Only My Love Read online

  Ethan shrugged as if it were unimportant. "Lots of things upset her."

  "Why did you leave?"

  It took Ethan a moment to realize Houston was asking about his fictional marriage. "I wasn't as ready as I thought I was to be settled," he said.

  Houston looked at Ethan thoughtfully, measuring his response, then he nodded. His eyes strayed to Michael again. She was leaning against the trunk of a pine, her back turned to them. Occasionally she would raise one hand and brush at her cheek. He knew she was crying. "I wish you hadn't had to bring her along," he said.

  "Hell, Houston, do you think it's what I wanted? Once I realized she was on the train I did everything I could to avoid her."

  "She's trouble."

  "I'm not denying it."

  "We can't let her go."

  "I know that."

  Houston nodded again. "Good," he said finally. "Try to keep her in line, Stone." He kicked his horse and rode off to catch up with the others.

  Ethan glanced over his shoulder. Michael was approaching. "He says I'm supposed to keep you in line."

  Michael raised her arms for Ethan's assistance to mount.

  He helped her up and when she was settled he repeated Houston's statement. She made no reply and her silence annoyed him. "He won't ask me to kill you," Ethan told her. "He'll ask one of the others or do it himself. Keep that in mind."

  Michael's response was quiet and firm. "I don't know that I'll enjoy your hanging, but I will be there."

  * * *

  Snow fell steadily as they rode on. At noon they stopped for hot coffee and cold jerky. Michael chose to eat outside the circle gathered around the small fire. No one asked her to join them or inquired if she was cold. The only time she elicited a response from them was when she needed privacy to relieve herself and began to walk out of their sight. The hot blush covering her face was all the answer they needed when Ben asked her where she was going.

  Houston took advantage of her disappearance to discuss how they would handle her presence as they rode into town. "Any of you given it any thought?"

  "I'm keeping her with me at Dee's," Ethan said. "I can't let her out of my sight much. If I absolutely have to, I can lock her in."

  "You gonna tell folks she's your wife?" Ben asked.

  Ethan shook his head. "I don't want a lot of questions. Too hard to explain how I met up with a wife no one knew I had. Detra can know. That's all."

  Obie lifted his hat, smoothed back the crown of his thick hair, then lowered his hat again. "I don't know, Ethan. Who you gonna say she is? And how did we come across her?"

  "Look," Ethan said lowly. "No one's going to associate her with the train robbery. Obie and I made it look like we killed her. The emigrants in the rear car witnessed it. There'll be a search for the body, but when nothing turns up they're going to think animals got it, not that we have her. If we return to town with a woman, don't you think most folks are going to assume we brought her in for Dee?" His blue-gray eyes focused on each member of the circle in turn. "That's what we tell them then. Michael's one of Dee's girls."

  Everyone except Houston chuckled. He was thoughtful. "And what are you going to do when someone wants their turn with her?" he asked.

  Ethan didn't hesitate. "She's mine," he said.

  "That's not how Dee usually likes to do things," Obie said. "Folks might begin to wonder."

  "Dee's customers will just have to get used to it. Michael's not available to anyone until I'm tired of her."

  Happy poked his half-brother in ribs. "Whaddya think, Ben? About another twenty-four hours and he'll be passin' her around?"

  Except for blinking Ethan didn't move. It was his very stillness that brought Happy McAllister up short.

  "Didn't mean nothin' by it," Happy said, glancing at Ethan's gun. He went on defensively. "You're the one what can't seem to figure whether to kiss or kill her. When you make up your mind let the rest of us know." He stood and tossed the dregs of his coffee on the fire. It sputtered and snapped. He stomped off to take care of his horse.

  "Happy's got a point," Houston said, breaking the uneasy silence. "It's probably in everyone's best interest for you to decide what you're doing with Michael."

  The men moved off one by one, leaving Ethan alone by the fire. "She's mine," he whispered, when no one could hear. He put out the flames with a handful of snow. "Mine."

  * * *

  Michael said nothing as they started their journey but Ethan had his suspicions. "How much did you hear?" he asked.

