the bar sipping his drink, trying to block it out. By the time he’d finished his fourth beer he’d heard all the tributes he could stand to hear about the man he remembered to be a first-rate scalawag, the man these townsfolk admired so much.
Outside, the cold wind whipped around Jared as he headed down the boardwalk toward the hotel. It was dark now. The town had closed up for the night.
But when he reached the hotel, Jared kept walking. He didn’t stop until he got to the edge of town, to the sturdy house with the picket fence he’d read about in the newspaper. The Ingram home.
And a fine home it was. Neat, clean, well built. A house fit for one of Stanford’s most prosperous citizens.
The front door opened and a woman stepped onto the porch, outlined by the glowing lamplight behind her. Jared’s heart lurched. Was it her? Was it Mattie?
The woman pulled two small children out of the house behind her and shut the door. Disappointment caused Jared’s shoulders to sag a little. He nodded politely to the woman when she passed him on her way back to town.
Minutes dragged by while Jared stood at the end of the boardwalk, looking at the Ingram home. He didn’t want to go inside and hear anyone else talk about what a fine man Del was; Jared had had his fill of that already.
He muttered a little curse directed at himself. What kind of man was he, thinking ill of the dead? Had he forgotten all the good manners he’d once prided himself on?
Slowly, he nodded in the darkness. His solitary life on the trail, hunting down criminals, hauling them in for trial, had taken its toll.
The decent thing to do was go pay his respects to the widow of the man he’d grown up with. Del had made something of his life and he deserved all the things being said about him. Jared would go into that house and say something nice about him. It was the right thing to do.
And he’d get to see Mattie Ingram again.
Jared crossed the road, passed through the little gate outside the house and stepped up onto the porch. He paused for a moment before he knocked and brushed off his trousers, then took off his hat and smoothed down his dark hair, glad he’d taken a bath and gotten a haircut this afternoon.
He rapped his knuckles against the door, then waited, waited and waited some more before it opened. He’d expected to find the reverend’s wife greeting mourners, but instead Jared found himself face-to-face with the widow herself. A long moment dragged by while he just looked at her. When Jared finally came to his senses, he clasped his hat against his chest and tried to think of something to say.
“Mrs. Ingram? My name is Jared McQuaid. I’m—I’m real sorry about your husband.”
She stepped back without really looking at him, and opened the door wider. “Won’t you come in?”
He followed her down the little hallway, past a neat parlor, to the kitchen at the rear of the house. The room was warm and comfortable. A cookstove and cupboards were at one end, a sideboard and a table and chairs at the other. All manner of food—or what was left of it—covered the table. Jared’s steps slowed. No one else was in the house. Had he intruded, when he’d intended to comfort?
“Is it too late to come calling?” he asked.
“No,” she said simply, and turned toward the cupboard. “I’ll get you something to eat.”
Jared watched her skirt swirl, and glimpsed her white ruffled petticoat, then studied her backside as she stretched up and retrieved a plate from the top shelf of the cupboard.
He muttered a silent curse at himself for admiring Del’s widow.
“Your husband and I grew up together,” Jared said, as he shrugged out of his coat and laid his hat aside.
Mattie didn’t answer, just turned again and began filling the plate from the dishes on the table.
“We went to school together,” Jared said, feeling the need to say something. He took a step closer. “I’m a U.S. Marshal, just in town for today. I’m leaving in the morning. I read about Del in the newspaper.”
Silence filled the house as Mattie heaped food on the plate, and Jared pulled on the back of his neck.
“So, while I was here I wanted to tell you how sorry I am that Del’s passed on,” he said. “He was a good man. Everybody in town speaks highly of him.”
Though Jared didn’t understand it, it was true. And regardless of what he thought about Del Ingram, this was his wife, the woman who loved him. She’d married him, lain with him, walked through life with him. The least Jared could do was think of something nice to say.
“Fact is,” Jared said, “I never heard so many kind things said about one man before. I was down at the Lady Luck just now and Del was all anybody talked about.”
A little gasp echoed in the kitchen, and Jared saw Mattie press a hand against her lips. Damn it, what was he thinking, mentioning that he’d been at the saloon? That wasn’t what women liked to hear from strangers in their home.
Jared pushed his fingers through his hair. “The mayor…the mayor had nice things to say, too.”
She dropped the plate she’d been preparing and leaned forward, bracing her hand on the table. Little sniffles filled the room.
Good Lord, he’d made her cry. Jared stared at her slumping shoulders as she tried bravely to stand upright. He wanted to go to her, take her in his arms, comfort her. But should he? He didn’t even know her.
He wasn’t sure what to do but keep talking.
“The newspaper article about Del was just about the most glowing report I’d ever read. And that eulogy, that was something, all right.”
A sob tore from her lips and her whole body quivered. Jared stepped closer until he stood mere inches away.
He wanted to hold her. Oh, he wanted to hold her like he’d never wanted to hold another thing in his life. She looked so frail and helpless; her sobs sounded so pitiful. He wanted to press her against his chest and let her cry, keep her in his arms until her tears stopped.
“Your husband was a good man. He was well respected, and honest, and hardworking,” Jared said softly. “You’ve every right to be upset, Mrs. Ingram.”
“Don’t call me that!”
Mattie swung around, hot anger boiling inside her. She drew back her fist and struck Jared in the chest.
“Don’t ever call me by that name again!” she screamed. “He was a bastard! A lying, conniving bastard!”
Mattie braced one hand against the table to keep herself up, unable to hold the words inside any longer. She’d done that for nearly two days now, and she couldn’t contain them another minute.
“I’ve had to pretend since he died—pretend that he was a good man, pretend that everything said about him was the truth.” A sob tore from her lips. “But none of it is true. None of it!”
“Mrs. Ingram—Mattie—maybe you should—”
She
