Lonesome Bride Read online

  For an instant, she saw cunning replace the easy charm on Hammond's face. Only for an instant, however, for quickly the smile was back upon his full mouth. He pretended to pout, the expression perfectly suited to his ample, lascivious lips.

  "Come now, Caitleen my dear, is that any way to treat an old friend?"

  "You are no friend of mine, old or otherwise,” she replied. “What do you want?"

  Hammond smiled again, his fleshy lips parting in a way that made Caite imagine them pressed against her. She could not suppress the shudder this time, especially since she suspected Hammond was imagining the same thing, but with a far different outlook.

  "I merely want what is mine by law.” Hammond swung down from his dirty white horse and tossed the reins casually around the fence post. “I want to take you home to East Frankton, Caitleen, and marry you."

  "Impossible, Mr. Hammond."

  "Why is that, Caitleen?” Hammond had been so bold as to step up onto the porch. Caite did not back away as much as she would have liked to. She did not wish him to see he could intimidate her.

  "Because I am...” She faltered because he had stepped even closer to her. He was close enough now to kiss her, should he have so chosen, and Caite prayed he did not.

  "Your letter to Gerda stated you had not yet wed Mr. Peters,” Hammond said softly. His breath, scented of whiskey overlaid with mint, wafted over her. She wrinkled her nose. “If that has not changed, then I have come to claim what is mine by right."

  "By right?” Caite cried. “Just because my father is a poor card player?"

  "You are not yet of age, I believe,” Hammond commented. “And therefore, still your father's ward to do with as he so pleases. While I know it did not please him to see his only daughter wed to me, he did agree to it."

  "I shall be of age in less than a year,” Caite replied angrily. “Besides, I do not think any court would uphold this matter."

  "You must've thought so, else you would not have run so far, so fast,” Hammond told her. “I spent many a frantic week wondering where my lovely bride-to-be had taken herself, Caitleen. Until, that is, you were so kind as to write that old, fat maid of yours. It was easy enough to get the truth out of her."

  Caite gasped. “What did you do to Gerda, you pig?"

  Hammond frowned again. “My darling! Such language!"

  "You have not heard any language yet,” Caite promised fiercely, “if I find you have hurt Gerda..."

  Hammond touched her arm lightly and laughed. “I did no such thing, Caitleen! Indeed, I'm wounded you would accuse me of such base behavior. Do you believe I am so terrible a man as to harm an innocent woman, just to get some information from her? I merely explained the force of my feelings for you. When she heard how much I longed for you to be my bride, she gave in and told me where you had gone."

  Caite, who doubted that was true, scowled. “Gerda would not have betrayed me."

  "You might be surprised at how a coin or two can sway even the most stubborn people,” Hammond stated calmly.

  Caite frowned. “You are too late, anyway, Hammond. I shall never marry you."

  The dandy's eyes glittered. “So you have already married Mr. Peters?"

  "I will be marrying Mr. Peters very shortly,” Caite said, proudly. Too late, she realized she should have lied. But I have nothing to fear from this man, she thought, lifting her chin. It is not as though he could take her by force, after all.

  "Ah, so you have not yet been to the marriage bed,” Hammond said. Then, in a voice so low she nearly could not hear him, he said, “The breaching will mine, after all."

  Caite stepped away briskly, out of Hammond's reach. “Mr. Hammond, I am going to ask you to leave."

  Hammond sighed. “I've come a very long way, Caitleen. The least you could do is offer me a drink."

  Her eyes narrowed. “I owe you no courtesies, Mr. Hammond."

  "Please call me Drake,” he offered. “You break my heart with your harsh words, Caitleen. How can you say you owe me no courtesy, after all the years I've known you? Watched you grow from a gangly, scabby-kneed urchin into the delightful young lady you've become?"

  "After all the years of watching you steal Serenity from my father piece by piece is what you really mean,” Caite retorted.

  "Everything your father lost was from his own lack of skill at the gaming table,” Hammond responded. “I stole nothing."

  He was right Caite knew, but that did not make her like him any better. She found herself with nothing to say. Hammond jumped upon her lack of retort. Smiling his charming smile again, he spread his hands innocently.

  "Am I to assume, then, you don't wish to come back with me and become my bride?"

  "You have assumed correctly,” Caite answered.

  To her surprise, Hammond sighed sadly. “Again, you break my heart, Caitleen. I know you have heard stories about me ... stories I cannot deny have a grain of truth to them. But let me assure you that my motives in asking for your hand were of pure intent. I lost my heart to you long ago, Caitleen."

  Caite snorted. “I've heard stories about you, Mr. Hammond, and I'm certain they hold more than just a grain of truth."

  He looked at her from wounded eyes. “Perhaps. But that does not change the fact that I love you."

  "Love!” Caite scoffed. “What do you know about love?"

  Were those tears shining in his muddy brown eyes? Caite looked at Hammond suspiciously. His engaging smile had faded, his full mouth turned down at the corners. Despite the besmirched white buckskin and bedraggled feather in his hat, or perhaps because of those things, he looked younger and somehow boyish.

  "Even a man such as myself can learn how to love,” he said with quiet dignity. He touched the brim of his hat cordially. “Miss O'Neal, Mr. Peters is an incredibly lucky man to have found you for his bride. I wish you both luck and happiness."

  With a sigh, he turned and began descending the short flight of porch steps. Caite's heart twisted. She knew Drake Hammond was a scoundrel, but his speech had sounded so sincere. And those had been tears in his eyes, she was certain of it.

  "Mr. Hammond!” she called, knowing even as she did so she had most likely fallen prey to his scheming nature.

  Hammond turned, the hangdog look still upon his face. “Yes?"

  "It is an awfully long ride back to Lonesome,” Caite said reluctantly. “Perhaps you would like to partake of some liquid refreshment before you go?"

  "You are a goddess,” Hammond said, coming back onto the porch and capturing her hand for a kiss.

  Caite extracted her hand uncomfortably. “Come inside, Mr. Hammond."

  Drake Hammond smiled. “Thank you kindly, Miss O'Neal."

  * * * *

  Jed stepped back to survey the results of his hard efforts. He had built the squat chicken house from the pile of lumber behind the cabin. The pile had been left over from when he had built the small abode, so most of the pieces were mismatched, warped or otherwise flawed. Still, he had managed to put them together into a fine little coop. The chickens wouldn't care if the walls tilted in opposite directions. It would keep the rain off and the wind out, and that was all that mattered.

  Now if he only could get them to nest inside the blasted thing. He watched in amused exasperation as the feather-brained birds pecked and scratched all around the building, but did not venture inside. It was his own fault, he guessed, for having left them so long without a home. He had brought them as little peeps from Heatherfield, never expecting them to flourish on their own. Yet every time he had stopped on his way to or from Lonesome, the flock had been there, waiting for him.

  "You're some mighty tough, little birds,” he called to them, and scattered another handful of grain onto the ground.

  The chickens went wild over the rich food falling from the sky. The little bandy rooster cackled and scolded, but the fierce little hens paid him no mind. One, in fact, pecked the male bird when he came too close to the patch of ground she was defending.

&nb