  She didn't pretend not to understand. "Enough."

  "Somehow I doubt that. Don't you have any questions?"

  One of his hands held the reins, the other rested lightly against her waist, tightening only when the terrain demanded they shift their weight. Michael thought that one of things she hated most was the fact that she was becoming accustomed to the feel and closeness of him. He turned her away from the wind, adjusted the blanket around her shoulders and ears, and without seeming to think about it at all, would occasionally brush snowflakes from her cheeks and forehead. "I didn't think you'd answer my questions," she said.

  "Depends on what they are."

  "Is Detra a madam?"

  "Saloon keeper."

  "Then if I'm going to be one of her... her girls..." Michael folded her arms across her stomach, suppressing the uneasy churning. "That means that I won't be expected to... to—"

  "I'm not letting you loose with the customers, no. Not the way you mean. I don't trust you that much."

  It was about trust, Michael thought, not about protection or what was decent. "I see," she said slowly.

  "Somehow I doubt that, too."

  Michael didn't ask any more questions. Instead she closed her eyes and pretended to sleep. Gradually it became a fact.

  * * *

  The posted sign at the edge of Madison listed the population as "700 give or take a few." Except when it came to mining, preciseness did not much concern the town. Fifteen years earlier the population had swelled to 2500 with the discovery of silver. Many of the mines had tapped out quickly, others held their treasure too deeply to be excavated without special equipment which simply didn't exist at the time. Although men by the dozens drifted away from Madison to seek their fortunes elsewhere, their desertion had little effect on the heart of the town. Far from ever being a boomtown, Madison's central growth had been slow and cautious. When miners left they carried their canvas homes on the backs of their mules. People who built homes stayed.

  Madison's main street was a wide muddy track in the spring, a frozen, rutted thoroughfare in the fall and winter. The stores were embellished with impressive false fronts and porches that stretched the width of the buildings. There was a feed store and mercantile, a barber shop, boarding house and eatery, a jail, three saloons, a dressmaker's, a livery, and a bank. The lone church was situated at the far end of town, isolated from the stores and gambling halls. During the week it was used as a school house, the minister's wife was also the teacher. Children from the two streets on either side of the town center often met at the penny candy counter in Tweedy's Mercantile and Hardware before setting off together.

  The Madison Mining Cooperative met the needs of most of its citizens. Nearly every individual owned shares in the silver mine and had a personal interest in its success. From the surveys that were done on the mines and the equipment that had recently become available, the town believed the mines would continue producing to the turn of the century.

  It didn't seem necessary to look beyond that. There was a sense of satisfaction and optimism that pervaded the spirit of the town, a feeling of comfort that one could put down roots and enjoy a modicum of prosperity.

  Madison was moving toward respectability. Not respectable enough to run the gambling halls out of town, but respectable enough to want a little order in them. To that end Madison, Colorado had recently elected its first sheriff.

  At the edge of town Houston held up his hand and stopped his group. He rea
ched inside his coat, into the breast pocket of his shirt, and pulled out a tin, five-pointed star. He grinned sideways at Jake who was doing the same. "Well, deputy?" he asked. "Ready?"

  "Ready, Sheriff."

  Ethan was watching Michael carefully, waiting for her reaction. She would have been offended to know she was so completely predictable.

  "What the hell is going—"

  Ethan's hand clamped over her mouth.

  "Shut her up," Houston said at the same time. "If you can't keep her quiet, knock her out."

  Ethan nodded, turning Michael's face roughly toward him. "Hear that?" he asked softly. "Your jaw probably can't take another good clip. You speak up now and you may never speak again." He felt her acquiescence in the slow release of tension in her body. Not completely trusting her, he withdrew his hand in small increments. "I thought that might quiet you."

  It was the smugness in his voice that infuriated her. "Bastard," she hissed softly.

  "You really shouldn't swear. It's unbecoming."

  If he hadn't removed his hand Michael would have bit him.

  As if he could read her mind, Ethan chuckled. "She'll be fine, Houston."

  Houston nodded. "All right, let's go."

