A Lady of the West Read online

  No, she wouldn’t make it easy for him by running away. She wanted to be right under his nose so he could see every inch she grew as her belly expanded with his child. She wanted him to count the days, and sweat. She wanted remorse to eat him alive, the same way his precious hatred had consumed him. Let him sleep with guilt as he had slept with vengeance and mistrust.

  If she hadn’t loved him so much, she would never have felt so betrayed by his lack of trust in her word, in her very integrity. He wasn’t the only one who craved vengeance. She realized that she might not feel the same way in a few days, but right now she wanted to hurt him as he had hurt her. She couldn’t take her revenge with a bullet, but he wouldn’t walk away unscathed. She swore it.

  The next morning after he’d left the house, she went into their bedroom and moved her things to the spare room. She made up the bed, carried in both chamberpot and washbasin, made certain the lamp was filled and that there was a supply of fresh candles if she needed them.

  The injured side of her face was more stiff than actually painful. Her cut lip and the knot on the side of her head where she had slammed into the wall were more painful than her face.

  Emma opened the door as she sat on the floor, putting her underwear away in a dresser drawer. “Victoria, what on earth are you doing?”

  “Moving my things into this room,” she replied calmly.

  “So I see, but why?”

  Victoria turned to look at Emma, inadvertently revealing the bruised side of her face. Emma gasped and rushed forward. “Your face! What happened?”

  “I fell,” Victoria said flatly.

  Concern darkened Emma’s eyes, then her gaze narrowed as she put two and two together.

  “I don’t want the household upset,” Victoria said, her voice steady. “As far as everyone is concerned, I slipped and fell and hit my face.”

  “Yes, of course,” Emma agreed blankly.

  “Jake and I have quarreled.”

  Emma thought Victoria was understating that obvious fact. “Is there anything I can do?”

  Victoria looked down at the soft cotton chemises folded in her lap and didn’t answer the question. Instead she said, “I’m going to have a baby.”

  Emma gasped. “But that’s wonderful!”

  “I thought so, yes.”

  “Jake … doesn’t?”

  “He doesn’t think he’s the father. He accused me of trying to pass the Major’s child off as his.”

  “Dear God.” Emma sank down beside Victoria. It was so ridiculous she found it hard to believe. “Didn’t you tell him that the Major couldn’t… do that?”

  “Yes. He didn’t believe me about that, either. We both know that the Major still visited Angelina, and evidently he was incapable only with me.” Thank God, she mentally added.

  “But why would he assume that the baby isn’t his?” Emma was horrified at Jake’s conclusion.

  “Because we’ve only been married for three weeks. He says I couldn’t possibly know I’m pregnant in such a short time if it were his. You know how regular my monthlies have always been,” she said bitterly. “I’m a week late. What else could it be? I was so excited that I wanted him to know right away, so I told him. It’s always been so convenient, knowing exactly what day my time of the month would start, but now I wish I had been so irregular that it would have been two months before I noticed!”

  Emma put her hand on Victoria’s arm. “I’m sorry,” she said helplessly. “I don’t know what to say.”

  “There’s nothing left to be said.” Jake had said it all.

  “Perhaps if I talked to him—”

  “No.” She managed a smile and hugged Emma. “I know you’re willing and I appreciate it, but he won’t believe you, either.”

  “We won’t know unless I try,” Emma said gently.

  “Even if he changes his mind, it won’t change the fact that he thought me capable of such a despicable trick.”

  “But I want to do something!”

  “You can. Try not to let this upset Celia too much, and carry on just as you normally would have. We have to live in this house; I don’t want to embroil everyone in our argument.”

  “Do you think that’s possible?”

  Victoria managed a tired smile. “Probably not, but I’m going to try.”

  Jake hadn’t chased after Victoria the night before because he’d still been so enraged himself. He’d slept very little, lying on top of the bed without even bothering to remove his boots, and was up before dawn. He pushed himself hard all day, doing the most physical work he could find, hoping to tire himself so much that it would take the edge off his anger. When he finally rode toward home, every muscle in him was protesting. He welcomed the discomfort.

  He didn’t see Victoria downstairs, though Emma was whisking about making certain the table was set for supper. Things looked normal enough, though he knew they weren’t. He slowly climbed the stairs to their bedroom, his heart thudding in his chest. He’d have to apologize to her for hitting her; it had been tormenting him all day. It would never happen again, but he knew he would have to work hard to earn her trust again so that she could believe that. He opened the door, braced for his first sight of her since their fight, but the room was empty.

  The reprieve left him feeling a little flat. He tossed his hat aside and stripped off his dirty shirt, then poured water into the basin and leaned over to wash his face. As he straightened, he realized that the room seemed different, not just empty.

  His spine slowly stiffened as he looked around. His gaze lit on the dressing table, and he examined its bare surface. With two quick strides he reached the armoire and flung the doors open. His clothes remained, but there was only an empty space where Victoria’s dresses had hung. He searched the dresser where she had kept her underwear, and wasn’t surprised to find them gone. Now he knew why the room had seemed so empty; it wasn’t missing just Victoria herself, but every sign of her occupancy. She had moved out of their bedroom.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Will Garnet had run fast, but he hadn’t run far. He didn’t go to Santa Fe; it was too likely he’d eventually run into one of the Sarratts, damn their black souls to hell. He’d gone to Albuquerque with the handful of men who had run with him, and hunkered down there to think things over.

  All in all, he didn’t much like his position. He could keep on drifting, change his name, and that didn’t matter much to him if he thought the Sarratts would let the matter drop. Hell, they had their damned ranch back, didn’t they? But he’d met up with Floyd Hibbs in one of the saloons; Floyd had been out in one of the upper ranges when all the fighting had gone on, but he hadn’t much liked the way things had changed and had packed up his gear and left. What really worried Garnet was that Floyd said Jake Roper and Jacob Sarratt were one and the same, and that his brother was one mean-lookin’ son of a bitch, too.

  So, both of the Sarratts had lived, and the older one had been right under his nose for months. He’d always known there was a reason why he didn’t like the bastard. The Major was dead, and damned if Roper—Sarratt—hadn’t married McLain’s high-nosed widow. Garnet remembered Jake Sarratt’s cold green eyes, and he didn’t think there was a snowball’s chance in hell that he and his brother wouldn’t be coming after him.

  He could run, but he didn’t think they would give up until they got him. He had put lead in both of them, something they weren’t likely to let pass.

  It didn’t set right with him, letting Sarratt hunt him like he was a rabbit. So the thing to do was something they wouldn’t expect.

  He still wanted that little gal, Celia, more now than before. He dreamed about her at night, dreamed how close he’d been to getting her. He’d about been ready to put a bullet in McLain himself when the Sarratts had rode in, and if he’d just done it a day sooner, nothing would have kept him from having her.

  He still wanted that ranch, too. It should’ve been his. McLain hadn’t done nothing but shoot the Sarratt woman after hump