Authors: Primrose
“You want this married life?” Grandy asked when he’d smoked the last of the cigarette and had ground the burning tip into the soft earth.
“Married life isn’t so bad when you consider the other side of the coin.”
“Which is?”
“Loneliness.”
“I’ve never been lonely except when I was a boy and lived in a house full of people.”
“What you saw between your mother and father wasn’t marriage, Grandy. I hope you know that by now.” Nathan
tracked the area, his wise eyes coming to rest on Zanna. “You’ve got yourself a pretty wife, Grandy. Is she pretty inside, too?”
“She’s got a good heart,” Grandy allowed. “But she’s got troubles that I’m not sure I want to get tangled in.”
“Got to take the good with the bad,” Nathan said in his soft, lilting voice.
“I don’t believe you,” Grandy said, unable to deny the disappointment he felt. “If any man would chafe under a yoke, I’d have thought it would be you.”
“How long have you been married?”
“Married?” Grandy said derisively. “I’ve been with her for six weeks. Long enough to know it won’t work.”
“You’ve given it a chance?”
“Yes.” He shrugged, uncomfortable with the lie. “Sort of. She doesn’t want a husband. She wants a faithful dog that comes when she hollers and goes when she snaps her fingers.”
Nathan tilted his head. “Is she too much for you to handle?”
“No.” Grandy jutted out his chin defiantly. “I don’t think I want to handle her. I’ve got enough problems of my own.” He caught sight of Agatha bustling toward them, arms pumping and curls popping up and down like blond springs. “Here comes your new owner. Looks to me like she keeps you within shouting distance.”
“We enjoy being with each other.”
“I don’t believe that for a minute. What card do you have up your sleeve? Are you planning on waiting until the little dumpling looks away and then taking off with the family jewels?”
One long step brought Nathan face to face with Grandy. The older man’s bony fingers closed like iron bands around Grandy’s upper arms and his narrow face took on an evil cast that Grandy had never seen before.
“We’re good friends and I love you like a brother, so I’m not going to pound your face to mush because of that
last crack, but I’m warning you, so listen up. Agatha is my wife so you’d best watch what you say about her and my relationship with her. Is that as clear as a mountain spring or do you want me to cross over it again?”
Nathan’s seething rage left Grandy speechless. He nodded and Nathan released him, then brushed out the wrinkles he’d pressed into Grandy’s black shirt. Nathan’s shy smile was back in place before he faced his wife.
“Hello, dear. The music has started and you’re ready to dance, I assume.”
“Yes, Nathan.” Agatha’s blue eyes filled with love as she looked up into her husband’s lined face. She looped both arms through one of his. “I hate to break up your man talk, but this dance is so important to me. I want everyone to see me with my husband.” She placed adoring emphasis on the last word.
“I’m most pleased to be seen with you,” Nathan said, then glanced at Grandy. “I’ll speak to you again before the evening is over, Grandy. Have a good time, why don’t you?”
“I’ll do that.” Grandy inclined his head. “Mrs. Beaumont, he’s all yours.”
Agatha giggled and pulled Nathan toward the dance floor, which was filling with couples. Perkins had climbed up on one of the boxes and was calling the first square dance. Zanna was helping Mrs. Jackson slice up the pies. Grandy knew that Zanna wanted him to dance the first one with her, but he hung back in the shelter of the willow’s arms. Seeing Nathan had jolted him back to the days of green-topped tables and rounds of drinks.
The good life
.
And Nathan Beaumont was turning his back on it!
Nathan was legendary among gamblers. Grandy had considered himself fortunate to have been taught by Nathan—the best of the best. He’d traveled with Nathan for two years before they’d branched off to go it on their own. He’d seen Nathan play the best and win. He’d
learned how to think like him, how to remember each card played and calculate which ones hadn’t been played. He’d learned to do
everything
like Nathan.
But Nathan had put himself out to pasture. It was unthinkable!
Grandy tipped back his head to stare at the dazzling heavens. He breathed deeply to clear his head of shock and its numbing aftermath. Nathan had given up women like Lynna and Delores and Janette for Agatha Daryrimple!