  They rode into town slowly, Houston and Jake in the lead, Ethan and Michael behind them flanked by Happy and Obie. The pack mules came next with Ben Simpson bringing up the rear.

  "Hey, Sheriff!" A voice called to Houston from the entry to the mercantile. A man stepped out of the shadows of the store front. "You found him! Hell, Happy, where'd ya disappear?"

  "Storm caught me unawares up Stillwater way. Had to dig in." He grinned sheepishly, as if he couldn't believe it could have happened to him, and spit once in the street.

  "Glad they found you." The man gave the passing party a jaunty salute and turned back to the store to spread the news.

  As they traveled the length of Madison's unnamed main street, and more people welcomed their sheriff home, Michael began to understand the story that had been fabricated to cover the disappearance of five of Madison's citizens.

  Two weeks before the planned robbery of No. 349, Happy McAllister left Madison on the pretext of prospecting. When he didn't return Ben made a point of reporting the disappearance of his brother to the sheriff. Houston organized a search party among the dozens of volunteers and set off with food, water, and medical supplies.

  Michael realized there would be no hiding out in the sense that she had imagined it. Houston's men weren't going to spend months in a cave in the side of a mountain or live in an isolated canyon. During the robbery they had worn their hats low and their kerchiefs high. They'd never called one another by name or given a hint about their origins. For all intents and purposes they were unidentifiable. As for the people of Madison, they had every reason to believe their sheriff was coming to the aid of one of their own. The absence of days was explained. There was no need for inquiry because questions simply didn't arise.

  The awareness of the planning and preparation that had gone into the robbery created an uncomfortable sense of hopelessness within Michael. Nothing Ethan had said to her, nothing Happy had threatened or Houston had warned, had the same impact as knowing first-hand how carefully they had created their scheme, how cautious they had been in covering their activities. She understood clearly the threat she was to their accomplishment. She. Alone. There was no one else.

  They meant it when they said they would kill her.

  "It won't be long now," Ethan said, his breath warm against her ear. "We'll fix you up with blankets and a half dozen hot bricks at Detra's."

  He must have felt her shiver, she realized. He thought she was cold. He almost sounded concerned. Michael wondered why the hysterical laughter she felt inside never surfaced.

  They stopped in front of Kelly's Saloon. Above the porch roof bright green block letters, edged in yellow, proclaimed the name of the business. Managed by Detra Kelly, the sign informed. Owned by Nathaniel Houston.

  Michael pointed to the sign. "How convenient," she said as Ethan helped her down. Cold seeped through her thick socks.

  "It has its advantages." He tethered his horse then removed his saddle bag. "Let's get you settled first, then I'll help the others."

  Her arms had been crossed protectively in front of her, a shoe in each hand. Now she held them up in a gesture of innocence and pretended indifference. "I'm in no hurry. I don't mind waiting to see sixty thousand dollars unloaded."

  Ethan didn't hesitate. It didn't matter that her voice didn't carry beyond him, he refused to take the chance that her next comment might. He slung her over his shoulder, carried her into the saloon, and up the stairs to his room at the rear of the building.

  "Explanations later, Dee," he called as he mounted the stairs. He almost couldn't be heard above the laughter and ribald observations of the saloon's patrons. As he turned the corner to his room he saw Houston motion to Dee to follow him to the office. Ethan was surprised by his relief. Dee's reaction to Michael's presence worried him. It was better that Houston explained. Detra was, after all, his mistress.

  Ethan thought Michael was unusually quiet as he paraded her in front of the patrons. She didn't fight him or even voice a protest. Inside his room he sat her down then quickly locked the door. "I'm sorry if I offended your sense of dignity," he said before she could say anything. He dropped the key in his pocket. "Get out of those damp clothes and into that bed. I'll have Dee send someone up with hot bricks and extra blankets. My nightshirts are in the bureau over there. You can wear one." He saw the immediate look of protest in her eyes, the fear and uncertainty. "Or not," he said. "Naked suits me fine."

