opinion on any topic under discussion.
Marybeth seemed weary from her travels, so Rand took his leave, promising to visit the next day.
As he walked toward town to see if Tolley was still around, a dull ache settled into his chest, replacing the growing joy he’d felt for weeks in anticipation of meeting and marrying Marybeth. This was no more than he deserved. What lady from back East would understand what he’d done? He didn’t even understand it himself. Only his friends and neighbors proclaimed him a hero; only his younger brother wanted to copy his actions. He hated every memory of that fateful day and all he’d done that led up to it.
Shoving away those thoughts, he started his search for Tolley at Mrs. Winsted’s general store. He remembered to pick up a packet of cumin and spool of white thread his sister-in-law, Susanna, had asked for, but didn’t find his brother. Back out in the sunshine, he headed toward the livery and caught Tolley leading his saddled horse out of the stable.
“Say, shouldn’t you be over at Mrs. Foster’s wooing your pretty little bride-to-be?” Tolley’s impish expression made Rand want to tweak his nose, as he used to when they were scrappy little boys.
“She’s pretty tired from her travels.” Rand tried to sound cheerful so Tolley wouldn’t ask any more questions. “Did you order the rope from the hardware store?”
Tolley chortled. “Don’t change the subject. Tell me—”
“Northam!” A well-dressed, black-clad man, gun strapped to his leg, stepped off the boardwalk and strode toward them. “Randall Northam.”
Rand felt his dinner and Mrs. Foster’s cake rise up in his gullet. Another gunslinger out to prove himself. Didn’t he know better than to face two men? Tolley might be young and hotheaded, but he was a fast-drawing crack shot. Lord, please don’t let my brother get shot.
He sighed. “I’m Randall Northam. What can I do for you, Mr.—?”
A sly smile crept across the man’s face but his eyes remained as cold and deadly as a rattlesnake’s. And surprisingly familiar. “Name’s Hardison. Dathan Hardison. I believe you met my cousin Cole Lyndon about three years ago.”
Rand went cold all over. Frozen cold in spite of the sunshine beaming down on his shoulders and the warm summer breeze fanning over him. If the man drew on him, he wouldn’t be able to get his hand halfway to his holster. Somehow he managed to keep all emotion out of his face, a seasoned gambler’s ploy. Except he wasn’t a gambler. Not anymore. Nor was he a gunfighter, despite the gun at his side. But what could he say to the kin of the man he’d killed? Lord, help me.
“Yes, I ‘met’ Cole Lyndon. I’m sorry to say it was an unfortunate meeting.” On the other hand, the no-good horse thief had robbed and beaten Susanna’s father, leaving him for dead. The sheriff in Del Norte had said Cole had left a string of robberies and murders behind him. But no matter how often his friends called Rand a hero for outdrawing the wicked man, he’d never aspired to be an executioner. Never aspired to have every gunslinger from Montana to El Paso come gunning for him, risking his family and his town. So far he’d been able to talk himself out of another fight with humor or appeals to their better nature, even making a few friends of those who’d intended to face off with him. But revenge for injury to a man’s family was entirely different. Trouble was, Rand knew he’d take it badly if anyone hurt Nate or Tolley. Especially Tolley, whose heavy breathing gave evidence of his rising temper.
“Unfortunate meeting. Is that what you call it?” Hardison’s deadly cold tone hinted at imminent repayment for Rand’s crime. The man glanced over his shoulder toward the Friday-afternoon crowds meandering along Main Street. He rolled his head and gave an unpleasant laugh. “Just wanted to let you know I’m in town.” He slowly reached up to touch the brim of his hat in a mock salute, made as if to turn away and instead turned back. “Speaking of meeting, I almost had the pleasure of meeting a certain young lady from Boston on the train, but that sissified doctor and his cowgirl wife were playing nursemaid. I’ll be looking for an opportunity to introduce myself to her.”
Despite the horrifying pictures Hardison’s words conjured, despite the sick feeling in Rand’s gut, he sent up a prayer for grace. If this man hurt Marybeth... No, he wouldn’t let Hardison rile him. “You’ll find your sort of woman farther west, Hardison. Why don’t you get back on the train tomorrow and head that way?”
He snorted and gave Rand a nasty grin. “Watch your back, Northam. We’ll meet again.”
“Yeah, well, you’d just better watch your back, mister.” Tolley stepped slightly in front of Rand, his right hand poised to draw. “Why don’t we settle this here and now?”
“Now, now, young’un.” Hardison carelessly spat on the ground, but his right hand twitched. “Why don’t you go home to Mama and let the men handle this?”
“Forget it, Tolley. Don’t answer him.” Rand half faced his brother but kept one eye on the gunslinger. “Don’t say another word.” He recognized the signs. Hardison had no plan to draw. At least not now. Part of his fun was stalking his prey to make them nervous.
“I’ll be seeing you.” Again Hardison touched the brim of his hat, turned his back on them and strode away.
“Why didn’t you take him down?” Tolley pulled off his hat and slapped it against his leg, causing his horse to sidestep in alarm. “You’re going to have to sooner or later.”
“No.” Rand gripped his brother’s shoulder. “I made a deal with the Lord that I won’t kill another man like I did Cole Lyndon.” He’d do whatever was needed to protect his family and Marybeth, but never again would he kill someone to save his own life. Never again would he stare into the eyes of a man on his way to eternity, hopeless and without Jesus Christ because of him.
“Well, I didn’t make that deal.” Tolley glared after Hardison.
Rand swallowed hard as fear from his little brother gripped his belly. Why couldn’t Tolley understand? He’d told him all about his guilt, about the horror he’d faced watching a man die by his hand. And now here was another consequence of his actions. Tolley just might get himself killed copying what Rand had done, maybe trying to protect him. No matter what it took, Rand had to keep his little brother—and Marybeth—out of trouble.
Halting, discordant notes of piano music invaded Marybeth’s senses and pulled her from a dreamless sleep. Mrs. Foster had said some of her students would have their lessons this afternoon, and this one clearly was a beginner.
Before Marybeth had lain down in the four-poster guest bed, her thoughtful hostess had brought a pitcher of hot water, but she’d been too tired to wash. Now, despite the tepid water, she freshened up from her travels, at least well enough to hold her until the promised Saturday-night bath. Her ablutions complete, she brushed the dust from her hair and wound it back into an upswept coiffure.
Still mellow from her nap, she studied her appearance in the dressing-table mirror, recalling with pleasure the way Rand had looked at her, how his gaze had lingered on her hair and then her eyes. His obvious admiration, gentlemanly in every way, would thrill any girl, as would his thoughtfulness.
Regret over her own behavior cut short her moment of joy. Perhaps she’d been hasty in her opinion of him. Everyone she’d met or seen today regarded him highly. Perhaps she could open her heart to him, if only for friendship. He seemed interested in helping her find Jimmy, and even though he didn’t approve of her working, surely he would understand her determination to support herself. When he came to take her to church on Sunday, she would ask for his help in finding a job.
She opened her trunk to lift out a fresh dress and then dug beneath the other garments for clean stockings. She caught a glimpse of white satin underneath it all and gulped back an unexpected sob. Mrs. Northam had insisted upon purchasing a wedding gown for her, and there it was packed in tissue. Shame brought