crowd quieted. The hush of anticipation strained Ren’s nerves as all eyes looked toward the back of the church and the organ music swelled.
The bridesmaids began their slow procession down the long sloping aisle to the strains of the wedding march. They were gowned in delicate pink silk chiffon. Each carried a bouquet of pink roses entwined with lace and wore a broad-brimmed pink satin hat with roses at the base of the crown. Pink satin slippers peeped from beneath their gossamer dresses.
Ren stood calmly, his mind carefully blank. The music lulled him, enabled him to remain within his trancelike state. He watched the last bridesmaid walk down the aisle, followed by Elizabeth Pickman, Melissa’s maid of honor. Elizabeth’s gown was a darker shade of pink, her bouquet larger and studded with darker pink roses. She wore a smile, but hers seemed a little less genuine than the rest. Ren wondered if it was because she sensed the truth about Melissa’s marriage.
The organ increased its volume until loud strains of the wedding march echoed off the walls of the church. It was time for the appearance of the bride. Melissa stepped into the doorway on her father’s arm, wearing a high-necked gown made of yards and yards of snowy white lace. The delicate cloth billowed out from her tiny waist, the skirt so full it brushed the pews on both sides of the aisle as she walked. Above the bodice and down each sleeve, only the lace covered her fragile, translucent skin. Her blond hair, gathered in dainty ringlets beside her ears, glistened in the candlelight.
She looks like a china doll, Ren thought. She’s beautiful. Sweet and delicate and beautiful. And any man would be happy to take her to wife. Any man except me.
Jacob moved beside her in the step-halt rhythm of the march. He looked every bit the proud father, walking tall and straight, his shoulders squared. When he reached the place before the altar where Ren stood, he gave Ren his daughter’s hand, then backed away, taking his place in the pew.
Ren held her dainty fingers between his, wondering at the tiny size of Melissa’s hand. It felt as cold as marble. Before turning toward the altar, he glanced at her face. The lace veil couldn’t hide the bleakness in her eyes or the stiffness of the smile she kept carefully in place. Her blue eyes stared straight ahead, fixed on the minister who would sentence her to life imprisonment with a man she didn’t love.
The minister began to speak in a strong, clear voice: “Dearly beloved. We are gathered together today, in the sight of God and in the presence of these witnesses, to join together Melissa and Reynold in the bonds of holy matrimony.
“Marriage is an honorable and holy estate, instituted by God and sanctioned by Christ’s presence at the marriage in Cana of Galilee, and likened by Saint Paul to the mystical union which exists between Christ and his Church.”
The minister droned on. Ren lost track of his words. He was trying to remember where he’d seen that tortured look before. Who had worn it? What meaning had it held? Suddenly it hit him like a blow to the stomach. It was the same look he’d seen in Elaina’s eyes when she looked at Chuck Dawson. The look of a frightened doe.
“Marriage is therefore not to be entered upon lightly,” the minister was saying, “or thoughtlessly, but reverently and fully, and in the eyes of God.”
Ren could barely concentrate on the words. The terrible fear he’d seen in Melissa’s eyes staggered him. The images in front of him blurred, and his palms felt clammy. If she looked like that here, surrounded by her family and friends, what expression would she wear tonight when he entered her bedchamber to consummate their marriage? How could he force his will on her? What gave him that right? What gave any man that right? The answer was suddenly clear to him: no one. Not him. Not Jacob. Only God had that right.
“Into this holy estate these two persons now desire to enter. Therefore if any man can show just cause why they may not lawfully be joined together, let him speak now or forever hold his peace.”
The silence in the church echoed in his ears. He squared his shoulders. “I’m afraid I do,” he said, his voice resonant. The minister looked stunned. The guests began to mutter softly among themselves.
“And I,” came Jacob Stanhope’s booming voice. He rose in his pew, standing tall, the flickering candles lighting the tears in his eyes.
“And I.” Stewart Pickman rose from his seat by the aisle, gripping his hat in his hands.
Ren looked down at the tiny blond woman beside him. Tears glistened in her eyes and slipped down her cheeks. She smiled up at him so gratefully he wanted to cry.