  He half expected she would fly at him. There was no attack of feet or fists, no barrage of words meant to cut him low. His dark brows drew together and his expression narrowed questioningly. She merely continued to stare at him, her blanket drawn protectively around her. Ethan shrugged, unable to make sense of her. "I'll turn down the bed and leave you alone. The window over there's been painted shut. Even so, don't think about prying it open to yell for help. I'm locking you in. Bang on the door or give the girl Dee sends up any trouble, and you'll wish you hadn't." He considered the threat was sufficiently vague to keep Michael compliant.

  Ethan stood outside the door for almost a minute listening for some sound that would mean Michael was doing as he told her. The sound never came. He moved away because he heard Happy calling him.

  Fifteen minutes later, when the key scraped in the lock, Michael was sitting on the edge of the bed still wrapped in her blanket. A puddle of water from her thawing socks and ice encrusted trousers was forming on the floor, staining the maroon and cream colored carpet.

  Seeing the condition of the new girl, Kitty Long sighed as she entered the room. "Ethan warned me you might be a little hard to reason with," she said briskly. Kitty's arms were filled with blankets and a warming pan. She set things down on a cherry wood table just inside the door. "I can't say I hold with locking you in, but Ethan thinks you're not quite right from the cold." She tapped the side of her head with her finger. "Looking at you, I can understand his concern. I'm Kitty Long. Ethan said I should mention that Obie's my brother. Can't imagine why that's important right now."

  But Michael knew why. Even if Kitty knew nothing about the robbery, which seemed unlikely to Michael, she was still not apt to turn her brother in. It was Ethan's warning.

  Michael's eyes grazed her uninvited guest. Kitty's coloring was similar to her brother, flaxen and pale, and they shared a certain likeness in the fullness of their mouths. While Obie was tall and rather loose-limbed and lanky, his sister was fully rounded, not thick or heavy, but generously curved. She was also not nearly so reticent as her brother.

  "Let me have that blanket," she said. As she was already pulling it off Michael in a no-nonsense fashion, it was less a suggestion than a command. "My, your hair's pretty. Bit of a rat's nest now though, isn't it? Here. Let me dry it for you then we'll get you out of these wet
clothes. I'll be careful not to touch your face. That's quite a bruise you got there. Don't worry though. I got somethin' to cover it right up. Those are Obie's jeans, aren't they? I recognize the patch I sewed for him on the knee. My, oh my, I could never get into them. But look at you. Just a skinny bit of a thing, aren't you?"

  On and on it went. Kitty fussed and fretted and never gave an inch. She asked a barrage of questions and never yielded time for an answer. It was comforting in an odd sort of way, and Michael, numb of thought and feeling, discovered that her eyes were damp with tears.

  Kitty warmed the bed with a long-handled pan filled with hot coals while Michael slipped Ethan's nightshirt over her head. "Put yourself right in bed," Kitty said. "That's a girl. Careful not to burn yourself. What a few days it's been for you, hasn't it? I'll wager you thought it was a lark comin' west. Lucky they found you at the Stillwater depot when they did. You could have ended up workin' in Angel Madden's establishment." Her rounded features screwed up comically in a look of utter distaste. "That's no kind of place for anyone."

  Michael allowed Kitty to pull the thick goose-down comforter up to her shoulders and tuck her in.

  "I could brush out your hair," Kitty offered.

  Michael shook her head.

  "All right. Tomorrow. When you're feeling a little better." Kitty started a fire in the iron stove in the far corner of the room. She gathered Michael's wet clothes, mopped up the floor with her brother's trousers, then let herself quietly out of the room.

  * * *

  It was several hours later, after bounty from the robbery had been divided and deposited in a safe place, that Ethan was able to return to his room. He was bone weary. He wanted dinner, a bath, and bed, and he wasn't even particular about the order.

  The tray he carried with the evening meal was laden with large helpings of beef stew, thick chunks of buttered bread, generous wedges of cherry pie, and a pot of tea and two mugs. He juggled the tray carefully while he opened the door to his room with the key. It wasn't until he actually saw Michael in his bed that he realized how much he had wanted to be alone. A powerful surge of irritation swept through him as he set the tray down and locked himself in.