“Holy Christ,” Grandy said through gritted teeth. He whirled and kicked viciously at a clump of flowers. Their spiky petals quivered, drawing Grandy down to them. He crouched for a closer look, then sucked in his breath. “Primroses.” He caressed the bruised flowers with his fingertips, angry at himself for taking out his wrath on her … no, on them. He shook his head, feeling rattled and unsure of his next step as his thoughts tripped over flowers and fell into Zanna’s emerald eyes. Disjointed images-petals and Zanna’s blushing cheeks, green stems and green eyes, battered blooms and trembling lips—poured into his head until it ached.
When he’d first seen Nathan tonight a plan had bloomed in his mind—a plan of escape. They would take a couple of horses and give Scyene and its desperate women the slip. The good life would be theirs again.
I haven’t changed, Grandy thought, almost defensively. I’m still the same man I was before Zanna got her hooks in me.
He winced at his own, unkind thoughts. Zanna had never hooked him. He’d willingly swum into her net, just as Nathan had looked for a net to swim into.
If he and Nathan were no longer involved in the good life, did the good life still exist? Grandy wondered. Was there still something out there for him? Were there still women wanting him? Were men still talking about his skill
at the card table? Or had some young buck taken his place and made Grandville Adams yesterday’s news?
“Oh, my God,” Grandy whispered into the dark where he crouched by the broken blossoms. “Is it all gone? Have I been fooling myself by thinking it was waiting for me?”
“Grandville, are you all right?”
He turned on the balls of his feet to look up at Zanna’s loveliness. She put the beauty of the night to shame, he thought. She tipped her head to one side, silently inquiring as to why he was crouched under a willow tree talking to himself when everyone else was having a good time.
“Is there anything I can do?” she asked, one hand inching toward him. “Did Agatha’s husband say something to upset you?”
Feeling unworthy of her concern, but glad for it just the same, he rose into her arms and pressed his face into the curving warmth of her neck.
“Zanna, Zanna,” he murmured, needing her femininity to overcome his masculine urge to cast off the chains of security and dive headfirst into adventurous uncertainty. He’d been in those dangerous waters before and had been young enough to stay afloat, but he was older and wiser now and not so sure he could swim those currents without drowning. Maybe Nathan was right. Maybe every man needed an anchor once in a while. He held tightly to Zanna, sensing her surprise, but also soaking up the tenderness released by her hands running through his hair, knocking off his hat and letting it fall, unheeded.
“Grandy, what’s wrong? What did that man say to you?” she asked, her voice taking on a protective edge that made him laugh softly.
“Are you going to fight for me, Zanna?” he teased, pulling back to see her worried expression.
“Of course, if it’s necessary.”
Her towering sincerity made him feel small in comparison. She’d fight for you, you simpering, lying bastard, an
inner voice growled at him. How does that make you feel, big man?
“Zanna,” he said, his voice choking. He framed her heart-shaped face in his hands and a sweet, unsettling emotion pushed at his heart. “I don’t deserve you,” he said and held her tightly for a long time.
Dancing in the circle of Grandy’s arms to the plaintive voice of a fiddle, Zanna was infused with new self-confidence. One of her gloved hands rested confidently in Grandy’s while she held up the side of her skirt with the other to keep it from tripping her. The song wasn’t as fast as the others had been, giving her a chance to catch her breath and examine her good fortune and resulting radiance.
Although men had extolled her beauty, she had taken their tributes with a grain of salt since she had never felt particularly beautiful. Besides, like most women, when she looked in the mirror she saw only her faults. But tonight she would have believed
anything
Grandy told her.
Zanna, the moon is made of green cheese.
Grandy, I believe
.
Zanna, the stars are really angels.
Grandy, I believe
. Zanna, I love you with all my heart.
Grandy, I believe
.
Leaning back slightly against his hand at her waist, Zanna smiled at her reverie. He looked uncommonly handsome to her loving eyes. Thinking back, she again remembered him in the dingy jail cell when he had been so physically depleted and spiritually doomed, a shadow of himself. Whether he would admit it or not, living at
Primrose had been good for him, changing him from a beaten man to a strapping one. He’d put on weight and his coloring was good. Even his hair was shiny and perfectly trimmed, thanks to her talent with the shears.
“I gave you a good haircut, didn’t I?” she asked.
“Best I’ve ever had.”
“Really?” She basked in his smile, then boldly tipped back his hat so she could see his face better. “How do you know Nathan Beaumont?”