“Stewart?” he asked.
“Yes,” she whispered.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Father loves you so much.”
“I know.” He kissed her cheek through the veil. Then he took a calming breath and fought to control the tremor in his voice. “He loves you, too.”
She nodded.
Pandemonium reined among the crowd. There were loud whispers of shock and outrage. The organist began to play softly, trying to quiet the commotion.
“You stay here,” Ren ordered Melissa. “I’ll be right back.” He moved with long strides up the aisle to where Stewart Pickman stood nervously but proudly.
“If I’m the cause of this,” Stewart said, “I don’t apologize. You may feel free to demand satisfaction.”
Ren just grinned. “Do you love her?”
“Desperately.”
“Then the only satisfaction I want is to see you two married. Follow me.”
Solemnly Stewart followed him to the foot of the altar. When Ren reached Melissa’s side, he lifted her hand and placed it in Stewart’s. He could see the tension drain from Pickman’s face, replaced by loving warmth as he looked into the eyes of the woman who would be his bride.
How close, Ren thought. How close they had all come to destroying each other’s happiness. And for what? Some misplaced sense of loyalty. Thank God he’d finally come to his senses.
“Please be patient,” Ren said to the minister. “You’ll get to finish in just a moment.” He moved up the opposite aisle to where Jacob Stanhope still stood, a wide smile now lighting his face.
“Forgive an old fool?” Jacob said.
“Stewart’s a good man.”
Jacob nodded. “Go to Elaina, son. She loves you. Tell her . . . tell her we’ll all be proud to have her in the family.”
Ren shook Jacob’s hand, then leaned over and briefly embraced the man he owed so much.
“Thank you, Jacob. For everything.”
“Thank you, my boy.” Jacob moved toward the wide-eyed minister, intent on reassuring him and seeing his daughter happily married to the man she loved.
Ren waved over his shoulder and moved up the aisle. He could hear the minister intoning the ceremony again, this time with new names. His heart felt near to bursting with happiness. As he moved through the massive doors of the church and into the sunlight, he began to rehearse the words
he would say to Elaina. They ranged from “Please forgive me” to a simple “Will you marry me?” It didn’t really matter what he said. One way or another he was going to marry Elaina McAllister and never let her leave his side again.
Chapter 27
E
LAINA
M
C
A
LLISTER BUTTONED
the cuffs of her light gray traveling suit, then smoothed the narrow burgundy-trimmed skirt and adjusted the folds of material that fell in soft pleats at the back.
She’d chosen to wear something somber, something that matched her mood. She’d cried herself to sleep last night, though she promised herself a thousand times she was through shedding tears. She knew her face looked haggard and drawn, her hair lackluster. It didn’t matter. All that mattered was leaving the ranch, leaving the valley, leaving her memories behind.
“You ready, mum?” Flora Thomas bustled up to her, her expression disapproving. She’d already voiced her opinion of Elaina’s unscheduled departure.
“I’m ready. Does Herbert have the wagon loaded?”
“’E’s right out front.”
Elaina nodded, pulled on clean white gloves, and moved toward the door.
“You sure you don’t want to wait for Mr. Tommy? ’E’ll be back tomorrow.”
“It’ll be easier on everyone this way.”
“Mr. Simpson’s gonna ride to the train station with ye. Mr. Daniels is paying him to keep an eye on you, and that’s what ’e intends to do.” They walked across the porch and down the front steps to the gravel roadway where the wagon waited. Simpson, a burly ex-guard Ren had hired to protect her until she left, sat in the back of the wagon, his revolver strapped to his thigh and a .44-40 resting across his lap.
“I don’t expect any trouble, Miss McAllister, but you never can be too careful.” The big man laid the rifle down and jumped from the wagon to help Elaina up. Herbert Thomas sat in the driver’s seat holding the horse’s reins.
Elaina started to climb aboard, Simpson’s hands at her waist, then stopped short. “Wait just a minute. I forgot my book. I’ll be right back.” Gathering up her skirts, she headed toward the porch, followed inside by a clucking Flora Thomas.
