She was used to that, having been raised in a Sacramento mansion, and he’d enjoy buying her pretty presents and the like. He’d show her she’d been right to marry him in the first place.
He felt his face harden. Chloe was a wildcat, and she’d surely make a fuss, at least at first, when she found out he’d followed her to Indian Rock. Might even tell somebody that he was a gunslinger, and that wouldn’t do. Folks in small towns tended to mistrust strangers, and he didn’t want anyone wondering if he’d been the one to hold up that stagecoach and gun down the woman and the driver.
He’d have to stay out of Jeb McKettrick’s way, too, for now at least. McKettrick would recognize him, after their meeting in Tombstone, and he’d get his back up for sure. That might precipitate events Jack wasn’t ready to deal with just yet, much as he wanted to jump right in.
No, sir, the bridegroom wouldn’t lay eyes on Jack Barrett until circumstances were exactly right and he was looking down the barrel of Jack’s gun. By then, it would be too late.
Chloe would grieve a while, once McKettrick was dead, but that was all right. Jack meant to console her as only a loving husband could do.
A nudge to his ribs made him reach, by habit, for his pistol, but fortunately, he realized it was only Farness, the Circle C foreman, and stayed his hand. Even forced a smile to his lips.
“You ready to ride?” Farness wanted to know. There was a look of consternation in his eyes, as though he might be trying to fit the pieces of something together in his mind.
This one’s trouble, Jack thought, but he nodded, holding on to the smile. “Lead the way,” he said.
16
L izzie stood at the base of the stairs, her head tipped back so she could take Holt in with those changeling eyes of hers. She was clad in a ready-made dress from the mercantile, hastily purchased by Emmeline, since her belongings had been left behind with the stagecoach, and her dark hair, a legacy from her mother, gleamed around her face. The rest of her features were feminine versions of his own; he would have known that stubborn jaw and straight nose anywhere.
“Are you my papa?” she asked, in a matter-of-fact tone. She was pretending to be strong, he sensed that. Wished he knew how to go about comforting her, getting across that she’d be all right from then on, because he’d see to it.
“I reckon so,” he replied awkwardly. He could feel Angus and Concepcion and Becky and Emmeline standing behind him, listening and watchful. What did they think he was going to do? Tell the kid she’d have to make her own way in the world, that he couldn’t be bothered?
He cast a brief, scathing look back at his father. I’m not like you, old man , he thought. It wasn’t entirely true, of course; his first impulse, after all, had been to pack Lizzie off to boarding school. What did he know about taking care of a child, especially a female? He might have followed through with his original idea, too, if it hadn’t been for Angus’s vow that he’d fetch her home to the Triple M if that happened.
The patriarch, stern as Moses on the slopes of the holy mountain, scowled right back at him and gestured impatiently toward Lizzie.
Holt drew a deep breath and faced his daughter again. “I’m real sorry about your aunt Geneva,” he said . And your mama, he added silently. The news of Olivia’s passing had left a hole in his insides; on some level, he’d always expected to see her again. Make things right somehow. Now it was too late.
Lizzie hoisted her chin. “Aunt Geneva wasn’t going to stay on in Indian Rock after she got me settled,” she said. “She told me you didn’t like her, and she didn’t like you much, either. She hoped you’d be nicer to me than you were to my mama.”
Holt felt his pa’s gaze burning into his backbone, but he wasn’t fool enough to turn around again. “I loved your mother,” he heard himself say.
Lizzie looked
He felt his face harden. Chloe was a wildcat, and she’d surely make a fuss, at least at first, when she found out he’d followed her to Indian Rock. Might even tell somebody that he was a gunslinger, and that wouldn’t do. Folks in small towns tended to mistrust strangers, and he didn’t want anyone wondering if he’d been the one to hold up that stagecoach and gun down the woman and the driver.
He’d have to stay out of Jeb McKettrick’s way, too, for now at least. McKettrick would recognize him, after their meeting in Tombstone, and he’d get his back up for sure. That might precipitate events Jack wasn’t ready to deal with just yet, much as he wanted to jump right in.
No, sir, the bridegroom wouldn’t lay eyes on Jack Barrett until circumstances were exactly right and he was looking down the barrel of Jack’s gun. By then, it would be too late.
Chloe would grieve a while, once McKettrick was dead, but that was all right. Jack meant to console her as only a loving husband could do.
A nudge to his ribs made him reach, by habit, for his pistol, but fortunately, he realized it was only Farness, the Circle C foreman, and stayed his hand. Even forced a smile to his lips.
“You ready to ride?” Farness wanted to know. There was a look of consternation in his eyes, as though he might be trying to fit the pieces of something together in his mind.
This one’s trouble, Jack thought, but he nodded, holding on to the smile. “Lead the way,” he said.
16
L izzie stood at the base of the stairs, her head tipped back so she could take Holt in with those changeling eyes of hers. She was clad in a ready-made dress from the mercantile, hastily purchased by Emmeline, since her belongings had been left behind with the stagecoach, and her dark hair, a legacy from her mother, gleamed around her face. The rest of her features were feminine versions of his own; he would have known that stubborn jaw and straight nose anywhere.
“Are you my papa?” she asked, in a matter-of-fact tone. She was pretending to be strong, he sensed that. Wished he knew how to go about comforting her, getting across that she’d be all right from then on, because he’d see to it.
“I reckon so,” he replied awkwardly. He could feel Angus and Concepcion and Becky and Emmeline standing behind him, listening and watchful. What did they think he was going to do? Tell the kid she’d have to make her own way in the world, that he couldn’t be bothered?
He cast a brief, scathing look back at his father. I’m not like you, old man , he thought. It wasn’t entirely true, of course; his first impulse, after all, had been to pack Lizzie off to boarding school. What did he know about taking care of a child, especially a female? He might have followed through with his original idea, too, if it hadn’t been for Angus’s vow that he’d fetch her home to the Triple M if that happened.
The patriarch, stern as Moses on the slopes of the holy mountain, scowled right back at him and gestured impatiently toward Lizzie.
Holt drew a deep breath and faced his daughter again. “I’m real sorry about your aunt Geneva,” he said . And your mama, he added silently. The news of Olivia’s passing had left a hole in his insides; on some level, he’d always expected to see her again. Make things right somehow. Now it was too late.
Lizzie hoisted her chin. “Aunt Geneva wasn’t going to stay on in Indian Rock after she got me settled,” she said. “She told me you didn’t like her, and she didn’t like you much, either. She hoped you’d be nicer to me than you were to my mama.”
Holt felt his pa’s gaze burning into his backbone, but he wasn’t fool enough to turn around again. “I loved your mother,” he heard himself say.
Lizzie looked
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