“He took me under his wing and taught me the fine art of smart poker. A few years ago I thought of him as my guardian. Sort of like a big brother.”
“Do you think he’ll make Agatha a good husband?”
He considered her question. “Yes, I believe he will.”
“You sound surprised.”
“I am. Until an hour ago I never thought of Nathan in those terms. He’s changed. I think he’s sincere in wanting to put down roots. He spoke highly of Agatha.”
“Good for him and good for Agatha. Poor dear.” Zanna sighed and her gaze wandered until she found the couple. They were walking, arm in arm, toward the wagons. Were they leaving already? she wondered and started to tell Grandy, but then Nathan lifted Agatha onto the back of a hay-strewn wagon and hopped up to sit beside her. The couple turned their faces up to the cool moonlight and the sight of their sweet expressions and linked arms filled Zanna with an aching mixture of envy and gratitude. “Agatha had nearly given up any hope of finding herself a gentleman.”
“That’s one thing Nathan has always been,” Grandy said. “A gentleman. I learned my manners from him.” He made a playful face at Zanna. “Such as they are.”
She laughed. “Sometimes they’re very good and sometimes they’re deplorable—just like you.” She softened her comments with another laugh. “But you
are
a prince on the dance floor, I must admit.”
“A prince?” He seemed pleased. “That’s the first time I’ve been called
that
.”
Zanna looked toward the wagons again. Agatha had removed her bonnet, and her blond head rested against Nathan’s shoulder. Zanna’s thoughts floated like ashes in the wind. She gave herself over to Grandy’s deft lead and pondered his earlier embrace under the willow. He had held her so tightly that she’d had trouble breathing. What had gotten into him? Why had he been so fervently possessive of her? He had seemed seized by melancholy and Zanna assumed it had been brought on by seeing his old friend. But what other things had he been feeling? Why had he said he didn’t deserve her? Didn’t he know that it was
she
who didn’t deserve
him?
For she was to blame for this strange union and the twisted reasons behind it. Grandy was an innocent bystander, while Zanna had plotted and trapped him in her sordid, dangerous world. Her devious behavior should have gotten her a rounder, an outlaw, a hard-to-handle rebel. Instead, she’d been blessed by Grandy. It puzzled her and she wondered if her comeuppance might lie ahead. Perhaps the gods would punish her by taking Grandy away just when she needed him the most.
Her thoughts were too painful, so she forced them from her mind and tried to capture the gaiety of a few minutes ago by focusing her hungry eyes on Grandy. The scar on his chin beckoned and Zanna had to exercise her iron will to keep from rising on tiptoe to kiss it. He was tracking the area, searching … finding. He smiled, then chuckled.
“There they are. I was wondering where Nathan and Agatha had slipped off to, but I see them over there in that wagon.” He glanced toward Perkins and Donny. “Where’s Packsaddle?”
“He probably stayed on Primrose.”
“Why?”
“He hates dances,” Zanna confided. “He’d rather stay
in his bunk and dream of dancing with women than actually have to do it. That’s what he told me a few years ago. Packsaddle is a dear man, but he’s terribly shy and awkward around the opposite sex.”
Grandy lifted a brow. “I’ve known men like that, men who can’t form a decent sentence around a woman.” His gaze slipped to the wagons again and he chuckled warmly. “Agatha’s really showing old Nathan off to everyone, isn’t she?”
“She’s not the only one showing off a husband,” Zanna said, lifting her radiant face to his, but her smile waned when she saw uneasiness shadow his eyes. “Darnella and Lilimae are proud of their husbands, too,” she tacked on, hurt that he would be uneasy with her pride in having him as her escort.
“So they are.” He moved back so that his body no longer touched hers at any point. “Is something wrong?”
She shook off his concern, knowing he’d felt her stiffen. He wasn’t stupid, she thought. He knew good and well that he’d hurt her feelings. His pretense of being unaware of it made her all the more angry with him.
“It’s a curious arrangement … this hanging husband ordinance,” Grandy mused as he guided Zanna effortlessly around the dance floor, never missing a step. “I suppose it’s normal around here, though.”
“Not really,” Zanna said, hoping her disdainful expression cut him down to size. “It’s shameful, really, and society, by and large, spurns anything remotely shameful.”