“I’ve a bad feeling about this, mum, a bad feeling.”
The loud crack of rifle fire and the tingle of shattering glass sent her ducking to the floor.
“Get down, Flora!” she ordered as two more bullets whizzed through the air. The gray-haired housekeeper seemed hesitant until the next shot splintered the vase beside her. Hurling herself onto the thick bear rug, Flora began to say her prayers.
Elaina slid across the floor to the window and raised herself up enough to peek out. The guard lay sprawled, unmoving, beside the wagon. Herbert Thomas crouched beside the seat, unable to reach the rifle in the back. Elaina stayed low, her heart pounding wildly.
“’Erbert,” Flora sobbed. “They’re going to kill my ’Erbert.”
Elaina glanced back out the window. Two more shots knocked chips of wood from the wagon seat just above Herbert’s head. If Elaina didn’t do something soon, Flora’s husband would be the next victim. Since they were obviously after her, not Herbert or Flora, Elaina couldn’t let that happen.
“Hold your fire!” she called through the broken window. “If I’m the one you want, leave them alone.”
“Put your hands up and come out on the porch. And bring the housekeeper with you.”
So they knew about Flora. They must have been watching the house for some time.
“No, mum,” Flora pleaded, raising herself from the rug. “They’ll kill you if you go out there.”
“I don’t think so, Flora. They’re after something. I’m not sure what. But whatever it is, I intend to give it to them.” Elaina stood up and moved to the door. Flora wrung her hands but fell in behind her. Pushing open the heavy door, Elaina moved out on the porch.
“Hello, Elaina. You’re looking well.” Chuck Dawson’s shrill voice was unmistakable.
“My God, Chuck. You’re the one behind all this?”
“You know what they say about a jilted lover.” He smiled mirthlessly, his now slightly crooked nose giving his face a somewhat distorted appearance. Walking up beside her, he pointed his revolver ominously. “Get back inside.” As Elaina backed through the doorway into the front room of the house, two other men, both waving guns, appeared from behind the hedge, one tall and well built, the other thin and pale. They ordered Herbert Thomas down from the wagon seat and hustled him and Flora into the house. Simpson lay on the ground in a widening pool of blood and Elaina feared he was dead.
“You two get over there away from the door,” Chuck commanded, pointing to Flora and Herbert as he crossed the room toward Elaina. “Tie ’em up, Andy.” The shorter man did as he was told. The other gunman disappeared into the kitchen, and Elaina soon heard the sound of water being poured, followed by the clink of a spoon against crystal.
Elaina stood in the middle of the sitting room, wondering what Chuck could be after. “If it’s money you want, Chuck, I’ve got more than enough. Let us go and I’ll make you a rich man.”
“Oh, you’re going to make me rich, all right. Have no fear of that. But we’ll do it my way, not yours. I’m running this show, and you’d better get used to the idea right now.” He paused to look at her, his eyes brooding.
“Chuck, please—”
“Shut up!” He stepped toward her, his jaw set; then, controlling himself, he backed away. “You never were any good at taking orders, Elaina.” He turned to his companion. “Bill, are you ready?”
The taller gunman returned from the kitchen and approached Elaina. He was carrying a small glass of cloudy liquid. “Drink this,” he ordered.
“What do you think you’re doing?” she demanded, her fear surfacing again.
“Just making you a little more comfortable for the trip, ma’am.”
“You’d better be careful, Chuck. You’re not dealing with the same naive little girl who left Keyserville. I’m a wealthy woman. People will be looking for me.”
“Let ’em look, Duchess. You won’t be hard to find. You’ll be in Keyserville with me, just like we planned.” Elaina took a step toward the door.
“Don’t even think about it,” the tall man said, “unless you want your two friends to wind up in the same condition as that man outside.”
Dawson grabbed her chin in a crushing grip. “I wouldn’t advise you to make this any more difficult than need be. You’ve already cost me more trouble than you’re worth.” Elaina fought back a shudder of fear. The one called Bill shoved the glass toward her, and she took it with trembling fingers.