Lonesome Bride Read online

  Jed crumpled his precious papers in his fist. “I don't understand you, Caitleen. You're crying about your ruined reputation, but when I hand you a way out of it, you turn me down!"

  "Is that the only reason I should have to marry you?” Caite exploded. “To get a way out of a ruined reputation? Oh, forgive me, Jed, I forgot another excellent reason to marry you. It is your duty, for seducing me. And, of course, I have no choice because no one wants a soiled dove, am I right, Jed? Are those all good reasons for me to marry you?"

  Jed flinched at his own words thrown back at him. “People have married for less."

  "I will not!” Caite cried fervently.

  From anyone else, his reasons to wed would have made sense, but not from him. Becoming Jed's wife and knowing he did not love her as she loved him would be more than painful. It would break her.

  "I have a contract. I could take it to the law."

  "So take it!"

  "You'd go to jail, rather than marry me?” He seemed incredulous.

  "I doubt it would come to that, Jed."

  "What will it take?” Jed shouted suddenly. “Do I have to get down on my knees and beg you?"

  Caite watched, horrified, as Jed dropped to his knees before her. “Get up, Jed."

  "Oh, Caitleen,” Jed intoned in mock seriousness, hands clasped over his heart. “I would be so pleased if you would do me the honor of being my wife."

  "Jed, please do not do this."

  "I know I am but a simple cowpoke, but I will provide for you,” Jed continued, ignoring her.

  "Stop it!” Caite cried, backing away from his mocking eyes. “Just stop! I do not want you to do that!"

  "What then?” Jed asked, voice hostile, getting to his feet. “I got on my knees for you, Caite, but I draw the line at begging."

  "I do not want you to beg.” She wept, covering her face to shut away the sight of him.

  "What do you want to hear?” Jed shouted, grabbing her by the shoulders and forcing her to look at him.

  "Do you love me?"

  He released her shoulders. “Would you believe me if I said I did?"

  She frowned. “Probably not."

  His eyes shifted toward the bed, and he ran a hand through his hair while giving an exasperated sigh. “Then why should I bother?"

  Her chin went up. “You keep saying you want to marry me, and I've told you why I won't."

  "Unless I tell you I love you."

  She nodded.

  "But you just said you wouldn't believe me if I said it!"

  "Because you already told me you didn't,” Caite cried. “Unless you want me to believe you changed your mind..."

  She glared at him expectantly, refusing to let hope burble in her chest.

  Again, he looked to the bed, then back at her. Again, he ran his hands through his hair. His mouth worked as though he wanted to say something, but couldn't find the words. Finally, he spoke. “You keep talking about how important it is that I tell you I love you, but you never said whether or not you love me."

  She took a step back, feeling suddenly as though she couldn't breathe. Jed fixed her with a steady glare that seemed to pierce her to her soul. He seemed to be waiting for her to say something.

  When she didn't speak, he gave her a crooked smile. “Ain't so easy, is it?"

  She wanted to say it. But she couldn't. She was afraid.

  "You don't trust me,” Jed said. “You don't trust that I love you, even though I have no other reason to keep asking you to marry me. You don't trust me to enough to tell me the same thing you're demanding. I could jump through hoops from now until doomsday to get you to believe me, Caite, and would that be enough?"

  "Jed—"

  But he wouldn't let her finish. “I spent five years dancing attendance on Trish because nothing I ever gave her was enough. I'll be damned if I do it again for any woman."

  "I'm not Trish!” She cried.

  "No.” He looked her up and down in a way that made her instantly ashamed. “Trish agreed to become my wife. At least she gave me that. You give me nothing but trouble, Caitleen. Do you think I'll keep asking you forever? A man has his limits, even for a hot-headed Irish devil like you, Caitleen O'Neal."

  He left, slamming the door behind him. Caite could only stare at the closed door, her stomach sinking. She'd really made a mess of things.

  * * * *

  Jed stomped down the stairs and through the lobby, deliberately not acknowledging Davis Lacky's enthusiastically cheery greeting. Pounding open the doors of the hotel, he stormed across the street toward Mac's. Hesitating on the front porch, he decided against going in. The last time he'd let whiskey soothe his anger he'd ended up losing at poker and in bed with Caite.

  He stared across at the hotel, seeing the window of their room glinting in the late afternoon sun. He was stuck. He couldn't go back there, and he didn't want to stay here. Seething, he surveyed the scene, practically daring anyone to look at him cross-eyed. The way he felt, it wouldn't take more than that to earn that unlucky person a fat lip and couple of blackened eyes.

  She made him mad enough to swallow a horn toad backwards. Why couldn't she just see he loved her? Why'd she have to try and wrench the words from his unwilling lips like a dentist plucking teeth only half-rotten? Lord knew he wanted to tell her, wanted to sweep her into his arms and just let the dad-blasted phrase come singing out of his throat.

  Every time he felt the words burbling up, Trish's face swam into his mind. Colorless, emotionless Trish, who'd sucked up his words of love into the bottomless hole she'd called a heart, and never once given them back.

  Sure, he knew Caite wasn't Patricia. Everything about Caite was fire and fury. She'd be more likely to love a man to death than to starve him for affection as Trish had. Loving Caite would be like riding a green colt with nothing to hold onto but a piece of thread. A heck of a ride—sure—and broken bones were almost guaranteed.

  "Howdy, there, Jed.” Miles Shaw, Staghorn's sheriff, had come from behind him.

  Fortunately, Jed's minutes of introspection had soothed his temper a little. Otherwise, he might have popped Miles a good one right in the nose. Friend or no, Shaw would have put him in the poky for sure.

  "Howdy, Miles.” The men shook hands roughly, casually, then clapped each other on the back. “Good to see you."

  "You're looking sorrier than a skunk downwind of its own stink,” Miles announced, leaning against the porch railing. He pushed his Stetson up a little higher on his lined forehead and stared piercingly at Jed from eyes the color of a winter storm. Many a would-be criminal in Staghorn had changed his mind after seeing Miles Shaw's eyes. “Not the right face for a fella just about to get hitched."

  Jed snorted. “So you heard the news about me and Caite."

  Miles shrugged and began rolling himself a cigarette. He took his time, shielding the thin paper and tobacco from the breeze that threatened to scatter them, then rolling it up firmly and giving it a final lick. He offered one to Jed, who declined.

  "Make it my business to hear all the news,” Miles remarked when he had taken his first drag and let the smoke filter out his nostrils. “But if yours ain't the face of a fella with woman troubles, I'll hang up my six-shooter and take up quilting."

  "What makes women so ornery?” Jed asked.

  Everyone knew Miles and Elsie Shaw had one of the most volatile and loving marriages in Staghorn. More than once Shaw had slept in his own jail after Elsie'd run him out of the house. But he always went back, and she always let him in.

  "When the good Lord made men,” Miles said sagely, “He looked down and said, ‘Good.’ When He made the women, He said, ‘Better.’ Women are ornery ‘cause they can be, Jed."

  "She says she won't marry me unless I love her,” Jed told his friend.

  Miles squinted at Jed through a ribbon of smoke. “Do you?"

  Jed grinned like a possum eating a yellow jacket. “I reckon I do."

  "So why can't you tell her?"

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