nestling in the crook of his elbow. The woman had saved him from the hangman’s noose. He guessed he owed her for that and would have to go along with what she was up to, for now.
Even if he didn’t owe her, when the choice was hang or wed, what was a neck-loving man to do?
It hadn’t taken more than a couple of minutes for the marshal and his cohorts to hunt up Mrs. Sizeloff, a lay preacher who had just come down the bank steps. The marshal and five hooting witnesses demanded her immediate services as reverend. Since lay ministers were allowed to perform churchly duties, she had been whisked away to make sure he was wed.
It felt like a lynching more than a wedding, but the lady beside him didn’t flinch. In fact, her smile looked brighter than the sun riding big and low in the western sky.
Now here they were, if not dearly beloved, at least gathered together in the land office. He’d gallantly pointed out that there was a church at the edge of town, but his bride had muttered something odd that sounded like the land office was getting ready to close.
In under a quarter of an hour his whole life had upended. Already the preacher was winding up to the big “I do.”
Preacher Sizeloff spoke of living together in love and peace. Every soul in the land office had known Matt for years. Which one of them believed that Singing Trigger Suede had suddenly given his heart to the pretty newcomer to Dodge? He’d better act like a man smitten if he wanted to escape that noose.
When the reverend spoke about forsaking all others, Matt gulped. This was so permanent, so final, but what choice did he have but to turn his head and grin down at his bride as though that’s just what he had been dreaming of, cleaving only to his wife?
Mrs. Sizeloff asked him to swear it before God and all these witnesses.
“I, Matthew Jonathan Suede, take you—” Who? Ma’am?
He was vowing to honor and cherish a woman whose name he didn’t even know! Panic tripped his heart. The marshal would never believe he hadn’t just met her a few moments ago in the livery.
His bride smiled brilliantly—it almost made him forget to breathe. She dabbed at her eye with a grimy white glove.
“Matt, honey,” she said. “Aren’t we a pair? My mama always said, Emma Parker, you’re too emotional by half. The only time you can’t get out a word is when you’re about to weep. Oh, Matt … I … I …”
All of a sudden Emma Parker hid her face in her hands and sobbed.
Matt lifted her chin and tried to peer past her fingers. He brushed her hands aside. Real tears rolled down her face, leaving dirty streaks from the dust on her gloves.
“It’s all right, Emma darlin’.” He stroked her cheeks to dry and clean them. “I do take you to be my wedded wife.”
“I take you, too, Matt, to love and obey.” Didn’t her eyes look blue and sincere? He nearly believed her.
“Well, then …” Mrs. Sizeloff sighed and looked fondly upon them, hugged up tight together. She must believe it, as well. “I now pronounce you man and wife. Matt, you and your wife will need to come by the church and sign the marriage license, but for now, you may kiss the bride.”
This was something he could do convincingly. Those pink lips had been setting off poetry in his mind ever since he’d first seen them, not an hour ago.
For an instant hesitation flashed in Emma’s eyes, but he had to make this look good or those fools standing around with horse laughs breaking out on their faces would string him up.
He touched the curls at Emma Parker’s temple while he dipped his head low. His bride had hair that felt like dove’s feathers. Would she let him touch it again after this show was over?
Emma closed her eyes and puckered her mouth. He pressed his lips on the rosy, tense circle. He should probably pull away, let it end chaste and sweet, but a man didn’t get married every day.
His blood began a slow swell, throbbing in his heart and lower. He pressed the kiss deeper and traced the crease of her mouth with his tongue.
Emma’s lips parted in what must have been surprise. She tipped her head backward, opened her eyes and gazed at him. Did ever eyes shine so blue with bewilderment and delight?
This time, when he lowered his mouth, her lips opened without any coaxing. Damned if he could make himself lift his wind-worn mouth from her dewy one.
He might have gone on and on, and her going right along with him, if the marshal and the rest hadn’t started to hoot and holler.
Ending that kiss forced a groan clear to parts unseen. His wife’s mouth had done unholy things to his body, or maybe not unholy, after all, since they were now wed.
He looked at her face and, judging by the flush that crept from under her lace collar, she felt a call to the marriage bed as strongly as he did.
Before they set foot down that trail, he’d have to tell her that they couldn’t cleave to one another as Mrs. Sizeloff had bound them to do.
There were things about him that she didn’t know. Things wives had a right to know before the “I do’s.” Not the least of which was that a killer with revenge on his mind was getting out of prison.
Come summer’s end, Angus Hawker would be a threat to everyone that Matt held dear.
Emma frowned at Matthew Jonathan Suede, sitting beside her on the wagon bench as if he were king of the prairie. He drove her rented team, holding the reins loose in his fingers while they rattled off toward the sunset and her new home. Apparently the man misunderstood the nature of their marriage.
Right after he’d filed her claim, she’d thanked him and bid him goodbye. She’d fairly skipped toward the livery and her new life, only to hear his boots thumping down the boardwalk after her. She’d offered him the ten dollars she had been willing to give the drunk, but he’d looked at her as though she had become suddenly feebleminded.
To her dismay, he’d followed her into the livery. The name she’d called him was probably uncalled for, but really, he’d tied poor blind Pearl and his own horse behind the wagon, then tossed her onto the plank seat as though she were no more than a stick of straw! He’d then climbed aboard, taken control of the driving and remained silent for the best part of an hour.
Silence was best. She took pleasure in watching the prairie grass roll past. She found joy in simply listening to the birds sing to the parting day. Way off in the west the sun slipped toward the long horizon like a ball of orange fire.
What a wide, wonderful land! Mercy, she didn’t think she could breathe and smell and hear enough of it. If she lived on her little spot of paradise for a hundred years it wouldn’t be long enough.
Evidently Mr. Suede couldn’t resist the evening’s beauty any more than she could. His shoulders went soft and a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. His eyes, gazing out at the big empty land, became a mirror for the golden grass stretching out forever.
Then, with the birds chirruping out their last and the crickets just tuning up, Matt Suede began to sing.
He had a clear, low voice that shot straight to a person’s heart. With the harness creaking
